The Ides of March (23 page)

Silius saw the litter stopping and then a certain jostling about in the shadows. Something was happening. At that distance, he couldn’t make out what it was, so he drew closer. He saw someone getting out of the litter dressed as a servant, though he could not be a servant, and someone getting into the litter who was dressed as Antony but was not him.

Silius followed the man dressed as a servant who was walking unaccompanied towards the Sublicius Bridge. It was Mark Antony. The men accompanying his litter were protecting a servant wearing Antony’s clothing.

Silius crossed the bridge after him and continued shadowing him, although by this time he was fairly sure of where they were both headed: Caesar’s villa on the other side of the Tiber, where Cleopatra lived. Antony was about to go in alone, at night and without an escort, wearing the clothes of a servant.

A chorus of dogs barking, then a door opening silently. Antony slipped in and the dogs quietened down. Just after that, a line of guards came around the western corner of the house, making their rounds of inspection at the garden’s perimeter.

In a single moment, Silius saw many of his suspicions confirmed and the collapse of others that he might have defended vehemently if it had ever come to that.

He had to find his way in, but how? He could run back to the Domus, report to Caesar on what he’d seen and return with a group of men who would replace these guards and occupy the entrances. That would allow him to enter the villa and the queen’s apartments, in order to spy on her and Antony. But all that would take much too long. Whatever was happening in that house had to be discovered without delay.

Silius entered the garden by climbing over the wall and carefully approached the villa. The dogs must have been busy greeting the newly arrived guest. Silius circled around the building cautiously, checking every corner. He’d been in that house before, with Caesar, and he’d know where to go once he got in. But the problem was getting in. Cleopatra’s residence was a kind of fortress. Antony had let himself in the side door with a key, and the dogs had immediately stopped barking because they were obviously familiar with him.

The main entrances were guarded. And the patrol he’d already seen was encircling the perimeter.

He noticed a chimney at the end of the western corner of the house, where the servants’ quarters were located. There were some square openings on the chimney wall where the wooden beams of a maintenance scaffold had been removed. He thought he could use them as toeholds, so he did just that. When the guards had passed he kicked off his shoes and climbed to the top. Part of the roof was covered with tiles; if he could cross without making any noise, he would find himself in the terraced area, which would make an easier surface to move on. Once on the terrace, he paused to get his bearings. To his right were the peristyle and the inner garden. He could hear the monotonous bubbling of the fountains. A little further on was the
atrium
with its pool at the centre, and in the middle was the master apartment. He remembered that there was a small thermal bath system on the other side of the house that probably wasn’t being guarded.

He crossed the terrace and another section of tile-covered roof and easily reached the baths, which were covered in part by tiling and in part by fine plaster. He slipped down to the first terraced level and reached the dome of the
laconicum
, the steam bath, which was open at its centre to allow the smoke from the braziers to escape. He made the opening bigger by using his dagger to prise off the tiles, working in silence, and dropped in. He had the good luck to land on a pile of ashes that remained at the centre of the dead embers. And from there he slid to the floor without difficulty.

He was inside!

The queen must still be in her winter apartments, adjacent to the walls of the
calidarium
, to take advantage of the warmth created by the room’s heating system. Accustomed as she was to the climate in Egypt, Cleopatra detested the cold, damp Roman winter.

Silius groped his way around in the almost complete darkness, attempting to recall the plan of the house. He was drawn like a moth to the dim glow cast by a lantern in one of the adjacent rooms. He had to try hard not to fumble or make any noise that would give him away. The house was immersed in silence and the slightest sound would bring on the dogs or worse.

He reached the
calidarium
, which was linked to the
laconicum
by a short corridor. He counted his paces and stopped at the place where, according to his calculations, the brick cavity wall that collected the heat produced by the baths met the queen’s living quarters.

He put his ear to the wall and he thought he could make out voices having what seemed to be a conversation.

He used the tip of his dagger to chip away at the mortar that joined one cavity segment to the next. He worked very carefully, well aware that if he could hear their voices, they’d be able to hear any noise he made. He was tense and sweating profusely, anxious to complete this mission he’d assigned himself. The sensation of being so close to making an extraordinary discovery made him feel strangely elated, almost inebriated.

As soon as he’d removed the layer of mortar between one heat collector and the next, he was able to stick the point of his blade into the brick and widen the hole he had made until it was half a palm wide. He drew close to listen.

The voices were clear and recognizable now, the voices of a man and a woman.

The man was Antony.

The woman spoke Latin with a strong Greek accent. She must be Cleopatra.

‘I
’LL ALWAYS
be grateful to you for what you’ve done . . . but I’m afraid it was all for nothing.’

‘I would have done anything for you, my queen. If Caesar had accepted the crown on the day of the Lupercalia festival, no one would have opposed him. The Senate would have ratified his title and you would have become the sovereign of the world. I would have served you with devotion, content just to be near you, protecting you. But Caesar didn’t understand—’

‘Caesar didn’t want to understand. I’ve suggested it to him on numerous occasions, and each time he has refused to even talk about the possibility. He has recognized his son, but only in private form. However, I haven’t given up yet. You must have heard the latest about the Sibylline prophecy.’

‘I have.’

‘Yes, my ministers have always had a certain hold over those simpletons, your priests. But he won’t take the opportunity, I’m almost certain. It’s clear that I don’t count at all for him.’

‘For me you are everything . . . everything, my queen.’

‘You’re saying that to console me.’

‘I’m saying that because it’s true. I see your image before my eyes day and night, everywhere I go. Your face, your body . . .’

‘And my feelings? My hopes? My aspirations?’

‘Yes, those as well. I want what you want.’

‘Are you willing to swear to that?’

‘I swear it, my queen. On the gods and on my own life.’

‘Then listen to me. What I’m about to say is of the utmost importance. Our future, my son’s future, the future of the entire world, depends on it.’

A long silence followed and Silius, with his ear glued to the hollow in the wall, feared that they had moved to another room where he would no longer be able to hear them. But then Cleopatra spoke up again. Although her voice was muted and distorted, its timbre and tone were laden with irresistible sensuality, made even more intriguing by that Greek lilt. Silius had seen her several times but had never heard her speak before. Now he could well understand how Caesar had fallen in love with her, how anyone who had the fortune to meet her, see her, listen to her, would find her entrancing.

‘I’ve heard that Caesar’s life is in danger.’

Antony didn’t say a word.

‘Do you know anything about this?’

Antony did not reply.

‘I’m alone in this city. There’s no one I can count on.’

Antony said something that Silius missed, then Cleopatra began to speak again.

‘But I have met a few people here. I managed to find the ear of a man who is very close to Caesar, just before he was about to depart for a mission in the north of the peninsula.

I asked him to find out whatever he could about this threat to Caesar’s life. I told him what I knew and gave him some contacts . . .’

Silius thought of Publius Sextius and was startled.

‘I made him swear that the matter would remain between the two of us. I wanted him to understand that it was Caesar’s safety I was concerned about, immensely so, although Caesar himself seems to give it no thought. I should be hearing from this person by tomorrow. If it’s any later than that it might be too late. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Silius imagined that Antony had nodded or answered her with a look.

‘Good,’ continued Cleopatra. ‘If anything should happen, you will be the only person I can trust in this city. Cicero despises me and there are many others who can’t stand me. Antony, you must promise me you’ll be careful. You must be prudent. Do it for me and for my son.’

Silius heard nothing more, but he’d heard enough. He was certain that Caesar would listen to him now and take immediate action. The problem now was getting out. He couldn’t go back by the route he used to get in, because he had no way of getting up to the hole he’d dropped through at the centre of the
laconicum
dome. So he had to find a way out through the house. At least he was familiar with the layout and the darkness would cover him. He could get to the peristyle and from there to the servants’ quarters. He could use the side door, slipping out between the guards’ rounds.

A sudden gust of wind swept in from the hole in the dome and stirred up a cloud of ashes from the floor. Silius could not hold back a violent sneeze.

He froze, ears straining, heart in his throat. He heard nothing. After all, he thought, anyone in the house could have sneezed. A sneeze was no cause for alarm.

He started to move again, cautiously. He crossed the
tepidarium
and the
frigidarium
, reached the door and opened it on to the corridor that led to the peristyle. He looked round anxiously. There were only a few lanterns lit under the portico; no one was in sight. He made his way towards the
atrium
, staying close to the wall.

A voice rang out behind him as the light of several torches flooded the portico. ‘Quite a bad cold you have there, Silius Salvidienus. What are you doing out at this time of night?’

It was Mark Antony.

16

In Monte Appennino, mansio ad Castaneam, a.d. III Id. Mart., prima vigilia

The Apennine Mountains, the Chestnut Tree station, 13 March, first guard shift, six p.m.

S
INCE PUBLIUS SEXTIUS
had reached the Arno before daylight, he decided to rest for a couple of hours until he could hear the ferryman stirring. He led his horse on to the pontoon, which was on a ferry rope, and soon found himself on the other side of the river. He resumed his journey, keeping within sight of the Via Cassia as he rode. He travelled the entire day, until dusk, when he decided to head towards a light he could see in the distance at the edge of a wood. The terrain was uneven and rocky and the path he was using so rutted he couldn’t wait to get there. It was marked on the map he’d been given and looked like a
mansio
, so he thought he’d be able to get something to eat and perhaps even change his horse there.

As he got closer, he realized the light was actually reflecting from a fire burning inside the building’s enclosure wall. He could see nothing else; the place did not seem to be guarded.

He stopped his horse, dismounted and began to approach cautiously on foot. Realizing that the horse would draw attention, he tied the animal’s reins to an oak sapling and went on alone.

There was indeed a fire burning in the courtyard. Four individuals had gathered around it, sitting on their travel bags. He thought he recognized one of them, a man wearing a grey cloak; his face was very pale and had a weaselly look. In the corner was a wagon with two horses still yoked to the shaft.

When the man in the grey cloak got to his feet, one of the other men followed suit. The other two remained sitting near the fire.

‘I prefer working on my own, but seeing as you’ve caught up with me, at least keep your eyes open,’ the man in grey said. ‘Be wary of anyone who approaches. We’ll relieve you in a couple of hours and then we’ll be off. We’ll take the same roads that he’ll have to take, assuming, of course, that he’s still behind us.’

‘Have no fear, Mustela,’ replied one of the two. ‘No one gets by here without my permission.’

The man called Mustela answered, ‘Decius, don’t let your guard down. You know him. And beware of his cane. It’s more deadly than a sword in his hands. He’s very dangerous—’

‘I know, I know, you’ve told me already. Just take it easy.’

Publius Sextius started at those words. Of all the roads that led to Rome, these four cut-throats had found the very one he had taken and were lying in wait for him no less. He had to act at once, without alerting them to his presence.

Mustela and his companion went in and Publius Sextius soon saw the light of a lamp behind a window on the second floor. It soon went out.

He slipped into the stables and sat down on the straw. A hound started barking, but Publius Sextius reached into his satchel for a chunk of salted meat, which he tossed over to the dog, who swallowed it whole. He came closer, wagging his tail, hoping for more food. It wasn’t often that he enjoyed such generosity. Never, in fact. Publius Sextius petted him and gave him another bite. He’d made a friend who would not betray him.

Knowing he could rest easy from that point of view, he went into the hayloft and then back outdoors again through a door that was slightly ajar. He was now on the opposite side of the
mansio
. The gigantic chestnut tree from which the station got its name extended its boughs towards the room that had been lit up a few moments before. The moon appeared in a wide gap between the clouds.