The Gods of War

He paid a boy to look after his horse and walked into the main hall, removing his helmet and running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. He stood awkwardly as he announced himself, detached from the empty faces around him. He felt like a spectator in a play, hearing his own breath more loudly than the words of the servants.

She came out in a rush when she heard his name and he embraced her awkwardly, feeling her stiffen on the instant she came into contact. Her smile vanished.

‘What is it? Is there fighting?’ she said.

He shook his head and, without warning, tears threatened to humiliate him. ‘No. The city is cheering him in the forum. Julius is in the senate building.’

‘Then what is it? You’re so pale! Come inside, Brutus, and tell me.’

He followed past the stares of clients into the private suite of rooms and sank onto a couch, gazing at nothing. Servilia sat next to him and took his hands in hers. He saw how she had painted and prepared herself, and knowing it was for Julius was almost enough to make him walk out, if his legs would have borne him.

‘Tell me,’ she said softly.

He was surprised to see a rim of tears on her lashes. He reached up to touch them gently with his thumb and let his hand fall as she flinched from anything that would spoil her perfection. ‘I’m leaving, Servilia,’ he said. ‘I’m free of him.’

Servilia shook her head in confusion, gripping his hand. ‘What are you saying?’ she demanded.

He grimaced. ‘Exactly what you heard me say, Mother. I am done with Julius and he is done with me.’

‘Will you tell me what happened?’

‘I saw him make Mark Antony first in Rome and it all became painfully clear. Julius was never the man I thought he was. Never. He’s played with my loyalty as cleverly as any other of those senate bastards, until we are all working for them, giving our lives for nothing more than their promises and prestige.’

‘What does it matter if he honours Mark Antony? The man is no more than competent. There are dozens like him working for Rome. Julius needs you. I have heard him say it.’

Brutus shook his head in disgust. ‘He doesn’t need anyone. Just followers. I’ve done that for too many years and I’ve been his dog for most of my life. That can end too, like anything else.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, overcome by memory and pain.

She reached a hand to his cheek and he flinched away, wounding her.

‘Have you thought what you will do, at all?’ she said, her voice hardening. ‘Have you planned how you will live? Or must a son of mine be reduced to mercenary work and petty theft? How will you eat?’

‘I’m a little old to be looking for another life, Mother, don’t you think? I’m a Roman general and I know how to train soldiers. There will always be a place for men like me. I’ll go as far as I can until I have to work and there I’ll stay. I’ll build armies for someone else and never see Rome until Julius has gone from her. You may prefer me to stay and wash his feet for the rest of my life, but I will not.’

‘You must talk to Julius,’ she said, her eyes pleading. ‘No, let me talk to him. You stay here for an hour and I will see him. He loves you, Brutus, as much as I do.’

He rose and she stood with him, not willing to let him go.

‘He will hurt you too in the end,’ Brutus said softly. ‘And he won’t even know.’

He tilted his head, watching as tears flowed down her cheeks and spoiled the powder. As he began to step away from her, she reached out with surprising strength and drew him into an embrace. For a long time, she held him in silence and he could feel the wetness of her tears on his throat.

‘You are my only son,’ she said, at last. ‘Did I tell you how proud I was when you stood on the tourney sand and the crowd rose to cheer you? Did I tell you that?’

‘You did, and I knew it anyway,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘You were shining with it, in front of them all.’

‘Is there nothing I can say to you? Will you not even give me an hour? It is not such a great thing.’

‘Let it go, Mother,’ he said, his expression hardening. ‘Let me go.’

‘Never,’ she said. ‘You are too precious to me.’

‘What a pair of fools we are,’ he said. He raised his hand to her face and this time she did not draw back as he smoothed the tears from her. ‘In my letters, did I ever say there was a battle where I wore his helmet and cloak?’

She shook her head and he shrugged, looking back into the past.

‘They thought they were following him. The legions were tired and starving and in pain, but they followed because they thought he was calling them out for one last charge. He was helpless with his shaking sickness and he could not do it. I led them because I love him more than any other man I have known. He has been with me all my life and we have seen places I would not have believed. We have conquered countries together, and by the gods you should have seen the armies we broke. Enough to fill little Rome twice over, and we went through them.’

‘Then why?’

‘Because I cannot give my whole life to a man who does not even know what he has been given. He showed how much he valued me with his gift to Mark Antony.’

He clenched his fists at that memory.

‘I could have been more, do you understand? If he had died in Gaul, I would have mourned him, but I would have taken his place and cut my own path. I could have done it, Servilia. He and I have something running in our blood that no one else in this feeble city has, not any more. Either one of us could have risen over all of them and accepted no equals – no masters, Servilia. Yet with him, I am a servant. He sends me, I go. He tells me to stay, I stay. Can you imagine how that feels, for me?’

He stroked her hair gently as he spoke, but his eyes were distant and cold.

‘I am the best of my generation, Mother. I could have ruled. But I had the misfortune to be born to a Rome with Julius in it. I have suffered it for years. I have pledged my life to him and he cannot see it.’

She pulled back from him at last and shook her head. ‘You’re too proud, Brutus. Even for a son of mine you are too proud. You’re still young. You could be great and still be loyal to him.’

Temper flushed his cheeks. ‘I was born for more than that! In any other city, I could have ruled, don’t you understand? The tragedy is that I was born into his generation.’ He sighed in misery. ‘You couldn’t know. I have won battles when Julius had already given them up. I have led men when they would have run under any other general. I have trained generals for him, Servilia. There are places in Gaul where my silver armour is part of legends. Don’t tell me I’m too proud. You were not there.’

His eyes glinted with banked fire.

‘Why should I throw my years away for him like so many others? Renius died to save him, and Cabera gave his health because it was Julius asking. Tubruk died to save his wife. They were good men, but I won’t go with them across the river, not for him. I have won Gaul for Julius; let that be the end of it. He has had enough from me.’ He gave a bitter laugh, which chilled his mother. ‘Perhaps I should cross to Pompey and offer him my allegiance. I doubt he would scorn what I could bring.’

‘You won’t betray Julius,’ Servilia said, her eyes dark with horror. ‘Even your arrogance wouldn’t stretch that far.’ For an instant, she thought he might strike her.

‘My arrogance? Is that what you call it? Well, why not, Mother? Where else in the world is crying out for good Roman generals? Perhaps when Julius comes asking for me, you should tell him he will find me in Greece, on the other side of a battle. Perhaps he would understand then what he has lost in me.’

He detached her clinging hands and smiled at the ravages her crying had made in her face. Her age was no longer concealed and he wondered if he would ever see her again.

‘I am your son, Servilia, and I do have too much pride to follow him any longer.’

She looked up into his eyes and saw his furious determination. ‘He will kill you, Brutus.’

‘Such little faith in me, Servilia. Perhaps I shall kill him.’ He nodded as if they had come to an end and kissed her hand before walking out.

Alone, Servilia sank slowly onto the couch. Her hands were shaking and she clasped them together, before reaching for a tiny silver bell at her side. A slave girl entered and stood appalled at the destruction of the morning’s work.

‘Fetch your paints and oils, Talia. We must repair the damage before he comes.’

Brutus guided his Spanish horse through the streets, taking a path that would leave the forum far to the east. He had no wish to meet any of the men he was leaving and the thought of having to speak to them gave him an urgency that cut through his stunned misery.

He rode without care for the citizens and slaves who scurried out of his way. He wanted to leave it all behind and get to the coast where he could buy his way onto a fishing boat or anything else that would take him. The familiarity of the city seemed to mock his decision and every turning brought fresh memories. He had thought he had few ties with the people, but instead of faces he found he knew the calls of vendors, the colours, even the smells of the alleys that led away from the main roads.

Even though he was mounted, hurrying citizens kept pace with him as he rode through their midst, rushing endlessly from place to place in the city. He flowed with them and felt the stares of stall-keepers as he rode stiffly through the arteries of trade. It was all familiar, but still he was surprised when he found he had taken the road that led to Alexandria’s shop.