There was one place in the world where he would be welcome, though he had said it half in bitter jest to his mother. Why should he weigh an old friendship in the balance of his life? It mattered nothing to Julius, after all. That had at last become clear. There would be no day when Julius turned to him and said, “You have been my right hand since the beginning,” and gave him a country, or a throne, or anything approaching his worth.

He passed through the Esquiline gate with an ease that mocked his earlier worry. Julius had not thought to warn the guards and Brutus returned their salutes without a sign of tension. He would go to Greece. He would go to Pompey and show Julius what he had lost in passing him over.

With Rome behind, Brutus rode fast and recklessly, losing himself in the sweat and risk of hard ground. The exertion felt like tearing free, an antidote to the lingering effects of the mulled wine. The familiarity helped to keep his mind numb at first as he fell into the rhythms of a cavalry scout. He did not want to begin the endless self-examination he knew would follow his decision to leave Julius. Though it loomed over him like winter, he leaned forward in the saddle, concentrating on the ground and the sun on his face.

The sight of a marching column interrupted his reverie, snapping him back to a world where decisions had to be made. He yanked the reins to bring the horse to a skidding stop, both front hooves flailing for a moment in the air. Was it possible that Julius had sent men ahead to cut him off? He watched the snake of legionaries in the distance. They carried no flags and Brutus hesitated, turning his mount in a tight circle. There were no armed forces in the south that had not been dragged into the threatening war. Pompey’s legion had gone with him and he thought the Gaul veterans were safe in the city. Yet he had delayed a night in Tabbic’s shop. Julius could well have sent them out to hunt him down.

The thought brought back his anger and pride. He ignored his first impulse to circle around the column and approached warily, ready to kick his mount to a gallop. Julius would not have sent infantry, he was almost certain, and he saw that the column had no horses with them, not even for officers. Brutus felt a deep relief at that. He had trained the extraordinarii to hunt a single rider and he knew they would show no mercy to a traitor, even the man who had led them in Gaul.