The Eagle in the Dovecote Page 10

  ‘And how do you imagine we can overturn the Senate without a fight?’ Marcus retorted.

  ‘We reason,’ Tiberius said. ‘We show them they’re wrong. We use the army as a threat, nothing more.’

  Marcus glanced up at Lucius; an understanding passed between them.

  ‘Very well, Tiberius,’ Lucius said, ‘we won’t use the army against the Senate, only against the people if they stand in our way.’

  Tiberius nodded. ‘Good, that’s good. I would not be with you, nor would my brother, if harm came to my father or our friends.’

  ‘Only plebeian blood need be spilt,’ Marcus assured him with a grin. ‘Come, let us drink to our success.’

  The conspirators drank a toast to the king, then the four visitors tied on their cloaks and pulled up their hoods, ducking out of the front door and hurrying quickly away into the dark of the Roman streets.

  ‘The rebels should be executed,’ Marcus said, slumping back down onto the couch when the door had closed. ‘Brutus, Collatinus, Mettius, all of them, even the Senate.’

  ‘And they will be, brother,’ Lucius promised. ‘We just need to keep Tiberius and Titus quiet and compliant for the time being. They’ll be in too far to back out by the time they realise what we truly intend.’

  ‘Suits me.’ Marcus burped. ‘Their father is the reason we’re in this mess, all because he values the body of a dead whore more than he values his country. A man like that doesn’t deserve to live.’

  ‘Nor to spread his dangerous ideas,’ Lucius agreed. ‘Can you imagine what would happen to Rome if we allowed Brutus and his fellow rebels to get away with this? The people will think they can rise up any time they have a grievance. We would be forever putting down revolts. We need to deal with the plebs now and ensure they never feel strong enough to rise against us again.’

  ‘And Caecilius Marcius,’ Marcus said, his words beginning to slur. He had drunk a great deal of wine that evening.

  ‘What’s that?’ Lucius asked, confused by the mention of Marcius.

  ‘Caecilius Marcius should be executed too. Ill, my arse. If you ask me, that wolfish wife of his told him to stay at home, to stay out of trouble. And any man who heeds his wife before his friends is no man at all and deserves death.’

  Lucius considered his brother’s words for a long moment. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘It will be death for Caecilius Marcius too.’

  Vindicius was still standing by the wall, forgotten and unnoticed.

  Publius Valerius threw down his stylus and massaged his fingers, grimacing as his knuckle bones cracked. He had been working for hours, since before the sun was up, and his hands were cramping. There was so much more work of late, ever since the Tarquins had been expelled from Rome. There were letters from the other Latin states, enquiring whether their usual trades were going to suffer, relatives and acquaintances simply wanting to hear the latest news, all in addition to the usual run of correspondence he had to deal with. Publius had never been so busy.

  ‘Dominus.’ Timon, his slave, had entered his tablinum and was standing before the desk.

  ‘Yes,’ Publius answered testily. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There is a person to see you.’

  ‘I’m not seeing anyone until my accustomed hour, Timon, you know that. Don’t bother me now.’

  ‘This is not a client, dominus,’ Timon persisted. He bent over the desk and said conspiratorially, ‘It’s a slave.’

  Publius peered up at Timon. ‘Why should I see a slave? Am I in the habit of giving audiences to slaves?’

  ‘You’ll want to see this one, unless I’m no judge.’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ Publius said with a sigh, ‘show this slave in.’ He wiped his fingers on his pen cloth idly, wondering what this slave wanted. It wasn’t like Timon to be so mysterious.

  Timon re-entered, waving at the figure behind him to hurry up and enter. ‘This is the slave, dominus.’

  ‘Your name, slave?’ Publius asked.

  Vindicius gave it in an inaudible whisper, his head down.

  Timon tutted and pulled the thin leather thong around Vindicius’s neck closer to his face. He read the circle of metal at its end. ‘Slave to Lucius Aquilii, dominus.’

  ‘The Aquilii? What business have you with me?’ Publius asked surprised, for he had no dealings with either of the Aquilii brothers.

  ‘I come to tell you of a plot against the Senate,’ Vindicius said.

  Publius got to his feet, his stool scraping noisily against the stone floor. ‘A plot. Do you mean your master?’

  Vindicius nodded. ‘There was a meeting at my master’s house last night. They met to discuss how they would return the king to Rome.’

  ‘Who met?’

  ‘My master and his brother, the brothers of the house of Vitellii and the brothers of the house of Brutus. There were supposed to be others, but those were the only ones who came.’

  ‘The sons of Lucius Iunius Brutus?’ Publius was aghast.

  Vindicius nodded.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Publius declared. ‘The sons act against their father?’ He looked at Timon, who shook his head and shrugged. Publius’s eyes narrowed at Vindicius. ‘Why are you telling me this? Why are you betraying your master? Are you a lying slave trying to get your master into trouble?’

  Vindicius took a step back, only to step back into Timon’s unyielding body. ‘No, no. I’m not lying. The meeting took place, as I said.’

  ‘I don’t approve of slaves telling tales,’ Publius said. ‘I should tell your master and insist he have you whipped.’

  ‘Please,’ Vindicius begged, falling to his knees, ‘I’m telling the truth. I don’t want there to be bloodshed.’

  Publius fell down onto his stool at his words. ‘Bloodshed? Who spoke of bloodshed?’

  ‘My master and his brother.’

  Publius gestured for Vindicius to rise and speak on.

  Vindicius swallowed nervously as he got to his feet. ‘The Brutus brothers refused to support the king if it meant attacking the Senate. They said they wouldn’t act against their father if his life was threatened. So, my master said he wouldn’t be. Only—’

  ‘Only what?’ Publius snapped.

  ‘Only he said he hadn’t meant it when they had gone. He told his brother that whoever opposed them would be executed.’

  ‘By Janus,’ Timon breathed.

  Publius stared, open-mouthed. ‘Why would they do this?’

  ‘Prince Titus wrote to them, asking for their support,’ Vindicius said.

  ‘What!’ Publius spluttered. ‘And you leave this news to the last?’

  ‘I didn’t think that was important,’ Vindicius protested.

  ‘Not important? May the gods save me from the imbecility of slaves. Listen here, you dog. The king, the same king who has been exiled, has written to patricians within this city, inciting them to take up arms in support of him, and you think that unimportant?’

  ‘That’s slaves for you,’ Timon said, shaking his head at Vindicius.

  ‘So,’ Publius said, taking a deep breath, ‘there are letters from the Tarquins? At your master’s house?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Is there anything else you have neglected to tell me?’

  Vindicius thought for a moment. ‘No, that’s everything.’

  ‘Timon,’ Publius said, ‘gather what men you can muster immediately. Have them arm themselves and have them ready in the atrium.’

  ‘I will, dominus,’ Timon said excitedly. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Do? Do?’ Publius cried. ‘We’re going to arrest the Aquilii, of course.’

  Volumnia rose at the sound of the front door opening and closing. She would never have admitted it, but she had been on edge ever since Caecilius had sent his reply to the Aquilii, declining their dinner invitation on the grounds of ill health. Would it be believed, she wondered? And if the brothers didn’t believe Caecilius was ill but merely shamming, what damage could
they do him?

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she cried with relief when Menenius moved into view.

  ‘Well, I’ve had better welcomes,’ he said, a little affronted.

  ‘Forgive me, Menenius,’ Volumnia said, waving him forward. ‘I am truly glad to see you. Is something wrong? You look quite flustered.’

  Menenius took a seat. ‘I’ve just come from the Senate.’ He shook his head. ‘Such goings-ons, Volumnia.’

  ‘What, what?’ she said urgently, sitting beside him. Oh, Jove have mercy on me and my family and bring no bad news, she silently prayed.

  ‘There’s no need to fear,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘You are safe.’

  She snatched her hand away. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Menenius smiled understandingly. ‘I don’t know,’ he said carefully, ‘but I suspect Caecilius received a letter from the Aquilii.’ He raised his eyebrows at Volumnia, asking for a confirmation.

  She considered for a long moment, wondering whether to admit it, but then gave a tight nod.

  ‘It was fortunate he was too ill to attend,’ Menenius said.

  ‘He was ill,’ Volumnia protested.

  ‘Of course he was, and a very wise illness it was too. Your doing, I daresay.’

  She ignored the implied compliment. ‘What is it, Menenius? What has happened?’

  Menenius told her of how he had been in the Senate when Publius Valerius had burst in with an armed guard surrounding the Aquilii brothers and of how he had uncovered a plot to restore the Tarquins to Rome. Publius had added that he had sent another armed guard to arrest the Vitelliis and the sons of Brutus. This last statement had been greeted with gasps and heads had turned towards the father, Brutus himself, who had said nothing, simply stared as if in shock at Publius.

  ‘The sons of Brutus were part of this plot?’ Volumnia whispered, hardly able to believe it.

  Menenius nodded. ‘We all thought it must be a mistake, but no, they were plotting to bring the king back, against their own father. I never thought to see such a day.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Volumnia, all the brothers are friends of Prince Titus. As is Caecilius.’

  ‘Was his name mentioned?’ she asked, half fearing the answer.

  ‘No, but he must be careful. The letters—’

  ‘I told him to burn them,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Good, that was the right thing to do. I am sure you have nothing to worry about as long as Caecilius doesn’t do anything stupid in the name of honour.’

  ‘I won’t let him,’ she said vehemently.

  ‘No, I imagine you won’t,’ he nodded, smiling. ‘I know this must be difficult for you. But I believe it is Rome’s destiny to be a republic. There have been signs in the heavens that it is so, the priests have confirmed it. There is no going back. A king will never again rule here.’

  Volumnia gave a little bitter laugh. ‘I had hoped… but no, you are right. We cannot defy the will of the gods.’ She breathed deeply and smiled. ‘So, we are all to be republicans now. How things do change.’

  ‘I think it is a change for the better, Volumnia. We may even find that we prosper as a republic.’

  ‘Well then,’ she smiled at him, ‘We must welcome this new Rome.’ She raised her hand. ‘All hail the republic.’

  9

  Brutus settled himself further into the stone chair, pulling the wolf pelt over his legs. He kept his eyes down, not wanting to look at his fellow senators. He could imagine what they thinking, what they were whispering to one another: Brutus doesn’t even know what’s going on in his own family, so how can we entrust the governance of Rome to him? Turns out he is the idiot we always believed him to be. Perhaps we would be better off with the Tarquins, after all.

  Were they right? he asked himself, casting sideways glances from beneath lowered lids at the men who gathered in small groups in the Senate house. Have I been fooling myself?

  When he had watched Lucretia plunge a knife into her heart, he had been shocked and appalled, of course, but there had been a small part of him that had sensed an opportunity. Even as Collatinus cradled his dying wife in his arms and pleaded with Brutus for help, Brutus has been thinking, Prince Sextus did this terrible thing. The people will not stand for it.

  Yes, he had thought the death of Lucretia was a chance the gods were giving him to take his revenge on the whole Tarquin clan. Was he to be blamed for that? His beloved brother had been murdered on the king’s orders, he had witnessed his mother snubbed by the queen on public occasions, and he had been continually mocked by the princes for being an idiot, the part his mother had begged him to play so she would not lose another son to King Lucius’s paranoia. So, yes, he had seen in Lucretia’s suicide a chance for revenge, may any blame him who will. And this is how he was rewarded, turned upon by members of his own family.

  It had caused him physical pain to learn that his own sons had conspired to bring the Tarquins back. Publius Valerius had ordered their arrest and his armed guard had brought them to the Senate house to be denounced. There they now stood, Titus and Tiberius, huddled with the other traitors, snivelling into their togas. They should weep, he thought savagely, and they will weep more before I have done with them. Even in their sorrow, they were an embarrassment. The Vitellii and Aquilii brothers did not weep. They stood proud and defiant before the senators, not a tear bedecking their cheeks. Brutus could almost admire them. They had had the courage to begin this conspiracy and had no less now it had been exposed. He could not say the same of his sons.

  He heard footsteps drawing near and turned his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mettius coming towards him, no doubt dying to gloat.

  ‘You were right,’ Brutus said, wanting to say it before Mettius did.

  Mettius frowned. ‘About what?’

  Aye, feign ignorance, twist the knife. ‘About the Tarquins. They cannot be trusted.’

  ‘I’m glad you see it now, though I wish it could be under different circumstances, for your sake.’

  ‘Do not say so,’ Brutus snapped. ‘I have need of neither your sympathy nor your pity. I am at fault. I didn’t see the treachery within my own family.’

  Collatinus, standing by his side, tutted. ‘Titus and Tiberius have always been easily led. The others would have convinced them it was the right thing to do to bring the king back to Rome.’

  ‘There’s no need to make excuses for them. They are traitors and deserve no understanding.’

  Collatinus held up his hands in capitulation and backed away from Brutus, sliding a glance towards Mettius who met it with equal wariness.

  ‘What is to be done with the prisoners?’ Mettius asked Brutus.

  ‘They must be tried and punished.’

  ‘The trial will be a mere formality, of course,’ Mettius said. ‘We know they are guilty. We have the evidence,’ he held up the letter from the prince Publius had given him, ‘and they have not denied it. But what is to be the punishment?’

  Brutus raised his chin as he stared past Mettius into nothingness. ‘They will be executed.’

  ‘You can’t mean that, Brutus,’ Collatinus said, shocked. He turned despairingly to Mettius. ‘Talk to him.’

  ‘Collatinus is right, Brutus,’ Mettius said. ‘We can’t ask you to execute your own children.’

  ‘They’re not my children,’ Brutus said. ‘I disown them. They are traitors and must be punished. To allow them to live would be the act of a tyrant, showing mercy to some and not to others.’

  ‘The people will understand, Brutus,’ Collatinus pleaded.

  Brutus shook his head. ‘You place too much faith in the people, Collatinus.’ He stood and turned to Collatinus, his gaze unflinching. ‘Execution must be for all of them. No exceptions.’

  Brutus had not said another word. He had taken himself off to one side of the Senate house with the air of someone who wanted to be alone. Collatinus and Mettius had watched him, neither speaking but both wondering what in Hades had happened to Brutus to turn him
into such a monster.

  They had turned to the other senators and ushered them out of the Senate house, signalling to the guards to do the same with their prisoners. As they emerged into the daylight, the people in the forum stopped what they were doing and drew towards the Senate steps. As they saw the armed guard and the prisoners they surrounded, they began to turn to one another and wonder what was happening. Their voices swelled and Collatinus saw the looks of confusion on their faces. They have a right to be confused, he thought grimly. Here stand the sons of three of Rome’s noblest families, under guard and shackled. He saw the people glance from Titus and Tiberius to their father, who had come out of the Senate house and lingered at the back of the senators, and back again, shaking their heads at one another and shrugging their shoulders.

  Mettius, having put himself forward as spokesman, moved to stand on the rostra. ‘People of Rome, hear me. These men,’ he gestured at the prisoners, ‘are accused of the most heinous of crimes. Treason.’ He paused as the crowd gasped. He half-turned to the prisoners and held out his arm, his index finger extended. ‘Lucius and Marcus Aquilii, Marcellus and Manius Vitellii, and,’ he paused and glanced at Brutus, ‘Titus and Tiberius Brutus.’ The crowd gasped again and a few shouts were heard. ‘These men have been accused of conspiring to restore the tyrant to his throne. We have evidence of their treachery. Letters from the tyrant’s eldest son writing on his father’s behalf, and an eyewitness account of their meeting to discuss how Tarquin’s restoration was to be accomplished.’

  ‘Who?’ Marcus Aquilii shouted, struggling to break through the armed guards. ‘Bring your witness. Let us see him.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Collatinus saw Brutus nod to the guard standing beside him. The guard disappeared inside the Senate house and reappeared a moment later, his hand gripped around the upper arm of Vindicius. Vindicius blinked in the glare of the sunlight, shuffled his feet and needed to be prodded by the guard to move forward.