‘But Servilia is under surveillance, isn’t that sufficient evidence?’
‘No, it’s not. It means that Brutus might — just might, mind you — be involved. If a conspiracy exists, that is.’
‘But don’t you understand her words, “a chasm lies on either side of the road”?’
‘It depends on how you interpret them. The expression she’s chosen is anything but clear. Listen. Imagine that Caesar takes your word on this and unleashes a wide-scale repression. What would he have to do then, exactly? Capture Brutus and put him to death? On the basis of what accusation? Or hire some assassin to take him out? His murder would be instantly attributed to Caesar by those who seek to destroy him. He would be held up to public scorn as a bloody tyrant whose true, vindictive nature had finally been unmasked. That’s exactly what Caesar wants to avoid. Telling him would just put him in a worse dilemma.’
‘So what should we do?’
‘I’m counting on Artemidorus. Imagine that he manages to discover that there truly is a conspiracy and to identify who is in on it. At that point it will be easier for Caesar to lay a trap, expose their plan and then decide what should happen to them. What’s more, Servilia has said that she will do something and I think that something may prove to be important. She’ll find a way to save her son and the man she loves, even if that seems impossible. We must give her that chance.’
‘How can she accomplish such a thing?’
Antistius was creating elaborate doodles on a wax tablet with the tip of his scalpel, as though he were mapping out complex thoughts. He raised his head slightly and looked up at Silius.
‘By letting Caesar know the day they’ve chosen.’
11
Ad fundum Quintilianum, a.d. V Id. Mart., hora duodecima
Villa Quintiliana, 11 March, five p.m.
‘You’re finally awake! I thought you'd never open your eyes.’
Mustela turned in the direction the voice was coming from and met the eyes of a heavy-set man with a vigorous, no-nonsense look. A soldier at first glance. An officer.
‘It was careless of you to reveal your code name to a servant and even more so to ask to meet me in my home,’ he said.
Mustela tried to bolster himself up on his elbows but the effort made him grimace in pain.
‘What time is it?’ he asked.
‘Forget about the time and answer me.’
‘I had no choice,’ said Mustela. ‘Look at me. Your men were about to throw me into the cesspool. Wouldn’t have been a nice death, not even for a bloke like me.’
‘It’s dangerous for you to be here. The sooner you go the better. What do you want?’
Mustela looked out of the window, then said, ‘It’s late.’
‘The twelfth hour, more or less.’
‘Oh, gods, I risked my life for nothing. You should have woken me. Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Have you lost your mind, man? They had to stitch you up, in case you haven’t noticed, with needle and thread. You were more dead than alive when you got here. They had no choice.’
‘Listen to me. Two men, three or four at the most, are trying to reach Rome on different roads in order to prevent justice being done. I intercepted a few words at a mutatioon the Via Emilia and I recognized one of the two: Publius Sextius, known as “the Cane”. Do you know who he is?’
The man’s face flushed with sudden anger. ‘You bet I know that son of a bitch. He’s a damned bastard. I’d like to see him dead.’
‘Then stop him, and stop the others.’
‘All right. Let’s pretend that this is possible, that it’s not already too late. How in the name of Hades can I stop the others? You don’t even know who they are, do you? Or how many of them are out there. You’re asking for a miracle.’
Mustela had finally struggled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
‘The fact that Publius Sextius left in such haste and that he sent out other messengers as well means that he’s determined to stop what’s going to happen. It’s a fight against time. If we get there first, we’ll live. If we get there second, we’ll die, and with us the freedom of the republic.’
The officer shook his head. ‘Don’t feed me that line about the freedom of the republic. I know your kind too well. Follow me, if you can manage it.’
He left the room and walked towards the peristyle. Mustela stumbled after him, groping his way along the wall. They entered a room on the other side of the courtyard. This was the study of Mustela’s reluctant host, the master of the villa, who opened a cabinet and removed a scroll. He spread it out on the table. It was a rough map of all the roads between Cisalpine Gaul and Rome.
‘If they’re in such a hurry, they’ll use the easiest roads to travel, so it shouldn’t be impossible to intercept them. .’ His finger traced the black lines that represented the consular roads. ‘The Via Cassia. . or the Via Flaminia. What’s more, I’ve been told that it’s stormy up on the mountains and that certain passes have been blocked by snow. The couriers I’d been expecting showed up here almost a full day late. Your men won’t have an easy time crossing.’
He lifted his eyes and looked directly at Mustela. ‘Besides Publius Sextius, who did you see?’
‘A stocky man, not very tall, grey beard, hands as huge as a bear’s paws, eyebrows joined up over his nose.’
‘All right. And then? What did they say to each other? Give me a clue.’
Mustela shook his head. ‘How can I do that? I don’t have the slightest idea, but I saw this bloke send a signal, so I’m thinking that other messengers may have been sent out as well. Anyway, if we’re willing to wager that they’ll use the main roads, at least for the last stage of their journey, they’ll have to carry considerable sums of money with them or make big promises with the innkeepers on the way if they want to keep changing their horses.’
‘But they won’t be the only ones. We risk killing off someone who is just going about his business. A merchant, for instance.’
‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take. Anyway, there is something that sets them apart.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The hurry they’re in. A damned great hurry. No one will be trying to move as fast as they are. That’s how we’ll recognize them.’
‘I could send light signals. .’
‘No. You can’t include enough information, and anyway, they can read them too. They’re professionals, remember, and probably well organized. And if I’m here, that means they’re probably still crossing the mountains, and will be able to see them easily.’
‘You may be right. Let’s split up, then.’
‘I’ll take the old Etruscan trail,’ said Mustela.
‘We’ll cover the other roads.’
Mustela realized that the man hadn’t revealed his name. But that was part of the game. From what he’d seen of the mementoes on the walls and the suit of armour in the corner, he was willing to bet that the master of the villa was one of Pompey’s veterans. Had probably fought with him at Pharsalus. He was one of those who had held out, the tough ones who had never surrendered and never asked anyone to pardon them. He was surely in touch with the other supporters of Pompey who were still in hiding. He would do anything in his power to stop those couriers from reaching Rome.
‘I need a horse,’ said Mustela.
‘Ready and waiting. But are you sure you want to go on? You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re in bad shape. The stitches might not hold.’
‘I have a contract to fulfil. And if I make it to the end this time, I just might be ready to leave this line of work. I’m too old to run myself ragged like this. But you’re right. If I get on a horse, I’m done for. Give me a light vehicle with a couple of horses, some supplies and a blanket or two.’