The Ghostwriter

Ides of March again. This will be a short entry because Julius wants me to witness today’s ritual. As Pontifex Maximus of his nascent empire, he performs a short but intense annual ceremony where he vividly reenacts his own assassination at the Senate over two thousand years ago. Attendance is mandatory for his subordinates but he’s excused me for the past decade so I could continue my work uninterrupted. This one will be different, however. I don’t know what he’s planning, but it must be important for the memoirs. I must confess I still feel a sting of fear when I write these journals. The first time I criticized him in them, he came up to my office and showed me the many means by which he surveils my movements, taking pleasure in my terror, but then said “Thomas, I want you to continue this critique of my character and find a way to include it in the memoirs. It was vanity that killed me back in those days. I could never punish you for being truthful to your feelings.” I was almost as relieved as I was shocked. Since then, he’s been candid about his flaws, and my respect for him has grown immeasurably. I have no illusions about his intentions, his vision is ruthless, but he doesn’t want me to sugarcoat anything, especially now that his big move is drawing near. I never thought I’d ever be on friendly terms with a man like him, but here we are. Alright, time to go, he’s a stickler for punctuality.