“Any trouble getting here?” he asked Marcus.
Marcus shook his head.
“They deserve the same sort of death they gave Caesar,” Tiberius added.
Marcus looked at him, measuring whether he could control his rage and use it to best advantage. Tiberius was brave, but he was a wild man when bent on vengeance, as he was now. He had to temper his feelings and think, as Marcus himself was trying to do. If all of Caesar’s allies ran into the streets with swords raised they would not last long against the mobs running loose in the city, looting and burning indiscriminately.
Then Brutus and his cohorts would win by default.
“You’ll have to find them to kill them,” Lepidus said disgustedly. “They’re all in hiding, like the sniveling cowards they are.”
“‘Sic semper tyrannis,’ they cried as they stabbed Caesar,” Antony replied quietly. “‘This always for tyrants.’ They expected to be hailed as saviors of the republic. When the Senators bolted after the murder they were taken by surprise and now they’re terrified that we’ll come after them.”
“And we will,” Tiberius said firmly.
Antony held up his hand. “We have to consider what is best for the country, Tiberius. I want their blood as much as you do. They made sure I was detained at the door so they could catch Caesar alone and not have to deal with me. But plunging into another civil war will not serve our cause. The question is: how can we maintain control of the government and at the same time make sure Brutus and the others pay for their crime?”
“Turn the people against the murderers,” Marcus said, speaking for the first time.
Antony looked at him.
“They loved Caesar, as we did. Recall to them how much he loved them in return, how many reforms he enacted for their benefit, how many times he shared the booty of his victories with the people through triumphs and stipends and feasting at the cost of the treasury. The home legions will be with you too. We each got 250 gold pieces upon our return from the Spanish campaign and the grant of a farm, remember? The ranting and raving of Cassius and Brutus about Caesar’s purple gowns and golden thrones and laurel wreaths will not stand against that.”
“If only Octavian were here,” Septimus sighed. “If we could show that Caesar’s nephew endorsed our cause many of those caught in the middle would come over to our side.”
“He is not here, he went ahead to Apollonia with the scouts,” Antony replied shortly. “We must act without him and hope that he remains alive along enough to get back home.”
“They left his body lying on the floor of the Senate Assembly Hall,” Tiberius whispered. “He bled to death there, alone. Finally three of his slave boys carried him home in his litter, one lifeless arm hanging over the side of it, dragging on the ground.”
Marcus closed his eyes, trying not to picture it. It was clear that Tiberius had been rehearsing the grisly details over and over with the group, as if they needed more fuel to fire their outrage.
“If we prevail in this I’ll make sure those slaves are freed as their reward,” Antony replied.
“Artemidorus gave Caesar a note warning him of the danger as he passed in the street, but he didn’t take time to read it before he went inside,” Septimus said. “It was found with his papers after his death.”
“He had many warnings,” Marcus replied. “He chose to ignore them, just as he chose to go around without a guard when he knew plots were daily being hatched against his life. It seemed he was tired of taking precautions and wanted to tempt fate and see if it would favor him.”
“Casca said he was careless because he thought he was a god,” Lepidus said darkly.
“Casca!” Tiberius exploded. “I’ll throttle the life out of that snow topped old crook, we’ll see how his fine clothes look when they’re wrapped around his neck.”
Marcus looked down, thinking anxiously about Julia, hoping that her status as a Vestal would protect her from whatever befell her grandfather. How could he get to her? The Vestals were in seclusion, on Antony’s order.
“Tillius Cimber, that snotrag, pretended to ask Caesar a question and then grabbed his shoulders, holding him still for the others to butcher him,” Tiberius said darkly.
“Tillius always was a spineless sea creature,” Antony said disgustedly. “He’ll surface when this is over and claim to have been in Capua when it happened.”
“I know he was there, and I’ll remember,” Tiberius replied quietly. “The physician Antistius who did the post mortem said that none of the wounds was mortal but the second one in the chest, yet there was so much blood the slaves are cleaning the floor of the assembly hall still. They hacked at him relentlessly until he fell, those pig stickers.” His mouth became a grim line. “I’ll introduce them to the ferryman myself.”
Antony held up his hand. “Enough, Tiberius. Beating it into the ground will not help Caesar’s cause now. We must act to preserve what he left us. I think Corvus is right, an appeal to the people is what we need. They are already rising, it seems that the mobs are mostly pro-Caesar. I think I’ll give them a little push. Maybe they’ll do our work for us.”
“What do you mean?” Lepidus asked.
“I’ll speak at the funeral, remind the crowds what a friend to them Caesar was. If the environment for the murderers becomes ...inhospitable... we won’t have to lift a finger against them. They’re all rats, they’ll scatter and desert their sinking ship.”
“I want to lift a finger against them,” Tiberius shouted. “I want to crush their heads myself!”
“You will do what I say!” Antony snapped, in a tone which brooked no argument. Tiberius stared back at him, and the others exchanged anxious glances. Antony was the senior military man there, and they did not question that he was in charge, but Tiberius could be a problem when incensed.
They all waited, as the silence grew.
Tiberius finally looked away from Antony, his expression indicating that he disagreed but would obey.
“We must sacrifice our thirst for the satisfaction of personal vengeance in order to gain the greater good,” Antony, the consummate strategist, said in a milder tone. “My first objective, as Consul, is to convene the Senate. They will be much more difficult to convince than the populace. After all, the Senators had become so disenchanted with Caesar that these murderers thought they could kill him and be rewarded for it, right?”
Marcus nodded dolefully as the others looked on, waiting for their instructions.
“I will meet with opposition there, but I think I can win them to my side. Self-interest is the governing emotion for most people, and Caesar appointed the majority of the Senators, either directly or through elections which he influenced or controlled. If his edicts are declared invalid they will lose their seats. They won’t want new elections; with Caesar gone they won’t be guaranteed to prevail, will they?”
Marcus listened admiringly. He had always been in awe of Antony’s manipulative turn of mind; he himself was an excellent solider and military strategist, but Antony’s grasp of politics was beyond his, and rivaled Caesar’s.
Caesar was dead, but his side might yet triumph.
“Now listen to me,” Antony said, putting his left foot up on a storage box and leaning forward on his upraised knee, “this is what we’re going to do.”
* * *
Larthia was saying goodbye to the capum, or chief, of the Tanner’s guild when she heard a disturbance in the crowd behind her. She had spent the afternoon of the previous day in the tanner’s booth at the festival of Minerva, and had returned this morning to sign the sponsorship book to conclude the fiscal year for the guild. When she looked around a distraught man was running amok through the forum stalls, screaming, “Caesar is dead! Caesar is dead! He was murdered in the Senate this morning!”
Larthia stared at him, aghast, thinking that he must be deranged. Verrix, who had been standing outside the booth, took a few steps closer to Larthia.
“What’s going on, Lady Sejana ?�
�� the guild chief said to Larthia.
“This madman is shouting that Ceasar is dead,” Larthia replied, as the people standing near her all turned to look at the intruder.
The capum dropped his book and ran into the street, grabbing the arm of the runner.
“Is this true?” he demanded.
“It’s true, it’s true!” the man replied. “Down at the Capitol mobs are storming the curia, they’re on their way here.”
“Who?” Larthia said. “Who did it?”
“Brutus and Cassius and old Casca,” the messenger replied.
“They stabbed him all at once to share the blame. Oh, the father of our country is dead!” He broke free and ran on, still shouting, as Larthia stood rooted, stunned.
Verrix muttered something under his breath and moved to her side as a dull roar escalated in volume at the other end of the forum. They both looked in that direction and saw what seemed like hundreds of people streaming down from the surrounding elevation, all incensed, some screaming, some shaking their fists, many of them carrying tapers although it was broad daylight.
“Let’s get out of here,” Verrix said to Larthia in an undertone, steering her in the other direction.
“Did you hear what he said?” Larthia whispered. “That man said my grandfather murdered Caesar.”
“I heard,” Verrix replied, pulling her by the arm, looking anxiously around him for shelter. There was none.
“He knew,” she murmured. “He was planning this the night he came to see me and told me to transfer my money from the banks. Casca was planning this all along!”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Verrix said, glancing over his shoulder at the advancing mob. “You have to get home.” He gestured to the bearers urgently. “Dump the litter behind the stall and leave it there.”
Larthia looked at him.
“It has your crest on it,” he explained. “If these people are pro-Caesar they might not be too fond of any of Casca’s relatives right now.”
Larthia closed her eyes, then opened them. When he pulled her along a second time she did not resist.
The slave boys followed close behind them, tearing off their tunic belts with the Sejanus crest stitched on them and tossing them aside.
When they reached the other end of the street Verrix saw another tentacle of the mob coming around the corner. He pulled Larthia into an alley and began to run.
“What’s the shortest cut to the Palatine?” he panted to one of the bearers.
The boy pointed, and Verrix shoved him to the front of their little band.
“You go, we’ll follow,” he said, and the boy darted ahead with his companion. Verrix and Larthia ran after them in silence; when one of Larthia’s sandals came loose she pulled it off and dropped it, running on with one foot bare, her skirts clutched in her hands.
The boy turned left, dodging wicker crates of garbage left for collection that evening, and the others weaved after him. When they finally emerged between two buildings the Sejanus house loomed above them, at the end of a long path up the Palatine hill.
Verrix grabbed Larthia’s hand, not caring at that moment who saw him.
“Come on,” he said. “Once inside the house you’ll be safe, nobody’s seen you yet.” He pulled Larthia along after him, then stopped short as three men emerged from a doorway across the street and spotted Larthia.
“There’s the Sejana!” one of them shouted to the other two. “That’s Casca’s granddaughter.”
As one body they turned and advanced on Verrix and Larthia and the two boys, seeing only one man who could oppose them.
Verrix shoved Larthia behind him and didn’t wait to be attacked. He ran forward and punched the first man in the stomach as hard as he could. The man doubled up and crumpled to the ground, gasping.
Verrix whirled and kicked his companion in the groin, then tripped him, then grabbed the third as he launched himself onto Verrix’ back. Verrix hauled his attacker over his head and slammed him to the ground, then kicked him in the jaw when he had the temerity to move again.
All three stirred for a few seconds more, groaning, and then lay still.
Verrix stood over them, panting, making sure they were out, as Larthia and the slave boys looked on in shock, mouths open, speechless. Larthia had never seen a person move faster in her life; it was all over in several blinks of an eye.
Verrix grabbed Larthia’s hand again and dragged her forward with him.
“Let’s go,” he said. “There may be others coming, we have to get back to the house.”
They fled uphill once more, as the angry sound of the mob increased behind them. When Larthia stumbled, her gait uneven because of her lost shoe, Verrix scooped her up without missing a step and ran with her in his arms the rest of the way.
Nestor opened the door to them and they dashed past him. He watched as Verrix grabbed the yellow ash crossbar from the hall and barred the door with it. Then he ran into the tablinum and looked out the strip window that had a narrow view of the winding descent to the forum.
“There’s nobody coming up the hill,” he said to Larthia, who was right behind him. She collapsed into his arms. He held her tightly, stroking her hair, then looked over her shoulder to see Nestor and the two bearers standing the doorway, watching them.
He stepped back from Larthia, who glanced around and said, “It’s all right, the danger has passed. Caesar is dead and I fear we may become targets of revenge for his murder, as my grandfather was involved in it. Nestor, lock and bar all the other doors. Cato and Domitius, you two stand as lookouts on the back portico and let me know immediately if you see anyone approaching the house. You may go now.”
When the servants had left Larthia closed the door behind them and said, “They saw us.”
Verrix nodded and said, “I know, but that may be the least of our troubles. Word is obviously getting around that Casca was one of the murderers. You can’t be seen in the town, you have to stay inside here until we see which group wins the struggle.”
Larthia sighed, still trying to take it all in; so much had happened in such a short space of time. “I wanted to leave Rome just as soon as you took the message to Julia about where we were going,” she said.
He sat on the couch and she sank into his lap, drawing her legs up like a child. He noticed that her feet were covered with scratches from their run up the Palatine.
“I’ll get to Julia,” he said, “but you have to remain here, Larthia. You can’t risk attracting attention, these people are crazy. I’ve seen mobs before, men who were perfectly sane a day earlier get caught up in the frenzy and do unspeakable things.”
Larthia shuddered. “You don’t have to convince me. Did you see the look on the faces of those men who came after us? Blind hatred, and they don’t even know me!”
“They know your grandfather killed Caesar. That’s enough for them.”
Larthia dropped her head to his shoulder. “Casca was planning this for a long time, Verrix, without a thought for Julia or me. His envy of Caesar was overmastering, it ate him up for years. Caesar was witty and charming and brilliant, my grandfather was none of those things. All he had was money, and in the end it was not enough for him.”
“Caesar was ruthless and amoral; he only showed kindness or mercy after he had already achieved his objectives. Don’t make a hero out of him now that he is dead,” Verrix replied flatly.
Larthia looked up and traced the line of his full lower lip with her finger. “I don’t expect you to be one of his admirers,” she said. “But he knew how to get people to follow him, he inspired loyalty; all Casca knows is how to bribe people to get what he wants.”
“Caesar was not above bribery; that’s one of the reasons he got into such trouble with the Senate.”
“He got into trouble with the Senate because he admitted Gauls like you into its ranks,” Larthia replied, grinning.
He shot her a disgusted glance.
“It’s true. He permitted Gauls to become ci
tizens and then to represent their home districts in the Senate, instead of appointing Romans to represent them as had previously been the custom. Haven’t you heard the song the children sing?”
Verrix shook his head.
Larthia struck a pose.
“Caesar led the Gauls in triumph,
Led them uphill, led them down,
To the Senate House he took them,
Once the glory of our town.
‘Pull those breeches off,’ he shouted.
‘Change into a purple gown!’”
Larthia finished singing and sat up to catch his reaction. He smiled at her thinly.
“Very funny,” he said.
“I like your trousers,” she said, running her hand up his leg.
“I especially like them off, as the song says.” She bent forward to kiss him and he cupped the back of her head, his fingers sinking into her hair, his mouth exploring hers gently.
There was a knock at the door and Nestor’s voice said, “Mistress, I must speak with you.”
Verrix slid Larthia off his lap and said grimly, “This time I AM going to kill him.”
Larthia caught his arm. “You promised me you would leave him alone. We have enough to worry about without fighting among the servants.”
Verrix subsided and let her pass by him to open the tablinum door.
“What is it, Nestor?” Larthia said to him.
“Senator Gracchus has just sent word with his steward that your kinsman, the poet Helvius Cinna, was murdered on the Via Sacra a short time ago. The mob mistook him for his brother, Cornelius Cinna, who had just delivered a bitter speech against Caesar yesterday. They are now marching through the forum with the head of Helvius stuck on the point of a pilum. The Senator urges you to remain indoors and keep your servants closeted with you.”
Larthia swallowed, then nodded. “Give the steward a gold piece for coming over here,” she said to Nestor. “And convey my thanks to the Senator for the warning.”
When the old slave had left Verrix said, “What relation is the dead man to you?”
The Raven and the Rose Page 20