by Ryan Lew
“Then keep your mouth tight,” Cato ordered and left.
Chapter 22
The house was still when Livius walked into their bedchamber. All but Cato had long ago retired. Livius had been gone all day, had missed dinner, without message. Alba rolled over to face him and lit a candle by the bed. “It is late,” she said.
Livius had started undressing. “Pardon my noise. I did not intend to wake you.”
Alba leaned onto one elbow. “I have not been able to find slumber. How did your meeting go? Will we be the talk of the town?”
Livius did not answer right away. Instead, he placed his tunic and robe over a nearby chair and began dressing in his nightclothes. Alba watched her husband, waiting for his response. He had strong arms, developed through wielding a gladius in his youth and, later in life, a butcher’s ax. When Livius grabbed you, there was no getting away. How those arms made her feel safe when they first met. Livius was taking his time answering her. She knew her husband. She knew his silence was not a good sign. Her hopes of status began to fade.
After he dressed, Livius finally spoke. “Caesar has forced an impossible decision, one where no beneficial outcome is perceivable.”
“I do not understand,” Alba said. “Of what decision do you speak?”
“He asks that I convince Herminius to share information gathered while under employment of Pompey.”
Alba sat up in the bed. “Why would he request that? Spying on Pompey? That doesn’t make any sense. The Triumvirate is celebrated in Rome. Having two armies come together as one, with the purse of Crassus behind them, has only led to a prosperous Rome.”
Livius walked over to his side of the bed and sat down. “Caesar wants only what is best for Caesar. He proved that today and all previous days. He believes his word, his will, is the only one worthy of leading Rome into future glories.”
“You fought under Pompey. That played a part in Herminius’ employment with him. Now to have him spy on Pompey…that could put this household in danger.”
“It is not the worst of it,” Livius said. “He also threatens Fabricius’ standing if his wishes aren’t obeyed.”
Alba was shocked. This morning, an invitation from Caesar had brought a sense of hope and possibility. Now, it had resulted in fear and apprehension. With one option, he places Herminius in danger. With the other, he causes irrevocable damage to Fabricius’ career. How could this have happened? Alba looked to Livius for answers, but there were none to be found. There was, however, something else he wasn’t telling her. She could see it in his eyes.
“There is more?” she asked.
“He asks Brutus’ mother to have Brutus be the bearer of whatever information Herminius obtains. He uses leverage on Brutus, knowing his disdain for Pompey, the man responsible for killing his father. Poor Brutus will be more than happy with this arrangement.”
“Servilia was there?” Alba asked.
“Yes,” Livius responded.
“This meeting with Caesar included her?”
“Of course,” Livius answered. “Caesar asks both influential parents to make sure their children do what is best for the republic.”
Alba got up from the bed. If the first part of the news was not bad enough, now it was clothed in remembrances of past infidelities. Servilia was a name bitter to her tongue. “Did you know she was going to be there?”
“How would I have known she would be present?” Livius asked. “You saw the note from Caesar. There was no mention of Servilia.”
“And yet, she was there.”
“It would seem Caesar had many surprises in mind when he requested my presence.”
“Were you alone?”
“Briefly, then Caesar joined us.”
“Of what did you speak?”
“I have already told you what Caesar requested.”
“Not Caesar,” Alba said. “What did you and Servilia speak of when you were alone?”
“She asked of you and the children,” Livius replied dismissively. “I complimented Brutus. That is all.”
Alba stared at her husband. The man who this very day met with an ex-lover then arrived home long after the day had concluded. Trust had already been broken once in their relationship. Broken with this very woman.
“Has she aged well?” Alba asked.
“Who?”
“Servilia. How did she look? It has been quite some time since you two laid eyes on one another.”
Livius signed, then stood and walked over to Alba. He took her in his arms. “I come to my wife of well over twenty-five years to let her know about the most powerful man in Rome commanding me to do something that will affect my sons, as well as the rest of this family. Something against my own will, asked to betray a man who I called commander in my youth. And you want to know details on the appearance of someone I was involved with decades ago? Is that what is to be taken from this conversation? Petty jealousy?”
Alba pushed Livius away. “It is not petty,” she barked. “She once shared your heart, and your bed, at a time when I shared those as well. Your involvement with her was a betrayal, and now, you treat her son as if he was your own.”
“I show Brutus respect, nothing more. He has not had someone to call father in over twenty years. Must we bring up things that happened so long in the past? You are my wife and always have been. But now you are being ridiculous. Sleep is calling for me,” he said and walked over to his side of the bed.
“And yet, you have not answered the question. You have not said how she looked. Did she remember you?”
“Dim the candle and come to bed.”
“I do not feel it wrong to ask.”
“Alba, dim the candle!”
Alba extinguished the candle and climbed into the bed next to her husband. He was laying on his side, his back to her. She lay on her back, starring up into the darkness. “It is not wrong to ask,” she repeated.
Livius sighed a second time. “She looked amazing,” he said. “Doesn’t look like she aged a day in the past twenty-five years, and she remembered me clearly and fondly. Now sleep!”
That was the last thing Alba wanted to hear.
Chapter 23
Justina had not found sleep. The Medicus’ ointment had minimal soothing effects and her head had throbbed for most of the night. She sat up in bed slowly, and it was then that she saw Lucilius standing in her doorway.
“What do you want?” Justina asked, pulling the covers up around her. “You know where Atilius’ room is.”
“It is not Atilius that I seek,” he said. “I come to apologize. May I enter?”
Before Justina could respond, Lucilius stepped into the room but remained near the door. “Apologies for my treatment of your slave friend,” he continued, “and for making you go to the square. Your brother, along with too much wine, clouded my thoughts that evening.”
“It is not I who need the apology,” Justina said frankly. “I am used to Atilius and his antics. I’ve seen you around this house enough over the years to know you are quite the same in thoughts and actions as he. What happened the other evening, the verbal insults, is nothing new out of his mouth. Coming from your mouth just echoed his feelings. It was the actions, both in my room, and at the square that perplex me.”
Lucilius looked down at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. Justina watched through dubious eyes. This was not the Lucilius she had come to know. Something was up. She decided to press a bit further. “Does your hatred for slaves stem from the killing of your parents,” she asked, “or is this something deeper, something longer than just the past week’s events?”
Lucilius took another hesitant step into the room. “My parents warned me from a young age about slaves, about their hatred for Romans. Regardless of their treatment, good or otherwise, they want us to the afterlife. Seeing how friendly you were with that slave just added to my anger. But I know now, it is not my place to discipline your slaves. That is Livius and his son’s choices.”
Just
ina watched Lucilius closely. Something had happened, but she was not sure what it was. Perhaps Antonia had told Cato and Cato had spoken to father. Perhaps it was the sight of the slave—someone he knew very well—suffering on the cross. Justina was more than a little confused at Lucilius’ confession and his apparent change of heart. Still, she did not truly trust him, and her anger had not yet subsided.
“That slave you abused has a name,” she said. “Her name is Antonia and she has become as close a friend to me as any Roman. Both you and Atilius try to drive a wedge between that friendship. If you are truly sorry for your actions, you will call her by her name, not slave.”
Lucilius paused, looking first at the floor, then back at Justina. “Antonia,” he finally said. “It is a name I will not forget.”
Hearing Lucilius speaking Antonia’s name softened Justina, and she relaxed a bit. Maybe there was a chance she had been wrong about Lucilius. Perhaps he had experienced a profound change.
“I hope you and I can put our past behind us and move forward. I come with a gift to accompany my apology.” He held out a piece of parchment. “I have invite to the great gladiator spectacle being held just three days from now in the Roman Arena. It is an amazing sight to behold. I was to attend with my family, but now I invite yours. In fact, I would insist that you bring Antonia along, to show good faith and true apology.”
“Gladiators are a little barbaric for my taste,” Justina said.
“Is it not you who spends free time with sword in hand?” He touched the side of his head and smiled. “By the looks of your head, it appears a few more lessons may be in order.”
Justina grinned.
“You can view great warriors as they compete for the entertainment of Rome,” Lucilius continued, “And I really do insist you bring Antonia, and the other slave, forgive me, what is his name? The large one?”
“Cato?”
“Yes, Cato. I have heard Livius call him that. Please invite him as well. My parents secured spectacular viewing seats, not more than two podiums away from the great Caesar himself.”
“I will ask my father,” Justina said with a smile. “The invitation is well received as are your words. Perhaps your kindness will rub off on Atilius and maybe, if you spend enough time in this house, my empathy for slaves will rub off on you as well.”
“One can only hope,” Lucilius replied. “Now I must take leave as I am on patrol early tomorrow.”
“Wait,” Justina said. She got out of bed, walked over to Lucilius, and hugged him. He seemed to hesitate at first, but then he hugged her back.
Lucilius was about to leave but turned. “Next time you spar with your brother,” he said, “if you can survive his first onslaught, you can defeat him. He gets winded quickly.” Lucilius smiled and left.
Justina’s mood was light. The apology had been unexpected, and she couldn’t wait to tell Antonia all about it. Her head no longer bothered her.
Chapter 24
MARCH 9, 55 BC
“Thank you for coming, brother,” Brutus said. “Please have a seat.”
Herminius sat in the chair offered. He had never been to the house Brutus shared with his mother. It was smaller than he expected.
“May I offer you wine?” Brutus asked.
“A cup of wine this early?” Herminius questioned. “I am not yet a politician. Water would be just fine, gratitude.”
At Brutus’ request, a slave brought a decanter of water. She poured a glass and placed in front of Herminius. He noticed she did not fill Brutus’ glass from the same decanter.
“Something to eat?” Brutus offered.
“You know my mother Alba all too well,” Herminius remarked. “She would not see any of her family leave the house without being properly fed.”
Brutus laughed, then waved off the slave. Herminius was doing his best to make light of the situation. He knew that Brutus could easily have spoken to him any of the times he had come over to his father’s house. Being called here meant Brutus intended to speak to him of something he was not comfortable doing in that environment. There was no telling what that could be, but Herminius had been around politics long enough to know it usually wasn’t good.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Brutus said. “You now work for the great Pompey. That is quite the feat for someone of your young age. I have always found you of keen mind but didn’t know that others had realized it as well.”
It was the jam on the bread. Brutus was offering him the sweet in exchange for something he wanted. In politics, that something is always information. Brutus knew Herminius was working for Pompey, but apparently, how the commission was received remained a mystery. Herminius could see no danger in revealing the source of his new position.
“I would like to say it was my wits that got me this position, but my father aided in the deed. I’m sure it had much to do with his fighting under Pompey in his younger days.”
Brutus’ eyes widened, and he sat more erect in his chair. “I had not realized your father served under Pompey.”
“Yes, he fought for Pompey during his entire military career. Much like Fabricius, he rose to the position of centurion in quite a timely fashion. I have always said that Fabricius gets his battle skills from father and I get my skills as a thinker from my mother.”
“From what years did he serve?” Brutus asked. “I was under the impression he was a butcher since youth? Wasn’t his father a butcher?”
“Well, he has been a butcher since my birth,” Herminius said, a bit surprised the news came as revelation to Brutus. Having spoken to his father on so many occasions, it would seem natural the topic would have come up at some point. “He gave up military after I was born,” he continued, “My grandfather too was a butcher and eased my father’s way from cutting down our enemies to cutting down horses and pigs.”
Herminius meant the comment as a lark, but Brutus did not react. He was suddenly distant; the recent news seemed to occupy his thoughts. “Is all well?” Herminius asked.
Brutus smiled quickly. “Apologies,” he said. “My thoughts were elsewhere.” He took a drink then continued, “Let us discuss the reason I requested your visit. As you may know, I have sights on the senate myself. My mother’s friend Caesar has made it clear that he can make this happen faster than I could on my own. Although he detests the senate, Caesar still understands the need for their existence, for now,” he paused. “Down the road, emperor is the only title with which Caesar will be happy.”
“My new boss will make sure that never happens.”
“That is my impression as well. However, Caesar proposes an exchange of information for political gain.”
Herminius was about to take drink when he suddenly stopped. “Caesar wants information,” he asked. “On Pompey?”
“He does,” Brutus confirmed. “In exchange for political rise, Caesar has asked me to gather information on Pompey.” He paused, allowing Herminius to take it all in. After a moment he continued, “The only person I know, and trust, to do so is you.”
There it was, the reason he was called here. Herminius’ reaction was swift and immediate. He stood, forcing his chair backward. “You want me to provide you with information on Pompey? Forgive me, Brutus, but this meeting is over. I will not spy on my employer. Pompey is as much to fear as Caesar. Betraying him will not assist my career to the senate.”
“Please,” Brutus said, reaching out to Herminius. “Do not leave. Has your father not told you of his meeting with Caesar the other day?”
Herminius had turned to leave, but Brutus’ words stopped him. “What are you talking about? I know father met with Caesar, but he has told me nothing of the meeting.”
“Then I apologize for being the bearer of such news,” Brutus said. “I just assumed you knew. Please, sit.”
Herminius sat back down, more from being stunned by the news that from a desire to stay.
“That was the gist of the meeting,” Brutus continued, “My mother informed me of this
and in time, your father may approach you as well.”
“Caesar asked my father and your mother to use the two of us as pawns for his benefit?”
Brutus leaned in to Herminius and placed his hand on the young man’s arm. “Listen to me,” he said in softer tones. “Our strength is our wits, neither of us being strong with sword. Here we are, you in your twenties and I just hitting thirty with the ear of the two most powerful men in Rome. I trust you. I trust your family, and I hope you feel the same about me.”
As the shock wore off, Herminius realized Brutus had a plan.
Brutus pulled away his hand and continued, “I do not have many friends or associates and I consider you a brother. Caesar only thinks the world capable of betraying others, yet, for two individuals to have access to all of Rome’s secrets. Well, this could be very beneficial for both of us.”
“I am in no rush to reach my goals, Brutus. I appreciate your trust, but this does not seem the best course of action for a political career.”
“Our hand is forced brother. Any senator under forty without wealth to assist his rise has done such deeds. It may be our only course.”
Herminius did not like that answer. “There is always another course.”
“Then think of your older brother.”
“Fabricius?” Herminius asked. “What does he have to do with any of this?”
“He fights under Caesar’s command. You choosing to not assist in this deed may lead to your brother finding more, shall we say, difficult and dangerous assignments. Never to rise above his current position.”
Herminius hadn’t thought of that, and the realization hit hard. “Your boss is a jackal!” he exclaimed. “He has made my choices no longer my own. They are now tied to my entire family’s fortune.”
“This is the reason we must follow through with our plan,” Brutus reassured him. “Pompey will never suspect a thing. He knows I am friendly with your family and he knows your father’s loyalty to Rome. Although the great Caesar will think this benefits him and none other, you and I will be the wiser. Our association will lead us to the heights of Rome and to the senate.”
