will, of course,’ Julius replied. ‘Now, to business, gentlemen. I want the city to sing tonight. By all the gods, we are home at last.’
Outside, the light of day seemed to claw at Brutus as he came onto the steps. He found himself breathing heavily as he looked over the drifting crowd. If they saw him, they did not respond and he was struck by the image of being invisible to them all, like a ghost. He was almost tempted to call out, just to hear his own voice and break the spell. He felt strangely cold, as if he stood beneath a shadowed arch on stones always hidden from the sun.
‘I am owed a little more than this,’ he said, his voice a breath. He opened his right hand to find it cramped and yellow with tension. He had not felt the grip tighten as Julius gave Mark Antony everything that mattered in the world. If Brutus had known how the man would become a rival, he would have taken him aside one dark night in Gaul and cut his throat. The picture was a sweet thing in his mind and it brought a righteous anger to the fore. On the Rubicon, he had believed he was needed, that the generals would risk it all together. Julius had spoken to the crowd as if he had come south on his own.
Brutus watched the people of Rome and found their ignorance of his presence was a sort of freedom. He felt bonds fall away and almost staggered in relief and pain. He looked for the boy holding his horse and walked down the white steps, dazed. The crowd melted around him like smoke and in a few moments, he was lost amongst them.
Regulus frowned as he saw Brutus appear once more. The silver-armoured figure stood like a statue by the white columns and Regulus shivered, surprising himself. There was something eerie in the general’s stillness as he looked over the milling crowd. Even from a distance, Brutus looked pale and Regulus broke suddenly into a fast walk towards him, convinced something was wrong. The path was dense with citizens, but Regulus ignored the shouts of those he sent sprawling, his eyes never leaving Brutus. He saw the general take his horse and swing himself into the saddle without a glance or word for those around him. Fear touched Regulus then. He called out as Brutus dug in his heels, knocking down a young boy who had clustered too close to his hooves.
Brutus did not stop or even turn at the cry. He rode stiffly and his face was bloodless and grim. They passed within feet of each other and Brutus didn’t feel the hand grasp desperately for his reins, nor hear his name.
Regulus swore under his breath as the horse clattered by out of reach. He looked up at the senate building and was caught between ordering his men to stop Brutus and finding out what had happened. He had nothing solid to support the feeling of dread that had stolen his peaceful mood. The moment of indecision passed with torturous slowness and Regulus found himself marching up the steps.
He heard their calm voices before he saw the generals of Gaul and Regulus shook his head in confusion. His mind had filled with violent images, but there was Adàn with his tablets and Ciro rising slowly with a questioning gaze.
‘What is it?’ Julius said.
Regulus hesitated, unwilling to voice what seemed like childish fears. What had he been thinking to allow such flights of fancy? ‘I … saw Brutus leave, sir. I thought there might be further orders.’
A subtle tension went out of the men as he spoke and Regulus saw Mark Antony too showed strain on his patrician features.
‘Join us, Regulus,’ Julius said. ‘Have one of your men keep order in the forum. You know Pompey as well as anyone and I want you to be part of the planning.’
Regulus felt a weight lift. He had been mistaken and chose not to mention his moment of superstitious fear. Yet as he seated himself he recalled the wildness in Brutus’ eyes and decided to seek him out before the day was over. Regulus did not enjoy mysteries, and he had never been a trusting man. With the decision made, he was able to turn to the business of the meeting and the incident slipped from his conscious thought.
Servilia’s house had hardly changed in the time Brutus had been away from the city. The three-storey building was clean and well-kept, with a single torch burning over the doorway at all hours of the day and night.
He paid a boy to look after his horse and walked into the main hall, removing his helmet and running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. He stood awkwardly as he announced himself, detached from the empty faces around him. He felt like a spectator in a play, hearing his own breath more loudly than the words of the servants.
She came out in a rush when she heard his name and he embraced her awkwardly, feeling her stiffen on the instant she came into contact. Her smile vanished.
‘What is it? Is there fighting?’ she said.
He shook his head and, without warning, tears threatened to humiliate him. ‘No. The city is cheering him in the forum. Julius is in the senate building.’
‘Then what is it? You’re so pale! Come inside, Brutus, and tell me.’
He followed past the stares of clients into the private suite of rooms and sank onto a couch, gazing at nothing. Servilia sat next to him and took his hands in hers. He saw how she had painted and prepared herself, and knowing it was for Julius was almost enough to make him walk out, if his legs would have borne him.
‘Tell me,’ she said softly.
He was surprised to see a rim of tears on her lashes. He reached up to touch them gently with his thumb and let his hand fall as she flinched from anything that would spoil her perfection. ‘I’m leaving, Servilia,’ he said. ‘I’m free of him.’
Servilia shook her head in confusion, gripping his hand. ‘What are you saying?’ she demanded.
He grimaced. ‘Exactly what you heard me say, Mother. I am done with Julius and he is done with me.’
‘Will you tell me what happened?’
‘I saw him make Mark Antony first in Rome and it all became painfully clear. Julius was never the man I thought he was. Never. He’s played with my loyalty as cleverly as any other of those senate bastards, until we are all working for them, giving our lives for nothing more than their promises and prestige.’
‘What does it matter if he honours Mark Antony? The man is no more than competent. There are dozens like him working for Rome. Julius needs you. I have heard him say it.’
Brutus shook his head in disgust. ‘He doesn’t need anyone. Just followers. I’ve done that for too many years and I’ve been his dog for most of my life. That can end too, like anything else.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, overcome by memory and pain.
She reached a hand to his cheek and he flinched away, wounding her.
‘Have you thought what you will do, at all?’ she said, her voice hardening. ‘Have you planned how you will live? Or must a son of mine be reduced to mercenary work and petty theft? How will you eat?’
‘I’m a little old to be looking for another life, Mother, don’t you think? I’m a Roman general and I know how to train soldiers. There will always be a place for men like me. I’ll go as far as I can until I have to work and there I’ll stay. I’ll build armies for someone else and never see Rome until Julius has gone from her. You may prefer me to stay and wash his feet for the rest of my life, but I will not.’
‘You must talk to Julius,’ she said, her eyes pleading. ‘No, let me talk to him. You stay here for an hour and I will see him. He loves you, Brutus, as much as I do.’
He rose and she stood with him, not willing to let him go.
‘He will hurt you too in the end,’ Brutus said softly. ‘And he won’t even know.’
He tilted his head, watching as tears flowed down her cheeks and spoiled the powder. As he began to step