Julius was startled from his thoughts by a commotion downstairs. His hand dropped to the gladius laid on the table before he recognized Brutus’s voice and relaxed. That was what Crassus had brought about, a return to the fear he had felt when Cato threatened him and every man had to be considered an enemy.

Anger swelled as he considered how Crassus had manipulated him, yet he knew the old man would have what he wanted. The conspirators had to be reined in before they acted. Could they be threatened? he wondered. A century of the Tenth sent with his best officers to their homes, perhaps. If the men realized their plans were known, the conspiracy could be allowed to die stillborn.

Brutus knocked and entered and Julius knew it was bad news as he saw his expression.

“I had my men scout the villages Crassus warned you about. I think he’s telling the truth,” Brutus said without preamble. There was none of his usual lightness of manner.

“How many swords do they have?” Julius asked.

“Eight thousand, maybe more, though they’re spread out. Every town up there is full of men, far too many to support. No legion marks or banners, just an awful lot of blades too close to Rome for comfort. If my lads hadn’t been looking for signs, they might have missed them completely. I think the threat is real,

Julius.”

“Then I must move,” Julius said. “It’s gone too far to warn them off. Take men to the houses we’ve been watching. Go to Catiline’s home yourself. Arrest the conspirators and bring them to the Senate meeting this afternoon. I’ll take the floor there and tell our senators how close they came to destruction.” He rose and buckled his sword onto his belt. “Be careful, Brutus. They must have supporters in the city for this to work. Crassus said they would start fires in the poor areas as the signal, so we must have men on the streets, ready for them. Who knows how many are involved?”

“The Tenth will be spread thinly if we try to cover the whole city, Julius. I can’t keep order and take the field against the mercenaries at the same time.”

“I will convince Pompey to use his men on the streets. He’ll see the need. After you have brought the men to the Senate, give me an hour to put the case and then march. If I’m not there to lead, go alone against them.”

Brutus paused for a moment, understanding what he was being asked to do.

“If I take the field without a Senate order, that could be the end of me, whether we bring victory or not,” he said softly. “Are you sure you can trust Crassus not to betray you in this?”

Julius hesitated. It would be enough to finish them all if Crassus refused to repeat his accusations in the Senate house. The old man was subtle enough to have created the conspiracy simply to remove a few of his opponents. Crassus could be rid of his competitors, while remaining unstained by all of it.

Still, what choice did he have? He could not allow a rebellion to begin while he had the chance to stop it.

“I can’t trust him, no, but no matter who is responsible for that gathering of soldiers, I cannot allow a threat to Rome. Arrest the men he has named before any more harm is done by waiting. I’ll take the responsibility if I can get to you. If I am not there, it’s your decision. Wait as long as you can.”

Brutus led twenty of his best with Domitius to take Catiline at his own home. To his fury, they were delayed crucial moments as they broke through his outer gate. By the time they reached the private rooms,

Catiline was warming his hands at a brazier filled with burning papers. The man seemed calm as he greeted the soldiers. His face was almost sculpted out of hard planes, and the breadth of his shoulders showed he was one who took care of his strength. Unusually for a senator, he wore a gladius at his side in an ornate scabbard.

Rushing in, Brutus threw a jug of wine on the flames. As the wet smoke hissed out, he rammed his hand into the sodden ashes, but there was nothing left.

“Your master has overstepped the mark, gentlemen,” Catiline remarked.

“My orders are to take you to the Curia, Senator, to answer charges of treason,” Domitius told him.

Catiline let his right hand rest on the pommel of the gladius, and both Brutus and Domitius stiffened.

“If you touch that sword again, you will die right now,” Brutus warned him softly, and Catiline’s eyes opened wide under the heavy lids as he assessed the danger facing him.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Marcus Brutus of the Tenth.”

“Well, Brutus, Consul Crassus is a good friend of mine, and when I am free, I will discuss this with you in more detail. Now do as you have been told and take me to the Senate.”

Domitius put out a hand to hold the senator’s arm, and Catiline knocked it aside, his temper showing through the false calm.

“Do not dare to put hands on me! I am a senator of Rome. When this is over, do not think I will forget the insults to my person. Your master will not always be able to protect you from the law.”

Catiline swept out past them, his expression murderous. The soldiers of the Tenth formed up around him, exchanging worried glances. Domitius said nothing more as they reached the street, though he hoped for all their sakes that the other groups had found some proof with which to accuse the men. Without it,

Julius could well have created his own destruction.

The road outside was heaving with the morning crowds, and Brutus had to use the flat of his sword to clear the way for them. The press was too great for the citizens to move away easily, and progress was slow.

Brutus swore under his breath as they reached the first corner, and didn’t sense the change in the crowd until it was almost too late.

The children and women had vanished and the soldiers of the Tenth were surrounded by hard-looking men. Brutus glanced back at Catiline. The senator’s face had lit with triumph. Brutus felt himself shoved and hemmed in and, in a sickening flash of understanding, knew Catiline had been prepared for them.

“Defend yourselves!” Brutus roared. Even as he gave the order, he saw swords torn free from under cloaks and tunics as the crowd came alive with violence. Catiline’s men had been hidden among the passersby, waiting to free their leader. The street seethed with swords and screams as the first soldiers of the Tenth were caught unawares and cut down.

Brutus saw Catiline being drawn clear by his supporters and tried to grab him. It was impossible. Even as Brutus stretched out his arm, someone cut at it and he defended himself furiously. Pressed by bodies, he felt close to panic. Then he saw Domitius had cleared a bloody space in the street and moved to his side.

The soldiers of the Tenth held their nerve, cutting Catiline’s supporters down with the grim efficiency of their training. There were no weak men amongst them, but each was faced with two or three swords swinging wildly. For all the attackers’ lack of skill, they fought with fanatical energy, and even the legionary armor could turn only a few of the blows.

Brutus grabbed a man by the throat with his left hand and jerked him into the path of two more, killing them with neat strokes as they struggled against each other. He felt his pounding heart settle then, giving him the chance to glance around him. He leaned back from a gladius aimed to cut through his sword arm and sent a riposte into the throat of the wielder. Throat and groin, the quickest deaths.

Brutus staggered as something hit him low in the back, and he felt one of the straps give on his chestplate, shifting the weight. He spun with the sword at a sharp angle to cut into another man’s collarbone and drop him into the mess of filth and flesh at their feet. Blood spattered across him and he blinked quickly, looking for Catiline. The senator had gone.

“Clear this damned street, Tenth!” he shouted, and his men responded, cutting their way through. The heavy gladius blades chopped into the enemy, cutting limbs free as easily as a butcher’s cleaver. With some of Catiline’s men retreating with the senator, the numbers were thinning and the legionaries were able to isolate those remaining, ramming their blades over and over into the bodies to repay the insult of the attack in the only coin it deserved.