The Road to Rome (60 page)

An image of Velvinna’s suffering burned every part of Romulus’ mind. It was followed by one of Caesar smiling as he granted him his manumission in the arena not three hundred paces away. Torn, he glanced at Tarquinius.

‘Your path is your own,’ whispered the haruspex. ‘Only you can decide it.’

‘You two!’ yelled one of the guards. ‘Drop your weapons!’ Calling for help, he and his comrade advanced with lowered
pila
.

They were stopped by an animal cry of pain from inside the temple.

‘Casca, you idiot, what are you doing?’ Caesar demanded.

‘Help me,’ shouted a voice. ‘Kill the tyrant!’

‘Romulus!’ screamed Mattius. ‘Come quickly!’

A baying sound of anger rose and Romulus heard the muffled sound of blows landing. Fury consumed him. Raising his
gladius
, he leapt forward at the two guards.

The gods were smiling down at that moment. Distracted by the commotion inside, both their heads were half turned away. Romulus was grateful for this – he had no desire to hurt them unnecessarily. Reversing his
gladius
, he brought down the hilt hard on the back of the nearest man’s skull. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tarquinius using the metal-tipped butt of his axe to do the same with the other sentry. Jumping over the falling men, they sprinted inside.

Fortunately, the remaining guards had been totally distracted by what was going on, so their path was clear. Romulus’ eyes opened wide at the splendour of the long, high-roofed chamber, which was well lit thanks to the number of small glass-paned windows high on the walls. Of course his attention did not remain on the decor, or the ranks of toga-clad senators
who were on their feet, shouting and pointing. Clearly most of the six hundred had known nothing about the attempted assassination. Romulus felt disgust that none had tried to intervene. On he ran, to the central area where the consuls’ chairs and that of Caesar stood. He could make out a cluster of men there. All were carrying knives, and many already had bloody robes. Their faces had the empty, shocked look of those who have just grasped the enormity of what they’ve done.

I’m too late, Romulus thought, anguish tearing at him like the claws of a ravening beast. As I thought I would be. Screaming his fiercest battle cry, he charged straight at the assassins. Tarquinius loped alongside, lean and grey-haired but terrifying-looking with his raised axe. Romulus was dimly aware of Mattius pelting along to his rear, adding his childish voice to the clamour. To his surprise, their cries had the most dramatic effect. Scattering like a flock of birds attacked by a cat, the assassins broke and ran, stampeding up into the tiers of seating. Their fear was infectious, and within a few heartbeats, the entire body of senators was fleeing along the sides of the chamber and out of the doors. Their departure revealed the most bloody of scenes.

Beneath a large statue of Pompey, Caesar lay in an expanding pool of his own blood. His entire toga was covered in damning red stains, each one the mark of a knife’s entry point. His chest, belly, groin and legs had all been wounded. The white woollen garment had been ripped off his left shoulder, and there too Romulus could see multiple stab and slash marks. Caesar resembled a badly butchered side of pork. No one could survive that many injuries. Skidding to a halt, Romulus dropped to his knees by the dictator’s side. His eyelids were closed. Shallow, shuddering breaths shook his chest and his skin had already assumed the grey pallor of those near death.

‘What have they done?’ Romulus wailed. An all-consuming grief flooded him that Caesar’s life should end like this.

Shocked by the bloodshed, Mattius hung back.

‘Romulus?’

Startled, he looked down at Caesar, whose eyes had opened. ‘Sir?’

‘It
is
you . . .’ Caesar’s breath rattled in his chest.

Romulus found himself clutching one of the dictator’s bloody hands. ‘Don’t say anything, sir,’ he said frantically. ‘We’ll soon get a surgeon to fix you up.’

Caesar’s lips turned upwards. ‘You’re a poor liar, legionary,’ he whispered. ‘I should have listened to you about coming here.’

Romulus hung his head, trying to hide his tears. All his efforts had been in vain. A moment later, he felt his hand being squeezed.

‘You’re a fine soldier, Romulus,’ Caesar gasped. ‘Remind me . . . of myself when I was younger.’

Romulus’ instant feeling of pride at this enormous compliment lasted no longer than two heartbeats. Beads of clammy sweat broke out on his forehead, and he pulled away his hand. Raging doubt filled his mind.

Caesar looked confused. Trying to sit up, he started off a fresh bout of bleeding from his wounds. It was too much for him, and he sagged back on to the marble floor. His eyes took on the distant stare of those who can see Elysium, or Hades.

Romulus thought of Fabiola, and the reason she wanted Caesar dead. Stemming his grief, he took a deep breath. Only moments remained before it was too late. ‘Twenty-six years ago, a pretty slave girl was raped by a noble one night near the Forum,’ he whispered in Caesar’s ear. Checking the dictator’s expression, Romulus was satisfied that his words had been heard. He let them sink in for a moment, and then leaned in close for a second time. ‘Was it you?’ He watched closely to judge Caesar’s reaction.

There was none. A moment later, Romulus had to place a dampened fingertip over Caesar’s mouth and nostrils to feel any movement of air. The faintest chill on his wet skin told him that there was still some life in the slashed and blood-spattered body beside him. Jupiter, Romulus prayed with all his might. Don’t let him die, leaving me ignorant of the truth. He bent over the dictator, willing him to look up once more. Nothing happened. ‘Are you my father?’ he said, forcing the words out.

Caesar’s eyelids jerked open and his body went rigid.

Romulus gazed deep into the other’s eyes, and saw the naked truth. ‘By all the gods, you did rape my mother,’ he breathed, feeling the weight of the revelation come crashing down on his shoulders. Fabiola had been right all along. Looking like Caesar was no coincidence – he was his son.

Where did that leave him? Had his love for Caesar been more than that of a devoted soldier? Romulus didn’t know. In his mind, all was confusion. A moment later, he saw that the dictator was dead. Romulus felt an immediate sense of grief, which he tried to reject. How could he feel sad?
The bastard had violated his mother. New tears flowed as this old wound was reopened.

‘He was not all bad,’ said Tarquinius suddenly. ‘Granting your manumission proved that.’

Romulus felt the haruspex’ hand on his shoulder. The human touch was most welcome. ‘Did you know?’ he asked.

‘I suspected for a long time,’ Tarquinius replied. ‘More recently, my feelings grew stronger.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’ Romulus cried.

Tarquinius sighed. ‘I’ve harmed you too much before, and I couldn’t see the benefit of telling you. Caesar’s children will be in danger in the days to come too. In any case, would you have joined Fabiola if you’d known?’

Looking down at Caesar’s supine form, Romulus considered his friend’s question long and hard. Years of his life had been spent wondering what he’d do if he ever met his father. His ideas had usually involved long torture sessions like those he’d planned for Gemellus. Yet when he’d had the merchant at his mercy, things had seemed very different. ‘No,’ he said eventually.

‘Why not?’

‘Rape is a terrible crime, but it doesn’t warrant this,’ Romulus answered sorrowfully. He touched Caesar’s mutilated corpse. ‘Taking part in his killing wouldn’t bring Mother back either.’

‘Unfortunately,’ said Fabiola.

He turned to find his sister beside him. They exchanged a wary glance, before Romulus took the plunge. He had to. ‘You were right,’ he admitted.

Fabiola’s face lit up, and she touched his arm. ‘He confessed to raping Mother?’

‘I asked him,’ Romulus revealed, ‘and the look in his eyes when he heard the question . . . he was guilty. I’m sure of it.’

‘I knew it,’ Fabiola crowed. She looked down at Caesar’s bloodied body and laughed. ‘The whoreson has paid the price. Praise all the gods!’

Romulus hung his head, feeling guilt that his emotions didn’t mirror Fabiola’s.

It was as if she sensed his confusion. ‘Aren’t you glad?’

Romulus didn’t know how to answer her. ‘Partly,’ he muttered at last.

‘What more proof do you need?’ Fabiola spat. ‘Mother to rise from her grave and identify him for you?’

‘Of course not,’ answered Romulus defensively. ‘But it’s complicated, sister. He freed me from slavery. If you’d killed him a few years ago, I wouldn’t be standing here now.’ He imagined someone else as the
editor
of the games that day. Killing the rhinoceros would have merely delayed his death. ‘I ended up as a
noxius
, you know. But for Caesar, my bones would be lying on the Esquiline Hill.’

Fabiola did not respond.

Mattius came hurtling back from the entrance. ‘A crowd is starting to gather,’ he announced.

Romulus came alive. ‘They’ll want blood when they see what’s been done. Let’s go.’

Leaving Caesar lying beneath the statue of his great rival, they made their way to the entrance. Romulus and Fabiola did not speak. Each was reeling from the enormity of what had happened and the gravity of what lay unsaid between them. Tarquinius’ dark eyes were on them both, but he did not interfere. For his lot, Mattius was too young to notice the strained atmosphere.

The guards had also fled in the panic, leaving the unconscious bodies of their companions sprawled by the massive doors. No doubt they and the innocent senators had spread the word that Caesar had been murdered, thought Romulus. His hunch was correct. At the foot of the steps, a large rabble had already gathered. Still too fearful to climb the steps and see for themselves, they were shouting and wailing, egging each other on. Romulus had seen the frenzy of an uncontrolled mob before. It developed rapidly and was terrifying to behold. No one would stop to hear that he had been attempting to save Caesar’s life, and even Mattius would not be spared.

‘Walk right behind me. Do not look at anyone,’ he ordered. ‘Tarquinius, you take the rear.’ Raising his sword menacingly, Romulus walked down the steps. The others followed.

Members of the crowd soon saw them. Angry shouts rose at once. ‘Is it true?’ shouted a bearded man in a workman’s tunic. ‘Has Caesar been murdered?’

‘He has,’ Romulus replied, still descending.

An inarticulate sound of anger rose from the gathered citizens, and Romulus sensed Fabiola flinch. ‘Keep moving,’ he hissed.

‘Who did it?’ shouted the workman.

‘A group of senators,’ answered Romulus. ‘You’ll have seen them running off with their clothes covered in blood.’

‘I saw some,’ yelled a voice.

‘So did I!’ howled another.

The workman’s face twisted with fury. ‘Which way did they go?’

‘Down there,’ came the answering cry.

In an instant, the rabble’s attention had switched from Romulus and his companions to a side street which led off towards Pompey’s exotic gardens and then the city. ‘After them,’ bellowed the workman. Responding to his shout, the mass of citizens moved off at speed, with a sea of fists and weapons waving above it.

‘Gods help whoever they catch,’ said Tarquinius.

Fabiola shuddered, remembering the mob that had swept her away after Clodius Pulcher’s murder.

Romulus ignored her obvious distress. Now was not the time to settle their differences either. ‘We’ll head that way,’ he said, pointing at the arena. ‘Then we can enter the city by a different gate.’

They had only covered a short distance before a small group of figures emerged from a door in the wall of the amphitheatre. Squinting to make them out, Romulus stiffened. The men were gladiators. Instinctively he increased his pace to get away.

It was pointless. Seeing them, the party broke into a sprint, angling to cut them off from the street towards the city. ‘Stop,’ Romulus ordered. He and Tarquinius moved protectively in front of Fabiola and Mattius, and they waited. Soon they could make out four fighters: two
murmillones
and a pair of Thracians. All were helmeted and carrying swords and shields. Who the hell are they? Romulus wondered, wishing he had more than just a
gladius
. Behind the fighters trotted a man in a fine white toga. It was Decimus Brutus. Romulus shot a glance at Fabiola. She seemed delighted, which pleased him. Fighting four fully armed gladiators was not what he wanted to think about right now.

‘I thought it was you, my love,’ Brutus cried as he drew near. ‘Thanks be to Jupiter you’re safe. Where did you go?’

She looked surprised. ‘Inside, to make sure Caesar was dead.’

Brutus winced. ‘I’ve come with these fighters of mine to carry his body away. Treat it with the dignity it deserves.’

Romulus’ blood began to boil. ‘It’s a bit late for that,’ he growled. ‘Might have been better if you’d stood by his side instead of keeping Antonius outside.’

‘How dare you?’ Brutus snapped. ‘It’s not that simple.’

Romulus was so angry that he forgot the difference in their status. ‘Really? Perhaps you’d care to explain how it’s possible to swear service to someone and then plan their murder.’

Brutus’ lips pinched with fury. ‘I answer you only because Fabiola is your sister. He’d become a tyrant who treated the Republic with contempt.’

‘Caesar ended decades of strife and civil war,’ Romulus retorted, contemptuous that the noble had succumbed to Fabiola’s charms when he had had the strength not to. ‘He was the best future for this country and you know it. Not forgetting that you were his sworn follower.’

‘Romulus,’ Fabiola said, stepping forward. ‘Please.’

Uncaring, Romulus let all of his fury out. Subconsciously, he knew he was transferring some of his anger at Fabiola – and himself – but he didn’t care. ‘Call yourself a soldier? Fucking coward, more like.’

‘Scum,’ Brutus shouted. ‘You’re nothing but a freed slave!’

‘Scum, eh?’ screamed Romulus. ‘At least I stood up for Caesar, while you didn’t even have the balls to stick a knife in him.’