silver-armoured general swung a leg over his saddle and vaulted lightly to the ground. He took three paces to stand close enough to feel the sun’s heat off his armour and his eyes were terrible.
‘You call me a liar and a traitor and expect to live, Seneca? I am no man’s servant but Rome’s. My sword has killed more men than stand here for the Senate and you dare to use those words to me?’
His hand caressed the hilt of his gladius and Seneca took a step back from his rage.
‘I have told you where I’m going,’ Brutus continued relentlessly. ‘I have told you I will fight for Pompey. Don’t question me again, boy. Be warned.’ The last words were a harsh whisper, before the light of madness fell from his gaze and his voice changed to a more normal tone. ‘Tell me where you are heading.’
‘The coast,’ Seneca said. He could feel a fat line of sweat run down his cheek and did not dare to scratch the itching trail.
Brutus shook his head. ‘Not with two cohorts. There aren’t fishing boats enough for all of us. We’ll need to head for a port and hope there is a merchant vessel Pompey didn’t manage to burn. Brundisium is two hundred miles south and east from here. It’s large enough.’
‘It’s too far,’ Seneca said instantly. ‘If they send the extraordinarii …’
‘You think you’ll be safer with your back to the sea? Then you’re a fool. We need a ship and there must be some trader still working.’
‘But if they send the riders?’ Seneca said desperately.
Brutus shrugged. ‘I trained those men. If Caesar sends the extraordinarii out against us, we’ll gut them.’
As Seneca stared at him, Brutus walked calmly back to his horse and leapt into the saddle. From that lofty position, he looked down at Seneca and waited for further opposition. When none came, he nodded to himself, satisfied.
‘Brundisium it is. I hope your lads are fit, Seneca. I want to be in Brundisium in ten days or less.’
He turned his horse to face the south and waved on the first rank of guards. To Seneca’s private fury, they turned to follow him and the column began to move once more. As he matched his pace to the ranks around him, Seneca realised that he would spend the next week staring at the rear of the horse.
In the soft light of morning, Julius paced the length of Marius’ old entrance hall, watched by the generals he had summoned. He looked exhausted and pale, a man made older by the news.
‘It’s not just that the betrayal will hurt our standing with the remaining senators,’ he said. ‘We could keep that quiet if we say he was sent away on some private task. But he has with him the knowledge of our strengths, our weaknesses, even our methods of attack! Brutus knows the details of every battle we fought in Gaul. He practically invented the extraordinarii as we use them. He has the Spanish secret of hard iron. Gods, if he gives all that to Pompey we will be beaten before we begin. Tell me how I can win against that sort of knowledge.’
‘Kill him before he can reach Pompey,’ Regulus said into the silence.
Julius glanced up, but did not reply. Domitius frowned in bemusement, wiping clammy sweat from his face. His thoughts were still heavy from a wild party in a house off the forum. The sweet smell of drink was on all of them, but they were steady. Domitius shook his head to clear it. They could not be discussing Brutus as an enemy, he told himself. It was not possible. They had taken salt and pay together, shed blood and bound each other’s wounds. They had become generals in hard years and Domitius could not shake the thought that Brutus would return with an explanation and a joke, with a woman on his arm, perhaps. The man was practically a father to Octavian. How could he have thrown that away for his stupid temper?
Domitius rubbed his callused hands over his face, looking at the floor as the angry conversation continued around him. They had come into the city only the morning before and already one of them was an enemy.
Mark Antony spoke as Julius resumed his pacing. ‘We could spread the word that Brutus is a spy for us. That would undermine his value to the forces in Greece. Pompey won’t be willing to trust him as it is. With just a little push, he might reject Brutus altogether.’
‘How? How do we do that?’ Julius demanded.
Mark Antony shrugged. ‘Send a man to be captured on the Greek coast. Give him your ring or something, to show he spies for us. Pompey will torture it out of him and then Brutus will lose his value.’
Julius considered this in angry silence. ‘And who shall I send to be tortured, Mark Antony? We are not discussing a beating. Pompey would take hours over him to be certain he has the truth. I’ve seen him work on traitors before. Our spy would lose his eyes to hot irons and with them the hope of surviving the ordeal. Pompey will be thorough with him. Do you understand? There’ll be nothing left but meat.’
Mark Antony did not reply and Julius snorted in disgust, his sandals clicking as he walked the marble floor. At the furthest point from them, he paused and turned. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept and his mind was numb.
‘You are right. We must lessen the coup of having Brutus go over to them. Pompey will trumpet it far and wide if he has any sense, but if we can sow distrust, Pompey could well waste our precious general. Do the men know yet that he has left?’
‘Some will, though they may not guess he has gone to Pompey,’ Mark Antony replied. ‘It is beyond belief for any of us. They would not think of it.’
‘Then a loyal man will suffer the worst agonies to undo this betrayal,’ Julius said grimly. ‘It is the first of what he will owe us. Whoever we send cannot know the truth. It would be burnt out of him. He must be told that Brutus is still one of us, but playing a subtle game. Perhaps we can have him overhear the secret, so he does not become too suspicious. Who can you send?’
The generals looked at each other reluctantly. It was one thing to order men into a battle line, but this was a dirty business and Brutus was hated in that room.
Mark Antony cleared his throat at last. ‘I have one who has worked for me in the past. He is clumsy enough to get himself caught if we send him alone. His name is Caecilius.’
‘Does he have family, children?’ Julius asked, clenching his jaw.
‘I don’t know,’ Mark Antony said.
‘If he has, I will send a blood-price to them when he is clear of the city,’ Julius said. It did not seem enough.
‘I will summon Caecilius here, with your permission?’ Mark Antony asked.
As always, the final order and the final responsibility rested with Julius. He felt annoyed that Mark Antony would not take the burden with a few easy words, but Brutus would have and Brutus had turned traitor. It was better to be surrounded by weaker men, perhaps.
‘Yes. Have him come here. I will give the orders myself,’ Julius confirmed.
‘We should send an assassin with him, to be certain,’ Octavian said suddenly. All eyes turned to him and he faced them without apology. ‘Well? Regulus has said what we are all thinking. Am I the only other one who will say it? Brutus was as much my friend as any of you, but you think he should live? Even if he tells Pompey nothing, or this spy weakens his position, he must be killed.’
Julius took Octavian by the shoulders and the younger man could not look him in the eyes. ‘No. There will be no assassins sent by me. No one else has the right to make that decision, Octavian. I will not order the death of my friend.’
At the last word, Octavian’s eyes blazed with fury and Julius gripped him harder.
‘Perhaps I share the blame for Brutus, lad. I did not see the signs in him until he had gone, though they trouble me now. I have been a fool, but what he has done changes nothing, in the end. Whether Pompey appoints him general or not, we must still go to Greece and fight those legions.’ He paused until Octavian looked up. ‘When we do, if Brutus