The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,1

to struggle not to quicken his step, to maintain the slow pace that was both their dignity and their protection. They would not run from what they had done. Their survival depended on showing no guilt, no fear. He would enter the forum as a liberator.

At the top of the Capitoline, Brutus paused. He could see the open space of the forum, ringed with temples. The senate house gleamed white, unsullied, the guards at its doors tiny figures in the distance. The sun was growing hot and he could feel sweat trickle inside his ornate chestplate. The senators at his back moved slowly up, not understanding why they had stopped. The line around him widened, but their authority had been spent that morning and not one of them, not even Cassius or Suetonius, dared to move down the hill without Brutus leading the way.

‘We are Liberatores,’ Brutus said suddenly. ‘There are many in that place who will welcome what we have done. There are hundreds more who will breathe in relief when they hear that the tyrant is dead and Rome is safe, the Republic is safe. There will be a vote for amnesty and it will pass. All this has been decided. Until then, remember your dignity, your honour. There is no shame in what we have done.’

Around him, they stood a little taller, many of them raising bloody hands that had been clenched and hidden at their sides.

Brutus looked to Cassius once more and this time his expression was mild.

‘I have played my part, Senator. You must do the rest. Carry the small men with you and place every step with care, or we will be hunted down.’

Cassius nodded, smiling wryly.

‘I have the votes, General. It is all arranged. We will walk in free and we will be honoured.’

Brutus looked hard at the senator who carried all their futures in his hands. Cassius was a man of bone and hard flesh, with no weakness evident in him.

‘Then lead us in, Senator. I will be at your back.’

Cassius’ mouth firmed at the suspicion of a threat, but he raised his head and strode down into the heart of Rome.

As they approached the senate house, Brutus and Cassius could hear raised voices, a dim roar of undisciplined sound. The great bronze doors were open, and a voice cried out above the rest. The noise dropped away into silence.

Brutus trembled as he touched the steps, knowing that the few hours left before noon would be among the most important of his life. They had the blood of Caesar on their hands. A wrong word or rash act and their own would be spilled before the sun set. He looked over to Cassius and was reassured once more by the man’s confidence. There were no doubts in the senator. He had worked long and hard for this day.

Two legionaries came to attention as Brutus and Cassius ascended. The soldiers were out of their depth and they hesitated when the senator raised his bloody right hand, making sure they saw it before he inclined the palm to include Brutus.

‘General Brutus is my guest,’ Cassius said, his mind already on the crowd inside.

‘He’ll have to leave the gladius here, sir,’ the soldier said.

Something in the way Brutus looked at him made him drop his hand to his own hilt, but Cassius chuckled.

‘Oh, hand it over, Brutus. Don’t embarrass the man.’

With ill grace, Brutus untied the scabbard rather than pull a bare blade and frighten the soldier. He gave up his sword and strode to catch Cassius, suddenly angry, though he could not have said exactly why. Julius had never been stopped at the door of that building. It was irritating to be reminded of his lack of status at the very moment of his triumph. In the senate house, Brutus was no more than an officer of Rome, a senior man without civil rank. Well, that could be put right. Now Caesar was dead, all the failures and setbacks of his life could be put right.

More than four hundred men had crowded into the senate house that morning, their bodies warming the air, so that there was a noticeable difference inside, despite the open doors. Brutus looked for faces he recognised. He knew most of them, after many years of standing at Julius’ side, but one new face arrested his sweep. Bibilus. Years before, the man had stood with Caesar as consul, but something had happened between them and Bibilus had never appeared in