The Road to Rome (56 page)

Tarquinius blinked, accepting his decision. ‘Go to Caesar’s house tomorrow morning then. Before he goes to the Senate.’

‘That’s where it will happen?’

The haruspex nodded.

Romulus’ fingers automatically fell to the dagger on his belt. He would need to dig out his
gladius
too. If necessary, he’d defend Caesar with his own life. He owed him no less.

‘There is more,’ said Tarquinius abruptly, sounding troubled. ‘A woman is involved.’

Stricken, Romulus stared down at his friend. His lips framed the name Fabiola.

‘I’m sorry.’ The haruspex looked genuinely sad.

Romulus swallowed hard. Whether his sister would actually take part in the murder was uncertain, but all he could think of was her stabbing Caesar. Aghast, he took a step backwards.

At that moment, Mattius came skidding to a halt by their side. ‘What have I missed?’ he cried excitedly.

Romulus turned away, feeling worse than he ever had in his life. ‘Nothing of importance,’ he mumbled. Ignoring Tarquinius’ cries, he stumbled off into the crowd.

As usual, Fabiola played very little part in the discussions. In most, if not all, the conspirators’ minds, she was just a woman, albeit a clever and beautiful one. Killing was man’s work, one had whispered kindly to Fabiola once. Little do you know, she had thought. Nothing could quite remove the stain of former slavery either, especially when it came to murdering the foremost man in Rome. By this stage, though, Fabiola was content to take a back seat and watch as the plot developed.

A pleased murmur went up as Trebonius entered. Surrounded by nearly two dozen chairs, a long table occupied the centre of the crowded room. Jugs of watered-down wine and plates of bread, fruit and olives covered much of its polished surface. The seating wasn’t sufficient for all those present, so the most important members sat while the rest stood behind. Naturally, a chair had been reserved for Trebonius.

‘At last,’ said Marcus Brutus, tapping his fingers on the table top. ‘A word, if you will?’

Making his apologies to those he passed, Trebonius sat down beside Marcus Brutus, who immediately began muttering in his ear.

Fabiola turned away to hide her amusement. Although he had been one of the last to join, Brutus was now one of the main leaders and acted as if he had been all along. Nodding to Benignus, who would remain outside the door to ensure no one eavesdropped, Fabiola quietly shut the door. Glad of her discreet position, she scanned the assembled men. Servius Galba, a short man with protruding eyes, was sitting beside his main crony, Lucius Basilus, a broad-shouldered figure with a bull neck. Both men bore grudges against the dictator, which was why they’d been so quick to join up. Thanks to his association with Caesar, Galba had failed in his attempt to become consul just before the general had crossed the Rubicon, and Basilus had rightfully been denied a provincial command because of his murky business dealings. Fabiola liked neither of them, but their anger at Caesar justified their presence.

She’d first met Cassius Longinus, one of Crassus’ former deputies, at a banquet five years before. Fabiola had spoken with him about Carrhae, and heard the true horrors of what had befallen Crassus’ army. Hearing of Romulus’ involvement, the grizzled soldier had tried to soften the blow, which endeared him to Fabiola still. Catching Longinus’ eye, she smiled, and was rewarded with a courteous nod. I must introduce him to Romulus, she reflected. A pang of guilt clawed at her. If we ever make up. Fabiola shoved the disquieting thought away. Deal with that later. Concentrate on the moment.

The conspirators were now so numerous that Fabiola had high hopes of success. While few had the courage to strike the first blow, they would follow where others led. Like a pack of dogs turning on the weakest, she thought. Ugly, but effective. Fortunately, Caesar would be defenceless. In public, members of the nobility wore the toga and carried no weapons. The dictator was no exception. Alarmed by the dark rumours, Antonius and other close associates had asked Caesar to reform his Spanish bodyguards, but he had refused, stating that he had no wish to live in fear or under constant protection.

Contempt filled Fabiola. Whether Caesar’s refusal was driven by his arrogance, or his belief that, thanks to his restoration of the peace and raft of new reforms, no ill feeling against him remained, she did not know. Whatever the dictator’s reasons, he was now easy prey to a band of determined assassins.

‘Gentlemen.’ Marcus Brutus rapped on the table with his knuckles. ‘If we could begin?’

His words brought all the conversations to an end, and an expectant hush fell. Pent-up with tension, Fabiola waited. None of the nobles knew it, but she was more eager than any of them for Caesar’s death.

‘During our last meeting, we agreed that the best date would be the Ides of March,’ Marcus Brutus began.

‘The Ides? That’s tomorrow,’ said a portly senator, looking nervous.

‘Congratulations,’ replied Marcus Brutus in an acid tone. He glared around the table. ‘Time has moved fast, but we’ve committed ourselves now.’

A titter of nervous laughter moved around the room.

Satisfied, Marcus Brutus sat back in his chair. No one was trying to back out.

‘Caesar hasn’t been well for the last few days,’ another man chipped in. ‘He might not attend the Senate tomorrow.’

‘There are many important issues to be addressed before he departs for Dacia,’ Longinus demurred. ‘Caesar won’t want to miss those debates.’

‘The man is a demon for work,’ agreed Trebonius. ‘He’d need to be half dead not to come.’

‘Why not send someone to his house first thing to make sure?’ suggested Basilus.

‘Good idea,’ cried Marcus Brutus. ‘Any volunteers?’

Before anyone could answer, a familiar voice spoke in the corridor. ‘Where’s Fabiola?’

Fabiola’s stomach turned over.

She wasn’t the only one to recognise Brutus’ deep tones. Like small boys caught thieving, the nobles waited to see what would happen next.

Benignus cleared his throat uneasily. ‘Sir?’

‘Is she in there?’ Brutus demanded. ‘Answer me!’

‘Yes, sir,’ mumbled the huge slave, crumbling before Brutus’ temper.

‘Stand aside.’

Fabiola moved away from the door, which opened a heartbeat later. Brutus entered, scowling. Fabiola and he locked eyes. ‘Dearest,’ she said lamely, unsure what else to say. ‘What a surprise.’ Without answering, Brutus looked around the room. His mouth opened with astonishment at the number of men present, and their identity. Many would not meet his gaze, but Marcus Brutus, Longinus and Trebonius did.

‘Well met, cousin,’ said Marcus Brutus. ‘We have missed your company.’

‘What’s all this about?’ cried Brutus, looking at Fabiola.

‘I think you know,’ said Trebonius, intervening.

Brutus flushed. ‘You’re intending to murder Caesar?’

‘Rid the Republic of a despot, more like,’ Longinus butted in. ‘And make things how they were again.’

There was a loud rumble of agreement.

Brutus scanned the nobles’ faces for several heartbeats. ‘I see,’ he said heavily.

‘Look how many men are present, cousin,’ said Marcus Brutus gently. ‘This is not just a collection of lunatics. All shades of opinion are represented here. What unites us is our hatred of tyranny.’

Brutus stared into his cousin’s eyes. ‘Tyranny?’ he whispered.

The conflict in his voice made Fabiola’s heart bleed. Much as she wanted him to join them, the pain he was suffering tore at her conscience.

‘Yes,’ Marcus Brutus replied emphatically. ‘That is how Caesar rules the Republic. What is the Senate but an empty vessel? What are we now, but his puppets?’

Angry mutters met this comment.

Brutus sighed.

Mithras above, Fabiola thought. Convince him, please. She moved to her lover’s side. ‘You know it’s true,’ she said. ‘All that power has gone to Caesar’s head.’

‘The augurs are giving bad omens for tomorrow, while on every corner the people are calling him king,’ he whispered. ‘King of Rome.’

‘Will you join us?’ asked Trebonius.

Brutus chewed his lip. Beside him, Fabiola scarcely dared breathe.

Marcus Brutus pushed back his chair and stood. ‘Our ancestors rid this city of its last tyrant. Now the time has come to repeat that painful task. It is our duty to be part of it,’ he declared.

There was a long silence.

Fabiola burned to say something, to persuade Brutus of their righteousness, but she held back. Much as she wanted him on board, this was his decision alone. The others knew that too – she could feel it – but would her lover’s strong moral sense win out over his fierce loyalty to Caesar?

Marcus Brutus extended his right hand. ‘What do you say?’

There was the slightest pause, and then Brutus took his cousin’s grip. ‘Count me in. For the good of the Republic.’

A combined sigh of relief filled the air. Fabiola’s was loudest of all. At this late stage, the conspirators could not allow their cover to be blown. If he’d refused, Brutus would have signed his own death warrant.

‘When is it to happen?’ Brutus enquired.

‘Tomorrow,’ replied Marcus Brutus. ‘Where the Senate meets.’

To his credit, Brutus barely blinked. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Caesar is ill, though. Are you sure he’ll attend?’

‘He might need some convincing,’ admitted Longinus. ‘We were just wondering who could visit him in the morning.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Brutus offered.

‘You’re sure?’

He nodded firmly.

‘Good,’ said Marcus Brutus with a smile. ‘The rest of us will assemble at the Senate early. We’ve got a good reason too – Longinus’ son is to assume the toga tomorrow.’

‘Should we attack him the moment he arrives?’ mused Basilus.

‘I think not. We don’t want members of the public to see it happen,’ interjected Longinus. ‘Let the tyrant descend from his litter and make his way inside.’

‘I’ll go in close,’ volunteered Cimber, a former Republican. ‘Request he allow my brother back to Italy.’

‘We can surround him, all pleading the same case,’ added Marcus Brutus. ‘Allay any suspicions he might have.’

‘Then produce our weapons,’ said Longinus with an evil grin. Opening the long wooden case for his stylus, he produced an ivory-handled dagger and thrust it forward viciously. ‘Finish the job.’

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.