Fated: Torn Apart by History, Bound for Eternity (27 page)

“
Is she not all encompassing?” Caesar asked, near breathless.

All the other men in the room seemed to feel the same way. Even the slaves, who had been beaten all their lives for even peeking at a noblewoman, openly gawked at the Egyptian beauty. Then why was Brutus so unflustered by her presence?

Perhaps a month ago he might have been. But after experiencing Syra’s proximity, Brutus had eyes for no other. This young thing had poise and features that Helen of Troy would have longed for, but she was nothing compared to the Northerner. Cleopatra’s face was unmarred by life’s passage, but that did nothing to hold her in Brutus’ esteem. The Egyptian’s beauty was of the most superficial kind.

“
The queen is most splendid, Caesar.”

Julius did not seem to notice Brutus’ evasion, and went on to coo to his young lover.

“
If you are done with me, Caesar, I will be on my way home.”

“
I am never done with you, Brutus.” Suddenly, the general’s eyes looked sharp again as they bored into him.

What was there to say to the man who ruled the world? “If it pleases you, I would seek my hearth this eve. Lylith returns soon, and I wish to have the house ready.”

Julius was distracted once again by Cleopatra’s dark nipple. It was like a target that Caesar intended to acquire.

Almost as a second thought, the general waved Brutus off. “Then go. I will not have you spoil our festive mood with your dour expression.”

Brutus bowed despite the fact that Caesar was looking nowhere in his direction. He followed a well-oiled guard out of the room but found himself led down a series of convoluted hallways. This did not seem the way back to the palace entrance. Just when he was about to voice his concern, the lithe Egyptian opened a door to a small room.

“
Wait,” the man said in heavily accented Latin.

Brutus was loath to enter, but what choice did he have? At this point his sense of direction was so mired that he could spend hours and never find the exit. Once within the room, the guard closed the door, and Brutus was certain that he heard a lock tumble shut.

Looking about the room, it was, at the least, a pleasant prison. The walls were covered with yards and yards of flowing fabric, the color of the sun as it rose. A bed draped in silk was the only furnishing. Did Caesar think to gain his support by offering him a woman for his pleasure?

Before Brutus could fret much more, a secret panel opened in the wall, and Cleopatra stepped out. Her face had lost some of its imperial glow, and her mouth was turned down in worry.

“
Queen,” Brutus said as he bowed with respect for her title.

“
Do you love your king?” she asked.

Taking a deep breath, the Roman spoke the truth. “I have no king, my lady. I have but a great man who wishes to be king.”

“
Why are you Romans so stubborn?” Cleopatra asked, seeming to be truly perplexed by the Senate’s lack of support.

“
Perhaps we have been free for too many centuries, Queen.”

“
Perhaps,” the young woman said as she turned and paced the room. The royalty seemed to fade from her face. Gradually, Brutus could see the young girl beneath the elaborate makeup. She could barely be over two decades, he realized. So young, and already the mother of two children and the consort to the most powerful man in the world. But in this moment with her lip trembling, she seemed more scared than threatening.

“
Is something the matter, Cleopatra?”

The young Queen unconsciously bit her lip before she answered. “Did you find nothing strange this evening?”

There was much he found unusual this night, but none that he would voice to the Egyptian. “I do not know of which you speak.”

“
The guards. Did you recognize any of them?”

“
Nay,” Brutus answered. He had noticed not a single centurion since entering the palace. Brutus had assumed it was an edict from Cleopatra herself. “They were all your men.”

“
Did you know that Caesar has excused his personal guard?”

“
What? No? He would not.”

Cleopatra stated bluntly, “He has.”

Brutus mind sped uncontrollably. Why would the general do such a thing? Could he not feel the very spark in the air? How could Julius not notice the frank hostility in the Curia every time he stepped foot on the stage?

“
Why?” Brutus finally asked.

“
He says…” The Queen had to stop as her voice shook. “He says that he must show this Senate of yours trust. That he fears nothing—not the Parthinians, or his own people.”

Brutus sighed. It was such a thing for Julius to do. At times, Caesar’s arrogance blinded him to the dangers lurking just within an arm’s length. Had Julius learned nothing from Labienus? Caesar’s first lieutenant had betrayed him in a most critical hour. Labienus had taken up arms with Pompey and fought Caesar within an inch of defeat. This duplicity had nearly lost Julius the civil war. Would it now cost him his life?

“
You must speak with him, Brutus. You must convince him to double his guard.”

“
You have petitioned the wrong man, I am afraid.”

“
You would let those vultures carve him? We both know Cassius’ heart. The smell of assassination reeks in the air.”

“
Even if I were to speak with him on such matters, he would not listen. You must employ Antony or—”

The royal façade slipped away completely as tears sprang to the young woman’s eyes. “He will listen to no one. But you… He holds affection for you, Brutus.”

“
Of that I do not know, but I do know that Caesar holds no faith in my counsel.”

“
You might sway him.”

Brutus felt the light weight of Tiberius’ necklace in his sash. A child had paid the price for his stubbornness already. He would not cross the Virgin again until he was in a position to protect those close to him.

For this reason, the Roman could offer Cleopatra no solace. “I am sorry, Queen, but he is a grown man and the leader of Rome. He must make his own decisions.”

The Egyptian regained her composure, and the room seemed to cool several degrees. “Then we have nothing further to discuss.”

In a rustle of silk and gold braid, the Queen left the way she had entered. Within moments, the guard returned and escorted him from the palace. Upon entering the litter, Brutus wondered which was worse—to save Rome and kill Caesar, or spare the man but kill the Republic?

* * *

Syra began to tire of her wandering. Melancholy had shrouded her since speaking to the hag atop Rome’s wall. Her mind seemed unable to reconcile her nightly dreams and this woman’s strange presence. Something nagged. It felt like she had forgotten some task. Something urgent. Like when she laid her head upon her bedroll and realized she had forgotten to water her horse.

But now the sun had set, and the moon was on the rise as Syra’s feet complained. It was time to go home. She would finish her tour of the waterfront, then climb the hill to the mansion.

A gathering of citizens drew her attention. It was getting late, even for Romans, to be out on the street. Curious by nature, she edged closer to the crowd. It seemed something had washed up on the shore. With all the boats plying the river, it could be anything. Just last week a chest of silver goblets had crashed against the bank, spewing tableware over the sloping mud.

From the hushed voices, Syra doubted that bounty had made its way to the shore. Her attention piqued, she shouldered her way to the front. Syra found a sad sight. A body had washed up from the river. It wasn’t until the corpse was turned over that Syra’s breath left her body.

It was Tiberius!

Dear gods, what had happened? The boy was slashed across the face and his clothes were tattered. Despite seeing far worse on the battlefield, she felt a retching in her belly. Covering her mouth, Syra stumbled back from the crowd. Without another word, she fled the bank. Could his father have done this? Tiberius had said the man would not hurt him, but Syra had seen the father raise a hand—and the stark fear in the boy’s face.

Her stomach felt heavy, but her legs were strong as she rushed home. Brutus must know of this. Perhaps he could sort out what had happened. No matter the cause of little Ti’s death, Syra could not help but feel ashamed. She should have made certain that the boy escaped this blasted city. Instead, she had sought a tavern to drown her own petty sorrows. Now the child had paid the price for her laxity.

Syra had circled Rome for hours, but within a few minutes she was up Palatine Hill. Rushing through the door, Syra was glad to see that the household had retired. It was best that the other servants did not hear this dire news until the morning. She set the bag of tomatoes upon the butcher’s block. Not that the cook would care much about the fruit once she heard Tiberius’ fate.

Rapidly, Syra checked Brutus’ den. His purple sash was thrown across his chair. The senator was home, but where? Dare she wake him? A rustling came from the garden. Someone was out in the night air. With any luck, it would be Brutus. Syra knew he had been angered at the child, but she also knew the Roman would be devastated to hear of Tiberius’ demise.

Bursting out the door, Syra hurried up the small hill to the bench where Brutus and she had once held a history lesson. The senator sat hunched over upon the wooden seat. His shoulders seemed broken under the weight of these last few weeks, and the news she carried would not lighten his load. Before she spoke, Syra noticed a glint of metal in his hands. His fingers fretted over the smooth token. Her mouth was ready to announce her news when she realized the amulet’s owner. It was Tiberius’ necklace.

Her foot caught a piece of vine, and she stumbled forward. It was not the father who had lanced Tiberius, but the man before her. How could Brutus have done such a thing? The senator must have doubled back after she left to finish the job that he was so eager to accomplish. Everything she had trusted about the Roman was shattered.

To think that she had dared hope that Brutus was unlike the rest of Rome. How could she have imagined that this dark-haired senator could feel for commoners such as Tiberius and herself? The bastard used men and children alike—discarding them once they no longer served his purpose.

Why had she been concerned for his safety when it should have been her own and the others in this household she worried over?

Brutus sullied himself in the worst possible way. Anger made her sight blur and words were slow to come to her lips. What could she possibly say that would make this Roman hurt as she did? For it was not just the cuts on the boy’s face that wounded her, it was Syra’s damaged heart that cried out for revenge.

Brutus must have sensed her presence, for he turned to her. “Syra?”

Without thinking, Syra lashed out, back-handing Brutus. “Bastard!”

“
How dare you!” Anger flashed as he touched his bloody lip.

“
They found his body.”

“
Whose?”

Syra snatched the necklace from his hand. “Do not feign innocence, Brutus. I know your dark deed.”

She expected much from the Roman in response, but not his form slumping down to the bench. Brutus lowered his head into his hands. His back spasmed with a half-contained sob. What manner of mockery was this?

“
You will not gain my sympathy this way. Take responsibility like a man.”

“
What do you think I am doing?” Brutus’ voice strained.

Syra’s anger knew no bounds. “You should be at the Rostra, throwing yourself on the mercy of the courts. For you will find none with me.”

The Roman’s face lifted, and his swollen eyes locked hers. “Think what you will, but I did not kill the boy.”

Rage shook her frame. He lied once more. His deceit should not have surprised Syra. A child-killer could not be trusted with the truth. Why had she ever listened to a single word of this Roman’s? She wished to pull the carving of the Green Man and break it upon her knee. Syra wanted nothing to remind her of this foul deed. He would pay for his crimes. Pay for making her like him in just the smallest measure.

“
If you do not turn yourself in, then I shall.”

Once again, the Roman’s head hung. “Go ahead. It was my fault.”

“
You betray yourself yet again!” Syra shouted, not caring if she woke the entire household. They needed to see what their master was made of.

Brutus’ voice rose with anger. “I betray no one, woman. Tiberius was killed to force
me
into betrayal.” The heat bled from the Roman’s face. “I do not expect you to understand. Just go. Do what you must, but leave this place and do not return. I will have no more blood upon my hands.”

“
Liar!”

Brutus sagged again. His voice was no more than a whisper. “Go. Take the pendant. Have the guards called. I will not bar you.”

As much as Syra wanted to act on his words, her feet stood firm next to him. What manner of deception was the Roman trying to weave? It made no sense. Why would he let her loose to point an accuser’s finger? Did he think she made as easy a target as an injured father and his young son?

Despite her desire to curse him, Syra could remember the sag of his shoulders that night when he left Tiberius. Not only had Brutus stayed his hand against lashing out at the child, she could remember the warmth she had felt toward the Roman when he had allowed the boy to gather the silvers from the ground. How could she reconcile that image with the lacerated corpse?