Taking heart from their determined faces, Romulus headed back to his room. He strapped on his gladius as well as his dagger, but chose not to wear armour or carry a shield. His weapons alone would arouse the suspicions of Caesar's guards, and he could not afford the risk of failure. Last of all, Romulus pinned his two gold phalerae to his tunic. These, his proudest possessions, would hopefully gain him an audience with the dictator, and also trigger his memory of their three meetings. If Caesar remembered him, he would be more likely to believe Romulus' warning. He was not surprised to find the haruspex waiting by the entrance, his battleaxe hanging from his back. Romulus was touched by this loyalty. Whatever his feelings about Caesar and Rome, Tarquinius would stand by his comrade.

'Good luck.'

'Thank you,' Romulus replied. 'Hopefully I won't need it.'

'Fabiola?' It was the first time the haruspex had mentioned his sister since the divination.

'I won't say a word about her. Who knows what will happen once the conspirators are arrested, though?' Romulus gave a resigned shrug. 'That's down to the gods. With luck, I'll get to settle things with her afterwards.'

Tarquinius' dark eyes were unreadable. 'See you at Pompey's complex.'

Quickly they gripped forearms and then Romulus drew wide the door. Stepping outside into the pre-dawn cool, he found Mattius waiting. They set off in silence, but it wasn't long before the boy's curiosity got the better of him.

'Where are we going?'

'Caesar's domus.'

Mattius' eyes widened. 'Why? Did Tarquinius see something important yesterday?'

'Yes.' Romulus didn't elaborate further.

He didn't need to. Rome was chock full of rumours and, while young, Mattius was streetwise. 'Someone wants to kill Caesar. That's it, isn't it?' he piped. 'Why else would you be going to his house at this hour, wearing a gladius?'

Despite his grim mood, Romulus grinned. 'No flies on you,' he admitted.

'I knew it!' Mattius crowed. There was a short pause. 'Is it just you and me?'

Romulus heard the tremor in his voice and looked down. Despite his obvious fear, Mattius was clutching a rusty kitchen knife, which must have been hidden under his tunic. His heart filled at the boy's courage. It did not matter to him who ruled Rome, or whether Caesar lived or died. He was here for one reason: to show solidarity with his friend. Romulus stopped in his tracks. 'You've got real guts, lad, but you won't have to do any fighting,' he said, patting Mattius' bony shoulder. 'The veterans are coming along. Tarquinius too.'

'Good,' Mattius replied, relieved. 'I'll be ready just in case.'

Thinking of himself as a youngster, Romulus hid his smile.

A short time later, they reached Caesar's current domus, a palatial affair on the Palatine Hill. The sun was rising now, revealing the construction of a new high-pointed exterior intended to make it resemble a temple. Building had only just started, so almost the entire front of the building was obscured by scaffolding, which concealed the pair until they had reached the entrance.

'Halt!' shouted one of four soldiers before the massive iron-studded doors. 'Declare yourselves.'

'Romulus, veteran legionary of the Twenty-Eighth, and Mattius, a boy from the Caelian Hill,' Romulus answered, stepping out of the shadows.

The sentry's lip curled. 'Your business?'

Romulus half turned, so his phalerae glittered in the torchlight. He was pleased to see the soldiers' eyes widen. Few men earned two gold medals. 'I seek an audience with Caesar,' he said.

'Now?' scoffed a second guard. 'It's not even hora prima.'

'It's very urgent.'

'I don't give a toss,' replied the first man. 'On your way. Come back this afternoon, and you might be lucky.'

'I can't wait that long.'

The sentries exchanged an incredulous look before the first lowered his pilum to point at Romulus' chest. 'I suggest you and your little friend fuck off,' he growled. 'Now.'

Romulus didn't move a step. 'Tell Caesar that it's the slave who killed the Ethiopian bull. The one he granted manumission to.'

Romulus' extraordinary calm and outlandish claim were off-putting, and more than ordinary soldiers were used to dealing with. Scowling, the first guard went inside to confer with his optio. The junior officer emerged a moment later, pulling on his helmet. Bleary-eyed and irritable, he listened to Romulus' request in silence. 'And your purpose?' he demanded.

'That's for Caesar's ears only, sir,' Romulus answered, careful to keep his voice neutral. If he didn't play this just right, his mission would fail, and he couldn't let that happen.

The optio looked at him long and hard. 'Where did you win those?' He pointed at Romulus' phalerae.

'One at Ruspina, the other at Thapsus, sir.'

'What for?'

Romulus briefly described his efforts, and the officer's face soon changed. 'Stay put,' he ordered, disappearing inside.

Ignoring the legionaries' glowers, Romulus leaned against the scaffolding. Mattius stayed close, more intimidated than his big friend. They waited for perhaps half an hour before the optio reappeared.

'Caesar will see you,' he said. 'Leave your weapons here.'

The guards goggled at this unexpected outcome.

Bending his head to conceal his grin, Romulus unbuckled his belt and handed it to Mattius. 'I'll be back shortly,' he said. 'Don't say a word to these fools,' he added under his breath.

The boy nodded, delighted with the responsibility.

Following the optio, Romulus entered the atrium. Few torches were burning, but there was sufficient light to see that the house was decorated in opulent fashion. Richly patterned, well-laid mosaic covered the floors, and the stuccoed walls were painted with striking scenes. Beautiful Greek statues filled every alcove, and through the open doors of the tablinum Romulus heard the patter of water from a fountain in the garden.

The optio led him to one of the many rooms around the central courtyard. Compared to the rest of the house, this was decorated in Spartan fashion. Apart from a striking bust of Caesar, the only other furniture was a crowded desk, a leather-backed chair and a pair of tables groaning under rolls of parchment and papyrus. A young slave was placing oil lamps here and there, lending the chamber a warm golden glow.

Indicating that Romulus should stand before the desk, the optio retreated to the door. They waited in silence for some moments, and Romulus began to wonder what Fabiola was doing at that exact instant. Making her last preparations, no doubt. Would she be present at the Senate later? Sudden panic overtook him at the thought of defending Caesar from his sister. Jupiter, don't let that happen, Romulus prayed. That would be too much to bear. How would you react? his inner voice asked.

'Legionary Romulus,' said a voice from behind him. 'You rise early.'

He spun around. Wearing a plain white toga, Caesar stood framed in the doorway. Beside him, the optio had snapped to rigid attention. Romulus did likewise. 'My apologies, sir,' he said.

Rubbing a hand through his thinning hair, Caesar walked to the desk and sat down. 'I hope your reason's good,' he said drily. 'Dawn is only just breaking.'

Romulus flushed, but did not apologise. 'It is, sir.' Studying the dictator with a new interest, he was startled by the strong resemblance Caesar's features bore to his own. Coincidence, Romulus told himself. It had to be coincidence.

'Well, get on with it, man,' said Caesar, staring at him. Lines of exhaustion had drawn grey bags under his eyes. Covering his mouth with his hand, he began to cough. 'This damn chest of mine. Tell me.'

Romulus looked pointedly at the optio, and the slave, who was now tidying the tables. 'I'd rather you were the only one to hear it, sir.'