Simon Scarrow - Street fighter

A cold stab of fear shot up Marcus’s neck. He swung round and saw that Lupus had returned to his master’s side, and refilled his cup once again. The Greek who had been standing by the wine tubs was watching Caesar expectantly. Marcus abruptly turned away from Pompeius and sprinted back towards his master. Caesar drew his cup away from the jar and raised it towards his lips.

‘Caesar!’ Marcus shouted. ‘No!’

Marcus’s warning was drowned out by the deep booming of drums as the actors ran into the centre of the garden. Caesar paused, as if he thought he might have heard something, then moved the cup to his lips. Marcus hurled himself across the couch and thrust the cup away, so that the wine slopped over and stained the white linen cover of the couch in spatters of red.

‘What on earth!’ Caesar spluttered.

Marcus firmly took the cup from his hand and set it down carefully on the table. ‘It’s poisoned, master.’

‘Poison?’ Caesar stared at the cup in horror. He looked up at Marcus. ‘What are you talking about?’

Marcus pointed at Thermon, still standing beside the wine tubs. The Greek was watching them intently. ‘I saw him put something in the wine. He’s the one who was plotting with Milo and Bibulus. His name is Thermon.’

Caesar glanced down the garden. The rest of the guests were watching the mime artists and only those closest to the host were aware of what had happened. Caesar turned back to Marcus. ‘By the gods, you had better be sure about this.’

He sat up and caught the attention of Festus. ‘Take that man, the Greek, standing beside the wine tubs. Do it quietly, and put him in the cellar in chains and watch over him. I’ll come to you as soon as the party is over.’

‘Yes, master.’ Festus turned and walked quickly round the line of tables, gesturing to the men he had placed around the garden to join him.

But they were too late. Thermon had seen Festus heading for him and he suddenly made a run for it, towards the wall of the garden.

‘Stop him!’ Caesar cried out. ‘Festus! Don’t let him escape!’

Faces turned towards Caesar and the actors paused in their performance. Marcus watched as Thermon sprinted for the wall, wondering how he hoped to scale it. But as Thermon rounded the corner and struck out towards the stacked benches, it was obvious. Festus broke into a sprint. But he was too late. Thermon reached the benches, clambered up and swung himself on to the wall, kicking the benches away as he did so. He rolled over the top and was lost from view.

Festus abandoned any idea of pursuing him over the wall and shouted orders to his men to get out into the street to try to block the Greek’s escape. They raced out of the garden, leaving the guests staring after them. Caesar hurriedly called for their attention and assured them there was nothing to worry about. A petty thief had been caught in the act, he said, before calling on his guests to continue the feast. After a moment the mime performance continued. Once he was certain the incident wouldn’t disrupt the celebration, Caesar turned to Marcus with a cold expression. ‘Go to my study at once. Wait for me there.’

Marcus sat in the gloomy light cast by a single oil lamp. He was trying to think through what this all meant. Thermon was the servant of Decimus, who in turn was the friend of Crassus, one of Caesar’s closest allies. Why would Thermon have tried to kill Caesar — twice now? It didn’t seem to make any sense.

The feast ended late in the evening and Marcus heard the guests begin to leave, talking noisily as they passed by the door of the study. Gradually the sounds died away and there was a long delay before footsteps sounded outside the door. Festus opened it and stood aside to let his master, Pompeius and Crassus enter the study. Marcus rose up from the stool. Caesar and his two political allies sat themselves down on the more comfortable chairs round his desk, while the two slaves remained on their feet.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ asked Crassus. ‘Why have you called us in here?’

‘There’s been another attempt on my life tonight,’ Caesar replied tonelessly.

‘Ah!’ Pompeius slapped a hand on his thigh. ‘I wondered what that fracas was. Did you catch the man?’

‘No. He got away. But I have his name. Thermon. That’s right, isn’t it, Marcus?’

‘Yes, Caesar.’

‘And what exactly do you know of him?’

Marcus pursed his lips. ‘Not much. He was the man who killed my father and kidnapped my mother and me from our farm on Leucas.’

‘Then what is he doing here?’ asked Pompeius. ‘Why would he want to kill Caesar? Who is he working for?’

‘I can’t say. He used to work for a tax collector by the name of Decimus.’ Marcus glanced at Crassus. ‘The same Decimus I saw you with outside the Senate House earlier this year, sir.’ Marcus turned to Caesar. ‘And the same Decimus who gave the signal for the attempt on your life, master.’

Caesar stared at him intently. ‘Are you certain?’

Marcus knew he had no firm evidence, but he had to tell Caesar his fears — if Crassus was in league with Decimus and Thermon, he was also in league with Bibulus and Milo. Caesar’s life was still in danger, and Crassus wasn’t really an ally at all. He was a deadly enemy. ‘It was Decimus, master. I am sure of it.’

Caesar turned to Crassus. ‘It seems you owe me an explanation, my friend,’ he said firmly.

Crassus folded his hands together in his lap and replied casually, ‘Decimus is a business associate of mine.’

‘Where is he now?’ Caesar demanded. ‘I demand to speak with him.’

‘He left Rome recently. I believe he was returning to his estates in Greece.’

‘I see. . How convenient.’ Caesar continued to stare at Crassus until the other man’s gaze finally wavered. ‘And would you mind telling me why the servant of a business associate of yours would try to kill me?’

‘I have no idea. You’d have to ask this, er, Thermon. If you find him.’

‘Or perhaps I should have a word with Decimus, once I’ve tracked him down?’

‘You could, though I doubt whether an honest businessman like Decimus would know anything about an attempt on your life.’

There was a brief, tense silence before Caesar sighed. ‘Crassus. . What are you hiding from me? What do you know about all this? The three of us have entered into an alliance. We swore an oath to look after each other’s interests. We said that we would discuss any grievances we may have openly, to avoid the danger of conflict. We are supposed to be equal partners.’

‘Yes, that was my understanding,’ Crassus replied coolly. ‘But since you mention equal partners — why did you give your daughter to Pompeius as a bride? And why are you now strengthening your ties to Pompeius by marrying your niece into his family? A reasonable man might question the motives behind such moves to tie your political fortunes more closely to each other.’ His lips compressed into a thin line. ‘Caesar, from where I’m sitting, it looks as if the two of you are trying to make me into the junior partner of our agreement.’

‘Preposterous!’ Pompeius snorted. ‘And if marriage helps to cement relations between me and Caesar, then so much the better for all of us. You’re jumping at shadows, Crassus. Just like a freshly minted junior officer!’

Crassus’s eyes narrowed for a second before he continued in a quiet voice that Marcus found menacing. ‘You must think me a fool. I know what your game is and I won’t live in your shadow. Nor Caesar’s.’

‘Is that why you plotted to kill me?’ Caesar asked bluntly. ‘You would have me murdered just because my family and Pompeius’s are linked by marriage?’