The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,41

you bear it well.’

‘I will,’ Octavian said. He read the single page, then each man signed his name with the reed pen Quintina handed to them.

The priestess touched a lump of wax to the small flame of an oil lamp. She wore no rings, but used an iron stick imprinted with the seal of Vesta. Octavian repeated her action with Caesar’s seal and she looked at the imprinted image with fond sadness.

‘He was loved, you know. If you are half the man he was, you will make his shade proud.’

She picked up a tiny bell and rang it, waiting as the door opened and a woman of delicate beauty came in and took it from her hands. As the woman passed Maecenas, she made a slight sound and stared angrily back at him. He looked innocent.

‘It is done, then. I hope you understand I could not allow the argentarii to enter the house. It is unusual enough to have the three of you in these rooms. They are waiting for you in the garden on the far side. The gate there leads out to the Palatine.’

‘Argentarii?’ Octavian asked.

Quintina looked taken aback.

‘The moneylenders. They have been applying to me all morning to see you. What did you expect?’

‘I don’t need a loan …’ Octavian began.

Maecenas snorted. ‘From this morning, you have the richest line of credit in Rome,’ he said. ‘So unless you intend to live on my funds, you do.’

Quintina shook her head.

‘I don’t think you understand,’ she said. ‘They are not here to offer credit. Caesar had deposits with the three largest societies of argentarii. I think they are here to ask what you want to do with the gold.’

Mark Antony felt a twinge of satisfaction at the sight of the senators facing him. Having been forced to use the theatre of Pompey for their meetings while the senate house was being rebuilt, they found that the sheer scale of the new building subtly undermined their authority. Their numbers had filled every space in the old building, but in the theatre they were surrounded by empty seats by the thousand, diminishing them in comparison. As consul, Mark Antony faced them on the stage, and there too the design favoured him. His voice boomed out as the architects had intended, while theirs sounded reedy and thin whenever they rose to speak.

The senators avoided one area of the theatre in particular. The stones had been scrubbed clean, so that it was hard to be certain of the exact place, but no one sat where Caesar had been killed.

Before the formal session, Mark Antony had waited patiently with the senators while scribes droned through a formal list of appointments, appeals and points of law that had been brought to their attention. He had been deep in conversation when his ear caught names he knew and he broke off to listen. Cassius had arranged a post for himself in Syria and Brutus had Athens. With Decimus Junius already in the north, many more had been given posts as far away as Jerusalem and Spain or Gaul, content to wait out the troubles in Rome until they could return safely. Mark Antony only wished they had all gone. Suetonius was still there, balding badly, with a sheen of thin hair brushed over the dome of his head. He was the last of the Liberatores to remain and was always in the presence of Bibilus, chief among his supporters and cronies. They made a tight group with Hirtius and Pansa, the senators already marked to succeed Mark Antony at the end of his consular year. Mark Antony could feel their dislike when they looked at him, but he did not let it ruffle his calm.

The first formal discussion concerned Caesar’s will, particularly the bequests that were to be administered by the Senate. Those few who had not already heard were shocked to whispers by the sums involved. More than a hundred million sesterces would be given out to the people of Rome, a vast undertaking that would require identification of individuals by family and hundreds of trusted men to give out the silver. Mark Antony showed nothing of his inner turmoil as he waited through tedious speeches from men like Bibilus, demanding that the Senate delay the payments. Of course they would not want Caesar’s generosity to be the talk of every street, as if that bird hadn’t already flown.

‘Senators,’ Mark Antony said at last, allowing his voice to boom over their heads and silence