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In the spring of their lives, when they’d been but boys playing at Senators, holding back laughter during gatherings in the Forum and mocking the older men when they were deep in their cups, Cassius’s uncle brought his niece, a daughter of some country sister on his wife’s side, to Rome and brought their boyhood to a close.
“I am to marry Portia,” Brutus told Cassius after dinner, in the privacy of his study.
“This does not surprise me,” Cassius said. He had known that this would be the end the moment he received his uncle’s letter.
“You are displeased.”
“Are you?”
Brutus sighed, and sat down on the chaise, leaving enough space to be a clear invitation. Cassius remained standing despite the hint, waiting. “Of course I am. O, Cassius-”
“She is beautiful.”
“She is not you,” Brutus said, and only then did Cassius came to sit by him.
“We will weather this. She cannot be by your side constantly.”
“To do this— it would make me wretched.”
“You are already wretched,” Cassius teased, drawing Brutus closer. “And I your wretched equal.” He kissed Brutus’s forehead. “This will not change my love for you, no matter how Portia occupies your life.”
“And mine for you.”
-:-
The wedding is set for the end of summer, and Portia is to stay in Brutus’s household until then. Brutus’s uncle, a well-meaning man, plans endless picnics and outings for the young folk to attend, and so, without any choice in the matter, Cassius spends quite a bit of time with his distant cousin.
He is dismayed to find that Portia is not merely agreeable but delightful. She has a quick wit and a clever way with words, and by the end of the first week of her stay, it’s no longer a surprise when she joins in with his banter with Brutus. By the end of the second week, they’re spending long hours lounging in the orchard, describing the most colorful of the other senators to her so that she can follow their jokes and jibes, and Cassius finds himself wishing that she could come to the Forum with them.
Midway through the third week, after Portia retires to bed, Cassius and Brutus linger in the study, watching the embers burn in the hearth.
“You are a lucky man,” Cassius says. “She will make a lovely wife.”
“I did not wish to say it, for fear of wounding you, but I am more reconciled to this marriage than I could have imagined possible.”
“Do you love her?”
“I- I believe that I could, if my heart did not belong already to you.”
“You are allowed to love her. I would not wish you to marry without love.” Cassius means it, although each word feels like a knife to his own heart.
“Cassius,” Brutus says, taking his hand, “there will never be one who I love as I do you.”
-:-
Brutus and Portia marry on a warm clear day, the autumn sun playing off of Portia’s hair and shining in both their eyes. At the feast, Cassius sits at Brutus’s right, and Portia sits on his left, and Cassius thinks, I could get used to this . When he speaks to the assembled crowd of his joy for Brutus and his new wife, every word is true.
And yet. It has been months since he has gone to bed alone, and despite the warmth of the night and the low fire, it feels very cold. It takes him a long time to fall asleep.
He wakes in the morning to a gentle tap on his door, and a servant’s voice. “The lady Portia requests the honor of your presence in her solar for the morning meal.”
“Tell her I will be there,” Cassius calls. As he dresses, he wonders what she wants him for, so soon after the wedding.
She’s already in the solar when he arrives, taking small bites from a bit of honeyed bread. She smiles when she sees him, and stands to greet him. “I’m sorry to call upon you so early- I wished a moment to talk with you while Brutus is occupied.”
A thrill of panic runs through Cassius. She knows . Her pleasant politeness suddenly seems like a trap. “I do not-” he begins, but she cuts him off gently.
“I have interrupted something between you which is deeper than the friendship you present, have I not?”
Cassius can only nod, helpless. There could be no denying it. “When did you know?”
“Truly? The first of the summer’s outings.”
“Were we so obvious?”
“To others? Perhaps not. But I saw it the first time I watched him look upon you.” She pauses. “This marriage has- left me conflicted. I was, perhaps, unenthusiastic towards the prospect of wedding a near-stranger even before I saw what I would be disrupting. And yet... Brutus is so easy to love. As you well know.”
“That he is,” Cassius says.
“And so we reach a truce, here. I do not wish there to be bad humors between us,” she says, looking into Cassius’s eyes. “I count you as a friend, and you are loved by my beloved.”
“How could we fight, then, when we have so much in common? As long as Brutus is happy-”
“-and you, as well,” she interjects.
“Fair enough, and you. As long as we are all satisfied, there is no cause for strife.” He hoped it would be true.
-:-
The fall passes quickly. Between their ever-growing Senate obligations, Cassius, Brutus, and Portia are inseparable, finding something in each other’s company which had, until then, been missing. When the nights grow chill, they spend late hours sitting in the master bedroom, talking through grave concerns and laughing over trivial happenings by turns. Slowly, and without discussing it out loud, Cassius learns that he can still lay with his head on Brutus’s lap like he used to- if he’s willing to share it, at times, with Portia. One evening, without thinking, he kisses Brutus goodnight, and realizes what he’s done immediately. He’s already tumbling into an apology when Portia hushes him.
“You do not mind?” He asks.
“Of course not. Why would I?” And, to his amazement, it’s as simple as that.
On the first truly cold night of the winter, they sit up and watch light flurries of snow drift by the window, until the chill grows too intense. They retreat to the fire then, where the hours slip by, and the room is warm. Although it grows quite late, Cassius cannot find the will to leave. Brutus is asleep with his head on Cassius’s shoulder, and Portia is sitting curled up under a coverlet on his other side.
“Stay with us tonight,” Portia whispers to him suddenly.
Cassius makes a soft questioning noise.
“I’ve found myself quite taken with you,” she confesses.
Cassius feels a slow smile spread across his face. “We do have much in common,” he says.
When he wakes in their bed the next morning with Portia’s arm around his waist, it feels as natural as Brutus’s ever did. From there, it’s a brief slide to sharing their bed every night.
It is, perhaps, the happiest Cassius has ever been.
-:-
In a cold tent, he fought bitterly with Brutus. His world felt like it was ending already, every pillar of normalcy crumbling under his own unwitting hand- and then Brutus told him of Portia, and something was ripped from his chest, leaving only freezing air in its wake. Perhaps it was a part of his heart.
He could see his own grief stamped across Brutus’s face, and he watched as Brutus fought it down, turned and greeted his men when they appeared. It was not until much later, when they were again alone, that it returned. Cassius pulled Brutus to him, held him while his shoulders shook- all the while feeling the gaping hole Portia had left in his own life. It was inescapably his fault.
That was what he thought of when he heard of Brutus’s defeat on the battlefield- he had brought this upon them. Portia gone, Brutus gone, Rome in disarray. What was death, for the broken man, but a last chance for freedom?