“Will you march with me?” Caesar asked. Brutus stepped to his side.
“The rabble,” said Caesar, looking round at the crowds that followed. “See how they run, in need a guide.”
“The pomp and circumstance.” He observed the marbled senate hall, the waiting senator’s flocked “Like a bride for her groom.”
“How true,” said Brutus, hand on his old friend’s arm, guiding his path. “How true.” They laughed at an old man’s wrath, and feeble woman’s angry prophesy.
The black widow spider skittered away to the shadows where night-webs grew. She knew and waited, like a bride for her groom.