most of those in the forum, she had not been able to relax and enjoy the speeches. While Julius stood to face them, her heart had pounded in fear and pride. He hadn’t slipped. The memory of the man she had found in Spain was simply that now. Julius had recaptured the old magic and it touched even her as she listened and saw his bright eyes sweep over her without stopping. He was so young; could the crowd see that? For all their skill and wit, Pompey and Crassus were fading powers compared to him, and he was hers.
A man stepped a little too closely to her as he wound his way through the crowd and Servilia caught a glimpse of a hard, scarred face, damp with sweat. Before she could react, a strong hand fastened on the man’s arm, making him cry out.
‘Be on your way,’ Brutus said softly.
The man yanked hard to free himself and retreated, though he paused to spit when he was safely out of range. Servilia turned to her son and he smiled at her, the incident forgotten.
‘I think you have backed the right horse, Mother,’ he said, looking up at Julius. ‘Can’t you feel it? Everything is in place for him.’
Servilia chuckled, caught by his enthusiasm. Without his armour, her son looked more boyish than usual and she reached up to ruffle his hair affectionately.
‘One speech doesn’t make a consul, you know. The work starts today.’ She followed his gaze up to where Julius was turning away at last to make his way into the crowd, taking outstretched hands and responding to the citizens as they called to him. Even at a distance, she could see his joy.
‘But it is a good start,’ she said.
Suetonius walked with his friends through empty streets away from the forum. The stalls and houses were shut and barred and they could still hear the muted sound of the crowd behind the rows of houses.
Suetonius didn’t speak for a long time, his face stiff with bitterness. Every cheer from the tradesmen had eaten at him until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Julius, always Julius. No matter what happened, the man seemed to have more luck than any three others. A few words to a crowd and they fawned on him, sickeningly, while Suetonius’ father was humiliated. It was appalling to see them swayed by tricks and words while a good Roman went unnoticed. He had been so proud when his father allowed his name to be entered for consul. Rome deserved a man of his dignity and his honour, not a Caesar, out for nothing more than his own glory.
Suetonius clenched his fists, almost growling at what he had witnessed. The two friends with him exchanged nervous glances.
‘He’s going to win, isn’t he?’ Suetonius said without looking at them.
Bibilus nodded, a pace behind his friend, then realised the gesture couldn’t be seen.
‘Perhaps. Pompey and Crassus seem to think so, at least. Your father could still take the second post.’
He wondered whether Suetonius was going to march them all the way back to the estate outside Rome. Good horses and comfortable rooms awaited them in the other direction as Suetonius stalked along, blind with his hatred. Bibilus hated to walk when horses were available. He hated riding as well, but it was easier on his legs and he sweated less.
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