The Ides of March (26 page)

What he desired most keenly was to stretch out on a bed and relax limbs tormented by the strain of endless riding. Then to eat something and drink a cup of strong red wine. But he decided to lie down on the ground under the shelter of an ancient olive tree, to eat a piece of cheese and soften a chunk of dry bread with water. Better this than risk another unpleasant encounter after everything that had already happened to him.

He slept as he was used to sleeping in these circumstances, without ever drifting into unconsciousness and without losing the sense of time passing. He had left his horse free to graze, certain it would not wander off. When he felt a little stronger, he called the horse with a whistle and started off again.

He headed in the same direction for a long while, avoiding places where too many people were to be found, until he was forced to return to the Via Cassia so as to be sure to find a way to cross the water. One could always count on a bridge of stone, at least; they never collapsed.

The terrain was very rough and he couldn’t stray too far from the road, although he mostly stayed on the loose-surfaced track at the side of the stone pavement. It was much faster that way and he felt that he was making up for lost time. Fortune seemed to be smiling on him now, he thought, as he managed to change his horse at a farm near Sutri without drawing attention to himself. The breeder accepted the difference in price between the horse Publius Sextius was leaving and the one he was buying, and he was free to set off once again at a fast pace. He was bound for the banks of the Tiber, beyond the Via Cassia, where he’d be able to board a ship at last.

He could feel that his mission was drawing to an end. He would soon be able to relay his message and to report directly to Caesar.

But all at once, as the sun was about to sink behind the hills, a horseman appeared in the middle of the road, barring his way. In his hand he held a drawn sword.

At first he thought of turning around, but two things stopped him. One, he’d never done such a thing in his whole life; he’d never turned tail. And two, he was curious. Curious to see who dared to take on Publius Sextius alone. Traitor or foe, whichever he was, perhaps he deserved this confrontation.

He slowed his horse to a walk, drew his own sword and advanced down the middle of the road. The other man did the same. When he was about fifty feet away, Publius halted his horse and spoke first.

‘Who are you? What do you want?’

‘What do you care who I am when you are about to die?’

‘Pure curiosity.’

His adversary had stopped as well. ‘My name is Sergius Quintilianus. Does that tell you anything?’

His left hand pulled firmly at the bit, as his horse was snorting and stamping at the sight of the other stallion opposing him. The horseman rode forward until he was very close.

‘Pharsalus,’ he added. ‘Do you remember now?’

Publius recognized him. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I do. I spared your life on the battlefield.’

‘After having killed my son, who stood before you defending his wounded father.’

‘You know what it’s like in the heat of the battle, man. There’s no time to make distinctions. When I realized what had happened, I held back. Let me go on my way now. We all have our own nightmares.’

‘You should have killed me as well. You don’t heal from a wound like that. By sparing my life you doubly humiliated me.’

‘You could have killed yourself. You had a weapon.’

‘I was about to do just that, Publius Sextius, but in the brief time I took to reflect, my hatred welled up over all else. I decided to live so I could find you and kill you. After such a long time, fortune has made the wait worth my while.’

He pointed westward at the sun, which was nearly touching the line of the hills. ‘Before it drops below the horizon, your blood will have placated the
manes
of my dead boy.’

‘I must reach Rome. If you try to prevent me, I’ll have to kill you.’

‘Then use that sword you hold in your hand!’ shouted Sergius Quintilianus, urging his horse forward.

Publius had anticipated the attack and was not taken by surprise. He rushed forward himself and met his opponent’s blows with unfaltering skill and strength. The blades crossed high and low with deafening crashes, sending sparks flying as one screeched along the edge of the other. Sergius lunged once, twice, three times, seeking his adversary’s heart. Unable to reach it, he disengaged, turned around and charged forward again with savage determination. Publius dodged him at the last moment but managed to strike him at the waist with the cane he held in his left hand, something Sergius had not expected.

Sergius Quintilianus was showing signs of weakening. He pulled his horse up short, panting, hunched over in pain. He would have been easy prey just then. But the centurion stopped his horse and dealt him no blow. Sergius was quick to return to the attack. He feinted a slash to his opponent’s groin, thrusting up at the last minute, towards his sternum. The blade missed Publius Sextius’s chest by a hair’s breadth, but tore into the stillgaping wound caused by his fall over the cliff.

Sextius felt a piercing, searing pain that reawakened the blind fury of the battlefield. His sword and cane struck out alternately with devastating force. Sergius Quintilianus fought back with all the rage and hate that burned in his blood. He attempted another assault, moving back to give himself the room to charge, but Publius Sextius could see the sword heading for his neck and he ducked, then swiftly spun around and drove his blade deep into the other man’s side before he could ride away. Sergius Quintilianus tumbled to the ground and the horse ran off, out of control. Publius Sextius dismounted and drew close. His adversary was gasping for breath and pressing his hand against the wound, blood welling up between his fingers.

‘Kill me this time,’ he said. ‘I’m a soldier like you are. Don’t let me rot here in my own blood.’

Publius Sextius bent down. He was bleeding as well and breathing hard. ‘You don’t have to die,’ he said. ‘I’ll send someone to get you. It’s possible to live without hate, bitterness, spite. We have to rise above the past, or we’re all dead . . .’

But his adversary had already decided differently. He jerked up, wielding a dagger in his left hand. But Publius had seen the intent in his eyes and he sank his sword into the other man’s heart.

Sergius Quintilianus fell back, lifeless. He who had so often been defeated by his enemies and by destiny had been defeated once again and for ever this time. But his eyes shone for a moment with the look of a soul finally at peace.

The sun slipped below the mountains and was covered by the night.

Romae, in Domo Publica, pridie Id. Mart., hora undecima

Rome, the residence of the Pontifex Maximus, 14 March, four p.m.

THE COMMANDER
of the third cohort of guards entered the Domus scowling and was immediately taken to Caesar.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘There’s no trace of him anywhere.’

Caesar gave a long sigh. ‘It seems strange to me that he hasn’t managed to get word to me, one way or another . . .’

‘You said that as he was leaving last night he mentioned an encounter with a lady.’

‘That’s correct, tribune.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much, then. You said that he’d gone off at other times and that you have always left him free to go where he pleased.’

‘That’s true, but I’ve become accustomed to having him always at my side. If I don’t see him I feel . . .’

‘I understand. But I’m sure he’ll show up. Tomorrow, maybe, or the next day. Maybe it’s precisely because he is always at your side that he felt the need for a bit of distraction, and if it’s a pretty lady he’s with, it’s not difficult to imagine why he’s lingering. If anything serious had happened, we’d have heard about it by now.’

‘Yes, you’re right, of course,’ replied Caesar. ‘But keep looking. I don’t feel right about this. I need him here.’

‘There’s no need to ask, Caesar. We’ll keep looking until we’ve found him.’

‘Good. And keep me informed. Whether it’s good news or bad, I want to know.’

The tribune took his leave and returned to his task. Caesar remained alone in his study to ponder Silius Salvidienus’s strange behaviour. A thousand thoughts came to his mind. It just wasn’t like him to disappear in that way without sending a message of any sort. His parting words the night before had made Caesar think that he’d be gone for a few hours, perhaps the night. No longer than that.

Might he have been surprised by the husband of this lady he was seeing in a compromising situation? That didn’t seem like him. Besides, everyone knew who he was. Who would have dared hurt a hair of his head?

He turned his thoughts to Antony, who had sent him a message that he would come by presently to collect him and take him to dinner at Marcus Aemilius Lepidus’s on the island. At least going out would distract him from his thoughts. The fact that he hadn’t heard from Publius Sextius in days, and now the disappearance of Silius Salvidienus, troubled him. It was as if someone had decided to deprive him of his most trusted men, the only ones he knew he could count on.

When a servant came to announce that Mark Antony was waiting in the
atrium
, Caesar rose to his feet.

They walked side by side, proceeding at a good pace and chatting about this and that, and about the next day’s senatorial session.

At a certain point, as they were walking down the Vicus Jugarius in the direction of the Temple of Portunus, Caesar said, ‘We have a challenging session awaiting us tomorrow, so let’s not make this a late evening. Lepidus’s dinners are always lavish affairs. At least there are no mosquitoes at this time of year. That’s something, anyway.’

Antony smiled. ‘You just make a sign and I’ll find an excuse for us to go,’ he replied.

Mansio ad Tiberim, pridie Id. Mart., hora duodecima

The Tiber station, 14 March, five p.m.

C
ENTURION
Publius Sextius reached the
mansio
after travelling east for about three miles. He entered through the main gate and slipped off his horse with some difficulty. He felt rather unsteady on his feet, but it lasted only a moment and then he rallied. As he was nearing Rome, the stations were more heavily guarded and staffed by army officers as well.

Publius approached a guard and showed him his
titulus
. ‘Call your commander. I’m on an official mission and I have to take the ferry, but I don’t have a penny to my name. And I need something to eat. I’m about to collapse.’

‘Take a look in that cupboard there. The innkeeper is still sleeping off last night’s drink. I don’t think he’ll be cooking anything soon.’

As Publius Sextius was rummaging among chunks of dry bread and some cheese rinds, the guard walked off to report to the officer in charge of the post.

‘There’s a centurion from the Twelfth in there who’s in a big hurry and needs change for the ferry. Sounds like he’s the one we’re waiting for, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, it’s him for sure. Tell him I’ll receive him. Have him come here.’

The guard found Publius Sextius nibbling at a piece of bread with some cheese, swallowing the hard crusts with a little water.

‘The officer in charge will see you at once, centurion. Follow me.’

The man’s expression, stance and tone of voice made a simple invitation sound more like an order, and Publius smelt a trap.

‘The commander wants to see you right now,’ repeated the guard. ‘It’s important.’

Publius was certain that there was someone in the other room ready to arrest him, if not kill him. He turned to the trough where the horses were feeding, spotted one with a bit, bridle and harness, jumped on to his back and spurred him on.

The guard shouted, ‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’ Then, turning to his comrades, he cried, ‘Close the gate, fast!’

Alerted by the shouting, the officer rushed to the door of the command post. He too started yelling: ‘No! Don’t let him go! Stop him!’

The two servants nearest the gate tried to close it, but it was evident they wouldn’t be fast enough.

The officer called again, ‘Wait, I have to talk to you!’

Publius Sextius didn’t even hear him. The pounding of the horse’s hoofs on the pavement was much louder than any voice could be.

An archer on the guard tower that loomed over the entry gate took the man galloping off down the road for a horse thief, so he swiftly nocked his arrow and took aim. When the commanding officer saw this, he shouted out, but the arrow was already in flight and it struck deep into Publius’s shoulder. The centurion looked as though he would fall, but he somehow straightened himself and rode off.

The
mansio
officer cursed his over-eager subordinate. He had wounded one of Julius Caesar’s men in person! He immediately sent out a squad to intercept him and bring him back so he could be treated. But Publius Sextius took advantage of the darkening sky and took off down a side path. He entered the forest and hid in a dense thicket of yews, brambles and pines, trying to keep his horse as still and silent as possible. He could hear his pursuers galloping by in the rain but the sound soon faded into the distance.

The pain was intense.

The arrow had torn clean through the muscle. He took out his dagger and sawed away at the shaft until he cut it through and could snap off the tip end. Then he drew his sword, laid the flat of his blade against the jagged shaft, clenched his teeth and, using a big stone, knocked against the blade until he had pushed the arrow shaft through his flesh. He pulled it free, bandaged his shoulder tightly with a piece of his cloak and grimly resumed his journey, trying to make his way towards the river.

He walked on cautiously, listening out for the sound of anyone following. He emerged into the open at last and found himself in a grassy clearing that ended at the riverbank. There was an inlet not far away, to his right. A rope ferry was rocking on the water, along with several other moored boats, one of which would be big enough to carry him and his horse. He approached the boatman.