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The truth was, he had not wanted to do it.  The handle of the knife seemed to burn the palm of his hand, and sweat poured down his face and collected in the small of his back.  Already the others gathered around Caesar, the agreed-upon play of the petition giving them cause to draw close.  Brutus caught Casca's eye as they both approached.

And then it happened so quickly, there was no time for hesitation, no time for doubts.  There was no time to remember when he had admired Caesar, when he had greatly esteemed him.  He saw Casca's blade come out.  He heard the panic and fear in Caesar's voice.  And then he, too, drew his blade, and that was all he knew until it was finished.

How many times had they stabbed him?  How could so much blood be contained in the body of a single man?  The Senators looked Brutus' way; what were they to do now?  All their plans now seemed so fleeting, so foolish - but just as he thought that, instead Brutus felt himself buffeted by the winds of surety.  They had acted justly, and no matter the immediate consequences, the histories would remember them as the bravest defenders of the Republic.

They marched the streets of Roma, heading for the Capitol.  "Populus Romae, liberti iterum sumus!"

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