Cicero put a friendly hand on Antony’s knee. ‘Young Marcus, you know my commitment to the Republic. All Rome saw it when I defeated Catilina and his conspirators.’

  Antony stiffened. He dared to bring up Catilina, and the illegal execution of Antony’s stepfather?

  Cicero continued, oblivious. ‘Any man who puts the Republic before his personal friendships has my respect.’

  Antony sat back.

  So. Cicero wanted him to kill Clodius.

  * * *

  Antony watched Antonia Hybrida as she picked delicately at a bowl of cherries, increasingly popular in Rome since Lucullus, the renowned gourmand, brought them back from his wars in the East. It was hard to be genteel and refined when dealing with pitted fruits, but she negotiated the problem well, removing the stones from between her teeth with thumb and forefinger, and depositing them in a bronze bowl without spilling a drop of juice down her chin. She had a heart-shaped face, a dimpled chin and dark, curly hair carefully styled in the latest fashion. He had to admit, she was quite easy to look at, which was his only real requirement in a woman. He didn’t have a particular type, and hair colour, height, skin tone, body shape or rank in society made little difference to him. The only drawback was that she was maybe a little younger than his usual taste, being around twenty years of age.

  And that she was his cousin. But that was fine. It wasn’t like she was his sister. He knew through his friendship with Clodius and Clodia what accusations of incest could do to a reputation. In Clodius’ case, Cicero had blown the smouldering rumour of Clodius’ incestuous relationship with his sister into a fiery truth, with his famous quip referring to Clodius as Clodia’s ‘husband, sorry, brother, I keep making that mistake.’ Antony was sure that the rumours were untrue. Fairly sure.

  Anyway, would she do for a wife? His mother, who reclined next to his brother Gaius, thought so. After Caesar had told him to marry, Antony had written to Julia for her help. After all, he hadn’t been to Rome for five years and had no idea who was desirable, or even available. Julia had immediately thought of Antonia, daughter of his father’s brother, Antonius Hybrida. But Antony hadn’t seen Antonia for six years or so, since she had accompanied her father into exile on Kephallenia. His weakness in prosecuting the final battle against Catilina had caused many to suspect him of involvement in the conspiracy, and subsequent failures had led to his prosecution by Marcus Caelius Rufus, who Antony still thought was a Ciceronian spy during the whole affair. Antony had been in Syria when Rufus had been prosecuted for, among other things, attempting to poison Clodia, who, not causing a little jealousy in Antony, he had been having an affair with. Cicero had savaged both Clodius’ and Clodia’s reputation in his defence of Rufus, another cause of the deadly enmity between the two of them. Thoughts of Cicero and Clodius made him think of the implied demand Cicero had made in return for his support in the elections. He did not like thinking about that, so he returned to contemplating Antonia.

  Antonia looked up and caught him staring. She fluttered her eyelids, blushed prettily and looked back down again. Yes, he thought, she would do. He had no idea about her intelligence, conversation or ability to run a household. But that wasn’t the point of this match. It was purely to join him to someone of reasonable birth, and dampen the gossip about his dissolute behaviour.

  Not that he intended to change. He would still drink and party, and seduce any woman who caught his eye and was willing. It was not the place of a Roman man to be faithful to the marriage vows – only the woman was expected to obey them, which was the reason it had raised eyebrows when Pompey was said to have had no affairs while married to Caesar’s daughter. Antony had come close to something like that with Fadia, but not since. He wondered if he would ever experience it again.

  ‘Tell me about Kephallenia,’ Antony asked Antonia.

  ‘It is hot,’ she said.

  Antony waited for more, but she simply picked up another cherry. Not a great conversationalist, then. He remembered her as a shy child when he had previously met her, so maybe it was just nerves.

  ‘And Uncle Gaius is well?’

  ‘He is.’

  Julia looked exasperated and attempted to draw more out of her niece.

  ‘I heard stories that he is unofficial governor of the island now.’

  Antonia giggled, and it was a pleasing little laugh.

  ‘That’s just Daddy,’ she said. ‘He is pretending to run the place, and the locals think it is a great joke and humour him.’

  Well, she could string a whole sentence together. Antony decided to take her on a few trips, maybe a gladiatorial contest and a pantomime, get Eucalia to give her the once-over, then write to his uncle asking for her hand. It helped that Antony owed his uncle, among many others, a lot of money, so if Antony was married to his daughter, he doubted he would call in the loan and condemn his son-in-law and daughter to bankruptcy.

  The doors to the triclinium flew open, and Antony’s youngest brother charged into the room, breathless, eyes wild.

  ‘Have you heard the news? It just arrived from Syria. It’s all over the city.’

  ‘What news, Lucius?’ asked Julia calmly. ‘Take a deep breath and tell us.’

  ‘It’s Crassus. He’s been defeated. The Parthians won.’

  Antony took a sharp breath. ‘And Crassus? Publius?’

  Lucius, grim-faced, slowly shook his head.

  * * *

  ‘I’m getting married,’ said Antony.

  ‘Good for you,’ said Clodius. ‘It’s about time. I highly recommend the state of matrimony.’

  ‘You had to say that, since I am present,’ said Fulvia.

  The three of them were reclining on couches that had been brought into the peristylium of Clodius’ lavish domus on the Palatine. It was a warm, clear evening without a moon and Antony could make out a number of constellations. There was Andromeda, the chained maiden. Over there was Cassiopeia, Andromeda’s boastful mother. And there was Virgo, the virgin. Was there any meaning to be found there? he wondered. Doubtful, but who knew? The astrologers were very convincing when plying their trade.

  Antony cast a glance at Fulvia as she sipped from a silver wine cup. Her chin was broad and square, her nose neither aristocratically long, nor delicately short. Her hair was swept back and held in place by a hair grip. He thought of her as handsome rather than pretty, maybe a little boyish in her features. But a fine-looking woman nevertheless, and one he thought Clodius was lucky to have.

  But Clodius wasn’t lucky because of her looks. There were certainly more beautiful women in Rome. Clodia, for one. But Fulvia was intelligent, witty, well-educated and cultured. He had enjoyed her company when he had been with Fadia, before he left for Athens, and he was enjoying renewing his acquaintanceship with her now.

  He was conscious, though, that Cicero lived right next door, and although next door in the sumptuous mansions on the Palatine hill actually meant quite some distance away, Antony preferred to visit in darkness, and was careful not to let out his characteristic, bellowing laugh, lest Cicero or one of his household realise that Antony was visiting his enemy.

  ‘It’s to your cousin Antonia, correct?’ asked Clodius.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Pretty girl,’ he said.

  ‘Pretty, yes,’ said Antony, and Clodius cocked his head and gave a half smile when Antony didn’t expand on any of her other qualities.

  ‘A good match. Am I invited?’

  ‘Ah. Well, I was coming to that.’

  Clodius narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Tell me, what do you think will happen now Crassus is dead?’ asked Antony.

  ‘I heard the Parthians poured molten gold down his throat,’ said Fulvia, her voice holding tones of fascinated horror.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Antony. ‘He and his son were killed in battle. Cassius managed to lead many men to safety, and he reported the whole thing. The Parthians were just too clever for him. They lured him out into the desert, and his legionaries couldn’t get near their missile cavalry. I had a feeling it would turn out badly for him, although I never imagined now badly. Such incompetence. Poor old Gabinius would have made a much better job of it.’

  Poor old Gabinius had returned to Rome and been prosecuted for treason – for taking the army out of his province – and extortion. He had been found not guilty of the first offence, but guilty of the second, and was now languishing in exile, having received not a copper coin of the money promised by Auletes. And that meant Antony had received nothing either. Still, his fortunes were looking much better than that of his former commander.

  ‘Why do you ask about Crassus?’ asked Clodius. ‘And what’s it got to do with your wedding?’

  ‘Caesar wants me to be elected as quaestor. He is worried about his alliance with Pompeius. There were two people holding Caesar and Pompeius together. One was Caesar’s daughter. The other was Crassus. Now they are both dead.’

  Clodius smiled grimly. ‘I can hear chaos thundering over the horizon. Good news for me. My band of supporters put me in a good position to control Rome if civil war breaks out.’

  ‘Not if Pompeius or Caesar march their legions into the city. Your hooligans won’t help you then.’

  ‘Either of them would beg me for my support.’

  Antony knew that neither Caesar nor Pompeius had much time for Clodius anymore, despite making use of his unpredictable and violent tactics for their own purposes in previous years. But he didn’t intend to point this out to Clodius. Even if there was an ulterior motive, a power play, behind the violence that Clodius was inflicting on the city, his old friend was still impulsive and unpredictable, and brave and strong as Antony was, he was not foolish enough to provoke someone with a mad streak the width of the Tiber running through his marrow.

  ‘That may be so. But right now, Caesar trusts me, and he wants me in the Senate. And for that I need Cicero’s support.’

  Clodius went very still, and Fulvia looked from one man to the other, suddenly anxious.

  ‘You will side with Cicero against me?’

  ‘Cicero wants me to kill you,’ said Antony. Fulvia gasped and put her hand to her mouth. He could do it, they all knew. Right there and then, with his bare hands. Antony had the strength of a bull, and he could snap Clodius’ neck before he could scream for help.

  Clodius reached slowly for a sharp fruit knife and picked it up. Antony watched him closely. Clodius passed the knife, hilt first, to Antony. Then he pulled down the front of his toga, exposing his breast.

  ‘Then do it. If that’s what you need to advance your career. Don’t hesitate. Strike deep.’

  There was a wild look in Clodius’ eyes, a madness Antony had seen in his old friend many times before. It rarely went away until something bad had happened.

  Antony tossed the knife away. It landed in the topiary with a soft rustle.

  ‘Don’t be melodramatic, Clodius. I have no intention of killing you. Do you really think so little of me?’

  Clodius continued to stare wide-eyed at Antony, breathing heavily through clenched teeth, tiny droplets of spittle flying out. Then Fulvia reached out and put a hand on Clodius’ knee. ‘Husband, I’ve got a fun idea.’

  Slowly, Clodius turned his head and looked at her in puzzlement.

  ‘Fun?’

  ‘Yes, why don’t we play a trick? On Cicero. In fact, on all of Rome.’

  Clodius’ breathing calmed, his jaw relaxed.

  ‘A trick?’

  Clever Fulvia, thought Antony. If there was one thing Clodius loved more than an orgy of mad violence, it was a practical joke.

  ‘Well, Cicero told Marcus to kill you. But I think what he really wants is a public rift between the two of you. It’s impossible for Cicero to support Marcus if Marcus is best friends with you, his worst enemy.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Clodius. ‘I see that. But where does the trick come into it?’

  ‘Well, you are both fans of the theatre. This is going to take a little acting. Let me explain.’

  And Fulvia outlined her plan.

  * * *

  Two days after his evening with Clodius and Fulvia, Antony strolled through the Forum with Antonia and a couple of slaves in attendance. He wore a short tunic that showed off his legs well, and a gladius was sheathed in the scabbard on his belt. The centre of the city seemed peaceful, but he knew from his short time back in Rome how much it had changed since he left. A small spark such as an encounter between political rivals, an unpopular court judgement or even an argument at a market stall, could quickly flare up into a riot.

  Still, the business of the Forum seemed as busy as ever, the vendors of perfumes, jewellery, fast food and temple sacrifices doing a roaring trade, the philosophers and prophets haranguing the crowd with their world views, the courtesans, at the higher end of the scale in this part of the city, leading their clients off to private rooms in the backs of taverns or above shops. But under it all, there was a tension that was almost palpable, as if everyone’s nerves were on edge, starting at every unexpected noise, every dropped cooking pot or cursing ox-cart driver.

  He guided Antonia to a stall selling gold rings set with rubies and emeralds.

  ‘See anything you like, my dear?’ he asked. Although the wedding was all but arranged, that didn’t mean he shouldn’t still make an effort, he thought. No harm in trying to get your prospective wife to like you. Besides, she was pleasant enough company. Not much about her, but undemanding, well-mannered and attentive. He especially liked it when she cooed and aahed at the size of the muscles in his arms and legs.

  ‘They are all beautiful, my sweet,’ said Antonia. ‘But aren’t they very expensive?’

  ‘Let me worry about the price.’ He wouldn’t worry about the price. There were too many things to worry about in this life already, without adding money to the list.

  The jeweller directed Antonia’s attention to a gold band set with a large emerald.

  ‘This one looks about your size, mistress, and I think the green would set off your eyes beautifully.’

  Antonia tried it on, stretching her fingers out for Antony to admire the gem.

  ‘Oh, Marcus, isn’t it lovely?’

  ‘It is when you wear it, darling. How much?’

  The jeweller named a ridiculous price, and Antony said, ‘Come dear, there is another stall over there, maybe something they have will catch your eye.’

  The jeweller immediately dropped his price by about a third, and to the man’s surprise, Antony agreed. He was never interested enough in cost to haggle enthusiastically.

  Antonia suddenly sprawled forward, arms in front of her, sending the jewellery flying in all directions, the jeweller crying in alarm and scrabbling to retrieve it all before any opportunists could pocket any items.

  Antony helped her upright and turned to see Clodius’ leering face. He was with Fulvia, but Antony could see some of his thugs skulking nearby.

  ‘Did you just push my wife-to-be?’ asked Antony, eyes narrow.

  ‘So sorry,’ said Clodius. ‘Didn’t see her there.’

  ‘Then you should make your apologies,’ said Antony.

  ‘Apologise? To the daughter of Antonius, the half-beast? The exile, the traitor, the embezzler?’

  ‘Clodius,’ said Antony, his voice low and threatening. ‘Whatever your feelings towards Hybrida, you will not show disrespect to his daughter, my intended.’

  ‘Or what? Will the big, brave war hero box my ears or spank my backside?’

  Antony drew his sword half out of its sheath. Clodius’ thugs moved closer.

  ‘Apologise, Clodius, or I will do a lot worse.’

  ‘You don’t scare me. Just because Caesar has taken you as his new favourite catamite, doesn’t mean you can…’

  Antony whipped his sword out with a roar of anger and lifted it high. Clodius let out a yelp and before Antony or Clodius’ bodyguards could react, he turned tail and ran.

  Antony gave chase, yelling after him.

  ‘Clodius! I’m going to kill you! Come and face me like a man, Clodius!’

  Clodius thrust his way through the crowd of people in the Forum, pushing over those too slow to move out of the way. Antony followed, waving his sword over his head, and yelling for people to get out of his way. The Forum-goers gaped. Clodius and Antony were familiar faces, and known to be old friends. To see Antony trying to kill his childhood companion was a source of amazement, worth waiting around to watch, even if there was a threat that things could turn very ugly.

  Clodius rounded a stall selling sacrificial doves, grabbing one of its supports as he passed, which overturned the table on which the cages sat. Some of them burst open when they hit the floor, and Antony ran through a cloud of white doves, feathers drifting into his eyes and mouth. Behind him, he could hear Clodius’ bodyguards in pursuit, but they were way back, slow to start, and subtly impeded by a crowd keen to see the result of this contest between Clodius and Antony.

  Clodius pounded down a street lined with shops belonging to various craftsmen and traders, selling statues and shoes, tunics and cooking utensils. A bookseller stood before his premises, hands on his hips, looking in the other direction, watching the world go buy. Clodius shouldered him aside and raced inside, Antony close behind.

  The shop was extensive, shelf upon shelf of neatly rolled scrolls, history, poetry, philosophy, plays, collections of letters and legal speeches. Clodius ran towards a staircase that led to an upper floor, hesitated, then dived under the staircase, pulling a free-standing set of shelves down behind him. Scrolls tumbled to the floor, a few unravelling, and the shopkeeper screeched. Antony ran to the obstruction, and saw Clodius’ eyes peeping out from between two shelves, bright with mischief. Antony held his gaze for a brief moment.

  Then he yelled, ‘Come out, you coward, or I’ll drag you out.’

  ‘Come and get me,’ challenged Clodius, waving a knife through a small gap.

  At that moment Clodius’ bodyguards arrived, out of breath and red-faced. One had a sword, two had daggers and the rest had clubs and axes. Antony turned to face them, his own sword held towards them. Despite being so outnumbered, Antony could see the doubt on their faces, as they were confronted by this tough, physically robust soldier with his back to a well-defended area. They would have to come at him one at a time, and the first into the shop would likely find himself skewered by Antony’s gladius.