‘Keep your eyes open,’ Festus instructed.
‘I will,’ Marcus replied, cupping a hand to his mouth to be heard over the din. He was determined not to let his guard slip for an instant. He knew that Milo and Bibulus would stop at nothing to see their plan through. ‘I’m ready.’
They waited while Caesar’s lictors took up their formation around him and Festus waved his bodyguards into position. Marcus saw Clodius near the bottom of the steps, raising his arm in a circling motion above his head. At the gesture, small groups of men forced their way to the front and cleared a path into the Forum, linking their arms to form a chain that held the crowd back.
Caesar gave a final wave and began to descend the steps. The senators and their supporters moved aside for Caesar and his entourage. This was the moment, Marcus told himself. The assassin would be in the crowd, hand clutched round the handle of his knife as he waited for the signal. Even so, Marcus couldn’t believe the killer would get through. Caesar was surrounded by armed men. Clodius’s gang members were holding back the public. They had all the angles covered, Marcus decided as he scanned the crowd once again.
Cheering faces, a handful of scowling faces. A few children on their father’s shoulders, cheering as they held on tight, a veiled woman standing on the pediment of a statue as she waved, a cripple with withered legs on crutches who had dragged himself to the front to shout his support for Caesar.
Caesar reached the bottom of the stairs and began making his way through the Forum. Just then Marcus spotted a flash of red at the foot of the stairs, among the senators. He snapped his head round to see better. The colour had gone and he found himself staring at the group of men surrounding Crassus. Among them was the tax collector, Decimus. Only he wasn’t interested in the discussion of the men around him. He stared at Caesar, or rather past Caesar. . Marcus followed Decimus’s line of sight and his blood froze. The woman clinging to the statue reached an arm behind her back and Marcus saw the glint of a blade. She drew back the knife and took aim.
Marcus didn’t stop to think. He darted forward and snatched up one of the cripple’s crutches, thrusting it above his head and between Caesar and the woman on the pediment. At that instant there was a splintering crack and the crutch lurched in his hand, almost knocked from his grasp.
‘Marcus, what the — ?’ Festus shouted.
Caesar was facing in the other direction and had not seen anything. Marcus lowered the crutch and saw the handle of a heavy throwing knife, vibrating where it had struck and splintered the solid support at the top of the crutch. Now Festus saw it too and his eyes widened in alarm. ‘Who?’
‘A woman, over there on the pediment!’ Marcus turned to point but she had gone. ‘She was there an instant ago. I saw her throw the knife.’
‘Come with me!’ Festus ordered.
Marcus snatched the knife from the support and thrust the stick back at its owner who cursed him for playing a stupid prank. Festus forced his way between two of Clodius’s men and plunged into the crowd, oblivious to the angry shouts of those he thrust aside. Marcus ran in his wake, knife point held low where it would not harm anyone. They reached the pediment and looked around for any sign of the woman. Marcus grabbed the man nearest him and nodded up at the statue.
‘The woman who was there a moment ago — where did she go?’
‘What woman?’ the man replied. ‘Watch that knife, boy! You’ll do someone an injury!’
Marcus and Festus asked a handful of other people, some of whom remembered seeing the woman jump down, but that was all.
‘She’s close, Marcus, I know it,’ said Festus as he frantically scanned the crowd. Just then Marcus felt something underfoot. He looked down. A woman’s cloak and a veil lay close to the base of the pediment.
‘Festus! Look here.’ Marcus bent down to show him. ‘I don’t think we’re looking for a woman.’
Festus looked around, but the crowd was too dense to see anyone escaping. In any case, they had no idea who they were looking for. He gritted his teeth in frustration. ‘Too late. We’d better get back to Caesar, in case there’s another attempt.’
They fought their way through the crowd and Clodius’s cordon to resume their position close to their master. Caesar shot them a questioning look, but said nothing as he continued waving at the crowd. It took the party a long time to move through the Forum and it was noon before they entered the narrow streets of the Subura and left the crowds behind.
‘What happened back there?’ asked Caesar as the hum of the Forum faded behind them. ‘I turned away for a moment and you had both vanished.’
‘There was an incident, master,’ Marcus replied and held up the knife. Caesar took the weapon and examined it.
‘Nasty.’
‘It was aimed at your throat, master,’ Marcus explained.
‘Marcus blocked it,’ said Festus. ‘Otherwise.. ’
Caesar looked down gravely at Marcus and bowed his head. ‘Once again, I am in your debt. I sincerely hope it’s the last time, for a while at least. Here, a souvenir.’ He handed the knife back.
As they turned into the street on which Caesar’s house stood, Marcus saw a litter outside the front door. The slaves stood still beside it. An escort of lictors stood around the litter and its bearers.
‘There’s only one other man in Rome entitled to such protection,’ Caesar mused. ‘My fellow consul for the year, Bibulus.’
Sure enough the curtains on the litter parted and Bibulus swung himself out.
‘My dear Bibulus.’ Caesar offered his hand with a smile. ‘It’s good to see you abroad. I had begun to wonder if you would ever leave your house, except to make furtive visits to the Aventine from time to time.’
Bibulus’s expression was frigid and he ignored Caesar’s hand. ‘I’ll come straight to the point. I’ve had news that your amendment was forced through.’
‘There was a free vote, yes.’
‘Free vote? Don’t make me laugh.’
‘That is your prerogative.’
Bibulus ground his teeth. ‘Look here, Caesar, you’ve gone too far. But I’ve come on a different matter — to make you a challenge. I have my spies too, and it seems you have a young gladiator from Porcino’s school. Is that right?’
‘It is. In fact, this is the boy himself.’ Caesar stood aside and indicated Marcus. Bibulus stared at him and his jaw sagged.
‘I know you. You were at the inn!’ Bibulus exclaimed, then shut his mouth immediately as he realized his mistake.
‘And a good thing that he was, eh, Bibulus?’ Caesar commented in a dry tone. ‘Otherwise Rome might have lost one of its consuls a little earlier today.’
Bibulus’s face flushed bright red. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Besides, I’m not here to discuss that. This boy is your fighter. I have acquired a young gladiator of my own and a fight between younger gladiators would cause more than the usual interest among the public. So, I formally challenge you to a contest between our fighters — to the death, two days from now, in the Forum, outside the Senate House.’
Caesar looked at him shrewdly. ‘Before the vote. I see.’
‘I have already instructed my men to paint advertisements for the fight on walls across the heart of the city. If you failed to have your boy show up, the people wouldn’t like it. They might think you were afraid to accept my challenge.’
Caesar’s expression showed dark fury at being forced into a corner.
A sick feeling welled up inside Marcus. The thought of facing an opponent in the arena again filled him with dread. The urge to refuse the challenge was overwhelming. But the price of saving himself would be to lose Caesar’s favour, just when he hoped to gain help for his mother.
‘Well, what is your answer?’ Bibulus demanded.