The Road to Rome

  ‘Well, get on with it, man,’ said Caesar, staring at him. Lines of exhaustion had drawn grey bags under his eyes. Covering his mouth with his hand, he began to cough. ‘This damn chest of mine. Tell me.’

  Romulus looked pointedly at the optio, and the slave, who was now tidying the tables. ‘I’d rather you were the only one to hear it, sir.’

  ‘Would you, by Jupiter?’ Caesar rubbed his chin, considering. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Leave us.’ He jerked his head.

  The slave obeyed at once, but the optio started forward. ‘Don’t trust him, sir!’

  Caesar laughed. ‘My enemies are many, but I don’t think they include this man. I freed him from slavery for killing an Ethiopian bull, optio, and have twice decorated him on the field of battle since. A more loyal soldier doesn’t exist in the Republic. Go, and shut the door behind you.’

  With a beetroot face, the officer did as he was told.

  ‘He’s steadfast, but suspicious,’ said Caesar. ‘I should be grateful, I suppose.’

  ‘Sir.’ Romulus didn’t dare agree or disagree.

  To his surprise, the dictator didn’t launch straight into a barrage of questions about his reasons for being here. ‘How’s life treating you since your discharge?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Your farm satisfactory?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Romulus with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

  Eagle-eyed, Caesar chuckled. ‘Tilling the fields isn’t quite so exciting as standing in a shield wall, is it?’

  Romulus grinned. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘A healthier occupation, though, if you can stick it,’ said Caesar.

  ‘Funny you should say so, sir,’ Romulus blurted. ‘I was thinking of volunteering for your new campaign.’

  ‘Soldiers like you are always welcome,’ Caesar replied, clearly pleased. A thoughtful look crossed his long, thin face. ‘Didn’t you serve at Carrhae?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Romulus answered, vivid memories filling his brain. ‘I wouldn’t mind another lick at the Parthians either.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. Why don’t you come along to the Senate this morning,’ Caesar suggested brightly. ‘The senators would benefit from hearing what it’s like to face them in battle.’

  ‘I’d be honoured, sir,’ said Romulus. ‘Except I’m here to ask you not to attend the debates today.’

  ‘My wife has been unhappy too.’ Caesar frowned. ‘Why shouldn’t I go?’

  ‘It’s too dangerous, sir,’ Romulus cried. ‘There’s a plot to kill you!’

  The dictator grew very calm. ‘Where did you hear about this?’

  ‘From a friend, sir.’

  ‘Who is?’

  Romulus paused, worried how the other would react. ‘A haruspex, sir.’

  ‘One of those?’ Caesar scoffed. ‘They’re liars and cheats to a man. If I’d lived my life by what augurs say, I’d never have conquered Gaul, or the Republic. Anywhere, for that matter.’

  ‘This man is no charlatan, sir,’ Romulus protested. ‘He served with me under Crassus, and predicted the defeat at Carrhae and many other things which came to pass. His abilities are second to none.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Caesar regarded him steadily. ‘So what did he see?’

  ‘A plot to kill you at the Senate House, sir. Scores of men are involved.’

  ‘And they are to strike today?’

  Romulus swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘Yes, sir. Beware the Ides of March.’

  ‘Has your friend ever been wrong in his prophecies? Are they sometimes of uncertain meaning?’

  ‘Of course, sir. That’s the nature of haruspicy.’

  Caesar barked a contemptuous laugh. ‘I love it! It’s the same damn reason that soothsayers give to explain the fact that they make up every damn detail which comes out of their mouths. There has been talk of assassination for months, and it’s all hot air. Why would anyone kill me? After decades of infighting, the Republic is at peace. Your friend is imagining things. Believe what you will, Romulus, but don’t ask me to do the same. There are important matters which need to be discussed in the Senate today. I have to be there, and I see no reason not to attend.’

  Undeterred, Romulus fell back on his reserve tactic. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of rounding up some loyal veterans, sir. About fifty of them. They’ll be at the Senate by now.’

  ‘One of my ex-soldiers sees fit to gather a motley crew of bodyguards, eh?’ Caesar shook his head in amazement.

  Romulus realised his boldness. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he faltered. ‘I didn’t mean to act out of turn.’

  ‘From the humblest origins spring the finest virtues,’ murmured Caesar. He smiled. ‘On the contrary, you did well, and I thank you.’

  Relief flooded through Romulus. ‘So the veterans can come into the Senate with you, sir?’

  Caesar’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘No, they may not.’

  ‘I don’t understand, sir,’ Romulus stammered.

  ‘Your motives were noble,’ said Caesar with a nod of gratitude. ‘But do not forget who I am. As the best general in the history of the Republic, I cannot arrive at the Senate accompanied by a ragtag selection of retired soldiers. It’s beneath my dignity.’

  ‘Just this once, sir,’ Romulus pleaded. ‘If there’s no danger, you can laugh it off as a spontaneous demonstration of your men’s love for you. If trouble does occur, you’ll be safe.’

  Caesar considered his request for a moment, giving Romulus some hope. Then he shook his head. ‘No. I will not live in fear when there is no need.’

  Romulus’ spirits plummeted, before he had a brainwave. Secundus and the veterans could wait outside the Senate regardless. At the first sign of trouble, they could rush inside. It was more risky for the dictator than if they accompanied him, but it was better than nothing. ‘Very well, sir,’ he said. ‘May I still come?’ One decent soldier is worth more than twenty fat senators, he thought. Perhaps I can hold them off until Secundus and the others storm in.

  Romulus hadn’t counted on Caesar’s incisive mind. ‘You can, but your comrades are to go home,’ he ordered. ‘No hanging around in case there’s trouble. Clear?’

  Romulus gave him a despairing glance. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Give me your word that you’ll tell them to disappear.’ Caesar stuck out his right hand in the soldier’s fashion.

  ‘How do you know I’ll keep it?’ asked Romulus.

  ‘Because you’re a good man. I can see that,’ Caesar replied. ‘You’re also a soldier of mine.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’ Cursing the dictator’s perception, Romulus accepted the grip.

  ‘Good,’ Caesar muttered. ‘I need some time now to prepare for the day ahead. Have a think about what to say regarding Carrhae. Get yourself to Pompey’s complex for hora sexta. That’s when I’ll arrive.’

  ‘Sir.’ Helpless before Caesar’s power, Romulus felt sick to his stomach. Tarquinius wouldn’t make up something like an assassination. The dictator didn’t know that of course, and was taking him for a loyal but superstitious soldier. He had to make one more attempt. ‘I—’

  ‘Not another word,’ said Caesar firmly. ‘I appreciate your concern.’ He raised a hand to his mouth. ‘Optio!’

  To Romulus’ dismay, the junior officer appeared at once. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Accompany this soldier to the door,’ Caesar ordered. ‘Tell the major-domo to count out twenty aurei for him.’

  ‘That’s not necessary, sir.’ Romulus protested. ‘I didn’t do it for money.’

  ‘Nonetheless, your fealty will be rewarded.’ Caesar waved his dismissal. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Sir!’ Giving the dictator his best possible salute, Romulus marched to the door.

  The bemused optio took him back to the entrance hall, and a few moments later, Romulus emerged into the street, clutching a heavy leather purse.

  The sentries had changed, but Mattius was still there. He focused on the clinking pouch like a vulture on c
arrion. ‘Caesar believed you then?’ he cried.

  ‘No,’ Romulus replied grimly. ‘He wouldn’t listen. This is just for being loyal.’

  Mattius’ face fell. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Romulus thought for a moment. ‘Go to the Lupanar,’ he declared. If she was there, perhaps Fabiola could be persuaded to call off the assassination. He doubted it, and his fear that her men would knife him to death resurfaced. Romulus scowled and set out anyway. It was clutching at straws, but what else could he do?

  He was somewhat consoled by the sight of Decimus Brutus peering from an approaching litter. As a man who had not been at any of the meetings in the Lupanar, Romulus hoped that Fabiola’s lover was also a man of principle. Maybe Brutus’ purpose was the same as his.

  Romulus muttered a prayer to Jupiter that this was the case.

  Fabiola’s final preparations began when Brutus left for Caesar’s house. Her lover’s resolve still seemed firm, which relieved and terrified her at the same time. Concerned that he would reconsider his position and back out of the conspiracy, she had not let him out of her sight since the meeting the previous evening. Fabiola had also made a concerted effort to divert Brutus’ attention from the matter at hand. She had ordered the kitchen slaves to prepare a sumptuous feast, and ordered in the best entertainers available. Between courses of pork, fish and various types of fowl, they watched Greek athletes covered in oil wrestle naked on the floor and poets recite their latest satires. Actors had performed short comedy pieces, and acrobats amazed them with their skills. On the surface, Fabiola’s ploy had appeared to be a success. Brutus had laughed and smiled, appearing to enjoy the performers’ efforts, yet she knew him well enough to see that he was preoccupied. Naturally, the only thought in his mind had been Caesar’s murder. Behind her vivacious exterior, Fabiola had been able to think of little else herself, but she hadn’t dared to bring it up in conversation. For his part, Brutus had been content not to mention it either.

  Although Fabiola did not like admitting it, Brutus’ considerable qualms about joining their number had forced her to recognise the previously unacknowledged doubt that lurked in the furthest recesses of her own heart. Whether it had been present before Romulus’ refusal to join her, she wasn’t sure, but her brother’s steadfast support for the dictator was hard to disregard completely. He had always been full of honourable ideas, such as wanting to free the Republic’s slaves. Despite his traumatic experiences in the arena and Crassus’ army, this quality seemed to have strengthened. Fabiola could see it in Romulus’ upright bearing, and in the way Tarquinius spoke about him. Even the way he’d been able to walk away from Gemellus spoke volumes about his moral fibre.

  What, on the other hand, had she become? The question had kept Fabiola awake all night long. She’d done her best to rise above the degradation of her former profession but now Fabiola had to face up to the fact that it had tainted her. The most obvious result was her total distrust of men. Her years in the Lupanar had taught her that they were not to be trusted in any shape or form. Brutus was the sole exception to the rule, his unswervingly honourable conduct earning him the exemption. Was it any surprise, therefore, Fabiola asked herself, that she presumed Caesar to be her father when he’d tried to rape her? Had she been overreacting?

  No, her heart screamed. It hadn’t just been the look in the dictator’s eyes, but his voice, his words, which had convinced her of his guilt. But when Fabiola forced her mind to re-examine what had happened that winter’s night, she came to a different conclusion. Caesar had admitted nothing. The fact that he had attacked her did not prove that he was the rapist. Romulus was right about that much. Her conscience stung by this idea, Fabiola had lain staring at the ceiling, knowing that the plans she had fostered could not be stopped now. Too many angry, powerful men were involved.

  When Brutus woke, fresh-faced and still set on his course, Fabiola had put on her best mask to disguise her mixed feelings. Her lover must have sensed something was wrong. ‘What we’re going to do is the best thing, my love,’ he’d murmured. ‘For Rome. For all of us.’

  Fabiola hadn’t dared to talk about it. Part of her was exultant, and part terrified. Shoring up her belief that Brutus was right, she had wished him luck and kissed him goodbye. Now, sitting alone by her dressing table, she was again plagued by doubt. If only she could verify, or discount, Caesar’s guilt, and discover whether his actions really signified the death of the Republic. A thought struck her. Tarquinius might be able to answer these questions.

  Would he do it, though?

  Harsh reality sank in at once. It was far too late for such measures. Even if Tarquinius were to discover that Caesar was innocent of all charges, the conspirators would not be swayed from their course. Too many of them stood to profit from the dictator’s death, not least Marcus Brutus. Her role in the assassination might have been influential, but Fabiola realised that it would probably have happened eventually anyway.

  Telling herself that her gut reaction to Caesar had been correct, Fabiola headed to the Lupanar. Best to keep to her ordinary daily routine for as long as possible. While she intended to be at the Forum when Caesar arrived, she did not want to attract any attention to herself either. What she needed was to take her mind off it, Fabiola decided, and the best way to do that was to relax in a hot bath. Entering the brothel, she ordered Benignus to admit no one.

  She had no idea of the impact that the casual order would have.

  Arriving outside the brothel a short time later, Romulus marched straight up to the entrance. A trio of men were on guard, led by a shaven-headed brute who was covered in recently healed scars. Romulus recognised him as Benignus, the doorman who’d nearly died after Scaevola’s attack, but had survived thanks to Tarquinius. He nodded at him in a friendly manner. ‘I’d like to speak to Fabiola.’

  ‘She’s not receiving visitors,’ said Benignus civilly enough.

  Romulus laughed. ‘I’m her brother!’

  ‘I know who you are,’ Benignus replied, moving right in front of the door.

  ‘Let me in, then!’

  Benignus’ voice hardened. ‘No visitors, I said.’

  Leering, his companions moved to stand by his side.

  Romulus considered his options. He was a skilled professional soldier, but Benignus alone was as strong as an ox. The other two looked tough too. There was no guarantee that he’d emerge unscathed from a fight with them. Even if he did, would Fabiola listen to him?

  ‘I don’t want to fight you,’ he said. There was too much at stake.

  ‘Good,’ said Benignus.

  While his comrades sneered, Romulus was pleased to see a hint of relief flash across the doorman’s eyes. Benignus was only doing his job. Cursing the luck that had pitted him against his own sister, Romulus beckoned to Mattius and together they headed for the Campus Martius. Situated on a plain to the northwest of the city, it was at least a quarter of an hour’s walk away. It was some time until Caesar would arrive at Pompey’s complex there, but Romulus didn’t know where else to go. The time for prayers was past, he thought, taking comfort from the hard grip of his gladius. Another battle loomed. Even as a free citizen, in Rome, it could find him. Romulus set his jaw. Very well. It didn’t matter whether five men attacked Caesar, or five hundred. He’d made his decision, and would stick to it.

  Looking down at Mattius, Romulus was struck by a pang of conscience. It wasn’t just about him any more. If I die defending Caesar, the boy will be back where he was within a week. Even though she worked in a fuller’s workshop, Mattius’ mother was incapable of providing for her two children, or seeing off her cruel second husband, who had only retreated thanks to Romulus’ threats.

  He’d have a word with Secundus, make the veteran aware of his wishes. That would have to suffice for now. Wanting to prepare the boy for the worst, Romulus decided to broach the subject. ‘It’s hard to understand, but there are some things in life that a man can’t back away from,’ he said. ‘If there are men
who want to kill Caesar at the Senate this morning, I will try to stop them. Whatever the cost.’

  Mattius looked unhappy. ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you?’

  ‘Only the gods know the answer to that question.’

  ‘I’ll fight them too,’ muttered Mattius.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ replied Romulus seriously. ‘I have a far more important job for you.’

  Secundus and his veterans were waiting for them outside the large temple to Venus in which the Senate occasionally met. Situated in the middle of a magnificent park full of exotic plants, the shrine was part of Pompey’s immense complex which had been finished nine years before. Its most popular part was Rome’s first stone-built theatre, the place where Romulus had faced the Ethiopian bull. Even though it was hours until midday, the day’s entertainment had already started. Romulus shivered at the familiar bloodthirsty roar which went up at regular intervals. After his last experience, he never wanted to set foot in an arena again.

  Secundus didn’t seem that surprised when told of the dictator’s order to disband his group. ‘Caesar’s a strong character,’ he said. Devastating Romulus, he was also unprepared to remain in the nearby streets in case his men were needed. ‘Each person’s destiny is his own. You offered our assistance, and Caesar turned it down flat. That’s his prerogative, and we should not interfere with it.’

  ‘He might be killed, though!’ cried Romulus.

  ‘His choice,’ replied Secundus sombrely, whistling an order.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Returning to the Mithraeum,’ came the simple answer. ‘We’ll make an offering to Mithras for Caesar’s safekeeping.’

  There was nothing Romulus could do. After he’d muttered in Secundus’ ear about looking after Mattius, Romulus watched, utterly disconsolate, as the veterans filed past him in neat ranks. Many nodded farewell in friendly fashion, but none offered to stay. Their belief in Secundus’ authority was total, even stronger than that which Romulus had seen in the army. He found it impossible to be angry with them. Their philosophy of respecting a man’s destiny came from the same belief system that Tarquinius subscribed to, and which he’d taught to Romulus. Today, though, he found it impossible to put into practice.