Silius shook his head with a dismayed expression. He’d seen too much slaughter to have faith in such ideas.

‘I know what you’re thinking. And yet he is sure that the only possible solution was — and still is — to destroy, on the battlefield, all those who do not realize that the times have changed, that the institutions capable of ruling a city are not capable of ruling the world. He is determined to convince them one way or another — by hook or by crook — to come round to his way of thinking. To collaborate with him in his plan. He forced them to recognize his logic and then he held out a hand to those who had survived and honoured those who hadn’t. Remember the ceremony he prepared for Labienus? A hero’s funeral. His coffin was borne by six legion commanders, three of ours and three of theirs, escorted by five thousand legionaries in full dress uniform, carried to the pyre up an artificial ramp five hundred feet high to the roll of drums, the sound of trumpets and bugles. The Eagles draped in black were lowered as the coffin passed. No one could hold back his tears, not even Caesar.’

‘But if the very men he holds his hand out to are those who are conspiring against him, what sense does any of this make?’

‘No sense at all, apparently. But he is certain that there is no way other than his own and he is set on putting his plan into operation. He wants to reconcile the factions, to extinguish the bitterness and to protect the poor, who are deeply in debt, by guaranteeing loans at a low rate of interest, while not frightening the authorities by cancelling their debts completely. On this basis he will build a new order. He will succeed or he will die trying.’

Silius shook his head. ‘I just don’t understand.’

‘It’s rather simple, actually. Civil wars have raged for the last twenty years: Marius against Sulla, Pompey against Sertorius, Caesar against Pompey, Pompey’s sons against Caesar. All this can lead in just one direction: to the ruin of our world, our order, our civilization. Caesar is convinced that he is the only person on this earth who has the military might and the political intelligence to put an end to the past, once and for all, and make way for a new era. He has pursued this goal by every means available-’

There was a knock at the door and Antistius’s Greek assistant, a young Ephesian slave, entered.

‘Master,’ he said, ‘Lollius Sabinus’s freedman is here waiting. He says it’s about an ulcer on his left leg.’

Antistius waved him away, saying, ‘Cancel all of my appointments for this morning. I’m busy.’

The slave nodded and backed out. Immediately, loud protests could be heard coming from the antechamber, followed by a door slamming and then silence.

‘I can’t stand the vulgarity of these freedmen,’ said Antistius in an irritated tone, before continuing with his earlier train of thought: ‘On the other hand, I agree with you. Certain aspects of Caesar’s behaviour are disconcerting.’

‘That’s how I feel,’ Silius said, nodding, ‘but I’m only his adjutant. I can’t criticize him. I don’t dare.’

‘No one dares, Silius. No one.’

‘He places too much trust in those who fought against him. He has forgiven them. That’s the problem, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. In part.’

‘But why, in the name of the gods? Why?’

‘Perhaps he feels he has no alternative. He won and therefore he must be magnanimous and pardon them, in order to break the endless round of vengeance, and retaliation. This new order has to start somewhere and this is it. Obviously there are many risks in an approach like this, some of them quite serious. But there is a certain logic, you could say, in the way he’s proceeding. . if it weren’t for other aspects that seem contradictory.

‘The idea of this campaign against the Parthians, for example. From what I’ve heard, we’re talking about a huge expedition, prohibitively expensive, which would involve advancing over vast distances, through deserts and over mountains, against an elusive enemy. Unconquerable, or so they say. You realize that this might be the end of Caesar, like Crassus nine years ago at Carrhae. None of his men ever returned. They say that the entire legion was deported to a distant land at the very ends of the earth. Now, it’s evident that a man like Caesar, who has fought over half the world in any number of different conditions, is perfectly aware of the situation. He must know that if he is defeated or killed, everything he has worked for will be lost. His sacrifices, the battles he has fought — all will count for nothing. It almost makes you think that this Parthian expedition of his represents some sort of heroic suicide. A titanic enterprise that will consume what’s left of his life. But there’s no sense in any of this. . none at all.’

Silius sighed and raised a hand to his forehead. ‘I imagine you’ve seen the writing on the walls of Rome, on Brutus’s Tribunal, on the statue of Brutus the Great?’

‘I’ve seen it,’ replied Antistius. ‘And I’m not the only one.’

‘Is seems that someone is inciting Brutus to emulate his ancestor who dethroned the last king of Rome.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Do you think Brutus may be tempted to accept the challenge and dethrone — that is, kill — Caesar?’

‘It’s possible, I suppose, but it seems that nothing can alter the affection Caesar feels for Brutus. Which is hard to explain in itself, although I don’t believe, as so many claim, that Brutus is really his son. . a son he supposedly conceived when he was only sixteen. Though that at least would explain such a strong, stubborn attachment. But there’s another problem.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Even if the writing on the wall seems to implicate Brutus, it puts him in the public eye and thus effectively exonerates him. If we’re talking about a conspiracy, the essential thing is keeping it secret. No conspirator would dream of making his intentions public.’

‘Yes, you’re right, of course,’ admitted Silius. ‘But it’s hard to believe that Caesar doesn’t know or can’t imagine who is behind these messages. He’s well aware what his so-called “friends” are up to. What they’re thinking, what they’re hoping, what they’re plotting. . Right?’

‘Not necessarily,’ replied Antistius. ‘Caesar could be thinking of an attempt to discredit Brutus in his eyes. There were others aspiring to the office of praetor, which was granted to him. But it all seems completely absurd to me.’

Silius fell silent and tried to think things through; tried to impose some sort of order on the contradictory ideas racing through his head. Antistius watched him with his clear, penetrating gaze, wearing the same intent look that his patients were accustomed to seeing.

Sounds could be heard coming from the docks: the brisk step of an honour guard rushing over from the guardhouse to pay homage to a dignitary whose boat was pulling up to the wharf. Their officer ordered them to present arms and two trumpet blasts greeted whoever it was that was disembarking. It might have been Lepidus himself, from the fuss they were making.

Silius shook off his pensive mood. ‘Tell me in all honesty what you’re thinking. If he was aware of a threat, would he take measures to protect himself? Would he react?’

‘Quite frankly, I don’t know the answer to that,’ said Antistius. ‘One would think so, but his behaviour leads me to fear otherwise.’

‘Then I’m going to do something myself. I can’t stand the thought of a threat looming over him and nothing being done to thwart it.’

‘I can understand that,’ replied Antistius. ‘But taking action of any sort could be risky. It’s best to continue investigating at this point and find out exactly what’s going on, using discretion and prudence.’

‘How do you propose to do that?’

‘There’s one person in the middle, someone who stands between Caesar and his probable enemies, who is capable of learning what’s going on in both camps without alerting either of them. Servilia.’