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Under pretense of protecting Rome from a threatened invasion he secured the strongest legions of Pompey and Crassus. Combining them into one army he led them northward to such conquest and victory as the world had never before seen.

It is not for me to tell the history of Caesar’s Gallic wars. Suffice it to say that in eight years he had penetrated what is now Switzerland, France, Germany and England. Everywhere he left monuments of his greatness in the way of splendid highways, baths, aqueducts and temples. Colonies of settlers from the packed population of Rome followed the victors.

An army left to itself after conquest will settle down to riot and mad surfeit, but this man kept his forces strong by keeping them at work–discipline was never relaxed, yet there was such kindness and care for his men that no mutiny ever made head.

Caesar became immensely rich–his debts were now all paid–the treasure returned to Rome did the general coffers fill, his name and fame were blazoned on the Roman streets.

When he returned he knew, and had always known, it would be as a conquering hero. Pompey and Crassus did not wish Caesar to return. He was still governor of Gaul and should stay there. They made him governor–he must do as they required–they sent him his orders. “The die is cast,” said Caesar on reading the message. Immediately he crossed the Rubicon.

An army fights for a leader, not a cause. The leader’s cause is theirs. Caesar had led his men to victory, and he had done it with a comparatively small degree of danger. He never made an attack until every expedient for peace was exhausted. He sent word to each barbaric tribe to come in and be lovingly annexed, or else be annexed willy-nilly. He won, but through diplomacy where it was possible. When he did strike, it was quickly, unexpectedly and hard. The priest was as great a strategist as he was a diplomat. He pardoned his opposers when they would lay down their arms–he wanted success, not vengeance. But always he gave his soldiers the credit.

They were loyal to him.

Pompey and Crassus could not oppose a man like this–they fled.

Caesar’s most faithful and trusted colleague was Mark Antony, seventeen years his junior–a slashing, dashing, audacious, exuberant fellow.

Caesar became dictator, really king or emperor. He ruled with moderation, wisely and well. He wore the purple robe of authority, but refused the crown. He was honored, revered, beloved. The habit of the Pontiff still clung to him–he called the people, “My children.”

The imperturbable calm of the man of God was upon him. His courage was unimpeachable, but caution preserved him from personal strife. That he could ever be approached by one and all was his pride.

But clouds were beginning to gather.

He had pardoned his enemies, but they had not forgiven him.

There were whisperings that he was getting ready to assume the office of emperor. At a certain parade when Caesar sat upon the raised seat, reviewing the passing procession, Mark Antony, the exuberant, left his place in the ranks, and climbing to the platform, tried to crown his beloved leader with laurel. Caesar had smilingly declined the honor, amid the plaudits of the crowd.

Some said this whole episode was planned to test the temper of the populace.

Another cause of offense was that, some time before, Caesar had spent several months in Alexandria at the court of Cleopatra. And now the young and beautiful queen had arrived in Rome, and Caesar had appeared with her at public gatherings. She had with her a boy, two years old, by name Caesario.

This Egyptian child, said the conspirators, was to be the future Emperor of Rome. To meet this accusation Caesar made his will and provided that his grand-nephew, Octavius Caesar, should be his adopted son and heir. But this was declared a ruse.

The murmurings grew louder.

Sixty senators combined to assassinate Caesar. The high position of these men made them safe–by standing together they would be secure.