He destroyed the letter and scattered the pieces as he walked swiftly down the long stretch of road that led towards Antistius’s hospital on the Tiber Island.
He arrived as the sun was beginning to set. The legionaries of the Ninth, guarding the Fabricius Bridge, lowered their spears as a sign of respect for his rank, since they knew him well. He entered Antistius’s office. Each had important news for the other.
Antistius went first: ‘Artemidorus says he’ll collaborate. He has reason to detest Brutus.’
‘What does he know?’
‘Not much, to tell the truth. Strange meetings at odd times — in the middle of the night, just before dawn.’
‘Names?’
‘Not a single one. He couldn’t see them in the dark and they went straight to Brutus’s study. But I’ve asked him to investigate and to report back anything he learns. He’s said he will and I believe him. And you? Any news?’
‘I got a message through to Servilia. It wasn’t explicit, but she understood and answered. She can’t meet me but she says that she will do whatever she can.’
‘Can I see the letter?’ asked Antistius.
‘I destroyed it as soon as I’d read it, but I remember it very well. It wasn’t very long.’ He recited it word by word.
‘Yes,’ agreed Antistius. ‘Your interpretation is correct, I’d say.’
‘Good. I’ll go and tell Caesar.’
Antistius didn’t answer at first and Silius watched him, perplexed by his silence. Finally, the doctor said, ‘Are you sure that’s a wise decision?’
‘Of course. Without a doubt.’
‘What can you tell him that he doesn’t already know? Do you really think he hasn’t picked up on the rumours, felt conspiracy in the air, if not already in making? It’s clear to me that he doesn’t intend to quash any uprising on the basis of hearsay alone. He doesn’t want blood. Not now, at least.’
‘But Servilia is under surveillance, isn’t that sufficient evidence?’
‘No, it’s not. It means that Brutus might — just might, mind you — be involved. If a conspiracy exists, that is.’
‘But don’t you understand her words, “a chasm lies on either side of the road”?’
‘It depends on how you interpret them. The expression she’s chosen is anything but clear. Listen. Imagine that Caesar takes your word on this and unleashes a wide-scale repression. What would he have to do then, exactly? Capture Brutus and put him to death? On the basis of what accusation? Or hire some assassin to take him out? His murder would be instantly attributed to Caesar by those who seek to destroy him. He would be held up to public scorn as a bloody tyrant whose true, vindictive nature had finally been unmasked. That’s exactly what Caesar wants to avoid. Telling him would just put him in a worse dilemma.’
‘So what should we do?’
‘I’m counting on Artemidorus. Imagine that he manages to discover that there truly is a conspiracy and to identify who is in on it. At that point it will be easier for Caesar to lay a trap, expose their plan and then decide what should happen to them. What’s more, Servilia has said that she will do something and I think that something may prove to be important. She’ll find a way to save her son and the man she loves, even if that seems impossible. We must give her that chance.’
‘How can she accomplish such a thing?’
Antistius was creating elaborate doodles on a wax tablet with the tip of his scalpel, as though he were mapping out complex thoughts. He raised his head slightly and looked up at Silius.
‘By letting Caesar know the day they’ve chosen.’
11
Villa Quintiliana, 11 March, five p.m.
‘You’re finally awake! I thought you'd never open your eyes.’
Mustela turned in the direction the voice was coming from and met the eyes of a heavy-set man with a vigorous, no-nonsense look. A soldier at first glance. An officer.
‘It was careless of you to reveal your code name to a servant and even more so to ask to meet me in my home,’ he said.
Mustela tried to bolster himself up on his elbows but the effort made him grimace in pain.
‘What time is it?’ he asked.
‘Forget about the time and answer me.’
‘I had no choice,’ said Mustela. ‘Look at me. Your men were about to throw me into the cesspool. Wouldn’t have been a nice death, not even for a bloke like me.’
‘It’s dangerous for you to be here. The sooner you go the better. What do you want?’
Mustela looked out of the window, then said, ‘It’s late.’
‘The twelfth hour, more or less.’
‘Oh, gods, I risked my life for nothing. You should have woken me. Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Have you lost your mind, man? They had to stitch you up, in case you haven’t noticed, with needle and thread. You were more dead than alive when you got here. They had no choice.’
‘Listen to me. Two men, three or four at the most, are trying to reach Rome on different roads in order to prevent justice being done. I intercepted a few words at a
The man’s face flushed with sudden anger. ‘You bet I know that son of a bitch. He’s a damned bastard. I’d like to see him dead.’
‘Then stop him, and stop the others.’
‘All right. Let’s pretend that this is possible, that it’s not already too late. How in the name of Hades can I stop the others? You don’t even know who they are, do you? Or how many of them are out there. You’re asking for a miracle.’
Mustela had finally struggled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
‘The fact that Publius Sextius left in such haste and that he sent out other messengers as well means that he’s determined to stop what’s going to happen. It’s a fight against time. If we get there first, we’ll live. If we get there second, we’ll die, and with us the freedom of the republic.’
The officer shook his head. ‘Don’t feed me that line about the freedom of the republic. I know your kind too well. Follow me, if you can manage it.’
He left the room and walked towards the peristyle. Mustela stumbled after him, groping his way along the wall. They entered a room on the other side of the courtyard. This was the study of Mustela’s reluctant host, the master of the villa, who opened a cabinet and removed a scroll. He spread it out on the table. It was a rough map of all the roads between Cisalpine Gaul and Rome.
‘If they’re in such a hurry, they’ll use the easiest roads to travel, so it shouldn’t be impossible to intercept them. .’ His finger traced the black lines that represented the consular roads. ‘The Via Cassia. . or the Via Flaminia. What’s more, I’ve been told that it’s stormy up on the mountains and that certain passes have been blocked by snow. The couriers I’d been expecting showed up here almost a full day late. Your men won’t have an easy time crossing.’
He lifted his eyes and looked directly at Mustela. ‘Besides Publius Sextius, who did you see?’
‘A stocky man, not very tall, grey beard, hands as huge as a bear’s paws, eyebrows joined up over his nose.’
‘All right. And then? What did they say to each other? Give me a clue.’
Mustela shook his head. ‘How can I do that? I don’t have the slightest idea, but I saw this bloke send a
