Let's Kill Caesar

3:The Dead Guy is Better than You

Cato remained groaning on his back for the remainder of the car ride. Endymion paid no attention; he had expected nothing less.

The young senator kept his gaze out the window as they weaved through the warrens of Rome. For all the misplaced pride the Roman people fostered, the grandeur of their city could not be debated. Architectural masterpieces of glistening limestone looming over smoothly-paved streets. Fantastic, dominating mother Rome. Grand as grand could be.

The forum lay at the heart, the capitol's shining jewel. It contained the rostra, adorned with the prows of enemy ships, standing proud at the head of the open air comitium. Across from it loomed the Senate house in all its ancient glory.

Its architecture was all wide arches of pentelikon marble and friezes of the great ancestors of Rome. Pillars marked the entryways, all domineering grey and polished. The walls towered above, long latticed windows stretching to the arched roof; inside the windows spilled light across the tiered seating usually full of politicians. Three bronze statuettes were perched on the three points of the roof; Jupiter's eagles and winged Victory.

The crowds thickened as their car crawled past the temple of Vesta, her priestesses oblivious to the hoards of worshippers burning incense and throwing sacrifices upon the blazing braziers scattered throughout Vesta's domain. The temple itself was lovely; tufa blocks sanded down to form graceful circular walls surrounded by towering painted columns, domed roof shining in the last strength of the sun. The Vestal Virgins moved like graceful ghosts, their silvery stolas an eerie contrast to the suits, jeans and sundresses of the public.

Endymion turned to Cato. "I might know something that'll cheer you up."

His cousin laughed bitterly. "Doubt it. Go on, tell me."

"Pompey has returned."

Iovita grudgingly sat up, blinking. "Oh?"

Endymion smirked. "I know you too well."

Cato wrinkled his nose and clambered onto the seat across from him. "Whatever. What was Pompey doing in Rome? I thought he was in charge of grain distribution for the next year?"

"Caesar sent word of his return to him," Endymion shrugged, "and he came back."

Cato clenched his jaw. "With his imperium?"

Endymion's lips twisted. "I doubt it. Besides, it's Narcissus. Don't be a fool Cato."

Iovita clenched his fists, cheeks puffing out. "Caesar announces his return and suddenly the best men of the Senate lose their senses. Ill tidings for when the asshole actually shows up."

"Stop being dramatic," Endymion drawled, pulling one leg up on the seat. Cato just scowled and mumbled, "Hm. Fascinating."

His cousin rolled his shoulders back and slipped out the phone nestled within his blazer. Endymion jutted out his neck, brows raised at the fifty notifications clogging up the screen, the majority being Assembly tags. The Senate will be having a field day. No doubt the public were eagerly awaiting Cato's reaction; the animosity between he and Caesar was a running publicity magnet, often goaded on by men like Clodius or the tribunes of the plebs.

Endymion smiled tensely. "You're popular."

Cato waved a hand and ran the other through his layers of pale blond hair. "And you're prodding, Brutus. Just be quiet until we arrive at your villa."

A knot formed in his stomach. "Cato..."

Iovita didn't answer, just tugged out a pair of earphones from his pocket and turned away, arms crossed like a scolded toddler.

Endymion's lip curled and he mirrored Cato. He knew what it meant, where the enmity came from. Support came hand in hand with criticism and the Romans had dealt Iovita his fair share. It doesn't mean he can act like a dickfuck though.

Outside the lavish temples and markets of Rome's forum were slowly fading, giving way to the great houses of the wealthier citizens. Cicero's was the first and slightly smaller than the others. The streets were paved with smoky cobbles, lined with magnificent stone tributes to the descendants of Rome's mightiest Houses. Many of them were Scipios but Endymion could not name them from memory; the House of Scipio was old and full of tangled lineage. Amongst the statues was a Brutus - Lucius Junius Brutus, Rome's liberator, conquerer of the last king. A Brutus I will never live up to.

Endymion and his brother Aelius had the story hammered into their memories; he feared the tale would remain in his head even in death.

Brutus, their father would breathe, the first of us to make a real name.

The brothers would be laying by the hearth, eyelids heavy with sleep when their father would roughly sit them up and point to the ceramic bust of their ancestor, face crinkled with seriousness. That man right there built all this.

Everything seemed to quiet at that moment. There was nothing but the crackle of the flame and their father's timbre voice. Not this home, children; but this. The man would finger the fabric of his purple-bordered toga, eyes glittering in the smoky gloom. Sometimes Endymion would spy their mother leaning in the doorway, lips tight and eyes fixed rigidly on her sons.

The limousine braked. The driver turned round, flicking his velvet cap. "The Brutus villa, sir."

"Thank you," Endymion answered, gracefully opening the car door and stepping onto the street. He didn't bother to check if Cato followed, he was being a dick. He can go back to his house and sulk. Endymion adjusted the folds of his toga and carefully approached the towering iron gate encircling the villa. Cool sweat trickled down his back as he punched in the pin board password. There was an optimistic ping! and Endymion pushed the gate open.

The garden was empty as he strode slowly to the front door. Endymion's fingers brushed the petals of his mother's yellow roses and pearly jasmine, relishing the perfume. Just chill. You went to an assembly, you didn't give a speech. The man could already hear the bite of his mother's tongue. You're a Brutus! Your brother was a quaestor by now! It's not 200 BCE anymore; offices are open to anyone over eighteen! And you are nineteen. Disgraceful.

Endymion paused, this morning's meal threatening to reappear. Maybe I should visit Cassius? A hand seized his arm. Endymion sneered. "What-"

"Don't be a fuckwit - just get in there."

Cato nodded toward the villa's front door, one pale brow raised. His cousin's smugness was practically unbearable. Endymion groaned, heart beginning to race. "You're a dick."

"And you're frightened of your mother and crippling disappointment."

"Oh shut up Captain petty. You just had a tantrum over Caesar returning." Endymion huffed, nostrils flaring. Iovita lifted his chin.

"Yeah, but he doesn't scare me."

The young senator spat at Cato's feet and snarled, "I'll see you inside asshole."