Marcus turned his gaze to the surly-looking senator sitting on the front bench opposite Caesar. Cato wore his usual plain brown toga to show that he held true to the plain virtues and traditions of the forefathers of the Senate. In the previous year he had bitterly resisted the reforms of Caesar and the two men remained enemies.
One of the new consuls, Calpurnius Piso, was chairing the debate and now stood up to speak. The other senators and the spectators fell silent out of respect for his office as he cleared his throat.
‘My fellow senators. I am mindful that there are barely two hours left before the day is out. We have heard the arguments for and against the motion for the last three days and I move that we now vote on whether Caesar should be put on trial.’
‘Now we’ll find out,’ Marcus muttered.
‘Don’t be so sure,’ said Festus. ‘You haven’t reckoned on our friend Clodius.’
Marcus nodded, recalling the violent young man who had organized the street gangs that had served Caesar’s interests the previous year.
‘I forbid!’ a voice announced loudly.
Everyone’s eyes turned towards one of the men sitting on the tribunes’ bench. The tribunes, elected by the people, had the power to oppose any decisions made in the Senate, but it was a power rarely exercised. Now, Tribune Clodius rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘I forbid the vote.’
At once Cato was on his feet, pointing his finger accusingly. ‘On what grounds?’
Clodius turned to the senator and smiled. ‘I don’t have to give you reasons, my dear Cato. I simply have the right to forbid a vote. That is all.’
Cato glared across the floor of the Senate House. ‘But you have a moral obligation to explain your decision. You must give your reasons.’
‘Must I?’ Clodius turned to the consul.
Piso sighed and shook his head.
‘Bah!’ Cato fumed. ‘The tribune is abusing his power. If there is no good reason to forbid a vote, and there isn’t, then it is not right that he should do so.’
‘It may not be right,’ Clodius countered in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘But, nevertheless, it is my privilege. And there is nothing you can do about it.’
His words provoked howls of anger from Cato’s supporters, and, Marcus noted, many of the other senators looked angry, even some of those who normally supported Caesar. He turned to Festus.
‘I think Caesar is making a mistake. He shouldn’t rely on Clodius.’
‘Perhaps, but why risk losing the vote?’
‘The master is risking more than losing the vote.’ Marcus gestured towards the angry scene on the Senate floor. The shouting continued for a moment before Piso’s clerk rapped his staff on the marble floor. Gradually the noise died away and Piso nodded his head towards a tall figure sitting midway between Cato and Caesar.
‘The floor is open to Senator Cicero.’
Marcus leaned forward against the window frame. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a word. Cicero was one of the most respected of the senators and had not yet chosen which side to support. Whatever he said now might well sway opinion behind Caesar, or turn the Senate against him.
Cicero strode purposefully into the open space in front of the consul and turned to face the waiting senators. Marcus could sense their tense anticipation, but Cicero, who was a master of every trick in the book of public speaking, waited until he had complete silence before he began.
‘Honoured senators, let us not open old wounds. There are few of us here who can forget the terrible strife and violence that accompanied the age of Marius and Sulla. And none of us want to return to that time, when every senator was in fear of his life and the streets of our great city ran with blood. Therefore, let us approach our present difficulty with a spirit of compromise.’
Marcus saw Cato shake his head and make to rise from his seat. Cicero gestured for him to remain seated and, reluctantly, the other man eased himself back down. Meanwhile Caesar looked on, his face cold and expressionless.
‘Few can deny,’ Cicero continued, ‘that there are justifiable grievances on both sides. Caesar’s consulship was a time of great division, due to the nature of the laws he introduced, and even I question some of the tactics used to impose his will. But the present attempt to bring him to trial smacks of political motivation. Of course, I am sure that the Senate would give him a fair hearing and their ultimate decision would be guided by both reason and a sense of justice.’
Festus snorted with derision. ‘Who does he think he’s fooling?’
‘Shhh!’ a stout man at his side hissed.
‘However,’ Cicero resumed, ‘since Tribune Clodius has exercised his right to deliver a veto, then we cannot vote on whether there will be a trial. The tribune is within his rights to withhold his reasons for his decision, but I say to him that his act exhibits the kind of frivolity for which he has become notorious. He risks fuelling the divisions that already place the unity of this House under great strain.’
Clodius crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and smiled.
‘It is well known that Clodius is a follower of Caesar and that fully explains his decision. But there is nothing that can be done, or should be done, to force the tribune to change his mind. The moment we step down that path we undermine the very traditions and laws that have made Rome the great power that she is. Nevertheless, Caesar has an obligation not to be seen to abuse the rules. Therefore, I suggest that we agree the following compromise.’ He paused. ‘Last year Senator Cato put forward a suggestion that Caesar be given the responsibility for hunting down the remains of Spartacus t army. At the time there was no vote thanks to the riot that someone instigated outside the Senate House.’ He looked meaningfully at Clodius before he continued. ‘As it happens, I have had news today of yet another attack, this time on the estate near Tifernum, belonging to a member of this body, Senator Severus.’ He gestured towards a ponderous bald man sitting on the front row.
‘That’s right.’ Severus scowled. ‘The scum burned my villa to the ground, butchered my staff and set free all of my slaves. It’s an outrage!’
‘Quite.’ Cicero nodded. ‘These raids have been increasing in number and scale. The bands of rebels are now a major threat to the security of farms and villas on either side of the Apennines. Their leader — some thug by the name of Brixus — is attempting to unite the slaves into one army under his control. He even claims that the son of Spartacus is alive and will become the figurehead of a new rebellion. That’s utter nonsense, of course, but the fools who follow Brixus are willing to believe anything.’
Marcus felt an icy tingle at the back of his neck. He had met Brixus before, at the gladiator school where he had first been trained. Marcus had discovered Brixus’s secret: that he had been part of Spartacus’s inner circle. For his part Brixus had discovered an even bigger secret: that the young boy was the son of the former slave leader, and therefore the enemy to all of Rome. Although Marcus had deliberately positioned himself in Caesar’s household as a way of finding his mother, he lived in fear that his true identity would be discovered. So far he’d managed to divert attention from the brand of a wolf’s head mounted on the tip of a sword that was burned on his shoulder and linked him to Spartacus, but the news of Brixus s rebellion unsettled him. He glanced warily at Festus and the latter caught his eye and cocked a questioning eyebrow.
‘What’s the matter, Marcus? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’