"They are gradually bewitched by the degrading apparatus and utensils that degrade people, as a way of enslavement, and they call these things 'culture'. '''—Tacitus mocks the "Romanization" of the British chieftain

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Casca's answer was to raise his sandals and kick him down, and to the laughter of the Senate, Casca slapped him again and warned viciously: "The Tiber is our mother, not yours, and don't be like Caesar who treats the Republic as a widow or a party-wreck!" With that, Casca and a group of elders spat at the unlucky bastard, and then left the Twin Temples in a row.

The shoemaker of Utica, clutching his stomach and lying on the street with grievances and sadness, did not understand why the city was so unkind to itself that last year Caesar also gave a speech in his city, promising to grant citizenship to everyone who actively contributed to the treasury of the republic.

So when Brutus helped him up, he couldn't help but sigh with emotion, "Thank you dear people, if only this city were as generous as you, and I also consider myself a citizen of Rome, what does the republic want?" Shoes, leather, or military equipment I will fully support! ”

But then Brutus let him go, and then said to him with mixed feelings: "Unfortunately, I still cannot consider you a compatriot, for you have not experienced the great republican movement of Rome, you have not fought against the invading Gauls, and you have not served as the shield and sword of the state when Hannibal invaded. When all that should have been sacrificed in this state was sacrificed, and when we began to enjoy the gifts of our ancestors, you broke in and dismantled and plundered the rights that should have belonged to us. So sorry – in my heart. You are robbers in the truest sense of the word. ”

The shoemaker didn't know what to thank Brutus. It was still time to refute him, but just like that, this one left the square in front of the temple in a confused mood.

In fact, Brutus's mood at this time was even more complicated and confused, at the end of the street at the Colosseum Neruda, the cheers were rising higher and higher, and there were constantly crowds carrying things, which were gifts from Caesar's alms. Rushing towards the place where the races and racing were held, the streets were full of scrawny prostitutes, coughing heartbreakingly, but still shouting with all their might, telling the new citizens of the foreign country to "spend a few ass and you will be able to cool us off." Next to the prostitutes, in front of the temples, there were veterans with missing arms and legs, also holding food bowls, and crying out to the people to have mercy on them who had been disabled in the service of the country.

"Rome, Rome. You're a prostitute now, aren't you? Anyone just needs to spend money. You can trample, humiliate and ravage your body to your heart's content, and in the future, the seven hills will no longer be the forest and pond where the gods dance, and the city will be filled with filthy prostitutes, crippled veterans, arrogant mobs, and indulging in the weak social elite. Brutus looked at the desolate apocalyptic scene before him, and could not help but feel all kinds of emotions coming from it, and he held on to the pillars of the arcade by the side of the street, ready to stop and catch his breath, but then he saw that the corridor was full of the trophies that Caesar had shown, and the blood-stained things, which Caesar had stripped from the corpses of the Gauls, Britunians, and Ponticus, and nay, and many, many of the same Romans, including his uncle, including Pompey the Great, "The cold Romans, before whom they had not climbed the walls, Climb up the arcade, climb up to the chimney of their house, just to see that Pompey's golden chariot, led by the Numidian elephants, entered through the city gates, and their cheers were almost the whole Typer boiling and flowing backwards, but now they began to go crazy for Caesar, and Pompey's bones were gone, forever left in the salt lakes of the wasteland of Africa, but the Romans feasted on his corpse. Sure enough, Sybil's prophecy is right, great Rome, it will not be a foreign enemy who will rape you in the future, but your own son, and you will no longer be respected, because they will rape you endlessly, but you don't need to win sympathy, everything is to blame, whoever told you to raise a herd of man-eating beasts, you deserve it! ”

After thinking about it, Brutus couldn't help but hold on to the pillar and began to vomit incessantly, like a drunken reckless man.

"Philosophers have said that one should not drink alcohol in the early morning, let alone a good nobleman who will be a judge in the coming year." Hearing this, Brutus looked behind him, only to see Anthony looking at him with a relaxed expression and a little schadenfreude.

Brutus looked at him coldly, then leaned on to the pillars and walked towards the other streets without saying any hello, but Anthony followed him directly and asked, "Sue me, Caesar is right to trust you, you will not stab his sword into his body." But in the smoke and noise, Brutus said nothing, and continued to walk forward, Anthony's questions became more and more acute, "Brutus, Cassio, don't think that I, or Caesar, have no eyeliner in this city, whether I am blind or deaf, I can be at the mercy of you two, Caesar is just kind-hearted." Many of the senators were ostensibly involved in your plans, but secretly ran to tell Caesar that though it would be prudent for you to keep your name in secret and not to sacrifice to the gods, Caesar was still lying to himself, and he would always be the same as the words, 'What do you say, Brutus will not do this, and will not be involved', if you still have a little conscience and sense, then listen to me, it is all true, and if in the future, when Caesar dies, when he reads his will, he feels that you and I have spoken to me, then you will recall my advice today, and we will both regret it. ”

Hearing the last paragraph, Brutus straightened up, leaned against the pillar, and looked at Anthony, and then laughed bitterly, with contempt, "Sure enough, you are also here for Caesar's inheritance, what else do you want to do, Archon?" Cavalry commander? Dick Pusho? Or like Caesar, who wanted to be the eighth king of Rome? Inheritance, inheritance, you are like a beautiful half-old, every bastard man wants to ride you, I want to advise you, the descendants of the great plebeian orator Antonius, that is, one qiē starts from greed, and one qiē finally greedy, if you want to do something, you have to abandon these things. With that, he ignored Anthony, who was standing there, and walked away in the direction of his mansion.

"Foolish." Anthony said a little helplessly, but he still thought of going to remind Caesar of this conspiracy, because the senator named Luga had come to his mansion yesterday and had made a list of more than sixty conspirators, and as soon as he turned the alley, he saw the team of virgins, for the sake of Richlia, who had a stern expression.

Anthony hurriedly clipped his hand and stood on the side of the road to give way, showing respect.

As a result, Licilia said coldly to Anthony at the moment of passing by, "You can think of it as God's voice to you - that is, Caesar's will does not have your share." (To be continued!)

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