Pompeius frowned. ‘What are you saying? That we call it off?’
‘Precisely.’
Pompeius’s eyebrows rose. ‘But what about all the preparations? What will we say to people?’
‘I don’t care what people think,’ Caesar replied curtly. ‘The risks outweigh the advantages. We can’t afford to lose the support of Crassus. Not yet.’
Marcus and Festus witnessed the exchange in silence. Marcus could hardly believe it. There was little doubt that Crassus was behind the attempt on Caesar’s life. And yet Caesar refused to act against him. Marcus couldn’t help wondering at the heartlessness of this trio of powerful men. For them, marriage, politics and plotting were merely tools for the pursuit of personal ambition. They were utterly ruthless and more dangerous than Marcus had ever supposed.
Again, he was seeing another kind of gladiatorial combat in the world of Rome — one that was every bit as dangerous as those fought in the arena. He didn’t know what this meant for his plan to seek vengeance on Decimus, but if Caesar wouldn’t help him, he would find a way himself.
Pompeius reflected on Caesar’s decision and then stood up. ‘It’s been quite a day. I’m tired and I’ve had too much to drink. We’ll talk again when the air’s cleared.’
‘Yes.’ Caesar nodded. ‘That would be a good idea. I’ll see you out.’
‘No need, my friend. I know the way!’ Pompeius smiled. He made his way round the desk and stopped briefly in front of Marcus to pat him on the cheek. ‘What a soldier you would make. I miss good honest soldiering. Now that’s an honourable trade. Not like the double dealing that goes on in Rome, eh?’
He lowered his hand and made for the door, nodding a brief farewell to Caesar before he closed it behind him. Caesar let out a long sigh and seemed to deflate slightly.
‘Caesar,’ Festus spoke gently. ‘Do you wish us to leave you?’
‘What?’ Caesar looked up. ‘No. Not just yet. There’s one final duty to be performed tonight.’
He reached down into the document chest lying open under the desk and drew out a small lead plate. He straightened up and held the plate in both hands for a moment before he spoke. ‘I had this prepared yesterday, to help bolster my confidence that you would win the fight, Marcus. It’s your manumission.’ He looked up. ‘This is your freedom. You no longer belong to me. I cannot think of any slave I have ever known who has earned this as much as you.’ He stood up and held out the brass plate. ‘Here. Take it.’
Marcus stood still, not quite able to believe it. Everything that he had fought for, all the suffering endured at Porcino’s school and the dangers faced in Caesar’s service had been leading up to this moment. He had thought it would never happen, that he might be condemned to spend the rest of his life as the property of another.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward to take the manumission, a plain slate of cheap metal with words etched upon its surface. It had little value in itself, but to Marcus it was the greatest prize of all.
‘I thank you, Caesar.’ He choked back the raw emotions engulfing him.
‘No, Marcus. It is I, and Rome, that owe you thanks. Now go and sleep. In the morning we can discuss the first steps in finding your mother.’