Rome, Italy
58 BC
I took a breath of the clear summer air, standing at the feet of the Curia Hostilia.
At first glance and in comparison to Rome's many gargantuan architectural wonders, the Curia looked rather commonplace. It was merely a large box-like building.
And yet, within those walls, the fate of the city was debated and decided.
My own life's security was also, unfortunately, beyond those doors.
The two stern civil guards flanking the large doors weren't doing anything to assuage my fears.
Still, swallowing hard, I walked up to them and tried to put on my best face purged of fear.
"I have an important message to deliver to Consul Gaius Julius Caesar," I said.
The two guards gave sidelong glances at each other before turning their unimpressed, nearly emotionless eyes back upon me.
"Let us see this message first, boy," one of them commanded.
I was more than happy to oblige, pulling the scroll from my toga and holding it aloft for them to see.
"It is for Caesar's eyes alone," I said.
"Do not lecture us on protocol, vagrant," the second guard uttered with no concealed contempt. "You will be allowed past, but you will be accompanied at all times."
I nodded, keeping my eyes focused forward and on them. Averting my gaze too frequently would surely reveal my weakness.
The second guard led me through the doors and up several flights of stairs, nearing the top of the building. Once on the top floor, we passed rows of doors on either side of us, undoubtedly the offices of Rome's political officers.
One doorway we passed by caught my eyes, making me stop in my tracks. The gateway to the chamber of the Senate itself.
I found myself awestruck gazing into the political heart of my great city. There stood the rows of benches and seats where each senator would sit. They were grouped together so that, once gathered, the Senate would appear to be as a massive wall of bodies and voices, united to serve the cause of the people of Rome.
At the front of the room stood the consul's dais, where the political overseer of the city would call the meetings to order and preside over the very decisions that would carve out the future of Rome.
This sight filled me with awe and...desire. I felt a hunger roar in my soul. I hungered to see these meetings and witness everything. I wanted to hear every speech, see every argument unfold.
"Come now, vagrant!" I heard the second guard yell. "Attend to the task at hand!"
I shook my head, my revelry disappearing. No matter how much my heart yearned, I knew where reality had me placed.
A homeless, desperate man on the run for his life, currently without the slightest bit of control of whether or not he lived or died in the next 24 hours.
I ran after the guard, seeing him stop in front of the door at the end of the hall furthest on the right. He turned to face me as I ran up.
"The consul's office," he gestured toward the door, reaching over and knocking hard several times.
"Come in!" a muffled voice called out from within.
Fixing me with yet another glare, the guard opened the door.
It was within the room that I saw him: Consul Gaius Julius Caesar.
His face stood out to me the most. His head bore a regal shape, well-kept and stately. It looked as though his dark hair was thinning, pulling back from his expansive forehead. It was a strange sight, considering he looked to be no older than a man in his 40s.
His dark eyes, sitting beneath thin, slick eyebrows, fixed my direction with an intense yet inquisitive stare. Even his nose protruded in a proud manner, placed above his chiseled jaw.
Cato could say what he wanted, but there was no denying that Caesar looked like he was forged by the gods with the look of a leader.
He was draped in a toga with a single distinct purple stripe on its fore part. That was peculiar to me. I recognized it as the sign of the laticlavius, the same attire worn by any other senator.
Yet he was the consul. Why would he not wear clothing that would distinguish him above the rest of the Senate?
Perhaps he did not want to. If so, I found that admirable.
The Consul of Rome chuckled ad beckoned toward us.
"I assume you are here to speak with me on a matter."
It was in that moment that I realized I had been staring dumbly ahead at the leader of my city. I cleared my throat and proceeded into the room with some mustered authority.
"Sir, I have a message for you," I said, withdrawing the scroll from my toga.
Caesar arched an eyebrow, looking from me to the direction of the guard at my back and then back to me. He must have seen something that satisfied him, for he beckoned to me.
"I shall receive it, then," he said.
I held out the scroll to him as I approached. He took it, unclasped it and unrolled it upon the table in front of him, which was already laden with a sea of papyrus sheets bearing rows upon rows of writing.
I watched the consul furrow his brow as he gazed down upon the message. Undoubtedly, he had discovered the same coded message I had attempted to decipher not one hour ago.
A code that I still found to be among the strangest sights I'd ever seen. Whoever these Assassins were, they dealt in matters far baser than my liking.
Caesar looked up, directly into my eyes. He didn't blink.
"And you were instructed to deliver this message expressly to me?" He pointedly asked.
"Yes," I replied as quickly as possible. "It was told to me to be specifically for you."
He squinted ahead at me, as if studying me like some specimen in a classroom. There were several uncomfortable moments of silence before a sound of a door opening broke the tension.
"My dear Gaius! I have returned!" a gruff voice called out.
Suddenly, another man entered the room. This man was much older than Caesar. A stern face with deeper lines, bushy dark eyebrows, a large nose and larger, rounder eyes. He walked with a quick, small stride.
I noticed his toga was not bordered. He was not a senator. I did, however, notice the thin red line that ran down the right shoulder of the white tunic he wore beneath the toga, indicating the sign of the angusticlavia.
This had to be a businessman. Whoever he was, he drew Caesar's attention away from me.
"Did you have any luck, Crassus?" Caesar asked.
"Bibulus won't budge, but that is hardly a surprise," the older man scoffed. "By Jupiter, it seems his sole purpose is to block you every way you try to turn."
Bibulus. Where had I heard that name before?
Wait….it couldn't be.
"Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus?" I blurted out.
Both men turned to me and the awkward silence settled in. Out of horror, I found myself wishing I could just sink through the floor as opposed to enduring their stares.
"You're not from here, are you, messenger?" Caesar asked me.
Oh, if only he knew, but Jupiter damn me before I was going to say it.
"No, sir, I actually hail from Cyprus," I lied.
Crassus chuckled condescendingly, leering down at me as he rubbed the red pendant on his chest.
"Ah yes. I should have been able to tell from your sun-scorched skin and poor tact," he said.
Caesar turned and shook his head at Crassus before addressing me.
"Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus serves as consul of Rome, just as I do," he explained to me. "We work together."
Suddenly, I remembered that name.
The man Porcia told me of that night in the vineyard that felt like a lifetime ago now.
Cato was marrying her to a consul of Rome? Why, given his hatred of the Roman government?
My thoughts came to a halt as another of Crassus' guffaws boomed out into the air.
"That may be the official story, my friend," he said, clapping Caesar on the back. "But we all know the names of the consuls of Rome. They are Julius and Caesar."
Caesar gave a weary smile and shook his head, sighing and staring down at the sea of papers adorning the table before him.
"Were that the case, I would not need to pursue the course of Pompey's veterans down to the Assembly now," he replied.
Crassus cleared his throat.
"We can discuss the matter in private, Gaius," he said, his eyes never leaving me.
It didn't take a scholar to see I was no longer welcome.
"Right, right, of course," Caesar politely agreed. He then nodded down to the scroll.
"You can tell Pompey that his conditions will be met," he told me.
Wait, whose conditions?
Pompey's?
That's what the message from the Assassins was asking?
Before I could utter a single question, the guard reappeared behind me, clamping a strong, large hand on my shoulder.
"Time to go," he said threateningly.
I was practically thrown from the Curia Hostilia's doors without so much as a word. It was all the same to me. I wanted to be rid of both this place and this fool's errand as soon as possible.
It felt like each white stone step I descended down from the housing place of the Senate inspired one new question after another.
What had the message said?
How was Pompey involved?
Are the Assassins working for Pompey?
If so, are they working against Caesar?
With the message delivered now, what would become of me?
That final question burned in my mind as I stepped off the last step and made my way across the Comitium. The Assassins had promised me amnesty from them as long as I fulfilled this task. Now that I had, where was I to go? Would I need to find them again?
Could I go back to Cyprus now? Could I go back to Cato? Could I please just go back to the life I had before these murderers destroyed everything I held dear?
Suddenly, a new question pushed itself to the forefront of my mind.
Was I being followed?
I turned around and squinted through the crowd behind me. They were all bustling to their next appointment or engagement. Not one of them was looking at me, nor anywhere in my general direction.
Then why couldn't I deny the feeling of a pair of eyes burning into my back?
Was it Geminius? Did I need to confirm that the message had been delivered before they left me alone?
I decided to get off of the Comitium and cut through an alleyway. If it was Geminius whom I was sensing, he was sure to reveal himself in good time, just as he always had. If it was someone even worse than an Assassin, I was going to make sure I got lost in the city.
Just as I was approaching the other mouth of the alley, two cloaked figures appeared around the corners, standing side by side.
They blocked my way out.
And they weren't backing down.
"That's far enough, you little snake," one of them said in a raspy, deep voice.
I was frozen where I stood. Were these two more Assassins? They didn't look like it. Though they were cloaked, I didn't see any trademark features, including the very distinct white-beaked hood.
"What do you want?" I asked, my hand going for my father's pugio….only to find it was gone.
I looked down in horror, but it was not in its usual resting place.
Then I remembered.
I had dropped it fighting Geminius in Cyprus.
Basically, that meant I was unarmed.
And these two men were drawing gladius'.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed the next chapter! Tell me what you think! Any questions? Comments? Thoughts on the things of Rome you'd like to see in this story? Let me know. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, followed, favorited and otherwise taken a look at the story! I appreciate it more than you know.
Cheers,
LCB
