Tarquinius blinked, accepting his decision. 'Go to Caesar's house tomorrow morning then. Before he goes to the Senate.'
'That's where it will happen?'
The haruspex nodded.
Romulus' fingers automatically fell to the dagger on his belt. He would need to dig out his gladius too. If necessary, he'd defend Caesar with his own life. He owed him no less.
'There is more,' said Tarquinius abruptly, sounding troubled. 'A woman is involved.'
Stricken, Romulus stared down at his friend. His lips framed the name Fabiola.
'I'm sorry.' The haruspex looked genuinely sad.
Romulus swallowed hard. Whether his sister would actually take part in the murder was uncertain, but all he could think of was her stabbing Caesar. Aghast, he took a step backwards.
At that moment, Mattius came skidding to a halt by their side. 'What have I missed?' he cried excitedly.
Romulus turned away, feeling worse than he ever had in his life. 'Nothing of importance,' he mumbled. Ignoring Tarquinius' cries, he stumbled off into the crowd. As usual, Fabiola played very little part in the discussions. In most, if not all, the conspirators' minds, she was just a woman, albeit a clever and beautiful one. Killing was man's work, one had whispered kindly to Fabiola once. Little do you know, she had thought. Nothing could quite remove the stain of former slavery either, especially when it came to murdering the foremost man in Rome. By this stage, though, Fabiola was content to take a back seat and watch as the plot developed.
A pleased murmur went up as Trebonius entered. Surrounded by nearly two dozen chairs, a long table occupied the centre of the crowded room. Jugs of watered-down wine and plates of bread, fruit and olives covered much of its polished surface. The seating wasn't sufficient for all those present, so the most important members sat while the rest stood behind. Naturally, a chair had been reserved for Trebonius.
'At last,' said Marcus Brutus, tapping his fingers on the table top. 'A word, if you will?'
Making his apologies to those he passed, Trebonius sat down beside Marcus Brutus, who immediately began muttering in his ear.
Fabiola turned away to hide her amusement. Although he had been one of the last to join, Brutus was now one of the main leaders and acted as if he had been all along. Nodding to Benignus, who would remain outside the door to ensure no one eavesdropped, Fabiola quietly shut the door. Glad of her discreet position, she scanned the assembled men. Servius Galba, a short man with protruding eyes, was sitting beside his main crony, Lucius Basilus, a broad-shouldered figure with a bull neck. Both men bore grudges against the dictator, which was why they'd been so quick to join up. Thanks to his association with Caesar, Galba had failed in his attempt to become consul just before the general had crossed the Rubicon, and Basilus had rightfully been denied a provincial command because of his murky business dealings. Fabiola liked neither of them, but their anger at Caesar justified their presence.
She'd first met Cassius Longinus, one of Crassus' former deputies, at a banquet five years before. Fabiola had spoken with him about Carrhae, and heard the true horrors of what had befallen Crassus' army. Hearing of Romulus' involvement, the grizzled soldier had tried to soften the blow, which endeared him to Fabiola still. Catching Longinus' eye, she smiled, and was rewarded with a courteous nod. I must introduce him to Romulus, she reflected. A pang of guilt clawed at her. If we ever make up. Fabiola shoved the disquieting thought away. Deal with that later. Concentrate on the moment.
The conspirators were now so numerous that Fabiola had high hopes of success. While few had the courage to strike the first blow, they would follow where others led. Like a pack of dogs turning on the weakest, she thought. Ugly, but effective. Fortunately, Caesar would be defenceless. In public, members of the nobility wore the toga and carried no weapons. The dictator was no exception. Alarmed by the dark rumours, Antonius and other close associates had asked Caesar to reform his Spanish bodyguards, but he had refused, stating that he had no wish to live in fear or under constant protection.
Contempt filled Fabiola. Whether Caesar's refusal was driven by his arrogance, or his belief that, thanks to his restoration of the peace and raft of new reforms, no ill feeling against him remained, she did not know. Whatever the dictator's reasons, he was now easy prey to a band of determined assassins.
'Gentlemen.' Marcus Brutus rapped on the table with his knuckles. 'If we could begin?'
His words brought all the conversations to an end, and an expectant hush fell. Pent-up with tension, Fabiola waited. None of the nobles knew it, but she was more eager than any of them for Caesar's death.
'During our last meeting, we agreed that the best date would be the Ides of March,' Marcus Brutus began.
'The Ides? That's tomorrow,' said a portly senator, looking nervous.
'Congratulations,' replied Marcus Brutus in an acid tone. He glared around the table. 'Time has moved fast, but we've committed ourselves now.'
A titter of nervous laughter moved around the room.
Satisfied, Marcus Brutus sat back in his chair. No one was trying to back out.
'Caesar hasn't been well for the last few days,' another man chipped in. 'He might not attend the Senate tomorrow.'
'There are many important issues to be addressed before he departs for Dacia,' Longinus demurred. 'Caesar won't want to miss those debates.'
'The man is a demon for work,' agreed Trebonius. 'He'd need to be half dead not to come.'
'Why not send someone to his house first thing to make sure?' suggested Basilus.
'Good idea,' cried Marcus Brutus. 'Any volunteers?'
Before anyone could answer, a familiar voice spoke in the corridor. 'Where's Fabiola?'
Fabiola's stomach turned over.
She wasn't the only one to recognise Brutus' deep tones. Like small boys caught thieving, the nobles waited to see what would happen next.
Benignus cleared his throat uneasily. 'Sir?'
'Is she in there?' Brutus demanded. 'Answer me!'
'Yes, sir,' mumbled the huge slave, crumbling before Brutus' temper.
'Stand aside.'
Fabiola moved away from the door, which opened a heartbeat later. Brutus entered, scowling. Fabiola and he locked eyes. 'Dearest,' she said lamely, unsure what else to say. 'What a surprise.' Without answering, Brutus looked around the room. His mouth opened with astonishment at the number of men present, and their identity. Many would not meet his gaze, but Marcus Brutus, Longinus and Trebonius did.
'Well met, cousin,' said Marcus Brutus. 'We have missed your company.'
'What's all this about?' cried Brutus, looking at Fabiola.
'I think you know,' said Trebonius, intervening.
Brutus flushed. 'You're intending to murder Caesar?'
'Rid the Republic of a despot, more like,' Longinus butted in. 'And make things how they were again.'
There was a loud rumble of agreement.
Brutus scanned the nobles' faces for several heartbeats. 'I see,' he said heavily.
'Look how many men are present, cousin,' said Marcus Brutus gently. 'This is not just a collection of lunatics. All shades of opinion are represented here. What unites us is our hatred of tyranny.'
Brutus stared into his cousin's eyes. 'Tyranny?' he whispered.
The conflict in his voice made Fabiola's heart bleed. Much as she wanted him to join them, the pain he was suffering tore at her conscience.
'Yes,' Marcus Brutus replied emphatically. 'That is how Caesar rules the Republic. What is the Senate but an empty vessel? What are we now, but his puppets?'
Angry mutters met this comment.
Brutus sighed.
Mithras above, Fabiola thought. Convince him, please. She moved to her lover's side. 'You know it's true,' she said. 'All that power has gone to Caesar's head.'
'The augurs are giving bad omens for tomorrow, while on every corner the people are calling him king,' he whispered. 'King of Rome.'