Read Online The Ides of March by Valerio Massimo Manfredi, Christine Feddersen-Manfredi - Free Book Online Page A

then . . .’
    ‘You said it. He didn’t even finish eating.’
    ‘Prepare a horse for me as well. Your best. I’ll be leaving tonight, late.’
    ‘He took the best one.’
    ‘The best of what’s left, you idiot.’
    The servant obeyed at once. He prepared a sturdy-legged bay, harnessed him and took him over to the man in the grey cloak.
    ‘If you leave late at night,’ he said, ‘be careful. You never know who you might meet up with.’
    ‘Mind your own business,’ the other shot back. ‘And don’t talk to anyone if you want more of these.’
    He shook the coins in his sack before returning to the courtyard, where he slumped down in the same place, leaning against one of the columns.
    A convoy of carts piled high with hay, evidently for restocking the stables, entered the courtyard. The drivers were in a jolly mood and the first thing they wanted to know was whether there was any more of the wine they’d had last time. The attendant stood at the door of his office, holding a tablet and stylus, keeping an eye on the dealings and taking note of what was being sold and what the Senate and people of Rome were spending.
    ‘I hope this stuff isn’t damp,’ he grumbled, leaning over the carts. ‘The last load was all mouldy. I should take off more than half of what I paid you for that last lot.’
    ‘Blame your lazy servants, not us,’ one of the drivers replied. ‘They left it out all night because they were too tired to haul it under cover in the hayloft. This stuff is perfect, governor, dry as my thirsty throat.’
    The attendant took his clue and had some wine brought out for the men, then returned to his office.
    A little later another horseman arrived, this one just as out of breath as the first. He glanced around until he found the rat-faced man he was looking for. He gave Mustela the eye and they walked off together. He showed Mustela a receipt and handed him a scroll on which an itinerary was mapped out. Mustela took what he had been waiting for. Now he could continue.
    M EANWHILE , Publius Sextius was advancing at a gallop along the dirt border that ran alongside the paved road, the Via Emilia, in the direction of Rimini, checking the milestones as he rode to calculate how far he had to go to the next station. He’d passed this way three years earlier, marching with the boys of the Twelfth. It was with them that he had most unwillingly crossed the Rubicon. He well remembered the scenario he’d been forced to invent in order to convince his men that taking that step – against their country and against the law – was necessary.
    The sun had begun to set. He had at most another hour and a half of light, sufficient to reach his next stop along the left bank of the Reno. There he would decide whether to set off again or remain for the night. He slowed down when he could feel his mount straining, not wanting to wear him out. He was an infantryman and he’d learned to get to know horses and understand their needs. But he was convinced that Caesar was in great danger and that the threat was imminent. It wasn’t so much Nebula’s hints as his own instinct, the same feeling that, during his guard shifts on the Gallic campaigns, had allowed him to sense the enemy arrow an instant before it was let loose.
    Caupona ad Salices, a.d. VIII Id. Mart., hora duodecima
    The Willows Inn, 8 March, five p.m.
    P UBLIUS SEXTIUS reached the banks of the Reno just short of Bologna and turned right, heading south as he followed the river upstream, according to the directions on Nebula’s map. He didn’t reach the inn, which acted as a changing station, until the sun had already dipped below the mountains. He entered, eager to change his horse. At the door he noticed a little statue of Isis. It wasn’t particularly well crafted, but it made a certain impression nonetheless. Inside, the servants were getting ready to light the oil lamps in the rooms, taking the oil from a jar at the end of the courtyard.
    He felt tired.