They could both hear the droning voices of the senators behind them as the two men sat on the wide steps, facing the forum.

Julius shook his head in disbelief. “I would not have believed you capable of this, Crassus.”

“I am not capable of it,” Crassus snapped. “I am telling you now, before the conspirators move against Pompey.”

“You should have stopped it when they came to you. You could have gone straight to the Senate and denounced this Catiline before he had anything more than ideas. Now you tell me he has gathered an army? It is a little late to claim the clean robe for you, Crassus, no matter how you protest.”

“If I had refused, they would have killed me, and, yes, when they promised me the rule of Rome, I was tempted by it. There, you have heard me say it. Should I have given them to Pompey to parade as another victory before the people? To see him made Dictator for Life like Sulla before him? I was tempted, Julius, and I let it go too long unreported, but I am changing that now. I know their plans and where they have gathered. With your legion, we can destroy them before any harm is done.”

“Is that why you made me aedile?” Julius asked.

Crassus shrugged. “Of course. Now it is your responsibility to stop them. It will make a fine pillar for your campaign for the people to see nobilitas like Catiline held responsible for crimes as any other citizen would be. They will see you as one above the petty bonds of class and tribe.”

Julius looked at the consul pityingly. “And if I had not returned from Spain?”

“Then I would have found another way to beat them before the end.”

“Would you?” Julius pressed him softly.

Crassus turned to glare at the young man at his side. “Do not doubt it. However, now you are here. I can give the leaders to you, and the Tenth will destroy the rabble they have gathered. They were only a danger when no one knew. Without that surprise, you will scatter them and the consulship will be yours. I trust you will not forget your friends then.”

Julius rose quickly, looking down at the consul. Had he heard the entire truth of it, or just the parts Crassus wanted him to hear? Perhaps the men he betrayed were guilty of nothing more than being enemies to Crassus. It would not do to send the Tenth into the homes of powerful men on the strength of a conversation Crassus could deny. The consul was capable of it, Julius was sure.

“I will think what to do, Crassus. I will not be your sword to strike at enemies.”

Crassus rose to face him, his eyes glinting with suppressed anger.

“Politics is bloody, Julius. Better to learn that now than too late. I waited too long to deal with them. Be sure you don’t make the same mistake.”

The two men entered the Senate building together, but apart.

The house Servilia had found for the campaign was three floors high and filled with people. Most importantly, it was central in the Esquiline valley, a busy part of the city that kept Julius in contact with those who needed to see him. From before dawn until the sun fell, his clients rushed in and out of the open doors, carrying errands and orders as Julius began to organize his strategy. The Tenth deployed in groups at night, and after three vicious fights with the gangs of raptores, they had cleared eleven streets in the poorest areas and were spreading out. Julius knew only a fool would believe the gangs were beaten, but they didn’t dare to gather in the areas he had chosen, and in time the people would realize they were under the protection of the legion and walk with confidence.

He had accepted three cases in the forum court and won the first, with the next only three days away.

The crowds had come to see the young orator and cheered the decision in his favor, though the crime was relatively mild. Julius still hoped, against reason, that he would be asked to try a murderer, or some other offense that would bring the people in their thousands to hear him speak.

He hadn’t seen Alexandria for nearly two weeks after she accepted the commission to armor the fighters for a great sword tourney outside the city. When Julius was exhausted by the work, he refreshed himself by riding out to the Campus Martius to see the arena being constructed. Brutus and Domitius had sent word to every Roman town and city within five hundred miles to ensure the best quality of challenger. Even so, both men expected to be in the final, and Brutus was convinced he would win, going so far as to put most of a year’s salary on his success.

When Julius walked to the forum, or rode out to the ring being constructed, he made a point of traveling without guards, convinced the people must see his confidence in them. Brutus had argued against the decision, then given way with suspicious ease. Julius guessed his friend had men shadow their general whenever he moved around the city, ready to defend him. He didn’t mind such a tactic as long as it was hidden. The appearance was far more important than the reality.

As promised, Julius had argued in the Senate to order trade traffic to enter and leave Rome only at night, keeping the streets clear for citizens. His soldiers were on every corner to enforce the quiet after dark, and after a few bouts of shouting with incensed merchants, the change had come easily enough. As aedile, the responsibility for city order was his, and with Crassus openly supporting him, there had been few restrictions imposed by the other members of the Senate.

Julius pressed the weariness from his eyes with his knuckles until he could see flashing lights. His clients and his soldiers were working hard for him. The campaign was going well and he could have been content if it hadn’t been for the problem Crassus had dropped in his lap.

The consul pressed him daily to move against those he had named as traitors. While Julius delayed, he was tormented by the thought that they could strike and the city would plunge into a chaos he could have prevented. He had spies watching their houses and it was clear enough that they met in private rooms and bathhouses where no listening ear could intrude. Still Julius did not act. To believe there was a plot of the magnitude Crassus had described seemed impossible when he looked out on the quiet streets around the campaign house. Yet he had seen war touch Rome before, and that was enough for him to send Brutus to scout where Crassus had pointed them.

This was the burden of the responsibility he had craved, Julius could acknowledge wryly to himself.

Though he could wish for someone else to risk their career and life, the decision had been left in his hands.

He did not underestimate the stakes. With nothing but a few names, Julius could not accuse senators of treason without putting his own neck on the line. If he failed to make a case, the Senate would turn against him without a moment’s regret. Worse, the people might fear a return to the days of Sulla, where no one knew who next would be dragged out of their homes for treason. Rome could be damaged more by error than if he had done nothing, and that pressure was almost too much to bear.

Alone for a few precious moments, Julius thumped his fist on the table, shaking it. How could he trust Crassus after such a revelation? As consul, he should have denounced Catiline’s conspiracy the moment he stepped into the Senate building. Of all the men in Rome, he had failed in his most basic duty, and despite his protestations of innocence, Julius found it hard to forgive him that weakness. Not since Sulla had an armed force threatened to enter the city, and the memory of that night still caused Julius to shudder. He had seen Marius brought down by soldiers in dark cloaks, swarming over him like the ants of Africa. Crassus should have known better than to listen to men like Catiline, no matter what they promised him.