6. The October Horse: A Novel of Caesar and Cleopatra

by Colleen McCullough

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  Twenty-one men now belonged to the Kill Caesar Club: Gaius Trebonius, Decimus Brutus, Staius Murcus, Tillius Cimber, Minucius Basilus, Decimus Turullius, Quintus Ligarius, Antistius Labeo, the brothers Servilius Casca, the brothers Caecilius, Popillius Liguriensis, Petronius, Pontius Aquila, Rubrius Ruga, Otacilius Naso, Caesennius Lento, Cassius Parmensis, Spurius Maelius, and Servius Sulpicius Galba. Apart from his loathing of Caesar, Spurius Maelius had given a peculiar, if logical, reason for joining the club. Four hundred years earlier, his ancestor, also named Spurius Maelius, had tried to make himself King of Rome; to kill Caesar was a way to remove the lingering odium from his family, which hadn't prospered since. The acquisition of Galba had delighted the club's founders, for he was patrician, an ex-praetor, and had enormous clout. During the early period of Caesar's Gallic War, Galba had conducted a campaign in the high Alps and bungled it so badly that Caesar quickly dispensed with his services; Galba was, besides, one of Caesar's cuckolds. Six of the members could claim some sort of distinction, but unfortunately the rest were, as Trebonius said despondently to Decimus Brutus, a pathetic bunch of would-bes and has-beens. "About the best one can say is that they've all been mighty close-lipped about it I haven't heard a whisper that the Kill Caesar Club exists." "Nor I," said Decimus Brutus. "If we could only get two more members with Galba's clout, I'd call the club big enough. Once it gets over twenty-three, the business would turn into a free-for-all worse than the fight for the October Horse's head." "The business bears some similarity to the October Horse," Trebonius said reflectively. "When you think about it, that's what we aim to do, isn't it? Kill the best war horse Rome owns." "I concede your point. Caesar's in a class all by himself, no one can hope to eclipse him. If hope existed, there would be no need to kill him. Though Antonius has grand delusions pah! We should kill Antonius as well, Trebonius." "I don't agree," Trebonius said. "If we want to live and prosper, we have to make it scream patriotism! Kill even one of Caesar's minions, and we stand as rebels and outlaws." "Dolabella will be there, and he's a man you can deal with," Decimus Brutus said. "Antonius is a wolfshead." Decimus Brutus's steward knocked on the study door. "Domine, Gaius Cassius is asking to see you." The two exchanged an uneasy glance. "Send him in, Bocchus." Cassius entered rather hesitantly, which seemed odd; he was ordinarily anything but hesitant. "I'm not intruding?" he asked, sniffing something in the air. "No, no," said Decimus Brutus, drawing up a third chair. "A little wine? Some refreshments?" Cassius sat with a thump, linked his hands and twisted them. "Thank you, I need nothing." A silence fell that was curiously difficult to break; when finally it did, it was Cassius who spoke. "What do you think of our dictator for life?" he asked. "That we've made a rod for our own backs," said Trebonius. "That we'll never be free again," said Decimus Brutus. "My sentiments exactly. And those of Marcus Brutus, though he doesn't believe there's a thing we can do about it." "Whereas you believe there is, Cassius?" Trebonius asked. "If I had my way, I'd kill him!" said Cassius. He lifted his amberish brown eyes to Trebonius's face and saw things in its dismal planes that made him catch his breath. "Yes, I'd kill this millstone around our necks." "Kill him how?" Decimus Brutus asked, as if puzzled. "I don't I don't I don't know," stammered Cassius. "It's a new thought, you understand. Until we all voted to make him the dictator for life, I suppose I had reconciled myself to a number of years of him, but he's indestructible! He'll still be attending meetings of the House when he's ninety his health is fantastic and that mind will never let go." As he spoke, Cassius's voice grew stronger; the two pairs of light eyes staring intently at him were echoing everything his roiling thoughts had been turning over. He understood that he was among friends, and visibly relaxed. "Am I the only one?" he asked. "By no means," said Trebonius. "In fact, join the club." "Club?" "The Kill Caesar Club. We called it that because, if its existence became known, we could explain it away as a joke name for a group of men who don't like Caesar, and have clubbed together to kill him politically," Trebonius said. "So far it contains twenty-one members. Are you interested in joining?" Cassius made up his mind with the same speed he had at that meeting along the Bilechas River when he had decided to abandon Marcus Crassus to his fate and gallop for Syria. "Count me in," he said, and sat back. "Now I'd appreciate some wine." Nothing loath, the two founders proceeded to acquaint Cassius with the club, its duration, its aims, why they had resolved to kill the October Horse. Cassius listened eagerly until he was told the names of the members. "A paltry lot," he said flatly. "You're right," said Decimus, "but they lend us one important thing bulk. It could be a political alliance there were never many boni, for example. At least they're all senators, and there are too many to indicate a feel-in-the-dark conspiracy. Conspiracy is the one word we don't want attached to our club." Trebonius took over. "Your participation is a bonus we had despaired of earning, Cassius, because you have real clout. But even a Cassius and a patrician Sulpicius Galba may not be enough to imbue the deed with the the heroism it must have. I mean, we're tyrannicides, not murderers! That's how we must look when the deed is done when it's over. We have to be able to march down to the rostra and declare to the whole of Rome that we've lifted the curse of tyranny from our beloved homeland, that we have no apologies to make and expect no retaliations. Men who free their homeland from a tyrant should be lauded. Rome's rid herself of tyrants before, and the men who did it have passed down as Rome's greatest men ever. Brutus, who banished the last king and executed his own sons when they tried to bring the monarchy back! Servilius Ahala, who killed Spurius Maelius when he tried to make himself King of Rome " "Brutus!" Cassius cried, interrupting. "Brutus! Now that Cato is dead, we have to have Brutus in the club! The direct descendant of the first Brutus, and, through his mother, the heir of Servilius Ahala as well! If we can persuade Brutus to join us, we're free and clear no one would dream of prosecuting us." Decimus Brutus stiffened, eyes flashing cold fire. "I am a direct descendant of the first Brutus too do you think we haven't already thought of that?" he demanded. "Yes, but you're not connected to Servilius Ahala," Trebonius said. "Marcus Brutus outranks you, Decimus, and there's no use getting angry about it. He's the richest man in Rome, so his clout is colossal, he's a Brutus and a patrician Servilius Cassius, we have to have him! Then we'll have two Brutuses, we can't fail!" "All right, I see that," Decimus said, anger dying. "Yet can we get him, Cassius? I admit I don't know him very well, but what I do know of him suggests he wouldn't be a party to tyrannicide. He's so docile, so tame, so anemic." "You're correct, he's those and more," Cassius said gloomily. "His mother rules him " He stopped, brightening. "Until, that is, he married Porcia. Oh, the fights! There's no doubt that Brutus has more gumption since he married Porcia. And the Dictator Perpetuus decree horrified him. I'll work on him, persuade him that it's his moral and ethical duty as a Junius Brutus and a Servilius Ahala to rid Rome of her present tyrant." "Do we dare approach him?" Decimus Brutus asked warily. "He might run straight to Caesar." Cassius looked astonished. "Brutus? No, never! Even if he decides not to join us, I'd stake my life on his silence." "You will be," said Decimus Brutus. "You will be."

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  When the Dictator Perpetuus convened the Centuries on the Campus Martius to "elect" Publius Cornelius Dolabella the senior consul in Caesar's absence, the voting went swiftly and smoothly; there was no reason why it should not, since there was only one candidate, but the vote of each Century still had to be counted, at least right through the First Class and as far into the Second Class as necessary to obtain a majority; the Centuries were very heavily weighted in favor of the First Class, so in an "election" like today's, no one from the Third, Fourth or Fifth Classes even bothered to turn up. Both Caesar and Mark Antony attended, Caesar as supervising magistrate, Antony in his function as augur. It took the junior consul an inordinately long time to complete his auspication; the first sheep was rejected as unclean, the second had too few teeth. Only when he came to the third did he decide it met his purposes, which were to inspect the v
ictim's liver according to a strict protocol both written down and on display as a three-dimensional bronze model. There was no mystical element in Rome's auguries, hence no need to find mystical men to act as augurs. Impatient as always, Caesar ordered the voting to proceed while Antony fussed and probed. "What's the matter?" he asked, coming to Antony's side. "The liver. It looks terrible." Caesar looked, turned it over with a stylus, counted the lobes and verified their shapes. "It's perfect, Antonius. As Pontifex Maximus and a fellow augur, I declare the omens auspicious." Shrugging, Antony walked away as the augural acolytes began to clean up, and stood staring into the distance. A smile playing about his lips, Caesar went back to supervising. "Don't sulk, Antonius," he said. "It was a good try." About half the votes of the necessary ninety-seven Centuries had been registered when Antony suddenly jumped and squawked, then strode to the saepta side of the supervising tower, where he could see the long lines of white-clad figures filing to the baskets. "A fireball! The omens are inauspicious!" he bellowed in his stentorian voice. "As official augur on this occasion, I order the Centuries to go home!" It was brilliantly done. Caught unprepared, Caesar hadn't time to start enquiring who else had seen this evanescent meteor before the Centuries, full of men who would rather be elsewhere, began to leave in a hurry. Dolabella came running from his constant soliciting of the Centuries lined up to vote, his face purple with rage. "Cunnus!" he spat at the grinning Antony. "You go too far, Antonius," Caesar said, mouth thin. "I saw a fireball," Antony maintained stubbornly. "On my left, low on the horizon." "I presume that this is your way of informing me that there is no point in holding another election? That it too will fail?" "Caesar, I'm simply telling you what I saw." "You're an incontinent fool, Antonius. There are other ways," Caesar said, turned on his heel and walked down the tower steps. "Fight, you prick!" Dolabella yelled, shaping up. "Lictors, restrain him," Antony barked, following Caesar. Cicero scuttled up importantly, eyes sparkling. "That was so stupid, Marcus Antonius," he announced. "You acted illegally. You should have watched the skies as consul, not as augur. Augurs must be formally commissioned to watch the skies, consuls not." "Thank you, Cicero, for telling Antonius the correct way to screw up future elections!" Caesar snapped. "I would remind you that Publius Clodius made it illegal for consuls to watch the skies without commission too. Before you pontificate, look up the laws passed while you were in exile." Cicero sniffed and marched off, mortified. "I doubt," said Caesar to Antony, "that you'll have the gall to block Dolabella's appointment as suffect consul." "No, I won't do that," Antony said agreeably. "As a suffect consul, he can't outrank me." "Antonius, Antonius, your law is as bad as your arithmetic! Of course he can, if the consul he replaces is the senior consul. Why do you think I went to the trouble of having a suffect consul appointed for a few hours when Fabius Maximus, the senior consul, died on the last day of last December? Law is not only what is written on the tablets, it is also valid on uncontested precedents. And I set the precedent a little over a month ago. Neither you nor anybody else objected. You may think you caught me out today, but, as you now know, I am always one step ahead of you." Caesar smiled sweetly and went to join Lucius Caesar, glaring fiercely at Antony. "What can we do with my nephew?" Lucius asked in despair. "In my absence? Sit on him, Lucius. He's actually well contained, if you think about it. Dolabella's dislike for him won't diminish after today, will it? Calvinus as Master of the Horse, the Treasury completely in the hands of Balbus Major and Oppius yes, Antonius is well contained."

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  Quite aware that he was effectively muzzled, Antony stalked home in a towering rage. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right! The cunning old fox was master of every trick in the political and legal manuals, plus a few tricks he'd invented. Soon every last senator would be compelled to swear a mortal oath to uphold all of Caesar's laws and dictates in his absence. It would be administered under the open sky of the temple of Semo Sancus Dius Fidius, and as Pontifex Maximus the old boy had gotten around things like holding a stone in the hand to negate the oath Caesar had been around too long to be fooled by anything. Trebonius. I need to talk to Gaius Trebonius. Not Decimus Brutus, but Trebonius. Somewhere very private. He made contact after the Senate met to appoint Dolabella the suffect consul after Caesar stepped down. Suffect, but senior. "My horse has arrived from Spain. Want to take a walk out to the Campus Lanatarius and see him?" Antony asked jovially. "Certainly," said Trebonius. "When?" "There's no time like the present, Antonius." "Where's Decimus Brutus?" "Keeping Gaius Cassius company." "That's an odd friendship." "Not these days." They walked on in silence until they passed through the Capena Gate, heading for the area which contained Rome's stables, as well as the stockyards and slaughterhouses. The day was cold, a bitter wind blowing; inside the Servian Walls they hadn't felt it as much, but once beyond the city, their teeth began to chatter. "Here's a nice little tavern," said Antony. "Clemency can wait, I need wine and a warm fire." "Clemency?" "My new Public Horse. After all, I am the flamen of the new cult of Caesar's Clemency, Trebonius." "Oh, he was angry when we gave him the silver tablets!" "Don't remind me. The first time I ever met him, he kicked my arse so hard I couldn't sit down for a nundinum." The few occupants of the tavern looked at the newcomers and gaped; never in all the place's history had two men in purple-bordered togas walked through the door! The landlord rushed to escort them to his best table, evicting three merchants who were too awed to protest, then hunted for his best amphora of wine, put bowls of pickled onions and plump olives down for them to munch. "We'll be safe here, this lot's as Latin as Quirinus," said Trebonius in Greek. He sipped experimentally at his beaker of wine, looked surprised, and waved his approval at the beaming landlord. "What's on your mind, Antonius?" "Your little plot. Time's running out. How's it going?" "Well in one way, not so well in another. There are enough of us at twenty-two, but we lack a figurehead, which is a worry. There's no point in doing this particular deed if we can't survive it in an odor of sanctity. We're tyrannicides, not murderers," said Trebonius, uttering his favorite sentence. "However, Gaius Cassius has joined us, and he's going to try to persuade Marcus Brutus to be the figurehead." "Edepol!" Antony exclaimed. "He'd be all of that." "I'm not sanguine about Cassius's chances of success." "How about," said Antony, pulling layers off an onion, "some additional guarantees in case you don't get your figurehead?" "Guarantees?" Trebonius asked, looking alert. "Don't forget I'll be consul and don't think for a moment that Dolabella's going to be a problem, because I won't let him. If You-know-who is dead, he'll lie down, roll over, and present me with his belly," said Antony. "What I'm proposing is to smooth things over for you with the Senate and People. My brother Gaius is a praetor and my brother Lucius is a tribune of the plebs. I'm happy to guarantee that none of the participants will be brought to trial, that none will be deprived of his magistracy, province, estates or entitlements. Don't forget that I'm Caesar's heir. Ill control the legions, who love me a great deal more than they do Lepidus or Calvinus or Dolabella. No one will dare to go against me in the Senate or the Assemblies." The ugly, attractive face turned feral. "I'm not nearly as big a fool as Caesar deems me, Trebonius. If he's killed, why not kill me and Uncle Lucius and Calvinus and Pedius? My life is in jeopardy too. So I'll make a bargain with you with you, and you alone! It's your scheme, and you're the one who'll hold the rest together. What I'm saying to you is between you and me, it's not for dissemination to the others. You make sure that I'm not a target and I'll make sure that no one suffers for the deed." Moist grey eyes reflective, Trebonius sat and thought. He was being made an offer too good to spurn. Antonius was an administrative sloth, not a maniac for work like Caesar. He'd be content to let Rome slide back into her old ways as long as he could strut around calling himself the First Man in Rome and as long as he had Caesar's staggering fortune to spend. "It's a deal," said Gaius Trebonius. "Our secret, Antonius. What the rest don't know won't hurt them." "That goes for Decimus too? I remember him from Clodius Club days, and he's maybe not as stable as most people t
hink." "I won't tell Decimus, you have my oath on it."