Love Is in the Air (66 page)

“Yet it seems that Suprinna wished me to Awaken,” Brutus said as the shock began to fade.

“Perhaps for just this purpose. To stall the assassination.”

Brutus shook his head. “Or promote it.”

* * *

Syra watched her love struggle with his decision. The task ahead of him betrayed every shred of honor that clung to Brutus’ bones. She knew that assassination was the lowest form of treachery. But she could also see by the slump of his shoulders that his responsibilities had a far broader scope than just a single man’s life. History hung in the balance this day. Would Rome move forward in a surge of progress, or would Brutus doom the Republic to stagnate under an unhealthy leader?

Echoing down the hallway, someone called Brutus’ name. Syra could tell by the voice that it was Cicero, the older senator. She and Horat backed away a few steps as the voice grew stronger. Syra looked to the secret door that was closed, but Brutus shook his head. Syra found it doubtful that the thick curtain would stop the noisy intruder, but Brutus seemed unconcerned.

“Brutus?” Cicero asked.

“Leave me to my peace, Cicero.”

“Antony has arrived from the palace and wishes you to join him in convincing Caesar to come to the Curia.”

Brutus’ face clouded, but you could not hear it within his voice. “I will come out shortly.”

“But—”

“Prayers cannot be hastened, Cicero. I will be out in a moment.”

The old senator said nothing more, but they could hear the scuff of his sandals retreating. Syra looked at Brutus. Once the sound died completely, he frowned deeply.

“There is no other option?” he asked Horat.

“Civil war is on the horizon, whether you join the conspiracy or not. If you join, it will align Antony and Octavius against a common enemy.”

“Cicero or Cassius will not do?”

The older servant shook his head. “Out of all the conspirators, you are the only one with a military background. You will need to lead the opposing army.”

Syra now felt the weight of this decision on
her
heart. Usually, once the Crux was resolved, The Fated could fade into the background. Perhaps scrounge for several years of their own. But Horat asked them to give up even this slim comfort. Brutus needed to not only start the catharsis, but maintain it as well. Horat must have sensed their dual reluctance.

“If you do not lead it, Antony will easily overwhelm the others and grab power for himself. The Senate will be as recriminatory against him as it was to Caesar. Only Octavius, fresh and young in his power will be able to unify the nation.”

If Horat did not speak with the knowledge of centuries of research and debate, Syra might have argued, but the Order was seldom wrong about such matters. But it was not she who needed to wield the deadly blade.

Brutus looked at her. His warm brown eyes were filled with doubt and pain. Syra wished beyond all else that she could shield him from both, but that was not her lot in life.

“The Crux is at hand, Brutus. I will stand by you no matter what your decision.”

A faded smile crossed his face. Syra knew she did not need to articulate her last sentence, but it felt good to say it out loud. And even though his brow was still heavy with concern, Brutus’ burden did seem slightly lessened by her words.

“I will go to Caesar, but I give no guarantees,” Brutus finally stated.

Horat bowed his head in acceptance and backed into the recess of the alcove. Brutus took Syra’s hand, which suddenly glowed with warmth from his touch. There was so much to say, and no time to say it.

Syra’s voice was thick with emotion. “We will speak after…”

“The Fates have been cruel this life,” Brutus said, his words equally strained.

Syra’s hand reached out and stroked his cheek. “We do not know yet what the future holds. We will reunite after the deed.”

Brutus shook his head. “I do not know what Antony will do after—”

Placing a finger over his lips, Syra took a step forward. “I will let nothing happen to you until we can know each other again.”

Putting his arms around her, Brutus pulled her in for a hard kiss. Neither wanted to part, but all too soon, he backed away. Brutus turned to Horat.

“Prepare the household to flee Rome.”

“Everything is in order, sire.”

Brutus turned back to her. “Wait at the estate, my love.”

Syra only raised an eyebrow in response. Either Brutus was not fully Awakened or he had taken leave of his senses.

“I do not wish you in danger,” he stated firmly.

“I too am Fated, Brutus. I will be here upon your return.”

Brutus sighed. “At the least, stay here. I do not wish you upon the street and—”

Syra gave Brutus a quick kiss. “I will be here upon your arrival.”

Looking satisfied, Brutus parted the curtain and was gone within a breath’s time. She looked at Horat. “Let us be on our way.”

“But you said—”

“What Brutus does not know, will not hurt him.”

The older servant nodded curtly and bade her forward. “I know a route that will allow us to parallel them without detection.”

Feeling the reassuring weight of the pommel of her sword under her hand, Syra opened the secret door. The Fates might have put these events in motion, but she was determined to keep them in Brutus’ favor.

CHAPTER 17

Brutus strode next to Antony. Both men headed to the palace to coax Caesar from his home, but each of them had wildly divergent motivations. The younger senator meant to crown a king this day. A king that would divide the Republic and bring Rome to its knees. As much as Brutus resisted the idea, through the throw of centuries he had seen rulers bring a stumbling halt to budding civilizations. Disease at the crown always spread down into each nook and cranny of the nation. History needed a harsh pruning at times. Brutus only wished it were not his shears that did the deed.

They arrived promptly upon the steps of the palace and entered the residence swiftly. Antony had an urgency to his step that forced Brutus to keep up. Marc seemed determined to drag Caesar from his bed. Upon the two senators entering the dining room, Calpurnia was out of her chair.

“Antony, I asked you to retire. And Brutus? You have come on a fool’s errand. Caesar will not leave this house.”

Antony was the one to speak first. “We wish only a moment with him, Calpurnia. I will not strain him, I promise you.”

Brutus was glad when Caesar’s wife stepped aside. He did not think he would sound too convincing, as Marc had. Servants parted the thin saffron curtains to reveal Caesar’s settee. The man looked humble upon the overstuffed chair. He was laid out as one almost dead. The general’s skin had a pallor to it that Brutus had seen before in mortally injured men. Drool trickled from the corner of his mouth. How many seizures had the man endured?

“Julius,” Marc intoned gently, rousing the general from a light sleep.

“Antony?” Caesar asked, as if uncertain of the face before him. “Ah, and Brutus. You have come to bring me to my senses?”

The younger Roman smiled widely. “Aye. The whole of Rome is awaiting your coronation. We cannot disappoint Venus herself, can we?”

“Suprinna has Calpurnia in quite a state. The priest’s sacrifices have been quite unfavorable as well.”

“A few spilt guts cannot sway a man such as you, my liege. One is a woman and one is a panderer. They cannot order the great Caesar about.”

Julius sighed heavily. “I fear it is my body that betrays me this day.”

Antony went down on a knee to be level with his general. “I will personally sweep you back after the ceremony. The Ides will be remembered as the first day of a new Rome. A stronger Rome. A Rome that will finally defeat Parthia.”

Caesar smiled, but it seemed to lack warmth. “And you, Brutus? You wish me to claim the crown this day as well?”

Even though he had been bracing himself the entire way over, Brutus found that his throat tightened. “Your destiny awaits you at the Forum, Caesar. And none of us can avoid her call.”

“Well said. If even scholarly Brutus wishes my presence, who am I to decline? Antony, help me up.”

The younger Roman was at Caesar’s elbow before the general’s words were even out of his mouth. Marc nodded to Brutus.

“Go ahead to the Forum. Have them prepare for the coronation. We will be along in a few minutes.”

Caesar agreed. “Tell them we will change the omens this day. The Fates will be thwarted.”

Brutus could only nod in response. Mortals. They had no idea that Fate was a great wheel that ground each of them under her enormous stony weight. There was no avoiding her, only bowing one’s head in acceptance.

* * *

Syra breathed out in relief. Brutus exited the palace and headed back to the Forum. By the set of his shoulders, she could tell his mission was successful. Silently, Syra nodded to Horat. They had best hurry back, before Brutus discovered their ruse. But before they had taken a few steps, Horat stopped her with a tap on the arm.

Looking over, Syra realized that Brutus had paused and was speaking with someone who was obscured by a building. Slinking along the alleyway, Syra came up from behind to overhear the conversation. Brutus’ voice was filled with so much anger that Syra’s hand went to her sword. Whoever so enraged Brutus would regret it quickly.

“Do not think to order me, Virgin,” he said.

Syra risked a glance around the building. A woman draped in white silk held her ground in front of the angered Brutus. Creeping forward in the shadow of an awning, Syra positioned herself in case her sword was needed.

“None are safe until Caesar falls,” the old woman hissed.

Brutus stepped forward. Even from several feet away, Syra could feel the heat of his presence. How the Virgin could look upon him and not realize that the Brutus of old was gone.

In his stead stood a chiseled warrior. Muscles in his jaw rippled with anger and frustration. Syra slunk along the wall, keeping to the scant midday shadows. Not in fear for Brutus, but for the Virgin.

“You overstep your bounds, Symphia. Go back to your Temple—”

“The gods have—”

Brutus towered over the shriveled woman. “The gods know nothing of you, Virgin. They think not of you. They speak not to you. You hold none of their authority.”

The Virgin took a step back as her attendants came forward. “I—”

“Go back to your hearth, old woman.” There was no arguing with Brutus’ tone. The Virgin sputtered a moment, then turned on her heel, leaving Brutus standing alone in the road.

He did not even glance toward Syra, but he spoke to her, nonetheless. “You have grown sloppy.”

Rising from the stoop, Syra dusted off her breeches. “It was not you I was hiding from.”

Syra watched as Brutus strode off toward the Forum. She wished to trot after him and help soothe his soul, but it was a useless endeavor. Nothing short of divine intervention could lessen his burden. Syra looked up at the harsh sun. Apollo seemed unwilling to intercede, so she motioned for Horat to join her.

A cheer went up from the crowd surrounding the Forum as Brutus made his entrance to announce that Caesar would be arriving within the hour. A near riotous din rose from the mob. It seemed that the Fates were becoming impatient for their will to be done.

* * *

Brutus stood perfectly still as Antony arrived. Caesar was only a few steps behind, and each basked in the adoration of the crowd. Suprinna appeared out of thin air and was at Julius’ arm. Fear gripped Brutus’ throat. What manner of intrusion was this? Had Horat been correct? Was Suprinna a member of the Dark?

But Caesar only laughed at his sage. “The Ides have come, Fool, and without bringing me an ounce of harm.”

The old man bowed his head to the general, but the whole while he stared straight at Brutus. “The Ides have in truth come, but they have not yet gone.”

To Brutus’ relief, Caesar shrugged the blind man’s words off and continued talking with Longius. Brutus felt the slender blade within his toga. Would he have the mettle to carry out this action? Caesar’s face was still pale underneath Calpurnia’s makeup. The general’s hands trembled even as he shook Trebonius’ arm. All was going according to plan. Trebonius spoke to Antony, engaging him in debate over the attack on Parthia, while Caesar entered the Curia proper.

Taking a deep breath, Brutus nodded as the general acknowledged him on his climb up to his throne. Just that small gesture made Brutus’ heart ache. For all his faults, Caesar trusted him. It was clear in his eyes. There was no fear or suspicion. Brutus had done an excellent job of engendering confidence. But Brutus was beyond the concerns of men. He acted for the Fates now.

* * *

Syra watched from their hiding place in the hallway as Trebonius delayed Antony at the door. Horat named the man who approached Caesar’s dais. Tillius, one of the conspirators, looked nervous as he hesitated at the first step. Syra willed the man to climb the stairs. It was he who was to strike the first blow.

Tension caused Syra’s stomach to tie itself in knots, like the ropes that secured a ship to the dock. Could they not just kill the man? Why all of this finesse? With a single arrow she could end this charade. But she held her anxiety in check. History seldom liked simple answers.

Finally, Tillius petitioned Caesar. The general gave him permission to climb the stairs, but a commotion at the back of the Curia drew everyone’s attention.

“Oh, dear gods, not Artemidorus,” Horat hissed.

Once more she cursed her late Awakening. What could this flabby senator be doing? “What does he hope to accomplish?”

The servant spat. “He threw his lot in with the conspirators months ago, but he looks to warn Caesar now.”

Syra left their hiding place and sprinted down the hallway while all eyes went to the back of the Curia. Several other centurions converged on the disturbance, but she had to be the first to arrive. Luckily, several other senators were forcing the shouting Artemidorus up the steps into the back of the Curia. Syra came up behind the obese man and placed the point of her sword in his back.

“You will be leaving now.”

“But Caesar. He is in danger.”