Fabiola shook her head. 'He can't bring himself to join us yet.'
'A shame.' Trebonius sighed. 'Such a son of Rome would be a great addition to our number.' With a courteous bow, he headed to the largest of the bedchambers, which had been converted to a meeting room.
Fabiola followed, still not quite believing that someone else who had served the dictator so faithfully – Trebonius had been a suffect consul the year before – now wanted to kill him. Yet he had been one of the first to join her conspiracy. Responding promptly to her invitation, Trebonius had arrived at the brothel to be treated to a lingering massage by Fabiola herself. This was before three of her best-looking prostitutes had led him, unprotesting, away. 'Do anything he requests,' Fabiola had ordered the trio earlier. 'Absolutely anything.' They all nodded, eagerly eyeing the weighty purses she'd promised them afterwards.
A couple of hours later, Trebonius had been in the most affable of moods. Enjoying a cup of fine wine with Fabiola in the brothel's newly refurbished courtyard, he had been quick to offer his condemnation of Caesar. 'The man's lost the plot. Wearing those red calf-length boots like he's a king of Alba Longa. As for topping his costume off with a gilded laurel wreath, well…' He patted his thinning hair and smiled. 'What the gods give, the gods take away. It isn't for us to hide it under fancy headgear.'
Laughing at his joke, Fabiola had leaned over to refill his cup, making sure that her cleavage was on full display. 'Some of the people think he's a sovereign already,' she said, deliberately alluding to the recent episode when Caesar had been hailed with shouts of 'king' during a procession into the city. Reports of the incident had swept through Rome like wildfire.
Trebonius had scowled. 'So we're supposed to swallow the lie that he's not king, but Caesar. Pah! It's laughable.'
He had gone on to describe why Caesar had to be stopped. It wasn't the dictator's manner or treatment of those who voiced their opposition to him, for in these cases Caesar continued to be mild-mannered and forgiving. Even the tribunes who had ordered the arrest of the man who'd first shouted 'king' had escaped with light punishments. Sulla would not have been so lenient, Trebonius admitted. Nor would other previous dictators. It was the absolute power that Caesar had gathered unto himself, eliminating virtually all the power of the Senate and elected magistrates. Half a millennium of democracy had been swept away in less than two years.
Fabiola had deployed the same tactic with the other prominent nobles whom Brutus had mentioned. Although she'd been prepared to sleep with all the men if she had to, that had not proved necessary, which helped her feel better about herself and her promise to Brutus. Thankfully, the tide of ill feeling against Caesar was running high, and all the disgruntled needed was the catalyst to bring them together. Fabiola had proved to be this medium, and in less than a week she had enlisted the help of Marcus Brutus, Cassius Longinus, Servius Galba and Lucius Basilus. Marcus Brutus was her lover's cousin, and the son of Servilia, Caesar's long-term lover. Despite this, he had taken the part of the Republicans and had fought with them at Pharsalus. Welcomed back into the fold afterwards thanks to Caesar's magnanimity, he had secured the same pardon for Cassius Longinus, who had served Crassus in Parthia. It was no surprise, therefore, that both men joined the conspiracy together. Marcus Brutus' reasons for taking part were simple. Like Trebonius, he felt aggrieved at the manner in which Caesar had assumed total power, reducing able men like himself to impotent bystanders. However, like Decimus Brutus, Fabiola's lover, he was also a member of the family who had reputedly deposed the last king of Rome five centuries before. In addition, he was the nephew of Cato, the Republican orator who, rather than live under Caesar's rule, had committed suicide after Thapsus. This act had turned Cato into the epitome of Roman aristocratic virtue, and driven Marcus Brutus to write a pamphlet in his praise. Now he was showing his true colours and, in his eyes, his Roman honour, by taking part in the conspiracy.
Fabiola wanted more than five eminent men, however. Fame and public recognition did not guarantee success. Moreover, any attempt on the dictator's life risked onlookers coming to his aid. Despite Caesar's disbanding of his loyal Spanish bodyguards at the beginning of the year, the public and most senators still loved him dearly, and might intervene on his behalf. She could see it happening. More recruits were needed.
Fabiola's prayers had been answered nearly four weeks before, during the Lupercalia, the ancient fertility festival. Watched by huge crowds, Antonius had publicly offered Caesar a royal diadem and asked him to become king. Caesar had demurred twice, ordering the crown to be taken instead to the temple of Jupiter. This clumsy attempt by the dictator to allay suspicions about his aspirations to the monarchy, had immediately been negated by a soothsayer's prediction that Parthia could only be conquered by a king. Another soon followed it, alleging that the Senate would vote Caesar the kingship of everywhere except Italy.
These new threats were the final straw, and many new conspirators had joined the plotters in the subsequent days. Their arrival made Fabiola confident that she would soon be revenged on her mother's rapist. There were almost sixty men in the large well-lit room at the end of the corridor, from all parties and factions within the Senate. Former consuls, tribunes and quaestors rubbed shoulders with ordinary politicians. It boded well for the success of their dark venture.
The most prominent absentee was Brutus, her lover, who had taken to spending much of his time at various temples. As well as praying, he consulted the augurs there over the best course of action to take. Typically, he received differing advice from every man whose palm he greased with silver, which increased his confusion. Sleep began to evade him, and he paced the corridors of his domus each night, asking Mithras and Mars for guidance. None was forthcoming, and he grew tired and irritable. Fully aware that Fabiola was conducting large meetings in the Lupanar – she had given up subterfuge – Brutus did not ask her purpose. Yet he did not mention this suspicious activity to anyone either, which gave Fabiola hope that she would win him over before the end.
Reaching the meeting chamber a step behind Trebonius, Fabiola realised that despite her resolve to continue without Brutus, she wanted him by her side. With Romulus determined not to help, she keenly felt the need for some psychological support. The enormity of what they were about to do was becoming more real. Despite Fabiola wishing it were so, Caesar was not just her mother's rapist. He was the greatest leader the Republic had ever seen, and his death would shake it to the core. Holding the black hen firmly by the head, Tarquinius laid it down on the stones. Raising his eyes to the statue of Jupiter looming over them, he prayed, 'Great Tinia, accept this sacrifice from a humble servant.' With a smooth movement of his blade, the haruspex sliced its head clean off. He quickly transferred his grip, holding the stump of the bird's neck and its body as gouts of arterial blood sprayed on to the ground. Its wings flapped to and fro in a frenzy of useless effort, before gradually relaxing. Holding the hen firmly, Tarquinius studied the pooling red fluid with an intense air of concentration.
Romulus watched agog, looking at the runnels of blood with more interest than he'd paid to a sacrifice in years. He made no effort to try and elicit any information. This was a matter best left to an expert. Beside him, Mattius had been struck dumb.
'East,' Tarquinius murmured after long moments of silence. 'It's flowing east.'
The haruspex' tone increased Romulus' interest at once. 'A good omen?' he breathed.