A Different Blue(15)

didn't want him to become too rich or too popular, and that was exactly what was happening. Add

to that Julius Caesar's own political ambitions, and you have a recipe for disaster . . . or the

very least, civil war.”

Mr. Wilson walked down the aisle, and I noticed in surprise that he seemed to have the attention

of my classmates. They were watching him closely, waiting for what he would say next. He didn't

use notes or read from a textbook or manual. He just talked, like he was relating the highlights

of a killer movie.

“Caesar had some friends in high places. They snooped around, whispered in a few ears, and

blatantly tried to influence the Senate. But the Senate wanted no part of it. They told Caesar

to disband the army and resign his position, or risk becoming an 'enemy of the state.' We use

the same term today in the US government. It basically means the government finds you guilty of

crimes against your country. People who sell national secrets, spy for another country, that

kind of thing, are deemed 'enemies of the state.' Very 007 without the glamour or the amazing

stunts or the fit Bond girls.”

[page]I found myself smiling as the rest of the class laughed, and I marveled that I'd forgotten

for a moment that I didn't like Mr. Wilson.

“Plus, can you imagine what that label would do to someone? Some would argue that such a label

is used as a political tool – a tool to repress or intimidate. You charge someone with being a

traitor to their country, an 'enemy of the state' and their life is over. It's like accusing

someone of being a child molester. It wasn't any different in Ancient Rome. So we have Julius

Caesar, ambitious, angry that he is being told he can't lead his army anymore, and basically

being threatened with ugly labels and treason.

“Long story short, he brings his army to the banks of the Rubicon, which doesn't exist today,

so no one really knows if it was just a little stream or a substantial river, and he stands

there, thinking. He says to his men. 'We can still retreat. It's not too late, but once we pass

this bridge, we will have to fight.'”

“You said he was rich, right? Why didn't he just take his money and go. Say to hell with the

Senate, let them run the army, conquer people, whatever. They didn't appreciate him, fine. What

was the point? What did he have to prove?” I found myself asking the question before I even

realized I was saying the words out loud. I felt the heat of embarrassment travel up my cheeks.

I never asked questions in class.

Mr. Wilson didn't act surprised that I was participating, and he immediately answered. “He was

rich, he was powerful. He could have retired to Gaul, lived in the lap of luxury, and been fed

grapes for the rest of his life.” Everyone laughed. I scowled. Mr. Wilson stopped in front of

my desk and looked down at me quizzically.

“Why do you think he took his army into Rome, Blue?”

“Because he was a bloody peacock, and he wanted to be king,” I responded immediately, trying

to mimic his accent. The class burst into laughter once more. “And because he didn't like being

used or controlled,” I finished more quietly, without the accent.

“I think you're right on both accounts.” Mr. Wilson shifted away, drawing the rest of the

class into the conversation. “It ends up that Julius Caesar grabbed a trumpet and ran to the