Conn Iggulden: Emperor: The Blood of Gods

‘On this day, the Ides of March, Rome was set free from an oppressor,’ he said. ‘Let the news fly from here to all nations. Caesar is dead and the Republic is restored. Let the shades of our fathers rejoice. Let the city rejoice. Caesar is dead and Rome is free.’

The words brought forth a wave of sound as the senators cheered, striving to outdo the men around them with sheer volume. They were red-faced as they roared and stamped, making the stones tremble. Mark Antony stood with his head bowed, the muscles in his jaw standing out like tumours.

Brutus thought suddenly of the Egyptian queen in the fine Roman house Caesar had given her. Cleopatra would not yet know what had happened to the father of her son. He imagined her panic when she heard. He did not doubt she would pack her jewels and get out of Rome as fast as good horses could run. The thought made him smile for the first time that morning. So many things would be made new in the months to come. Caesar had been like a weight on the city, pressing them all down. Now they would spring up, stronger and better than they had been before. Brutus could feel it in the air. This was his time at last.

The Senate had almost forgotten how things used to be. Brutus could see the little men revise their opinions of their own power. They had been mere servants. In a morning, in a raw-throated bellow, they had become men again. He had given them that. Brutus lowered his head in thought, but when he heard Mark Antony begin to speak, he looked up, suspicion flaring.

‘Senators, be still,’ Mark Antony said. ‘There is much to be done today, now that we have this news.’

Brutus frowned. The man was a famous supporter of Caesar. His time was over . The best he could do was leave the chamber with dignity and take his own life.

‘There are legions in the Campus Martius waiting for Caesar to lead them against Parthia,’ Mark Antony went on, oblivious to Brutus’ irritation. ‘They must be brought to heel, before they get the news. They were loyal to Caesar. They must be approached with care, or we will see them mutiny. Only the authority of the Senate stands between us all and anarchy in this city. Senators, be still .’ The last words were a command, deeper and louder in order to silence the last of the excited chatter.

At the door Brutus shook his head in sour amusement. Mark Antony was not a fool, but he overreached himself. Perhaps he thought he could be part of the new era, despite fawning on Caesar for so many years. It was more politics, but Brutus knew the senators were still numb, still feeling their way in the new world that had been thrust upon them. The consul might even save himself, though he would have to choose each step with care. There were old grudges to be settled yet and Antony would bear the brunt of many of them. Even so, for that morning at least, he was still consul.

‘There must be a formal vote before a single one of us leaves,’ Mark Antony continued, his strong voice rolling across the chamber. ‘If we grant amnesty to the murderers of Caesar, it will choke a rebellion before it begins. The citizens and the legions will see that we have restored justice and law, where it was once trodden down by a single man. I call that vote.’

Brutus froze, a worm of unease itching in his head. Cassius stood at the rostrum with his mouth slightly open. He should have been the one to call a vote for amnesty. It was all arranged and the Liberatores knew they would win. To have Caesar’s favourite pre-empt them with that vital step made Brutus want to bellow out in accusation. The words bubbled up in him, clear in his mind. Caesar had given Rome to Antony when he left the city to attack his enemies. Antony had been his puppet consul, the mask that let him hide tyranny beneath the old forms. What right did that man have to speak as if he now led the new Republic? Brutus took a half-step forward, but Mark Antony’s voice continued to echo over them.

‘I ask only this: that in death, Caesar be given his dignity. He was first in Rome. The legions and the people will expect to see him honoured. Will the men who brought him down deny him that? There should be no suspicion of shame, no secret burial. Let us treat the divine Julius with respect, now that he is gone from the world. Now that he is gone from Rome.’

In frustration, Cassius stepped up to the raised dais, so that he stood at Mark Antony’s side. Even then, the consul was a powerful figure beside his slight frame. Before he could speak, Mark Antony leaned close to him and murmured.

‘You have your victory, Cassius. This is not the time for small men and small vengeance. The legions will expect a funeral in the forum.’

Cassius remained still, thinking. At last, he nodded. Brutus stayed where he was, his right fist clenched over the empty space on his hip.

‘I thank Consul Mark Antony for his clear thinking,’ Cassius said. ‘And I concur. There must be order first, before law, before peace. Let this vote take place and then we will be free to manage the common citizens, with their petty emotions. We will honour Caesar in death.’

The senators looked to Cassius, and Brutus nodded fiercely at the way he had taken control. There were legal officers whose task it was to announce votes and debates in that place, but even as they rose from their seats around the rostrum, Cassius spoke again, ignoring their presence. He would not allow a delay on that morning, nor another to speak until he was done. Brutus began to relax.

‘Those in favour of complete amnesty to be granted to the liberators of Rome, rise and be counted.’

Brutus saw the sweating bulk of Bibilus leap to his feet with the energy of a younger man. The rest followed a bare moment later. Those who were already standing, like Mark Antony, raised their right hands. There was a beat of silence and Cassius nodded, tension flowing out of him.

‘Dissenters?’

The assembly sat down as one and not a single man rose. Somehow, it hurt Brutus to see. Half of them owed Caesar their lives and fortunes. Their families had been tied to his, their rise to his. He had picked them one by one over the years, men he wanted to honour in his wake. Yet they would not stand for him, even in death. Brutus found himself obscurely disappointed, for all he understood it. They were survivors, who could read the wind as well as anyone. Yet Caesar deserved better from Rome, on that day of all others.

Brutus shook his head in confusion, aware again of the blood on his hands as it dried and cracked. There was a fountain not far off in the forum and he wanted to be clean. As Cassius congratulated the Senate, Brutus slipped out into the sunshine. He collected his sword from the guards and walked stiffly down the steps and across the open ground.

There was already a crowd around the fountain, men and women of the city in colourful robes. Brutus felt their eyes on him as he approached, but he did not look at them. He knew the news would be on the wing already. They had not tried to hide it.

He rubbed his hands together in the freezing water, brought by aqueduct from distant mountains, drawn through narrowing lead pipes until it rushed out clear and sweet in the forum. Someone gasped as they saw the red stain that spread into the water from his skin, but he ignored them.

‘Is it true?’ a woman asked suddenly.

Brutus looked up, then rubbed his wet hands over his face, feeling the rough stubble. Her stola robe was fine, revealing a bare tanned shoulder, her elegance accented by hair piled and caught in silver pins. She was beautiful, kohl-eyed like a courtesan. He wondered how many others across the city were asking the same question at that moment.

‘Is what true?’ he asked.

‘That divine Caesar is dead, that he has been killed? Do you know?’ Her dark eyes were rimmed with tears as she stared at the man washing blood from his hands.