The Road to Rome (59 page)

‘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.

The realisation brought a sardonic smile to Romulus’ face, and he glanced
at the tattoo on his upper right arm. Maybe I’m not such a good follower of Mithras after all, he thought. Yet there was no way he was going to reconsider his decision. Backing out would feel too much like leaving Brennus to face an elephant alone.

For some time, Romulus watched senators arriving for the morning’s session. Eager to know what his task would be, Mattius never left his side. Suspiciously, Romulus studied each toga-clad man in turn, trying to determine any glimmer of evil intent. To his frustration, he could see none. Clutching their long stylus boxes, the politicians alighted from their litters, calling greetings to those they knew. Romulus recognised few of them. Strolling to and fro, he did his best to listen to their conversations, but it was difficult to do so without being obvious. Most of what he heard was idle gossip or concerned Longinus’ son, who was to assume the toga of a man that morning. Despite himself, Romulus relaxed a fraction.

It was interesting to see the man who had served Crassus once more. He had only seen Longinus from a distance on the Parthian campaign, but he’d been grilled by the grizzled former soldier just before he’d received his manumission from Caesar. He felt a degree of kinship with Longinus, and seeing him unsettled Romulus. Why would he keep being reminded of Parthia if it wasn’t something to do with Caesar’s upcoming campaign? This fuelled Romulus’ slim hope that Tarquinius might be wrong about the assassination.

By late morning, Romulus was growing optimistic that Decimus Brutus had succeeded where he’d failed, convincing Caesar to stay away. Within the temple, the morning’s proceedings had started. Despite the blustery weather, which threatened rain, there were still plenty of senators outside. None of that mattered if Caesar didn’t turn up, thought Romulus.

His heart sank, therefore, when a richly decorated litter approached through the inevitable crowd of citizens, who gathered to see the rich and famous, or to plead for their intervention in a business deal gone wrong. Borne by four strapping slaves in loincloths, it was preceded by another bearing a long stick with which to clear the way. Romulus could see no sign of guards or soldiers. Hearing the lead slave crying Caesar’s name, he jumped to his feet.

‘It’s time,’ he muttered to Mattius. ‘The
lictores
would never let me past, but you might be able to worm your way inside. Can you manage that?’

His face filled with childish determination, Mattius nodded. ‘What should I do then?’

‘Don’t take your eyes off Caesar for a single moment,’ Romulus warned. ‘At the slightest sign of trouble, call me. I’ll stay as near to the entrance as I can.’

‘It might be too late by then,’ said the boy solemnly. ‘Especially if the
lictores
try to stop you entering.’

‘What else can I do?’ asked Romulus, raising his hands in a helpless gesture.

A moment later, the haruspex appeared from the crowd. ‘Fabiola is here,’ he said quietly.

‘Where?’ Romulus demanded, simultaneously shocked and unsurprised.

Tarquinius pointed to a hooded and cloaked figure standing half concealed by a pillar near the temple’s entrance. It was slight enough to be a woman.

‘You’re sure?’ Romulus didn’t want to believe his eyes.

Tarquinius’ smile was mirthless. ‘Do you think she’d miss this?’

Romulus’ mouth filled with a harsh, dry feeling. Tarquinius’ divination was about to come true. Why else would Fabiola be here? A strong urge to confront his sister took hold, and his eyes darted from her to Caesar’s litter, which had stopped by the bottom of the steps. A large party of senators was waiting for the dictator, and Romulus began to panic. He saw Longinus there, and Marcus Brutus. Although Marcus Antonius, Caesar’s most loyal supporter, was also present, the assassins might still strike immediately.

He wouldn’t have time to run up to Fabiola and then back down before Caesar alighted. Cursing, he shouldered his way through the eager crowd, towards the dictator’s litter. Mattius made to follow him, but Romulus jerked his head and the boy remembered. With a grin, he darted up the huge carved staircase, coming to a halt right beside the entrance. The guards ignored him, just another excited spectator trying to get the best view. They were doing the same themselves. Acting with casual aplomb, Mattius sloped inside and out of sight. Romulus’ lips twitched with satisfaction. At least one thing was going according to plan. It remained doubtful whether anything else would. Loosening his
gladius
in its sheath, he muttered maybe his last prayer to Jupiter and Mithras, asking for their protection and help.

There was a loud cheer as Caesar clambered down from his litter. Despite the unhappiness of some politicians, his popularity with the ordinary citizens was huge. The dictator’s piercing gaze scanned the throng and, seeing no danger, he acknowledged the acclaim with nods and smiles. Behind him, a brown-haired man emerged. To Romulus’ astonishment, it was Decimus Brutus. Did this mean that Fabiola’s lover was also one of the conspirators? Or, like Romulus, had he failed to persuade Caesar to stay away? He couldn’t be sure. Edging to the front of the crowd, Romulus saw that the waiting senators had formed up in two lines, offering Caesar a clear path up to the shrine. Effusive greetings filled the air. He could take the tension no longer, and darted forward to the dictator’s side.

‘Legionary Romulus. Good to see you again.’ Caesar placed his foot on the first step. ‘I’ll call on you shortly.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Romulus saluted, before muttering from the side of his mouth, ‘Please let me accompany you inside.’

Caesar smiled. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ Raising his arms, he indicated the senators. ‘I have these good men to guide me in.’

‘But, sir,’ Romulus objected. ‘My friend said—’

‘That’ll be all, soldier,’ Caesar said curtly.

His protest dying in his throat, Romulus stood back. He was aware of the senators giving him disapproving looks, but he didn’t care. A combination of terror and sheer adrenalin was in control. Seeing no immediate threat, Romulus came to the decision that the attack would take place inside. Working his way to the side of the gathering, he pounded up the steps to the entrance. To have any chance of saving Caesar, he had to be as close as possible. Behind him, he was vaguely aware of Decimus Brutus greeting Antonius in a jovial fashion. His suspicions aroused by this, Romulus glanced back. Fabiola had told him that the two men hated each other, yet here was Brutus throwing his arm over Antonius’ shoulders. The former Master of the Horse looked annoyed at first, but as Brutus kept talking, a slow smile spread over his broad, handsome face.

Caesar began to climb the staircase, leaving Antonius and Brutus behind, deep in conversation. Realisation struck Romulus like a blow from Vulcan’s hammer. It was all part of the plan. The conspirators only wanted to kill Caesar, so they would delay his greatest supporter outside. Romulus wanted to scream out loud. Could no one else see it? Stay calm, he thought. All
was not lost – yet. How would they kill Caesar? Togas were not the kind of garment that facilitated the concealment of weapons. Was there a secret stash inside? He discounted that theory at once. Too many other people – priests, acolytes and devotees – had access to the temple.

Then Romulus’ eyes were drawn to the stylus cases in each senator’s hand, and his stomach lurched. The elegant wooden boxes were just the right size to hold a knife. His mind reeled at the simplicity, and the lethality, of it. Despairing, Romulus’ gaze drifted up from the ascending group. There, across the width of the steps, at his level he saw Fabiola. They locked eyes, staring at each other with an unbearable intensity. After a moment that seemed to last for ever but in reality was probably no more than several heartbeats, Fabiola’s mouth opened.

Before she could speak, though, Caesar had reached them. Surrounded by the mass of senators, he was talking about Longinus’ son’s great day. Assuming the toga of a man was one of life’s most important events. Antonius was still at the bottom of the steps talking to Decimus Brutus. Romulus felt more weary than he had in his life. He was just a helpless observer.

‘I am here,’ said Tarquinius from behind him.

Romulus could have almost cried with relief. ‘Will you come with me?’

‘Of course. That’s what comrades are for,’ the haruspex replied, unslinging his double-headed battleaxe.

‘We might be killed,’ said Romulus, eyeing the six guards, all of whose attention was on Caesar.

‘How many times have I heard that?’ Tarquinius smiled. ‘Still doesn’t mean I can leave you to go in alone.’

Romulus turned away from the crowd and drew his
gladius
. He shot a glance at Fabiola, but she was too busy watching the dictator. A mixture of emotions twisted her beautiful face, and Romulus thought of their mother. What if his twin was correct? he asked himself again, despairingly. His gut instinct answered at once. Even if she was, Caesar did not deserve to be killed like a sheep surrounded by a pack of starving wolves. So he wasn’t going to back away now.

Romulus watched tensely as the dictator passed out of view. To his delight, four of the guards also entered, leaving only two at the doors, which remained open.

Now it was down to Mattius.

He took a couple of steps towards the entrance, and Tarquinius followed suit. Talking to each other, with half an eye on the proceedings within, neither guard noticed for a moment. Romulus slid his
caligae
across the stone, getting a few paces nearer.

‘Romulus!’

Fabiola’s shout was like the crack of a whip in a confined space.

Romulus stared at her, aware that the guards had seen him.

‘What are you going to do?’ she screamed.