whatever event destiny had prepared for you. If the event was favourable, nothing would change. If it was unfavourable — or catastrophic — there might be time to prevent it from happening, or at least limit the damage.
What he desired most keenly was to stretch out on a bed and relax limbs tormented by the strain of endless riding. Then to eat something and drink a cup of strong red wine. But he decided to lie down on the ground under the shelter of an ancient olive tree, to eat a piece of cheese and soften a chunk of dry bread with water. Better this than risk another unpleasant encounter after everything that had already happened to him.
He slept as he was used to sleeping in these circumstances, without ever drifting into unconsciousness and without losing the sense of time passing. He had left his horse free to graze, certain it would not wander off. When he felt a little stronger, he called the horse with a whistle and started off again.
He headed in the same direction for a long while, avoiding places where too many people were to be found, until he was forced to return to the Via Cassia so as to be sure to find a way to cross the water. One could always count on a bridge of stone, at least; they never collapsed.
The terrain was very rough and he couldn’t stray too far from the road, although he mostly stayed on the loose-surfaced track at the side of the stone pavement. It was much faster that way and he felt that he was making up for lost time. Fortune seemed to be smiling on him now, he thought, as he managed to change his horse at a farm near Sutri without drawing attention to himself. The breeder accepted the difference in price between the horse Publius Sextius was leaving and the one he was buying, and he was free to set off once again at a fast pace. He was bound for the banks of the Tiber, beyond the Via Cassia, where he’d be able to board a ship at last.
He could feel that his mission was drawing to an end. He would soon be able to relay his message and to report directly to Caesar.
But all at once, as the sun was about to sink behind the hills, a horseman appeared in the middle of the road, barring his way. In his hand he held a drawn sword.
At first he thought of turning around, but two things stopped him. One, he’d never done such a thing in his whole life; he’d never turned tail. And two, he was curious. Curious to see who dared to take on Publius Sextius alone. Traitor or foe, whichever he was, perhaps he deserved this confrontation.
He slowed his horse to a walk, drew his own sword and advanced down the middle of the road. The other man did the same. When he was about fifty feet away, Publius halted his horse and spoke first.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’
‘What do you care who I am when you are about to die?’
‘Pure curiosity.’
His adversary had stopped as well. ‘My name is Sergius Quintilianus. Does that tell you anything?’
His left hand pulled firmly at the bit, as his horse was snorting and stamping at the sight of the other stallion opposing him. The horseman rode forward until he was very close.
‘Pharsalus,’ he added. ‘Do you remember now?’
Publius recognized him. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I do. I spared your life on the battlefield.’
‘After having killed my son, who stood before you defending his wounded father.’
‘You know what it’s like in the heat of the battle, man. There’s no time to make distinctions. When I realized what had happened, I held back. Let me go on my way now. We all have our own nightmares.’
‘You should have killed me as well. You don’t heal from a wound like that. By sparing my life you doubly humiliated me.’
‘You could have killed yourself. You had a weapon.’
‘I was about to do just that, Publius Sextius, but in the brief time I took to reflect, my hatred welled up over all else. I decided to live so I could find you and kill you. After such a long time, fortune has made the wait worth my while.’
He pointed westward at the sun, which was nearly touching the line of the hills. ‘Before it drops below the horizon, your blood will have placated the
‘I must reach Rome. If you try to prevent me, I’ll have to kill you.’
‘Then use that sword you hold in your hand!’ shouted Sergius Quintilianus, urging his horse forward.
Publius had anticipated the attack and was not taken by surprise. He rushed forward himself and met his opponent’s blows with unfaltering skill and strength. The blades crossed high and low with deafening crashes, sending sparks flying as one screeched along the edge of the other. Sergius lunged once, twice, three times, seeking his adversary’s heart. Unable to reach it, he disengaged, turned around and charged forward again with savage determination. Publius dodged him at the last moment but managed to strike him at the waist with the cane he held in his left hand, something Sergius had not expected.
Sergius Quintilianus was showing signs of weakening. He pulled his horse up short, panting, hunched over in pain. He would have been easy prey just then. But the centurion stopped his horse and dealt him no blow. Sergius was quick to return to the attack. He feinted a slash to his opponent’s groin, thrusting up at the last minute, towards his sternum. The blade missed Publius Sextius’s chest by a hair’s breadth, but tore into the still-gaping wound caused by his fall over the cliff.
Sextius felt a piercing, searing pain that reawakened the blind fury of the battlefield. His sword and cane struck out alternately with devastating force. Sergius Quintilianus fought back with all the rage and hate that burned in his blood. He attempted another assault, moving back to give himself the room to charge, but Publius Sextius could see the sword heading for his neck and he ducked, then swiftly spun around and drove his blade deep into the other man’s side before he could ride away. Sergius Quintilianus tumbled to the ground and the horse ran off, out of control. Publius Sextius dismounted and drew close. His adversary was gasping for breath and pressing his hand against the wound, blood welling up between his fingers.
‘Kill me this time,’ he said. ‘I’m a soldier like you are. Don’t let me rot here in my own blood.’
Publius Sextius bent down. He was bleeding as well and breathing hard. ‘You don’t have to die,’ he said. ‘I’ll send someone to get you. It’s possible to live without hate, bitterness, spite. We have to rise above the past, or we’re all dead. .’
But his adversary had already decided differently. He jerked up, wielding a dagger in his left hand. But Publius had seen the intent in his eyes and he sank his sword into the other man’s heart.
Sergius Quintilianus fell back, lifeless. He who had so often been defeated by his enemies and by destiny had been defeated once again and for ever this time. But his eyes shone for a moment with the look of a soul finally at peace.
The sun slipped below the mountains and was covered by the night.
Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 14 March, four p.m.
The commander of the third cohort of guards entered the Domus scowling and was immediately taken to Caesar.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘There’s no trace of him anywhere.’
Caesar gave a long sigh. ‘It seems strange to me that he hasn’t managed to get word to me, one way or another. .’
‘You said that as he was leaving last night he mentioned an encounter with a lady.’
‘That’s correct, tribune.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much, then. You said that he’d gone off at other times and that you have always left him free to go where he pleased.’
‘That’s true, but I’ve become accustomed to having him always at my side. If I don’t see him I feel. .’
‘I understand. But I’m sure he’ll show up. Tomorrow, maybe, or the next day. Maybe it’s precisely because he is always at your side that he felt the need for a bit of distraction, and if it’s a pretty lady he’s with, it’s not difficult to imagine why he’s lingering. If anything serious had happened, we’d have heard about it by now.’
‘Yes, you’re right, of course,’ replied Caesar. ‘But keep looking. I don’t feel right about this. I need him here.’
‘There’s no need to ask, Caesar. We’ll keep looking until we’ve found him.’
‘Good. And keep me informed. Whether it’s good news or bad, I want to know.’
The tribune took his leave and returned to his task. Caesar remained alone in his study to ponder Silius
