Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (133 page)

Cicero did not even rise from his chair to address the brash lieutenant. “There is much we must consider, Antony.”

“
The gods themselves have spoken!”

“
Aye, fellow senator. And does not Minerva teach us to constrain our haste? When the gods speak, I think it is the most important time to listen cautiously.”

Brutus could feel the heat across the stage as Antony’s eyes flashed.

“
Caesar leaves for Parthia within the week.”

“
Do not fret. The vote will be cast before then.”

Frustration was clear in Marc’s voice. “Then tell me, great Senator, why the delay?”

“
I have been doing my own research, and it seems the stars come into their best alignment for a decision of such magnitude three days hence.”

“
The Ides of March?” Antony pondered out loud. Slowly a smile spread over his flushed face. “Aye. That bodes well. It is a date that shall be remembered. A date that will stand in infamy. You have chosen well, Cicero. May we call this session to a close?”

Cicero nodded, and the gong was sounded before a single breath could be taken. It seemed that the guards were as anxious to leave the Curia as Brutus himself. Not wishing to be cornered by either side, the senator stepped down into the crowd of white robes. Perhaps he could leave the Curia amongst the crush of senators exiting.

There would be no going back to his office. He knew now that Cicero had tipped his hand. The orator would be hounding Brutus to commit to some ill-conceived conspiracy. Wishing to hear none of their rhetoric, he headed away from Saturn’s Temple toward the Sacred Way. Even with Lylith returning soon, his home seemed suddenly more tempting than his office.

The camouflage of white robes and purple sashes lasted less than a hand’s-span of minutes. Up ahead was the Virgin’s young acolyte. There was no doubt whom she waited upon. Brutus did not bother to duck out of the way. The dogged apprentice would search him out. Instead, he headed straight toward the girl draped in white silk.

“
Yes?”

The acolyte handed Brutus a small object. “The Virgin wishes you to have this.”

It took a moment for the Roman to recognize the small necklace that Tiberius had worn since the day they met. A small part of him had wished to believe that the Virgin had been bluffing. But now that he held this tiny token, Brutus could no longer fool himself. The boy was truly dead.

“
If you waver this night, hold tight and remember the course you must walk.”

By the time Brutus looked up, the girl had disappeared into the sea of white robes that descended down Capitoline Hill into the city. What had the acolyte meant about this night? Why would he waver? Brutus did not have to ponder this mystery long, as a boy with chocolate skin walked up. His eyes were lined with the black of the Nile and his skirt was fringed in gold. There was only one place he came from, and only one man he served.

Caesar.

Damn, but the Virgin had known that he was to be summoned to the palace before he had. Hiding Tiberius’ charm in the folds of his cloak, Brutus did not put up a single argument when the boy motioned him into an ornate litter. There were certain times when you simply bowed your head to the Fates’ yoke.

* * *

Syra could feel the heat evaporate from the air as the sun descended beyond the horizon. The shopping excursion had not been as tedious as she had feared. She had found a merchant well acquainted with Lylith’s demanding palette. The stingy Roman had assured her that the tomatoes were perfection incarnate. Just to hedge any error, Syra had bought half a dozen other plump fruits to assure that Lylith could find no fault with Fiona.

With her task now accomplished, Syra knew that she should head home, but her feet hesitated. Fiona would be worried soon, but still she could not bring herself to climb back up the hill. Twilight was such a special time of day. Even the marketplace was transformed by the fading light. The usual din of merchants shouting their enticements was replaced by the quiet murmuring of lowered voices. Husbands helped wives clear out stalls. Children asked when supper would be ready. It was as if Rome became a city of humans again rather than a multicolored carnival.

Heading east, she skirted the Sacred Way. It would be crowded this time of day, with privileged women walking home with their bags filled with more riches than they would need in a hundred lifetimes.

No, Syra would take the long way around Palatine Hill. She would follow the great wall until she was around the other side. There she would take the small alleyways up the steep slope to the mansion.

As the city quieted, the roar outside the wall escalated. How well she could remember the creaking of wooden carts. Those outside the walls were waiting until Rome’s gates were thrown open to their rumbling conveyances. Then the city would bustle again. Syra planned to enjoy the few minutes when Rome was nearly still—in transition from the day of commerce to the night of pleasure.

Passing one of the gates, Syra watched as the guards changed their duty. The ramparts emptied as soldiers were relieved and repositioned. A part of her mind that would never feel comfortable in this city kept track of all such movements like a mother who always knew where her babe was. Syra had learned this city’s defenses as if she were the captain of the guard. In a few moments, the top of the wall would be nearly empty as the soldiers were brought toward the gates to assist with the huge influx of carts. Rome had grown secure in its greatness and left most of the wall unguarded at night. A mistake that Syra hoped that one day she would take advantage of.

Continuing on her journey, she noticed a small access gate. The door was not normally used for the movement of troops. In truth it was supposed to be locked, but in the past weeks, Syra had realized someone had tampered with the mechanism. Now it was open at all times. Soldiers came down the steps to relieve themselves during the hot summer days or for an early morning rendezvous with a fair maiden. Something made her feet move toward the small wooden door. It had been so long since she had seen the outside world. Syra was beginning to believe that it no longer existed. Rome had become the all, even to her.

Her heart raced as she put her hand upon the thick wood. Syra gave it a shove at the very top, as she had seen a guard do just the week before. The hinges creaked a bit too loudly for her taste, but the door opened. Taking one last look behind her, Syra entered the darkened staircase. Carefully shutting the door behind her, she climbed the steps. Her legs strained at the steep staircase, but still she continued. It was heartening to be doing something so very forbidden.

When she finally reached the top of the stairs, she was most unprepared for what she saw. Syra had remembered the multitude of homes stacked upon one another opening out into field upon field of crops. Instead, lying just beyond the houses was an enormous army. The brightly colored tents extended as far as the waning light illuminated. As the sun plunged behind the horizon, fires were being lit. The bawdy songs of men ready for battle floated up on the light wind. The host assembled was greater than any Syra had ever seen. It boggled her mind that so many men could be gathered together for a single purpose, under a single man. This Caesar had a gift seldom seen in history. She actually felt sympathy for the land that would see this awesome weapon unleashed.

Syra could remember nights like these well. Sitting beside the fire, sharpening her blade. Telling herself and everyone else that she was not afraid of what the next morning would bring. Syra could smell the bite of leather in her nostrils as surely as if she were oiling her saddle. Her heartbeat increased as she remembered the thrill of battle. How ill suited her dress felt at this moment. Would that she were down with those men. Free of her confusion and inner turmoil.

“
You wish to join them?” a voice asked from behind.

Syra did not turn around, for she already knew the tone well. It was the old woman from the market. In fact, she was afraid to even crane her neck for fear the hag would vanish into thin air.

“
It is my calling,” Syra answered simply.

The old woman spat. “You know nothing of your calling.”

“
Would you like to remind me?”

“
If that I could. If that I could.” The old woman shook her head and joined Syra at the rail. “Time is short, you know.”

“
No, I do not.” Actually, that was a lie. Syra could feel a stirring. Much like she did those months ago when the urge to find Rome had been strong. She had not felt such turmoil since then. But now it seemed that both her mind and her body betrayed her. Her dreams were thick and rich. The feel of a sword pommel in her hand or a man’s hands on her thigh felt more real than the bag of tomatoes in her hand. These dreams wanted something from her, but she did not know what.

“
Child,” the old woman said with disgust, “you look to the east, but your life’s path lies behind you.”

When Syra turned to ask the wizened woman to explain, she was gone. She could only shake her head. What did this old woman want? And why did her gut tighten every time she appeared? With the magic drained out of the moment, Syra climbed down the stairs and continued out onto the avenue. Would that she were more like Brutus. His life was charted out before him like a sailor’s map. The Fates seemed to kiss him while they cursed her.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 13

Brutus let the gentle rocking of the litter lull him like a colicky babe. While he would like to arrive at the palace before Caesar consumed too much Egyptian wine, he was glad for this welcome break. Brutus pulled back the curtains to watch the city he loved so dearly pass by. Torches lit the construction sites of Mars’ Temple and Caesar’s new Curia.

Such extravagance
, Brutus thought. But he knew that the world expected such a spectacle, not only of Rome but of Caesar as well. If both were not larger than life, who would willingly submit?

Frowning, Brutus listened more carefully to Rome. Even with all of the ongoing construction, there wasn’t the usual babble of the city streets. It was not that late into the evening, yet quiet had hushed Rome. Usually with a war such as that against the Parthinians so close at hand, the city would be abuzz with rowdy soldiers and heartbroken maidens. Gatherings would be so large that they spilled out into the avenues. Tonight, the litter barely passed another traveler. There was hardly a delay at the towering northern gate. Even the guards seemed edgy at the unnatural stillness.

The bridge over the Tiber was ominously empty. Where were the multitudes of traders and pilgrims that plied the roads at this time of night? The city had a pall to it, and Brutus knew why. Ever since Marc Antony had offered Caesar the crown, the population had been subdued. It seemed that even the common man was hesitant to move until they knew what his leader’s intentions were.

Rome itself held her breath.

Soon, Cleopatra’s mansion shone on the horizon. It glowed like a jewel upon the banks of the Tiber. Brutus had seen it from Rome, but never so close. Immediately upon viewing its splendid walls, one knew that Roman architects did not design the building. It was rumored that Cleopatra was desperately homesick and had summoned one of her own builders from Egypt. One could almost feel the heat of endless sand and the smell of roasted camel on approaching.

Even at this beautiful sight, Brutus cringed. He was loath to listen to rumors, but he had overheard his fellow senators complaining that once crowned, Caesar intended to move the Empire’s capital to Alexandria. Did Julius not know how such thoughts rattled the people to their very bones? Theirs was the Roman Empire, which, to Brutus, necessitated that the capital be Rome. Why was Caesar allowing these rumors to circulate so widely? A single resolution from the Senate could squelch such talk, yet none was forthcoming.

Brutus caught himself when the conveyance tipped backward as the litter made its way up to the palace. Certain that his senatorial sash was adjusted properly, Brutus prepared to exit. Soon, the men lowered the conveyance. Much to his surprise, several dark-skinned servants greeted him rather than Caesar’s personal guards. These Egyptians were clothed in the finest silk, and their skin was oiled to a bright sheen that made them look more like dancers than the Queen’s personal guard.

Women draped in peacock feathers filed out from the palace, and musicians began a tune upon papyrus lutes. Flames spurted from concealed torches. But no other Roman was in sight. It was strange to not see a single centurion in sight.

Shoulders tense, Brutus entered the great hall. The walls were lined with so many brands that the room shone with the brightness of day. The sound of laughter and gaiety rose from the side rooms as they passed along. It seemed that all the life and livelihood of Rome had been stolen across the Tiber.

A doorman, dressed in the manner from across the Mediterranean, opened a set of gilded doors. “The senator, Marcus Brutus.”

A gong sounded so loudly that Brutus flinched as he entered the room. Caesar lounged on a purple settee. His eyes fixed on a sight that Brutus felt was not of this world. The general did not even blink as he entered.

“
Julius.” Brutus nodded to his leader.