The City War

by Sam Starbuck

  I do not think you will be surprised to find that Caesar prepares for war with Parthia, nor do I think you will find it unwise or undue that he should propose it. I have heard from the wives of senators of the old guard and those like yourself, appointed by but not beholden to Caesar, that the patricians of Rome would be happy to see him gone from the city. But in preparation for his absence from the city on campaign, he has—the very day I write this—instituted a new law: that only Caesar shall rule on new appointments within the Senate.

  This next year, whether he is in Rome or waging war against the Parthians in barbarian lands, Caesar will have sole power to grant magistracies. The year following, Caesar alone will appoint both tribunes and consuls. Neither the people nor the Senate, it seems, will control their governors so long as Caesar lives and is Princeps.

  You know the boldness of this move, husband. The Senate is not in session, and even if it were, too many new senators are dumb, opinionless followers of Caesar. What if he should not go to war? Is he to rule us as an emperor? Too many men talk in the street of just such a thing. From his grave, my father bemoans the lack of moderation in these times. Those of his friends who still live go about with worried faces, and some confess their fears to me in your absence.

  I know that you wish for stability for Rome, and I know too well of your hopes that Caesar would see the error of the path on which his feet are set. I do not think we can hope for such a thing any longer. I can do nothing as a woman to stop the descent of the Republic into chaos—it has been building too long already. I can only appeal to you.

  Perhaps the Senator Marcus Brutus will return to Rome soon, for surely he is needed to preach restraint to the Princeps. Or to take some action—what, I would not dictate—if restraint is a word Caesar will no longer hear.

  Your affectionate wife,

  Porcia Catonis, gens Brutus

  The sun was setting by the time Brutus was done mulling over the letter, pacing back and forth in the atrium as he read it. Aristus watched worriedly for a while, but didn’t disturb him; Cassius fetched him for dinner, but when he said he wasn’t hungry, the other man shrugged and went off to eat with Aristus. No doubt that was an awkward meal.

  Porcia had no reason to summon him back with lies, but that Caesar would wrench so much control from the people at once was almost unbelievable. He wasn’t a stupid man. He couldn’t think the Senate would stand for it . . .

  Except the Senate was mostly under Caesar’s thumb now, and his popular acclaim with the common people ensured the Senate was popular as well. Brutus would rather be right than be loved, but men of his cut were growing rarer by the day. And he could only imagine, as Porcia had said, what her father would think of this. Cato had been a good friend to Brutus while he’d lived. If his spirit animated Porcia, it could do no less for him.

  “Brutus, you’ll give yourself a sickness if you keep this up,” Aristus said finally from the doorway of the atrium. “Whatever news it is, for the sake of the gods, out with it. Is Porcia sick?”

  “He’s not wrong,” Cassius agreed, joining him in the doorway. “You look like someone’s died.”

  Brutus looked up at them, then tilted his head to draw them closer. They glanced at each other and joined him by the fountain, faces darkening.

  “Caesar,” he said softly.

  “What about him?” Cassius asked, eyes turning sharp and cold.

  “He’s passed a new law.” Brutus held out the letter to Aristus. Aristus and Cassius both bent over the letter, but Cassius looked up first.

  “Not a word,” Brutus said. “Three men is a conspiracy. Not a word past your lips, either one of you.”

  “Three men and a woman, it would seem,” Aristus replied, handing him the letter. “You must go back, obviously. What other choice do you have?”

  Brutus looked up at the darkening sky.

  “Self-imposed exile,” Cassius said disgustedly.

  “What?” Aristus asked.

  “He can go to Rome,” Cassius told him, “or he can send for Porcia and the servants. She’d know enough to bring whatever she can lay her hands on along with her.” He scowled. “You could live pretty comfortably here, as long as Caesar didn’t come hunting you.”

  “He’d have no reason, if I withdrew from the Senate.”

  “Brutus, you can’t seriously be considering the idea of rolling over and showing your belly,” Cassius said. “I know—”

  “Not a word,” Brutus reminded him. He folded the letter, twisting it like a bit of tinder and handing it to Aristus. “Take this to the kitchen and burn it, please.”

  Aristus accepted the letter warily. “And what will you do?”

  Brutus glanced at Cassius. “I have to tell the servants and guards to pack for the journey. You’re welcome to stay, Cassius—”

  “Like I would!” Cassius retorted. Brutus didn’t know if he was aware his hands had formed into fists. “My party will ride back to Rome with yours.”

  “Then you’d better let them know. We’ll leave as soon as we can after morning light. Aristus—”

  “—will accompany you to Rome,” Aristus called from the doorway.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Cassius leaned up and kissed Brutus excitedly on the corner of his mouth. “Does this mean . . .?” he asked, and Brutus turned his head to study him.

  “I don’t believe I have a choice, now. We’ll discuss this when we return to Rome.”

  “I have a plan—you’ll see,” Cassius said, and went to gather the servants. Brutus rubbed his face with his hands, cursing Caesar’s greed more than the man himself, and turned toward the servants’ entrance. Their horses would need to be prepared for the trip, and suitable grain rations packed.

  He heard Tiresias before he saw him, humming tunelessly to himself as he bedded down the horses for the night. Occasionally the boy’s voice would rise to a sweet alto, but each time it did he would force it back down into the low register of a young man. Brutus found him in the third stall, feeding scraps of vegetables to Brutus’s usual mount.

  “Taking good care,” he said, and Tiresias looked up, wincing. “You’ve recovered from your bout with the Senator, I see.”

  “Yes, Dominus,” Tiresias said as the horse lipped at his hand.

  “Good. I’ll need the horses prepared early tomorrow, and two days of food packed. All the tack, and any other odds and ends. We’re returning to Rome.”

  “So soon?” Tiresias asked, looking unhappy.

  “My time is unfortunately not my own,” Brutus replied.

  “You’ll need someone to attend the horses on the journey.”

  Brutus cocked his head. “Indeed I will. What will you do when we reach Rome?”

  Tiresias shrugged tiredly. “Rome is the center of the world. There’s bound to be work for me there. If Dominus would give me a note, attesting to my service—”

  “You wouldn’t care to work for Dominus?” Brutus asked. Tiresias tensed. “My steward could use an assistant, and I assume you know a little bookkeeping. It’s not a man’s work, but then, you’re not quite a man yet.”

  Tiresias had given him a sharp look, but it softened when Brutus appended yet onto the end. A light was growing in his eyes now, and he ignored the horse nosing at his tunic, searching for more treats.

  “Consider it,” Brutus said. “These are times for discretion. Could I count on you to be discreet?”

  “Yes, Dominus!”

  “Not to chase the servants or slaves?”

  “I’ve learned that lesson, I think,” Tiresias said ruefully.

  “I expect you have. Very well. Have the horses ready at first light.”

  Brutus turned and left, pretending not to have heard what Tiresias said in reply.

  My life for your service, Dominus Brutus.

  They left the villa together, the entourages of Marcus Brutus and Gaius Cassius Longinus, and thus traveled slower than Brutus, at least, would have done if the group were smaller. He remembered hi
s old legatus trying to drill military strategy into the young minds of his officers-in-training: strength in numbers meant a slower step on the road. Something always got sacrificed.

  Tiresias, robbed of his fine horse, rode one of the pack animals Cassius had brought. If anyone slowed them, it wasn’t the boy—a sinewy little whirlwind of activity who had their horses ready at dawn both days.

  They reached Rome just at sunset on the second day of travel, and Brutus clasped Cassius’s arms in a farewell gesture at the gate, neither man dismounting. Brutus had already sent one of his guards ahead, along with Aristus, to tell the household he was returning, and Porcia was waiting for him at the gate of his city house when they finally pushed through the crowded evening streets. Tiresias looked around him in wonder.

  “Domina,” Brutus said to Porcia when she came to greet them, bending to kiss her on the forehead before sliding out of his saddle for a proper embrace. “Aristus arrived safely?”

  “Resting in his room,” she replied. “Welcome home, my love.”

  “Not a moment too soon, I think. We left as soon as we could once I had your letter.”

  “Not in the street,” she murmured, drawing him toward the house.

  “Can’t a wife summon her husband home from the country?” he asked, but he kept his voice low. Behind him, he heard the guards and servants exchanging greetings, and Tiresias cursing one of the horses. There was a thud and a cry of pain, and Brutus turned in the doorway to see his city groom standing over Tiresias, who lay in the dust rubbing his head.

  “Dristus!” he called, and his groom looked up. “What’s the trouble there?”

  “Some beggar trying to steal your horse, Dominus,” Dristus called back.

  “He’s not a beggar. Curse it, Tiresias, come here.” Tiresias scrambled up. “Politics will have to wait,” Brutus added to Porcia, who eyed the boy curiously. “We found a stray on the road.”

  “And took him in, I see.”

  “He’s the son of an equestrian and an orphan; the gods smile on little kindnesses,” Brutus said as Tiresias joined them. “Steward! Steward!” he called, and his freedman appeared from another room.

  “Welcome home, Dominus,” he said, bowing low. “We’re pleased to—”

  “Never mind that,” Brutus said, clapping him on the shoulder and thrusting Tiresias forward. “I’ve found you an assistant. This is Tiresias. He can read and write and he says he can do numbers. He’s to be a servant, not a slave. Find him a room and some decent clothes.”

  “Greek?” the steward asked.

  “Only in name, sir,” Tiresias replied with a smile.

  “Well, he’s probably young enough to be trainable,” the steward said, amused. “Shall I have a meal brought in, Dominus?”

  “Just something light. The road makes for bad digestion.” Brutus pulled him close and leaned into his ear. “Don’t ask him too many questions.”

  “Yes, Dominus,” the steward agreed in a low voice, and took Tiresias by the shoulder. “Come along, Greek In Name, we’ll get you something less . . . rustic to wear,” he said, and led Tiresias toward the kitchen and storerooms.

  “Now,” Brutus said, turning back to Porcia. “A quiet room, some rest, and some words too delicate to be written down, hmm?”

  “Rest first,” Porcia agreed, leading him toward the triclinium.

  “Though I will say, in the vein of literary criticism, I can’t call you entirely honest in your letter,” he continued, reaching for her hand. She took his with an affectionate smile, fingers tightening in his.

  “How’s that?” she asked.

  “I can do nothing as a woman,” he repeated in a lilting voice. “I must appeal to you, my husband. The day you need to appeal to me for anything, Porcia . . .”

  “Well, there are some places even I can’t go.” She settled on one of the couches, and he sat next to her, turning so they could speak face to face. “I needed you home, Marcus. Rome needed you here.”

  He rubbed a thumb over her cheek, affectionate, and she smiled back at him. Porcia was dear to him, in some ways more so than Cassius. She was the daughter of a man he had admired, but more than that, she was a woman who accepted him as he was. When he had needed a wife who would tolerate his tastes, she had needed a husband who wouldn’t brutalize her as her first had; she’d married too young, and she didn’t want the touch of a man any more than he enjoyed the pleasures of a woman. They served Rome together, and served each other in the ways they could.

  “I can’t believe Caesar would pass such a law,” he said. “Without the Senate’s approval, without even consulting anyone.”

  “You think he didn’t deliberately wait until you were gone?” she asked. “He might respect you, Marcus, but that’s a dangerous thing sometimes. He knows you’d never stand for it if you were here to put a stop to it.”

  “But he can’t think I’d allow anyone else to grab power from him if he were on campaign, either.”

  “He can if he knows how worried you are about his power. Or if he sees how close you and Cassius are.” She paused. “What does Cassius think of this?”

  “I think . . .” Brutus shook his head. “I think he agrees with you. Well, no; I know he agrees with you. But I don’t know the extent of your concern yet, so I can’t measure it against his.”

  “I am very, very concerned.” She broke off as a slave arrived with trays of food. “But you’re tired,” she added with false cheer. “Eat, and tell me how the villa stands and something about this new boy you’ve taken in.”

  “Well, the villa’s quiet,” he replied, chewing on a bit of wine-soaked bread. “Aristus spent most of his time reading. River’s as cold as ever.”

  “Hmm. One more reason to stay in Rome, where they have heated baths.”

  “Nostalgia for river baths on campaign only takes me so far these days, but it’s nice enough once in a while,” he said. “As for the boy, he joined the train on the road and wouldn’t be driven off. He’s good with the horses, but too high-bred to be a groom, I think. Father was an equestrian. Gave no family name, but he says they’re dead anyway.” He considered telling her Tiresias’s secret, but it wasn’t strictly his to tell, and he didn’t want to quarrel about putting Tiresias’s bed among the male servants. For all he knew, Tiresias exclusively preferred the company of women at any rate.

  Porcia took a sip of wine and shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, I keep trying not to think of it, but . . . what are we going to do, Marcus?”

  “Protect Rome,” he said firmly. “That’s our duty.”

  “How? How do you protect wood rotting from the inside?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’m home now. I need to speak to some of the other senators. There’s nothing to be done about it tonight, Porcia.”

  She leaned against his shoulder and sighed. “When I can help, you’ll tell me?”

  “I doubt I’ll have to, clever one.” He dropped a kiss into her hair. “But yes. As soon as I need you, you’ll know. Enough; put it from your mind, and tell me all the other gossip you have from the city.”

  The communal baths of Rome were a pleasurable torment for Brutus at times, but more frequently they were simply a necessity. The ones which catered to the patricians were places of commerce and politics, and particularly at the moment, Brutus needed the advantage of the informality they afforded. It was difficult to stand on dignity or speak less than plainly when you were naked and damp.

  He left his servant in the portico of the baths and passed through the inner athletic yard. He paid his entry and went into the changing room, empty except for a few young men who ignored him. He undressed slowly, taking a moment to brace himself before walking into the frigidarium, leaping into the cold water bath the same way he had the river at the villa. This water was clearer, and possibly even colder, but at least he wasn’t expected to stay in for very long.

  He shivered as he climbed out, hurrying to the tepidarium, exhaling in relief as the warm, moi
st air washed over him. There was no pool here, but the steam in the air and the comfortable temperature made his chilled skin tingle. He staggered stiffly to a bench, settling in to warm up.

  There were other men here, most sitting alone, some bent together in quiet conversation. The leisure of the baths, especially when the Senate wasn’t in session, fostered back-door politicking and occasionally harmless conspiring. Brutus was familiar with it, and sometimes engaged in it if he needed support badly enough, though he preferred to appeal publicly to his colleagues to act in Rome’s best interests rather than their own. That wasn’t the kind of philosophy that provided much political leverage; you just had to hope your fellow man’s better nature prevailed over venality. Sometimes, men had surprised him.

  Not often, though.

  He had hoped he wouldn’t have to lie in wait for his prey. There were three or four men he could appeal to for information and guidance, at least until he knew more of Cassius’s plan and could take decisive action. He didn’t see many familiar faces, but as the steam eddied away from two men sitting quietly together in a corner, he caught the eye of one of them—old grizzled Diocles, with his gray chest hair and scars on his arms from campaigning in Gaul.

  “Diocles!” he called, raising a hand. “Mind if I join you?”

  The man Diocles had been speaking to clapped him on the arm and departed, nodding at Brutus; Diocles gestured him over, wiping sweat out of his eyes.

  “Marcus Brutus,” he said as Brutus settled next to him. “I had no idea you were back from the country. So soon?”

  Brutus laughed. “Porcia missed me. Domina summons, I must obey.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose so, but you needn’t admit it so readily.” Diocles rolled his eyes. “You give the woman too much liberty. If I had a wife as pretty as yours—well, I suppose I wouldn’t stray far either, if it came to that.”

  “No. I don’t stray far from Rome these days,” Brutus agreed. “Even without considering Porcia, these are uncertain times.”