his predicament. ‘Caesar would be laughing if he could see us hiding from his people.’
Cassius stared into the night. The fires on the Quirinal had spread at breathtaking speed. In the distance, hundreds of burning houses lit the darkness, like red cracks in the earth. There would be blackened bodies by the thousand in the morning and Pella was right, disease would follow, rising from the dead flesh and entering the lungs of healthy men. He made a sound in his throat and Brutus looked to him, trying to read his expression.
‘There are legions in Asia Minor,’ Cassius said at last. ‘I have considered going out to them as the representative of the Senate. Our eastern lands must be protected from the chaos here. Perhaps a year or two in Syria would allow us to put these bloody days behind.’
Brutus considered, but shook his head. He remembered the heat and strange passions of Egypt and had no desire to return to that part of the world.
‘Not Syria, not for me at least. I have never visited Athens, though I knew Greece well when I was young.’
Cassius waved a hand.
‘Propraetor then. It is done. I will have your command and passes drawn up, ready for use. By the gods, though, I could wish it had not turned out like this! I have not brought down one tyrant only to see Mark Antony take his place. The man is a greased snake for slipperiness.’
‘While we stay, the riots go on,’ Brutus replied, his voice hard. ‘They hunt for me, whoreson gangs of filthy slaves, kicking down doors looking for me.’
‘It will pass. I remember the last riots. The senate house was burned then, but the madness faded eventually.’
‘The leaders died, Cassius, that was why those riots came to an end. I had to move twice yesterday, just to be sure they could not box me in.’ He made a growling sound, at the end of his patience. ‘I would be happier if Mark Antony had fallen on the first day. Yet he walks where he pleases, with no more than a few guards. They do not hunt him, not the noble friend of Caesar!’
There was a crash from outside and both men jerked round, staring at the door as if it would burst open and bring the ugly mobs of Rome surging into the room. A woman screamed nearby, the sound suddenly choking off.
‘We underestimated him, it seems, or at least his ability to survive,’ Cassius replied, speaking more to break the silence than from thought. ‘I too would be happier if Mark Antony was another tragic casualty of the riots, but he is too careful – and right now, too well loved. I know a few men, but they are as likely to tell him of a plot as carry it through.’
Brutus snorted. More crashes and screams sounded from the street, though he thought they were moving on.
‘Draw up the orders then,’ he said wearily. ‘I can spend a year or two governing Athens. When the sting is drawn from Rome, I will see her again.’
Cassius pressed a hand to his shoulder.
‘Depend on it, my friend. We have come too far together to see it all lost now.’
Brundisium had never been as busy. It was like an overturned beehive, with soldiers and citizens scurrying everywhere and no sign of the languor of Rome. In the port city, everyone hurried, moving supplies for the fleet and legions: wooden casks of water, iron nails, ropes, sailcloth, salted meat and a thousand other essential goods. Despite being allowed to pass by the outer fleet, it was almost noon before the ship had its turn through the massive gates across the inner harbour, winched open each morning by teams of sweating slaves.
As the merchant vessel reached the quay, the sailors threw ropes to dockers, who heaved them in the last few feet and tied them to great iron stanchions set in the stone. A wide wooden bridge was lifted up and over, forming a path from the ship to the quayside. Octavian and Agrippa were the first to step off as Maecenas settled the fee with the captain and remained to oversee the unloading of the horses. A dozen workers and two empty carts trundled over to carry crates and chests from the ship, men who had bought the right to that section of the docks and charged high fees for the privilege. By the time the horses were led out, even Maecenas was complaining about the venal nature of the port, which seemed designed to take every last coin he had.
‘There isn’t a room or a stable free for thirty miles or more,’ he reported when he joined them. ‘According to the dockers, six legions are encamped and the officers have taken every tavern in the city. That makes it easier to find one who might know you, Octavian, but it will take time to find lodgings. Give me half a day.’
Octavian nodded uneasily. His plan to get an audience with the senior officer in Brundisium had seemed a lot simpler before he’d seen the chaos of the city. Its population had quadrupled with soldiers and he needed Maecenas more than ever. His friend had already employed runners to carry messages for him, sending them sprinting off into the maze of streets away from the port. Octavian didn’t doubt he’d find somewhere to store their belongings before the sun set.
‘What is your business in Brundisium?’ a voice said behind him. ‘You can’t leave that lot here, you know, blocking the docks. Tell your captain to cast off. There are two more ships waiting already.’
Octavian turned to see a bald man in optio’s armour, short and powerful with a sword on his hip and two robed clerks in his wake.
‘We are arranging porters, sir. Right now, I need to know the name of the commander in Brundisium and to arrange a meeting with him.’
The officer smiled wryly, running a hand over the polished dome of his head and flicking away sweat.
‘I can think of at least seven men who might answer your description. But you won’t get to see them, not without a few weeks of waiting. Unless you are a senator, perhaps. Are you a senator? You look a bit young for that.’ He smiled at his own humour.
Octavian took a deep breath, already irritated. At Caesar’s side, he had never been questioned. He looked at the man’s amused expression and realised he could not bluster or threaten his way past. He could not even give his true name while there was a chance he was being hunted.
‘I … carry messages for the senior officer in the city.’
‘And yet you don’t have his name?’ the optio replied. ‘Forgive me for doubting a young gentleman such as yourself …’ He saw Octavian’s frustration and shrugged, his expression not without kindness. ‘Look, lad. Just get your goods off my dock, all right? I don’t care where, as long as I don’t have to see it. Understand? I can put you in touch with a man who has a warehouse not far from here, if you want.’
‘I need to see a general,’ Octavian went on doggedly. ‘Or a tribune.’
The optio just stared at him and Octavian raised his eyes in frustration.
‘Maecenas?’ he said.
‘Here,’ Maecenas replied. He dug in his pouch and removed two sesterces. With the smoothness of long practice, the optio accepted the coins without looking at them, rubbing them together as he made them disappear.
‘I
