The Ides Page 15

  ‘I’ve done some work in the arena, General. Earned my rudis wooden sword. Retired. I do bodyguarding now…’

  ‘He’s my bodyguard,’ interrupted Spurinna gently. ‘I know you are interested in all your veterans, Caesar, but this is taking us away from the point. Wasting precious time. May I talk with the Lady Calpurnia about her dream?’

  Caesar clapped his hands. Several attendants appeared as though by magic. They materialised from several different rooms. One even came out of the room containing Mars’ sacred shields and spears.

  ‘Ask the Lady Calpurnia to come here,’ he ordered one of the female slaves. She vanished obediently. The others lingered in case they were required. Caesar turned back to Artemidorus, clearly intending to examine him further.

  Spurinna started speaking again, the slightest edge of desperation in his voice. ‘The Lady Calpurnia had bad dreams you say, Caesar? Was there anything else unusual about last night?’ His gaze took in all the attendants, although the question was directed at their master.

  ‘All of the doors and windows suddenly burst open just before dawn,’ volunteered one of them, nervously. ‘All of them at once.’

  ‘It was a stormy night,’ snapped Caesar. ‘Nothing wonderful in that!’

  ‘The spears of Mars in the shrine started trembling,’ said the young man at the shrine’s doorway. ‘At about the same time.’

  ‘It was the thunder!’ spat Caesar. ‘Or perhaps the earth quaked. It’s happened before.’

  ‘But,’ said Spurinna doggedly. ‘These are still dreadfully unlucky omens.’

  ‘What are unlucky omens?’ demanded the Lady Calpurnia as she swept in from her dressing chamber.

  ‘The doors and windows are talking to us!’ spat Caesar. ‘And the spears of Mars have been dancing around like drunken bacchanals in the shrine, apparently! I don’t suppose the shields were drinking into the bargain, were they? Or was it just you who was drinking, Fabius?’

  ‘Oh stop teasing the boy,’ said Calpurnia.

  ‘My Lady,’ said Spurinna. ‘About your dream…’

  The Lady Calpurnia turned her steady gaze on the augur. ‘I dreamed,’ she said, ‘that I was holding Caesar in my arms. And he was spouting blood from more terrible wounds than I could count. It was horrible. So vivid. So terrifying…’

  ‘It was just a dream,’ snapped Caesar irritably. ‘A dream, not a vision! I myself dreamed that I was taken up to Olympus and shook hands with Jupiter himself! It was a very happy dream. But that is all it was. A dream! We discussed it when you woke me at some time in the third night watch.’

  ‘And as soon as I slept again I dreamed that the gable that the Senate erected in honour of you tumbled off the Domus here and shattered on the Via Sacra where you love to walk. These are terrible dreams, my Lord. You must heed them!’

  ‘Indeed, great Caesar,’ said Spurinna, his voice gentle, his tone formal. His logic forceful. ‘The destruction of a gable erected in your honour cannot be anything other than a bad omen. And, as for the Lady Calpurnia’s dream of nursing your bleeding corpse – you hardly need an augur to explain that!’

  ‘Please, my lord,’ Calpurnia added her voice to Spurinna’s. ‘You know I am not superstitious. Or easily frightened. But these dreams were so lifelike…’

  ‘Taken with the other signs, Caesar, they must persuade you! The bull at the Lupercalia. The boar on the first day of the month. And now the ram. Not to mention the storms, the wonders, the bursting open of your doors and windows. And you know as well as I do, though you choose to mock it, that the trembling of Mars’ spears is one of the worst omens it is possible to receive. You must stay home today.’

  ‘But I have so much to do!’ answered Caesar, beginning to waver. ‘So little time! And yesterday…’

  ‘Yesterday?’ asked Spurinna.

  ‘Another bout of the falling sickness in the morning,’ explained Calpurnia, her voice low.

  ‘I recovered in time to go to Lepidus’ for dinner with my old friend Decimus Brutus Albinus,’ said Caesar. ‘But I’d lost a day’s work. I had to take the documents with me.’

  ‘It’s been getting worse,’ whispered Calpurnia. ‘The falling sickness…’

  ‘What does Antistius say?’ asked Spurinna, clearly shaken at the news.

  ‘Nothing,’ answered Calpurnia. ‘My Lord refuses to speak with him.’

  ‘Waste of time,’ snapped Caesar. ‘Whatever he advises will take too long to do. Or will slow me down. I leave for Parthia in four days and I have responsibilities as pontifex maximus on the seventeenth and then again on the morning of the nineteenth immediately before I pull out! Whatever Antistius says, I don’t have time to waste…’

  ‘You can work here today then,’ suggested Spurinna. ‘Instead of wasting time at the Senate. That way you will also stay clear of the evil auguries.’

  Caesar sighed angrily once again.

  Artemidorus actually closed his eyes. Please, Achilleus, he prayed. Make him agree to stay…

  ‘Oh very well,’ snapped the ruler of the world in the tones of an angry child. ‘I’ll stay. Spurinna, go and do your second sacrifice. Calpurnia, send a message to Antony. He’ll have to go and tell the Senate in person that this morning’s meeting will be postponed!’

  Thank you, Achilleus, said the spy silently in his head. It had all been worth it after all. Even though he had not needed to rely on Cyanea’s list of conspirators or Puella’s testimony about the men who visited Brutus, the risks and the pain had been worth it. Even Telos’ terrible death had been worth it. For Caesar was safe.

  And he thought to himself: mission accomplished!

  In the race to keep Caesar safe from whatever Brutus and Cassius were planning, they had won. A great weight seemed to lift from his shoulders suddenly and he took a deep breath of relief, breathing in until his ribs hurt.

  He could hardly believe it. They had won!

  VIII

  As he waited for Antony to come out of the bath, Enobarbus walked through into one of the cubiculae leading off the atrium. Here Cyanea was seated at a low table that was mostly covered with the splintered tablets on which Telos had written the coded list of suspected conspirators. The other section of the table was filled with a sheet of papyrus on which the Lady Fulvia’s secretary was writing down the names she dictated to him. He had placed his writing case on the floor, lifting onto the table only the pot of red samian clay that contained the ink and the bronze stylus he occasionally dipped into it.

  The list was long, and hopefully nearing completion, thought the tribune. Even as it stood, it was likely to give Caesar pause. Even allowing for his notorious disregard for personal security. His refusal to bow to the will of the gods as revealed in Spurinna’s auguries. His refusal to go about the streets accompanied by any more than his lictors – their fasces like everyone else’s mere bundles of sticks with no axes at their hearts. His dismissal of his guards. It was as though the man was half in love with death.

  ‘Is that it?’ the tribune demanded. The tone of his voice tinged with the irritation his thoughts about Caesar caused. Cyanea looked up. Her frown matched his. But hers was a frown of worry. The anger in his voice had scared her. For an instant, Enobarbus was distracted by the beauty of her huge blue-green eyes. It was no wonder Septem had taken her to his bed almost the moment they first met. ‘Is the list nearly complete?’ he asked, his tone softened by her beauty.

  ‘Nearly,’ she answered. The frown became less worried. More thoughtful. ‘But I was wondering. Should I add names from what Septem and I observed at young Cassius’ coming-of-age toga virilis ceremony this morning?’

  ‘Whose names were you considering?’

  ‘There was one man Artemidorus was surprised to see there. General Gaius Trebonius.’

  ‘Trebonius…’ echoed Enobarbus, his habitual frown deepening once more.

  ‘Trebonius?’ demanded a new voice. Deep. Powerful. With a virile resonance. ‘What about my old friend Gaius Trebonius?�
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  Antony came striding across the atrium, adjusting the final fold in his dazzling white toga with its rich purple borders. A costume that announced him as a consul as surely as the lictors waiting in another room to precede him in the streets.

  Enobarbus shook his head in simple wonder. This was hardly the same man as the tottering wreck Fulvia had led into the baths at the rear of the villa. It was the exact opposite of the corpse-like comatose body he had brought back from Cleopatra’s villa on the Janiculum Hill. This was the Antony who genuinely looked like a descendant of Hercules. Even without his lion skin. He stood the better part of four cubits tall and was built like a gladiator. The oils recently massaged into his skin in the laconium sweat room defined the muscles of his arms and legs. A thick neck rose out of shoulders that might have flattered a bull.

  He had been shaved as part of the recovery process with Lady Fulvia in the baths. The lack of his customary beard revealed a broad jaw and square chin. His lips were by no means full, but the straight line of his mouth more often turned up than down. For he was of an open, cheerful disposition. His nose was straight, after the Greek style. Which was apt enough in a man claiming a Greek demigod as an ancestor. His cheeks were too full to present cheekbones. But his face was by no means fat. Nor was the rest of him. Any corpulence arising from his lifestyle in Rome was soon lost when he was out campaigning with his beloved legions. His eyes were wide set. Intelligent – some said calculating. Edged with laugh lines. Light brown, almost tawny. In spite of last night’s debauch, the whites were clear. The brows above them were surprisingly delicately curved. If the ears behind the square jaw stuck out a little, they were not so pronounced as to make the helmet he wore in battle uncomfortable. The thick brown hair that topped his leonine head was recently washed and coiffed. As he swept past Enobarbus into the cubicula, the tribune smelt the lemony-pine resin odour of frankincense.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Antony. ‘What about Gaius…’ Characteristically, he stopped mid-sentence and changed topic like an acrobat leaping from one horse to another in the arena. ‘What eyes! Who is this pretty little thing, Enobarbus?’

  Cyanea slowly came to her feet under the co-consul’s frank, appraising gaze.

  ‘She is one of my contubernium unit of spies…’

  ‘Ah. One of those women who sleep with unsuspecting men to learn their secrets as pillow talk, I hope. If so, I have many, many secrets…’

  She blushed and looked down, a little overwhelmed.

  Enobarbus closed his eyes, thinking that Hercules was not enough of a deity to define Antony. There was a fair amount of the drunken Bacchus and the insatiable Dionysius in that big body as well. ‘She has been working undercover in the house of Gaius Cassius Longinus, General,’ he explained brusquely. ‘And she has brought a list of names for you to read. The names of men who are forming a conspiracy…’

  ‘Oh not another conspiracy. Do we need to take this one seriously?’

  ‘Someone certainly takes it seriously, General. Her partner was tortured to death, mutilated and crucified outside Spurinna’s villa. We assume it was a warning to cease our investigations.’

  ‘Really? Who would do such a thing?’ demanded Antony as he took the list from the secretary’s hand and began to read through it.

  ‘Minucius Basilus. Well, his gladiators at least, led by men called Cestus and Syrus. But there is little doubt that Cassius ordered it.’

  ‘Basilus, eh? He has a nasty reputation. Gets erect when watching slaves in pain. Preferably pretty female slaves. You were lucky he didn’t get his hands on you, girl.’

  As she had been directly addressed, Cyanea felt free to answer. ‘He did, my Lord. But Septem rescued me.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Antony as though this explained everything. ‘Septem.’ He changed horses once again. ‘So, this list that men like Basilus and Cassius will kill for. Why are you thinking of adding Gaius Trebonius to it?’

  As she was still being addressed, Cyanea answered. ‘Septem and I saw him attending the toga virilis ceremony for Gaius Cassius junior this morning.’

  ‘This morning? But that’s two days early! And the boy can’t be more than thirteen. What’s Cassius up to?’

  ‘Most of the men on the list were there,’ said Cyanea. ‘It looked like a perfect opportunity to get everyone together…’

  ‘And Trebonius was there?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  ‘Well, he approached me a couple of years ago when Caesar and I were at daggers drawn. Wanted to know if I’d join in a plot to slaughter the old goat. But Trebonius was one of Caesar’s closest allies – then as now. Only Decimus Brutus Albinus is closer, in fact. So I thought Caesar had probably put Trebonius up to it as a test of my loyalty.’

  ‘We’ve been putting this list together from things our spies have seen and heard in the households of Cassius and Brutus,’ Enobarbus continued. ‘Marcus Junius Brutus…’

  ‘Cassius and Brutus are brothers-in-law. Of course they’ll get together…’ Antony handed the list back to the secretary. He seemed only to have glanced through it but Enobarbus knew that all the names on the parchment would now be firmly fixed in the general’s memory. Antony was a deceptively easy man to underestimate. As many had learned in the past. And many more were likely to learn in the future.

  ‘It was you who ordered that we keep a close eye on these people, General,’ Enobarbus pointed out, an edge of frustration in his voice. ‘That order has cost one life so far. And now that we’ve found something you hesitate…’

  ‘What would you have me do, Tribune?’

  ‘Stop Caesar from attending this morning’s Senate meeting, General,’ answered Enobarbus flatly. ‘The names on the list are all senators. The fact that they were desperate enough to kill in order to find out how much we knew. The fact that they left the corpse as a warning outside the house of another of our men. The fact that they all got together at Cassius’ villa this morning on such a thin excuse. All of this must mean that they’re getting ready to act. Today. It’s the last chance for all these men to get together in one place with Caesar before he leaves for Parthia. It’s now or never, General. And we believe it’s now!’

  *

  Enobarbus had hardly finished speaking when Antony’s doorkeeper came across the atrium with Kyros in tow. The young slave was almost as overcome as Cyanea at finding himself confronted with both Enobarbus and Antony. He stood for a moment, tongue-tied, until Enobarbus spoke. ‘You have a message for us?’

  ‘Yes Tribune. My master Spurinna has sent me on orders from Caesar himself. I have a message for the general.’

  ‘If it’s a message for me, then you’d better tell it to me,’ advised Antony, amused by the boy’s embarrassment.

  ‘My Lord, Divine Caesar requests that you attend the Senate meeting in his place and on his behalf. He would like you to advise the Senate that he will not be coming to today’s meeting.’

  Antony’s sculpted eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Is this your doing?’ he asked Enobarbus. ‘Has your contubernium of spies got to Caesar himself?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Enobarbus, as surprised as his commander.

  ‘It was the Lady Calpurnia,’ volunteered Kyros. ‘My master Spurinna augured disaster in his sacrifice this morning. He said there have been any number of ill omens. But Caesar would not listen. He was set on attending the Senate meeting. Then the Lady Calpurnia said she had dreamed a terrible dream and Caesar changed his mind. In the end it was nothing that my master foresaw. Or any of the terrible omens. It was the Lady Calpurnia’s dream.’

  ‘And I’m to go to the Senate, am I,’ snapped Antony. ‘And tell them all to go home until Caesar’s wife gets a better night’s sleep? I don’t mind them hating me. Or slandering me – which Cicero does all the time. Or even plotting against me. But I will not have them laughing at me!’

  Seeing Antony just about to fly into one of his lightning-quick rages, Enobarbus spoke forcefully and immediately. ‘But, General,
if you go to the curia where the Senate sits today via the Forum. Instead of going straight through the Gate of Fontus, then you will pass close by the Regia and the Domus…’

  ‘And I’ll be able to go in and talk to Caesar myself. Discuss a better reason for dismissing the Senate. Yes…’ Antony clapped his hands and the doorway out into the atrium was suddenly filled with servants and slaves. ‘Summon my lictors. Prepare my litter. Be quick about it!’ Several servants vanished to do his bidding as he continued. ‘Inform the Lady Fulvia that I am going to visit Caesar and then attend the meeting of Senate.’ More vanished, but there were still a good few left. Antony turned away from them, but lost none of the dynamism that immediate action brought out in him. ‘Enobarbus. You come with me. Boy, return to your master and tell him I am coming. He may pass that onto Caesar if he wishes.’ Kyros vanished. ‘Girl…’ His voice trailed off as he looked at Cyanea again.

  ‘Perhaps she can wait here for the time being,’ suggested Enobarbus.

  ‘Yes. A good idea.’ He turned to the last few slaves in the doorway. ‘Some one of you help this woman tidy these splinters away. You know the Lady Fulvia cannot abide a mess. Then take her to the kitchen. Get her food and drink. She can wait here until we decide what is to be done with her.’

  He turned and vanished into the atrium, shouting orders as he went as though he was back in command of the outnumbered legions on Caesar’s right flank at the battle of Pharsalus.

  One of the slaves came in and started to help Cyanea with the splintered tablets. Another hovered, waiting to guide her to the kitchens. Fulvia’s secretary stood, uncertain of what to do next. Enobarbus came further into the room and held out his hand. ‘Did you add Trebonius to the list in the end?’ he asked.

  ‘No, Tribune,’ the secretary answered. ‘No decision was ever reached.’