Kidnapped by pirates on his way to Asia Minor, he did not show despair, and he would banter easily with his captives. After he was ransomed, he told them that he was going to come back and crucify them.

He did. He had decided to do it, so it was only a matter of time.

He’d spent his money liberally, on public spectacles, nearly bankrupting himself, borrowing huge amounts. But he was patient. He knew it would pay off in the end. And it did, as he came to political office.

He went to Gaul. A whole country before him, filled with wild men, untamed. It took seven years, but he tamed them. Stamped out every trace of rebellion, that they stayed calm and obedient for hundreds of years.

He then waited, waited till he could wait no longer, crossing the Rubicon to Rome at the perfect moment. Not a day earlier, not a day later.

But one day leaving his house a man came and thrust a letter in his hand. But he was busy.

He had to be at the Senate, no time to read it.

A whole career built on patience, Caesar.

Why, at the end, were you so impatient to go to your death?