Using the point of the knife, Tarquinius freed the kid's liver from its snug position against the diaphragm. A more purple colour than the hen's, it was clear of blemishes or visible parasites. Again the haruspex held it skywards in his left hand and made a fervent appeal to Tinia. Romulus added his own request and waited with bated breath as Tarquinius prepared to begin his divination.

It only took a moment for the haruspex' body language to change. Stiffening with surprise, he sucked in a sharp breath. 'This is why you and Fabiola are always caught up in the storm,' he muttered. 'The rumours are true.'

Horrified, Romulus was peering over Tarquinius' shoulder before he realised it. 'About Caesar?' he said in a whisper. Few things caused more of a stir in Rome than an augur or a witness to a divination relating what he'd seen. The recent notion of Caesar moving the Republic's capital to Alexandria had probably originated like that. Romulus had no wish to be responsible for potentially harmful gossip – but he had to know. 'Tell me!'

'They really are planning to kill him. Caesar is not a god after all,' Tarquinius said. He gave Romulus a penetrating look. It mattered little to him if Caesar died, but his protege was different. In more ways than one.

Romulus' nausea grew worse, and he clenched his fists. 'Who?'

The haruspex' eyes gazed into the distance. 'Olenus knew what he was talking about yet again. It's incredible.'

'Your mentor had a vision about Caesar?' Romulus cried, amazed. 'That was half a lifetime ago.'

Tarquinius fell back to examining the liver.

Romulus did not press his friend further. It was far more important that every last detail was gleaned from the dead kid.

'A lot of men are involved,' the haruspex said a moment later. 'High-ranking nobles of all backgrounds – former Pompeians and some of Caesar's oldest followers. More than fifty of them.'

Romulus' heart sank. This would explain the meetings in the Lupanar which Mattius had reported. There was no mention of a woman, which gave him some hope. Was it possible that Fabiola didn't know? How could it be, given the location? He bit a nail and tried to compose his emotions. 'When will they strike?' According to most reports, Caesar would leave for Dacia and Parthia within the week.

Tarquinius prodded the liver with a reddened forefinger before he answered. 'Tomorrow, I think,' he said at last. 'The Ides of March.'

Romulus could feel waves of blood pounding in his ears. 'So soon?' he repeated. 'Are you certain?'

Tarquinius looked again. 'Yes.'

Romulus' response was instant. 'I have to warn him.'

'You're sure about that?'

Tarquinius' dark eyes felt all-seeing and, not for the first time, Romulus wondered if Fabiola had told him of her conviction that Caesar was their father. Or had he seen it at another time? Indecision battered his resolve. Did the haruspex also know the truth of what had happened to his mother? Maybe Caesar was guilty of rape. Romulus couldn't bring himself to ask this question. If the answer wasn't what he expected, it might sway him from what his instinct was shouting. He had to act, or a gang of nobles would murder Caesar for their own ends. 'Yes,' he said simply. 'I am.'

Tarquinius blinked, accepting his decision. 'Go to Caesar's house tomorrow morning then. Before he goes to the Senate.'

'That's where it will happen?'

The haruspex nodded.

Romulus' fingers automatically fell to the dagger on his belt. He would need to dig out his gladius too. If necessary, he'd defend Caesar with his own life. He owed him no less.

'There is more,' said Tarquinius abruptly, sounding troubled. 'A woman is involved.'

Stricken, Romulus stared down at his friend. His lips framed the name Fabiola.

'I'm sorry.' The haruspex looked genuinely sad.

Romulus swallowed hard. Whether his sister would actually take part in the murder was uncertain, but all he could think of was her stabbing Caesar. Aghast, he took a step backwards.

At that moment, Mattius came skidding to a halt by their side. 'What have I missed?' he cried excitedly.

Romulus turned away, feeling worse than he ever had in his life. 'Nothing of importance,' he mumbled. Ignoring Tarquinius' cries, he stumbled off into the crowd. As usual, Fabiola played very little part in the discussions. In most, if not all, the conspirators' minds, she was just a woman, albeit a clever and beautiful one. Killing was man's work, one had whispered kindly to Fabiola once. Little do you know, she had thought. Nothing could quite remove the stain of former slavery either, especially when it came to murdering the foremost man in Rome. By this stage, though, Fabiola was content to take a back seat and watch as the plot developed.

A pleased murmur went up as Trebonius entered. Surrounded by nearly two dozen chairs, a long table occupied the centre of the crowded room. Jugs of watered-down wine and plates of bread, fruit and olives covered much of its polished surface. The seating wasn't sufficient for all those present, so the most important members sat while the rest stood behind. Naturally, a chair had been reserved for Trebonius.

'At last,' said Marcus Brutus, tapping his fingers on the table top. 'A word, if you will?'

Making his apologies to those he passed, Trebonius sat down beside Marcus Brutus, who immediately began muttering in his ear.

Fabiola turned away to hide her amusement. Although he had been one of the last to join, Brutus was now one of the main leaders and acted as if he had been all along. Nodding to Benignus, who would remain outside the door to ensure no one eavesdropped, Fabiola quietly shut the door. Glad of her discreet position, she scanned the assembled men. Servius Galba, a short man with protruding eyes, was sitting beside his main crony, Lucius Basilus, a broad-shouldered figure with a bull neck. Both men bore grudges against the dictator, which was why they'd been so quick to join up. Thanks to his association with Caesar, Galba had failed in his attempt to become consul just before the general had crossed the Rubicon, and Basilus had rightfully been denied a provincial command because of his murky business dealings. Fabiola liked neither of them, but their anger at Caesar justified their presence.

She'd first met Cassius Longinus, one of Crassus' former deputies, at a banquet five years before. Fabiola had spoken with him about Carrhae, and heard the true horrors of what had befallen Crassus' army. Hearing of Romulus' involvement, the grizzled soldier had tried to soften the blow, which endeared him to Fabiola still. Catching Longinus' eye, she smiled, and was rewarded with a courteous nod. I must introduce him to Romulus, she reflected. A pang of guilt clawed at her. If we ever make up. Fabiola shoved the disquieting thought away. Deal with that later. Concentrate on the moment.

The conspirators were now so numerous that Fabiola had high hopes of success. While few had the courage to strike the first blow, they would follow where others led. Like a pack of dogs turning on the weakest, she thought. Ugly, but effective. Fortunately, Caesar would be defenceless. In public, members of the nobility wore the toga and carried no weapons. The dictator was no exception. Alarmed by the dark rumours, Antonius and other close associates had asked Caesar to reform his Spanish bodyguards, but he had refused, stating that he had no wish to live in fear or under constant protection.

Contempt filled Fabiola. Whether Caesar's refusal was driven by his arrogance, or his belief that, thanks to his restoration of the peace and raft of new reforms, no ill feeling against him remained, she did not know. Whatever the dictator's reasons, he was now easy prey to a band of determined assassins.

'Gentlemen.' Marcus Brutus rapped on the table with his knuckles. 'If we could begin?'