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  Information, therefore, was always the first tool for being able to offer people that which they needed, as well as to anticipate their desires, and to serve them up on a silver platter. He peered closely into the distance to see who was declaiming to the crowd. From their bloody clothes, it was clear that it was the men who had killed Caesar.

  He narrowed his eyes, squinted and could barely believe what he saw.

  *

  Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa walked out of the astronomical observatory with a radiant smile on his face. Theogenes the astrologer had predicted for him a future rich in success, exceeding any ambition that his modest means might reasonably admit. Even better, the old man had hinted at achievements even greater than those achieved by any other Roman before him.

  Gaius Octavian and Quintus Salvidienus Rufus, both waiting their turn outside the building on top of the mountain which dominated Apollonia, noticed the change in his mood immediately. Their young companion had been troubled when he had gone inside, afraid of discovering some unfortunate fate, and had emerged almost triumphant.

  “What did you find in there? A bevy of naked girls, dedicated to your pleasure? I thought there was just an old man…” said Salvidienus Rufus, the new friend he and Octavian had made in Apollonia.

  “They would not have been able to make me so happy, I assure you!” said Agrippa, struggling to keep his feet anchored to the rocky terrain of the rugged highland, despite his massive frame, which certainly gave no impression of lightness.

  “Good news for the coming years?” asked Octavian: with his acute intelligence, he had immediately sensed the reason for so much joy. Agrippa knew that, with him, he could not mince words for long.

  “Yes!” he exclaimed. “And if Theogenes did not enjoy such great respect and credibility among all people, I would scarce believe it myself, and might think that I'd been made a fool of.”

  “Pffff,” sighed Rufus teasingly, “… whatever can he have said – that you will be Rome's new dictator for life after Caesar?”

  Agrippa had not seen it in those terms and frowned for a moment. Imagining oneself successor of the Master of Rome was enough to set the legs of an ambitious young man like himself trembling.

  “Something like that… yes,” he said, almost half-heartedly and somewhat ashamed.

  He saw immediately that his answer had deeply disturbed Octavian, and wondered if he would have done better to keep quiet. But it was done now. His friend, a nobleman belonging to one of the oldest and most distinguished families of Rome, was already on his way towards a glittering destiny: it was understandable that he would recoil at the thought of a man of humble origins like himself ascending to similar heights.

  “Then it's clear that he's played you for a fool,” said Rufus. “Imagine a poor wretch like you matching the achievements of Julius Caesar…”

  “That's not what I said at all,” murmured Agrippa, embarrassed. In the meantime, he peered sideways at Octavian, observing his reactions. And he did not like his friend's expression one bit.

  “Theogenes is always right. It is well known,” said Octavian in a flat voice, staring blankly at a point on the horizon. “That's why we came.”

  “But it can't be… What exactly did he say? And on what basis did he say it?” Rufus demanded.

  Agrippa looked at Octavian. He usually did, before acting. Although they had been friends since childhood, he never lost sight of the difference in rank and class between them. His father had taught him to always remember that friendship with a noble did not authorise a commoner to neglect the hierarchy. In every situation, he must always keep in mind that the one in command was Octavian, and he must limit himself to following in his footsteps, even when he felt that he was able to overtake.

  One step behind. Always one step behind.

  By doing that, he had managed, at only nineteen, to become an army officer who was now preparing to lead one of the largest military campaigns in the history of Rome: the conquest of the Parthian and Dacian kingdoms.

  He waited for a nod from his friend, and only then did he speak. “I gave him my date of birth, that's all. Then he studied some papers upon which there were drawings of the stars, and he told me many things. That I will be a great conqueror, unconquered in all battles. That I will leave Rome richer in buildings and services, that I will bring it power and glory, and will hold all the magistratures of the Republic. And that my descendants will reach even greater heights than myself…”

  “There, you see?” cried Rufus. “It cannot be, so the old man must be senile. Or otherwise, astrology an inexact science. Whatever it was, coming here was a waste of time. If he predicted such things for you, I can only imagine what he will say about the great-grandson of the dictator and supreme commander…” he added sarcastically, urging Octavian to enter the building with a wave of his hand.

  In Agrippa's opinion, the young officer treated his illustrious friend with a confidence that was completely unjustified, often forgetting that he was not only a close relative of the dictator, but also the designated magister equitum, or second in command, for the campaign; after all, Rufus was no patrician either, and they had only known one another for the winter they had spent together in Apollonia. Caesar had sent his great-nephew and he, Agrippa, to prepare themselves, together with the legions he had already sent across the sea, in view of what was expected to be his most important war – more so even than the Gallic Wars, which had already given the dictator a prominent place among the great leaders of history.

  The new campaign would finally consecrate Caesar, and those who were with him would benefit greatly. Beginning with his closest male relative, Octavian, and the latter's best friend. Both had immediately bonded with Salvidienus Rufus, the tribune of the Martia, the legion to which Agrippa had been assigned with the same rank. Unlike the two of them, however, Rufus, who was older by just three years, already had plenty of military experience, having served as a recruit under Caesar in the war in Spain. They too had participated in the Iberian conflict, but only nominally: due to Octavian being struck down by a sudden illness, they had in fact only arrived on Hispanic soil while the decisive battle in Munda against the elder son of Pompey the Great was already underway, and their contribution was limited to assisting with the roundups and reprisals.

  Rufus, on the other hand, had never hesitated to make available to them all that he had learned, dispensing generously to the two friends the entire body of knowledge he had acquired in the field. It wasn't much compared to what was taught to and expected from them by the centurions who sternly and steadfastly trained them – doubtless because the dictator had ordered it thus – but his attitude had helped overcome any initial distrust and cement a friendship which was already strong after a single season.

  “I'm not going in,” said Octavian suddenly, standing up and walking toward the slope.

  “What do you mean?” exclaimed Rufus, grabbing his arm and trying to hold him back.

  Octavian stared at his arm and then at his friend with eyes of ice, not saying a word. The other immediately realised his affront, and released him immediately, as though he were hot. Agrippa, meanwhile, looked up at the sky: Rufus was still a long way from understanding how to deal with Octavian.

  “Why give up the chance?” asked the tribune, sounding more subdued and respectful.

  “I don't want to, that's all,” replied the young man, his tone still icy. Agrippa knew he must address the issue with caution.

  And as a friend, he must at least try to convince him. “But we need to know what your future holds, Octavian,” he said, moving closer. “You're our guide. And in the coming years you will be one of the guides of Rome too, thanks to the favour in which your illustrious uncle holds you. So knowing what you will become means also learning about the fate of Rome over the coming decades…”

  Octavian thought, gloomily. “And if it is not so? If the gods have established for me a miserable fate?”

  Agrippa understood what he meant. T
hat ‘miserable fate’ meant ‘less than yours’. Yes, it would be embarrassing, but it would be worse to remain in doubt at this point. Their friendship risked crumbling forever. He simply must go in there now, to Theogenes. They all must.

  He wondered if Rufus understood the stakes in play. He had probably guessed, but could not really know the essence of the matter. They two were lifelong friends, mainly due to the fact that the equilibrium between them had never changed. But if anything happened now to alter the hierarchy, it would be the end. They might even become enemies.

  “Do you want to stay in doubt forever?” Agrippa asked finally. He might as well put it bluntly. They were friends, weren't they? At least for the moment…

  Octavian was silent.

  Rufus felt entitled to intervene. “Agrippa's right, my friend. If you want to be a leader, and if you are destined to be one, you cannot shrink from the occasion to see your aspirations confirmed.” Yes, the tribune had guessed roughly at the extent of the problem.

  Octavian felt that he had no choice. He stood still for a moment, staring at the horizon, then took a deep breath and walked toward the entrance of the observatory without saying a word. The other two friends were silent, and neither dared speak while they waited. Both understood the gravity of the moment: what had begun as simply satisfying their curiosity had turned into a perverse battle of wills, with only one result ensuring their survival: the victory of Octavian.

  Curious, thought Agrippa as he waited. For them, the most extraordinary of adventures had started only a few months earlier: their active participation as protagonists in one of the events that would remain longest in the memory of the Romans. Caesar was planning to avenge the defeat and death of his close friend and triumvir Crassus in Carrhae nine years earlier, recover the Eagles lost by the Romans and conquer the Parthian kingdom in Mesopotamia and beyond. Not content with this ambitious plan, he then intended to extend the control of the Republic to the Danube, attacking the kingdom of the Getae and Dacians. An undertaking which, they planned, would last five years, and so Caesar had arranged things in Rome and in Italy, and even in the provinces, so that the State would have appointed magistrates for the entire period of his absence. All close collaborators of his who would not have a role in the campaign. The men he trusted – Marcus Giunius Brutus, Gaius Cassius Longinus, Gaius Trebonius, Decimus Brutus Albinus, Mark Antony, Aulus Hirtius, Vibius Pansa, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus and Asinius Pollio would control the Republic in his absence as consuls or proconsuls, making sure that the Senate respected the provisions approved by him before his departure.

  And at the end of those five years of war, he and Octavian would return to Rome laden with glory, and at twenty-four still very young, to begin the cursus honorum – the itinerary of public positions that he now knew would take him to the highest ranks of the Republic.

  It had all begun. It was the Ides of March, and within three days the dictator would leave Rome for Brindisi and set off for the Illyrian coast, where they and the rest of the legions participating in the campaign would join him. A month's time, and the eastward march of a vast and powerful army would begin. And they would be at the head of this vast and powerful army.

  A noise from inside the building startled him. He looked over and saw Octavian emerge with great strides, pushing the door shut behind him. The young nobleman approached the two friends, his expression unreadable, as always: not even Agrippa could always understand what was going through his mind. He gave in to the impulse, aware, though, that if his friend did not want to speak there would be no way of getting anything out of him.

  “Well? Did you give your date of birth?” asked Agrippa, his voice choked with emotion. It was the 23rd of September, as he well knew: he wished he had had the presence of mind to ask Theogenes himself while he was inside.

  Octavian nodded.

  “And?” urged Rufus, he too conscious now that their lives depended on what Octavian said.

  The great-grandson of the dictator waited in silence a moment longer, then said, “He knelt before me.”

  II

  “In the name of the magister equitum Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, I assume control of this domus!” Gaius Chaerea intoned solemnly, as he burst into the luxurious house of Marcus Claudius Marcellus without even waiting for the doorkeeper to inform his masters. The squad of soldiers he led followed him with the blind obedience the young centurion commanded, and with the efficiency of experienced and disciplined legionaries, forged by the campaigns of Julius Caesar.

  He was not afraid of the predictable protests of the house's owner. He was charged with protecting the family of Caesar at all costs, and had behind him the orders of the deputy commander of the recently killed dictator, one of the highest authorities in that moment of an apparent power vacuum, where it was unclear who was to command: the consuls? The magister equitum? The senate? The magistrates? The same people who, it was said, had killed the dictator?

  But that was not all. His zeal sprang from far more personal reasons. In fact it had been he himself who had suggested to his commander that he provide for the protection of Caesar's family, as soon as he had realised that the chaos following the murder threatened to suck them down before anyone else into a whirlpool of violence. And the young officer would have done anything to prevent that from happening.

  Anything. Anything to have Octavia forgive him.

  He heard behind him the sound of objects falling to the ground and shattering. He turned and saw that his soldiers, though accustomed to marching in formation and on guard, could not help banging into the statues and furniture along the walls of the vestibule. He shrugged – in times like this, much worse things happened in Rome. They burst into the hall, and the sight of Etain coming towards them made his heart jump.

  She had always been courageous. Octavia could not have chosen a more trustworthy maid or closer friend: it took guts to run toward a group of soldiers who had burst into the house of your domina. On the other hand, her mistress had chosen her as assistant and secretary, and that spoke volumes about her dedication to the House of Julia.

  Chaerea saw the girl's expression suddenly relax as she realised that he was the leader of the squadron. There was no need to explain that he had come to protect them, but he had to do so in order not to give the others the impression that they were already acquainted. And also, if possible, to re-assure her.

  “I am the centurion Gaius Chaerea, attendant of magister equitum Lepidus. Call your dominus,” he said to the young slave. “Tell him that riots have broken out in the city because of the dictator's death. We have the task of protecting you and of making ourselves available to the senator. Therefore we are taking possession of this house.” He hoped that Lepidus's real intentions were not clear: the magister equitum, though apparently the diligent interpreter of the dictator's will, actually intended to get his hands on hostages or bargaining chips he could take with him in the case of the killers of his leader gaining wide consent. But in the meantime the young centurion was there to protect Etain, and would prevent anything from happening.

  “The dominus is not at home. I will inform the domina,” replied the servant, with a look that seemed to him one of understanding.

  Gaius was already feeling tense about the meeting, for which he had been waiting nine years. He had entered the house with a lump in his throat and his stomach burning. And now, the absence of Marcus Claudius Marcellus, whom Lepidus had specifically asked him to detain, unnerved him further: the hostility of the senator towards the dictator was known, and it was possible that he even supported the conspirators, or that he had thrown in his lot with them. And that complicated things.

  The appearance of Octavia, followed by Etain with a little girl in her arms, brought him suddenly face to face with the responsibility of handling a situation he had been both longing for and dreading for nine years.

  By the gods, she had changed! He had left her little more than a child, and now she was a grown woman. It occurred to him that, ir
onically, he was partly responsible for that transformation. She had not become as beautiful as her features and her gracefulness had promised as a teenager, but she had retained the elegant bearing that was typical of her family, that sweetness of expression which made him want to protect her, and the little pointed nose that, for a brief but irreparable moment, had made him lose his head.

  “Well, centurion Gaius Chaerea, what is this intrusion? Are our lives really in danger?” Octavia spoke in a voice filled with apprehension that Gaius hardly recognised. It was the voice of a woman, but the tremble that vibrated in it reminded him of the girl he had known. He wondered if she was troubled by their meeting or by the dramatic events involving her family. Or by both.

  Only then did he notice that there was another aristocrat standing beside Octavia and wearing the toga of a senator. The man was slightly older than her and looked as though he might be a relative: all of the gens Julia family possessed, to a greater or lesser extent, features which might well have been taken from the statues of gods. It was not for nothing that they boasted of being the descendants of none other than Venus herself. Which, if it was true, meant that Chaereas’s lineage too now possessed divine blood.

  Octavia realized that Gaius was looking at the man beside him. “This man is my cousin, Lucius Pinarius Scarpus. Speak, then.”

  Gaius nodded. He knew Lucius Pinarius as one of Caesar's closest relatives, but could not remember the faces of all the senators. He knew Octavia's other cousin, Quintus Pedius, because he had been a good commander under the dictator and had earned himself a certain reputation, but this Pinarius was not so well-known among soldiers like himself.