"Does he have family, children?" Julius asked, clenching his jaw.

"I don't know," Mark Antony said.

"If he has, I will send a blood-price to them when he is clear of the city," Julius said. It did not seem enough.

"I will summon Caecilius here, with your permission?" Mark Antony asked.

As always, the final order and the final responsibility rested with Julius. He felt annoyed that Mark Antony would not take the burden with a few easy words, but Brutus would have and Brutus had turned traitor. It was better to be surrounded by weaker men, perhaps.

"Yes. Have him come here. I will give the orders myself," Julius confirmed.

"We should send an assassin with him, to be certain," Octavian said suddenly. All eyes turned to him and he faced them without apology. "Well? Regulus has said what we are all thinking. Am I the only other one who will say it? Brutus was as much my friend as any of you, but you think he should live? Even if he tells Pompey nothing, or this spy weakens his position, he must be killed."

Julius took Octavian by the shoulders and the younger man could not look him in the eyes. "No. There will be no assassins sent by me. No one else has the right to make that decision, Octavian. I will not order the death of my friend."

At the last word, Octavian's eyes blazed with fury and Julius gripped him harder.

"Perhaps I share the blame for Brutus, lad. I did not see the signs in him until he had gone, though they trouble me now. I have been a fool, but what he has done changes nothing, in the end. Whether Pompey appoints him general or not, we must still go to Greece and fight those legions." He paused until Octavian looked up. "When we do, if Brutus is there, I shall order that he is kept alive. If the gods kill him with a spear or an arrow, then my hands are clean. But if he lives through the war to come, I will not take his life until I have spoken to him, perhaps not even then. There is too much between us to think otherwise. Do you understand?"

"No," Octavian said. "Not at all."

Julius ignored the anger, feeling it himself. "I hope you will in time. Brutus and I have shared blood and life and more years than I can remember. I will not see him dead at my order. Not today, for this, nor at any other time. We are brothers, he and I, whether he chooses to remember it or not."

Seeing Brundisium without the usual bustle of merchant and legion galleys was strange for such a key port in the south. When Brutus crested the last hill with the exhausted guard cohorts, he was disappointed not to find anything larger than a lobster boat tied to the quays. He tried to remember if he knew the quaestor of the port and then shrugged to himself. Whatever small contingent of Roman soldiers was stationed there would not be able to interfere. Outside of Rome herself, there was nothing in the south to trouble them.

The guards followed him down to the port, ignoring the stares and pointing fingers of the workers there. It was a strange feeling for most of them, but Brutus was familiar with hostile territory and fell back into the attitudes of Gaul without really thinking about it. The sight of soldiers would have brought a sense of peace and order only a short time before, but with a looming civil war they would be feared as much as any other band of scavengers. It was unpleasant to see the faces of those who stepped aside for the two cohorts of guards. Even with all his experience, Brutus could not ignore a subtle discomfort and found himself growing increasingly irritable as he led the column through to the import buildings on the docks. He left them there in the sun as he dismounted and strode inside.

The quaestor's clerk was on his feet, arguing with two burly men. All three turned to face him as he entered and Brutus saluted lazily, knowing his arrival had been the subject of their debate.

"I need food and water for my men," he said abruptly. "See to that first. We will not trouble you for long, gentlemen, so put yourselves at ease. I want to find a ship to take me to Greece."

As he mentioned his destination, he noticed the clerk's eyes flicker to a piece of parchment on his desk and then back up, guiltily. Brutus smiled, crossing the room. The dockworkers moved to block him and he dropped a casual hand onto his sword.

"You are unarmed, gentlemen. Are you certain you'd like to try me?" he asked.

One of the men licked his bottom lip nervously and would have spoken, but his companion tapped him on the arm and they both edged away.

"Very good," Brutus said to them, letting his hand fall. "Now then, food, water and… a ship."

He reached down to the desk and gripped the clerk's bony hand, moving it firmly off the papers. Brutus took the sheaf and scanned them quickly, letting each fall until he came to one midway through the pile. It was a record of a legion galley that had landed at the port just the day before to replenish its freshwater barrels. There was little detail to be gleaned from it. The captain had returned from the north according to the record and set sail after only a few hours in Brundisium.

"Where was he heading?" Brutus demanded.

The clerk opened his mouth and closed it, shaking his head.

Brutus sighed. "I have a thousand men standing on your docks. All we want is to leave here without trouble, but I am not patient today. I can give the word to set fire to this building and anything else you value. Or you can just tell me. Where is this galley?"

The clerk bolted for a back room and Brutus heard the clatter of his sandals as he rushed up a flight of stairs. He waited in uncomfortable silence with the two dockworkers, ignoring them.

A man wearing a toga that had seen better days came down the steps behind the clerk. Brutus sighed at the quaestor's appearance.

"Provincials," he murmured under his breath.

The man heard him and glared. "Where are your letters of authority?" the quaestor demanded.

Brutus stared at him, focusing on a food stain on the man's robe until he flushed.

"You have no right to threaten us here," the quaestor blustered. "We are loyal."

"Really? To whom?" Brutus asked. The man hesitated and Brutus enjoyed his discomfort before he went on. "I have two cohorts going to join Pompey and the Senate in Greece. That is my authority. Your clerk was good enough to show me the records and a galley passed through here yesterday. Tell me where they were heading."

The quaestor fired a poisonous glance at his hapless servant before coming to a decision. "I spoke to the captain myself," he said reluctantly. "He was on patrol off Ariminum when the message reached him to come in. He was going to land at Ostia." He hesitated.

"But you told him that Pompey had already left," Brutus said. "I imagine he would want to join the fleet by sailing around the south coast, meeting them halfway. Does that sound like the conversation you remember?"

The quaestor stiffened at the tone. "I had no new orders for him. I believe he may have put to sea to deny the value of his ship to… rebel forces."

"A sensible man," Brutus said. "But we are loyal to Pompey, sir. We need that galley. I expect such a thoughtful captain would have told you his next port in case the right person came asking. Somewhere further south, yes?"

As he spoke, he watched the clerk's eyes and saw them shift guiltily. The quaestor was a far better gambler than his servant, but he caught the glance and the muscles stood out on his jaw as he considered what to do.

"How do I know you are not with Caesar?" he asked.

The question had a far greater effect than the quaestor could have intended. Brutus seemed to grow slightly, making the little office feel smaller and oppressively hot. The fingers of his right hand drummed for a moment on the silver breastplate, the noise startlingly loud in the silence.