‘Very well, we are agreed.’ Caesar nodded, holding his hand out to Clodius.
After shaking hands, Clodius nodded towards the corpse. ‘Now the business is concluded, might we move away from our malodorous companion? A cup of wine should be enough to remove the rather nasty taste that death tends to leave in one’s mouth.’
‘Yes. . Yes, of course. Festus, we no longer have need of the body. You and the boy can dispose of it.’
Caesar put his hand on the shoulder of his guest and guided him back to the stairs into the more wholesome air of the house. As the steps faded Festus turned towards the body and puffed out his cheeks.
‘Right then, Marcus, I’ll take him under the shoulders, and you take his feet.’
Marcus did not move. He stared down at the corpse with a sick feeling. This was not the first body he had seen close up, but he had never handled a corpse and the idea revolted him. And more than that, Marcus was responsible for the man’s death. Flashes of the terrifying fight in the storeroom filled Marcus’s mind and made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach.
‘He won’t bite, lad,’ Festus said gently. ‘Just try not to think of it as a person. It’s just a lump of rancid meat we’re disposing of. That’s all.’
Marcus turned his gaze away from the body. ‘Rancid meat? Thanks, that makes it so much easier.’
Festus chuckled harshly and stood at the end of the table. He slipped his hands under the corpse’s shoulders and heaved the body on to the floor. It landed with a soft thud and he dragged it into the other room towards the steps. Marcus followed reluctantly. As they reached the stairs, Festus nodded. ‘Take his feet.’
Marcus gritted his teeth and fought down his nausea as he picked up the man’s cold calf, just above the boot. The skin was cold and clammy and he flinched, forcing himself to grip firmly.
With much grunting and cursing from Festus, they heaved the body up the stairs, then dragged it down the short corridor that led to the yard.
‘On to the cart with him,’ Festus ordered.
Once the body had been heaved into the small cart, Festus covered it with a length of old sacking. ‘It’s daylight, so we can’t hitch up the mule. No animal-drawn carts are allowed on the streets during the day. If we pull it ourselves we should get round the regulations.’
‘Where are we taking it. . him?’ asked Marcus. ‘Out to where we held Corvus’s funeral?’
‘No chance. We’ll drop him into the first sewer opening we come across. There’s one at the end of the street. Just need to wait until we’re alone before we do the deed.’
With one of them pulling each of the yokes, the cart trundled into the narrow street outside. Few people paid much attention other than to grumble as they moved aside to let the cart pass. Festus steered the cart into a dead-end alley leading off a small square and stopped beside an iron grating two feet across. They set the yokes down and waited for a break in the steady flow of human traffic through the square.
Festus glanced from side to side, then pulled the sacking off. ‘Quickly — shift the grating!’
The iron grille was heavy and Marcus strained his muscles to raise it, letting it fall on the cobbles with a clatter. They eased the body into the drain, hearing it splash as it dropped into the sewage.
Festus let out a weary sigh. ‘Dangerous times ahead of us, Marcus. . It’s bad enough that Milo’s lot are stirring up trouble. If Clodius and his thugs are unleashed on the streets there’ll be plenty of fighting, and deaths. The streets will run with blood, I tell you.’
‘You really think so?’ Marcus said. ‘Isn’t it better that the gangs fight each other? Might mean they leave the rest of us alone
‘Oh, the gangs will fight, to be sure. But the rest of the time they’ll be on to the common people — breaking up meetings and doing their best to intimidate the other side into silence. It’s bullies’ work, and I wouldn’t thank you for it. Slave or not, we’re part of Caesar’s household, so we’re targets too. Same’s true for Bibulus and his cronies once Clodius intervenes. We’re in for a bad time. You’d better watch your back, Marcus.’
‘I will,’ said Marcus as he stared down at the grille. If Festus was right, the man they’d just disposed of would be the first of many. It seemed as if Caesar and his enemies were embarking on a war that would rage through the streets of Rome. And Marcus might be fighting for his life just as he had in the arena at Porcino’s gladiator school. Only then, his enemy had faced him. Now enemies could strike without warning in a crowded street. Never mind the problem of escaping his situation or saving his mother; it seemed he would need all his wits, and every skill Festus had taught him, if he was to survive in the streets of Rome.
15
Spring had given way to summer and the temperature in the city was climbing. The cold clammy air that filled the narrow alleys and streets was replaced by a smothering heat that steadily increased the stench of rubbish and sewage. The rains of spring had passed and few torrents gushed down the streets to wash away the filth. Flies and mosquitoes swirled in the still air and added to the discomfort of Rome’s inhabitants.
At the same time the temperature of the people was also rising. Since Caesar’s meeting with Clodius, hardly a day had passed without news of a clash between Milo’s and Clodius’s gangs, often escalating into full-scale riots in the district surrounding the Forum and spilling over into the very heart of the Forum itself. Hundreds had been beaten or stabbed and many had died, each death provoking further rage and revenge attacks. Marcus had witnessed a few riots when he escorted Caesar and his men to the Senate House. In normal times, Festus explained to Marcus, the procession was to display the influence of the politician at its head. Now a small band of tough men walked in front of Caesar, clearing the way and looking for danger, while the rest of his followers were there for protection.
Marcus wore his thick leather skullcap to protect his head. It was uncomfortable and made his head sweat in the close heat of the city’s streets, but Festus insisted he keep it on, joking that it was there to protect ‘Caesar’s investment’. He also carried a dagger tucked into the wide belt under his cloak, and a stout club slipped up his sleeve, ready to drop into his hand the instant it was needed. So far no one had dared attack the consul or his entourage. But Marcus didn’t think that would last much longer. As the procession crossed the Forum, insults were hurled at Caesar from the safety of the crowd. Soon, Marcus feared, the insults would be accompanied by lumps of filth, or rotten vegetables, then stones and bricks, before order disintegrated into a bloody struggle amid the screams of those running away.
On this particular day, an ominous mood permeated the Senate House as Marcus and Lupus watched Caesar take his seat. A group of senators clustered about Cato, muttering in low tones as they waited for proceedings to begin. Not until the benches of the Senate were almost filled did Caesar nod to the chief clerk. The man stepped forward, cracking his staff on the flagstone floor to command silence.
‘In the name of the consul, Gaius Julius Caesar, the daily proceedings of the Senate are declared open. The consul invites the first item of business for the day.’
At once Cato was on his feet, his arm raised, a scroll held high. ‘I have a Bill to present!’
Cato saw the weary look in Caesar’s face as he gestured towards Cato. ‘Proceed.’
Cato nodded, then paused to stare around the chamber, building up a tense air of expectation. Before he could speak, Caesar coughed and addressed the house first.
‘If you don’t mind, my dear Cato, we don’t have all day for your theatrical tricks. Please spit it out.’
At the ripple of light laughter around the Senate, Marcus turned to Lupus with a questioning look. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Our master has ruffled Cato’s feathers,’ Lupus smiled. ‘Actors are the lowest of the low in Rome. For a snob like Cato that’s a painful comparison. Look at him! The man’s furious.’