The Road to Rome

by Ben Kane

  Everyone’s gaze was drawn to the oiled blade, but not one man spoke against their intended course.

  ‘What about Antonius?’ asked Brutus a moment later. ‘He’s not likely to stand by while Caesar is slaughtered. Should we kill him too?’

  Longinus’ eyes narrowed. ‘Why not? He’s such an arrogant bastard.’

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Galba. ‘Gods know how he’ll respond if we don’t.’ Antonius’ fierce temper was renowned throughout Italy.

  Thank you Mithras, thought Fabiola, delight filling her. I will be rid of two monsters at one stroke.

  ‘No,’ declared Marcus Brutus loudly. ‘We are not a band of common thieves. This is being done for the Republic. Once Caesar is dead, free elections can be held and the Senate will be able to run matters as it always has. Antonius will not argue with that.’ He glanced around the room, daring anyone to challenge him. Few had the willpower to hold his gaze for long.

  ‘If you’re sure,’ said Longinus, looking doubtful.

  ‘I am,’ growled Marcus Brutus. ‘So we need someone to distract Antonius – detain him outside maybe.’

  ‘I can do that too,’ Brutus offered.

  ‘You don’t want to be in on the act itself?’ asked Marcus Brutus.

  ‘Killing Caesar might be the best thing to do, but that doesn’t mean I actually want to stick a knife in him,’ said Brutus.

  ‘No,’ his cousin agreed. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Hold on,’ frowned Trebonius. ‘You and Antonius hate each other’s guts.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Brutus retorted with a smug look. ‘It’s time to kiss and make up.’

  Longinus swore. ‘Antonius will never forgive you when he discovers why you did it.’

  Brutus laughed sourly. ‘Do I care? He’ll have to live knowing that he might have saved Caesar if I hadn’t stopped him.’

  Fabiola suddenly realised the damage that her dalliance with Antonius had done to her lover. He was good at hiding it, except at moments like this. She moved her hand to touch his. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  Brutus gave her a small nod, which eased Fabiola’s pain a fraction. Expert at reading his emotions, she could see that he was still torn by his decision to join the conspirators. His anger at Antonius was in part a knee-jerk reaction to this. Things were moving too fast for him to stop and think, though.

  ‘It is agreed then. My cousin will persuade Caesar to attend the Senate, and then he’ll also distract Antonius,’ said Marcus Brutus, pressing on. ‘When the tyrant enters, Cimber will approach him first, imploring clemency for his brother. The rest of us will close in, adding to the clamour.’

  ‘What signal should we use for it to begin?’ asked Longinus. ‘A special word, perhaps?’

  ‘I’ll pull his toga off his shoulder,’ announced Casca, a stout man with a red face. ‘To give us more of a target.’

  Growls of approval left the nobles’ throats. Euphoric that her long-held dream was about to be realised, Fabiola closed her eyes and thanked Mithras and Jupiter from the bottom of her heart. Mother will be avenged. Tomorrow.

  What of Romulus, her inner voice suddenly asked. What if he’s right and you’re not?

  Ruthlessly, Fabiola shoved the thought away. She would countenance only one possibility: Caesar was the guilty one, and tomorrow he would pay.

  Chapter XXVII: The Ides of March

  At first Romulus thought he would go straight to the Lupanar to have it out with Fabiola. After his initial shock had abated, a cold fury had swept his soul at her boldness. He had to admit that it was unsurprising that his sister had the courage to carry on with her plan. Their mother had to have been immensely strong to survive the life of torment she’d led, and her blood flowed in Fabiola’s veins just as it did in his. Velvinna had been trying to do her best for them, and Romulus doubted that he could have endured what she had. Yet his twin had done so for years by constantly having sex with men against her will. Fabiola had eventually done well from prostitution, but that didn’t mean that it hadn’t caused her irreparable damage. Maybe that was where her ruthless streak came from. Plotting her revenge must have been the only way Fabiola had managed to survive, Romulus concluded.

  In his mind, it still didn’t excuse planning to murder the Republic’s leader. Without Caesar admitting to Velvinna’s rape, how could Fabiola really know? She couldn’t, and Romulus simply wasn’t prepared to murder a man on a hunch, especially when it was the person who had granted him manumission. If at all possible, he wasn’t going to let his sister and a gang of disgruntled nobles do so either.

  Romulus decided that it was too risky approaching Fabiola at this late stage. If she was prepared to take the final step of killing Caesar, then she wouldn’t let him stop her. The heavies outside the Lupanar didn’t give a damn who he was. He didn’t want to end up with his throat slit. Damping down his anger, Romulus resolved to take Tarquinius’ advice and visit Caesar’s palatial domus early the next morning. He would make no mention of Fabiola. Romulus didn’t want his twin executed. He would deal with her later himself.

  Returning to the veterans’ residence, he went looking for Secundus. The one-armed ex-soldier was the Pater of the Mithraeum, which meant that he was the leader of more than fifty hardbitten men who’d served in the legions for many years. In his brief time there, Romulus had come to like the pensive, middle-aged figure who often listened rather than spoke. When Secundus did open his mouth, his words were invariably wise, which reminded him of Tarquinius. Romulus had not been surprised to find that the two knew each other from the past. He found Secundus in the large courtyard, enjoying the watery spring sunshine.

  ‘Well met.’ Secundus smiled. ‘Is Tarquinius with you?’

  ‘No,’ Romulus replied awkwardly. ‘I left him at the temple on the Capitoline.’

  Secundus raised an eyebrow.

  Romulus let it all out. Seeing the hen’s blood and feathers moving east, but learning little else from it. The kid he’d bought. Tarquinius’ alarm at what he saw in its liver.

  Secundus sat bolt upright. ‘The danger to Caesar is real?’

  ‘Tarquinius thinks so. It is to happen at the Senate tomorrow,’ Romulus muttered. ‘I’m not going to stand by and let it happen. Caesar has to be warned.’

  ‘He needs protection too,’ growled Secundus. ‘What was he thinking to disband those Spanish bodyguards?’

  ‘That’s why I came to you,’ said Romulus. ‘I thought perhaps your men could help.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Greatly relieved, Romulus sat for some time, discussing with Secundus the best ways to deploy the ex-soldiers the next morning. Finally they decided that surrounding the dictator’s litter the moment he arrived would be the safest option. Their mere presence and determination would unsettle, or even put off, the conspirators. If they attacked regardless, they would pay a bloody price with little chance of success. Politicians could not fight army veterans.

  Tarquinius returned some time later, prompting Romulus to wonder if he’d seen anything else in the kid’s organs. A monumental wave of shame struck him as he thought of Brennus, whom he’d forgotten during the drama. A muttered conversation with the haruspex revealed that he had discerned no more of interest. This did little to ease Romulus’ guilt about neglecting to ask about the big Gaul, but he had to put it aside. What was going to happen tomorrow outweighed all else.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Tarquinius’ scarred face was concerned.

  Romulus didn’t want to talk. ‘I need a good night’s sleep, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re still going to warn Caesar?’

  ‘Of course,’ he snapped. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  Tarquinius shook his head. ‘It is not for me to interfere with another’s destiny. Besides, Rome did too many terrible things to my people for me to help it now.’

  ‘That was hundreds of years ago.’

  ‘I have a direct link with the past,’ said Tarquinius sadly. ‘It is thanks to the Romans that I am t
he last haruspex.’

  ‘Of course. I apologise,’ Romulus muttered, his understanding of his friend’s hatred of Rome deepening. Yet, despite his strong feelings, the haruspex was making no effort to stop him warning Caesar, which proved he was staying true to his beliefs. In turn, this strengthened Romulus’ desire to do the same. Thinking of Caesar, Fabiola and his relationship with them both, he was startled by Tarquinius’ next words.

  ‘You could use your own powers to divine the matter.’

  ‘No,’ said Romulus, hating the fact that his refusal would cause Tarquinius pain. ‘I’m sorry. Predicting the future is not for me.’

  Tarquinius smiled in acceptance. ‘A man can only be what he is meant to be. Kind. Loyal and courageous. A true soldier. That is more than enough.’

  Embarrassed but proud, Romulus threw him a grateful look. He would follow his heart then. Tomorrow he would warn Caesar, and prevent his murder. Then he would have it out with Fabiola. Despite her actions, Romulus did not want the bad blood between them to continue.

  What if she’s right, though, his inner voice asked. If Caesar raped your mother, does he not deserve to die?

  He didn’t do it, thought Romulus fiercely. He’s not that type of man.

  Keeping this uppermost in his mind, he took his leave of Tarquinius and Secundus. Finding Mattius outside the door of the domus like a faithful puppy, Romulus asked him to return at dawn the next day. The urchin clearly knew nothing of what the haruspex had seen, so Romulus glossed over the matter, saying that he had left because he was feeling unwell. The revelation needed to remain top secret, and while Mattius was loyal, he was still only a boy.

  After a brief and uneventful visit to the Mithraeum, Romulus retired to his small room. Afternoon had passed, and night was falling. It was time to get what rest he could before the morning.

  The Ides of March.

  Romulus’ dreams were vivid and disquieting. Caesar, Fabiola and Tarquinius featured in a variety of violent and distorted sequences that had him tossing and turning all night. Drenched in sweat when he awoke, Romulus could not remember a single detail, just the identities of those he’d encountered. Normally, he would have asked Tarquinius about the nightmares, but not today. Thoroughly unsettled, he went outside to see what time it was. It was still dark, but the cobbled courtyard was already full of Secundus’ men, readying themselves for combat. Wearing mail for protection under their cloaks, they had discarded their bronze-bowl crested helmets and heavy scuta in favour of remaining inconspicuous.

  Taking heart from their determined faces, Romulus headed back to his room. He strapped on his gladius as well as his dagger, but chose not to wear armour or carry a shield. His weapons alone would arouse the suspicions of Caesar’s guards, and he could not afford the risk of failure. Last of all, Romulus pinned his two gold phalerae to his tunic. These, his proudest possessions, would hopefully gain him an audience with the dictator, and also trigger his memory of their three meetings. If Caesar remembered him, he would be more likely to believe Romulus’ warning. He was not surprised to find the haruspex waiting by the entrance, his battleaxe hanging from his back. Romulus was touched by this loyalty. Whatever his feelings about Caesar and Rome, Tarquinius would stand by his comrade.

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Romulus replied. ‘Hopefully I won’t need it.’

  ‘Fabiola?’ It was the first time the haruspex had mentioned his sister since the divination.

  ‘I won’t say a word about her. Who knows what will happen once the conspirators are arrested, though?’ Romulus gave a resigned shrug. ‘That’s down to the gods. With luck, I’ll get to settle things with her afterwards.’

  Tarquinius’ dark eyes were unreadable. ‘See you at Pompey’s complex.’

  Quickly they gripped forearms and then Romulus drew wide the door. Stepping outside into the pre-dawn cool, he found Mattius waiting. They set off in silence, but it wasn’t long before the boy’s curiosity got the better of him.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Caesar’s domus.’

  Mattius’ eyes widened. ‘Why? Did Tarquinius see something important yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’ Romulus didn’t elaborate further.

  He didn’t need to. Rome was chock full of rumours and, while young, Mattius was streetwise. ‘Someone wants to kill Caesar. That’s it, isn’t it?’ he piped. ‘Why else would you be going to his house at this hour, wearing a gladius?’

  Despite his grim mood, Romulus grinned. ‘No flies on you,’ he admitted.

  ‘I knew it!’ Mattius crowed. There was a short pause. ‘Is it just you and me?’

  Romulus heard the tremor in his voice and looked down. Despite his obvious fear, Mattius was clutching a rusty kitchen knife, which must have been hidden under his tunic. His heart filled at the boy’s courage. It did not matter to him who ruled Rome, or whether Caesar lived or died. He was here for one reason: to show solidarity with his friend. Romulus stopped in his tracks. ‘You’ve got real guts, lad, but you won’t have to do any fighting,’ he said, patting Mattius’ bony shoulder. ‘The veterans are coming along. Tarquinius too.’

  ‘Good,’ Mattius replied, relieved. ‘I’ll be ready just in case.’

  Thinking of himself as a youngster, Romulus hid his smile.

  A short time later, they reached Caesar’s current domus, a palatial affair on the Palatine Hill. The sun was rising now, revealing the construction of a new high-pointed exterior intended to make it resemble a temple. Building had only just started, so almost the entire front of the building was obscured by scaffolding, which concealed the pair until they had reached the entrance.

  ‘Halt!’ shouted one of four soldiers before the massive iron-studded doors. ‘Declare yourselves.’

  ‘Romulus, veteran legionary of the Twenty-Eighth, and Mattius, a boy from the Caelian Hill,’ Romulus answered, stepping out of the shadows.

  The sentry’s lip curled. ‘Your business?’

  Romulus half turned, so his phalerae glittered in the torchlight. He was pleased to see the soldiers’ eyes widen. Few men earned two gold medals. ‘I seek an audience with Caesar,’ he said.

  ‘Now?’ scoffed a second guard. ‘It’s not even hora prima.’

  ‘It’s very urgent.’

  ‘I don’t give a toss,’ replied the first man. ‘On your way. Come back this afternoon, and you might be lucky.’

  ‘I can’t wait that long.’

  The sentries exchanged an incredulous look before the first lowered his pilum to point at Romulus’ chest. ‘I suggest you and your little friend fuck off,’ he growled. ‘Now.’

  Romulus didn’t move a step. ‘Tell Caesar that it’s the slave who killed the Ethiopian bull. The one he granted manumission to.’

  Romulus’ extraordinary calm and outlandish claim were off-putting, and more than ordinary soldiers were used to dealing with. Scowling, the first guard went inside to confer with his optio. The junior officer emerged a moment later, pulling on his helmet. Bleary-eyed and irritable, he listened to Romulus’ request in silence. ‘And your purpose?’ he demanded.

  ‘That’s for Caesar’s ears only, sir,’ Romulus answered, careful to keep his voice neutral. If he didn’t play this just right, his mission would fail, and he couldn’t let that happen.

  The optio looked at him long and hard. ‘Where did you win those?’ He pointed at Romulus’ phalerae.

  ‘One at Ruspina, the other at Thapsus, sir.’

  ‘What for?’

  Romulus briefly described his efforts, and the officer’s face soon changed. ‘Stay put,’ he ordered, disappearing inside.

  Ignoring the legionaries’ glowers, Romulus leaned against the scaffolding. Mattius stayed close, more intimidated than his big friend. They waited for perhaps half an hour before the optio reappeared.

  ‘Caesar will see you,’ he said. ‘Leave your weapons here.’

  The guards goggled at this unexpected outcome.

  Bending his head
to conceal his grin, Romulus unbuckled his belt and handed it to Mattius. ‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he said. ‘Don’t say a word to these fools,’ he added under his breath.

  The boy nodded, delighted with the responsibility.

  Following the optio, Romulus entered the atrium. Few torches were burning, but there was sufficient light to see that the house was decorated in opulent fashion. Richly patterned, well-laid mosaic covered the floors, and the stuccoed walls were painted with striking scenes. Beautiful Greek statues filled every alcove, and through the open doors of the tablinum Romulus heard the patter of water from a fountain in the garden.

  The optio led him to one of the many rooms around the central courtyard. Compared to the rest of the house, this was decorated in Spartan fashion. Apart from a striking bust of Caesar, the only other furniture was a crowded desk, a leather-backed chair and a pair of tables groaning under rolls of parchment and papyrus. A young slave was placing oil lamps here and there, lending the chamber a warm golden glow.

  Indicating that Romulus should stand before the desk, the optio retreated to the door. They waited in silence for some moments, and Romulus began to wonder what Fabiola was doing at that exact instant. Making her last preparations, no doubt. Would she be present at the Senate later? Sudden panic overtook him at the thought of defending Caesar from his sister. Jupiter, don’t let that happen, Romulus prayed. That would be too much to bear. How would you react? his inner voice asked.

  ‘Legionary Romulus,’ said a voice from behind him. ‘You rise early.’

  He spun around. Wearing a plain white toga, Caesar stood framed in the doorway. Beside him, the optio had snapped to rigid attention. Romulus did likewise. ‘My apologies, sir,’ he said.

  Rubbing a hand through his thinning hair, Caesar walked to the desk and sat down. ‘I hope your reason’s good,’ he said drily. ‘Dawn is only just breaking.’

  Romulus flushed, but did not apologise. ‘It is, sir.’ Studying the dictator with a new interest, he was startled by the strong resemblance Caesar’s features bore to his own. Coincidence, Romulus told himself. It had to be coincidence.