The train of thought made him flinch unconsciously. He had not had time to consider what those left behind would think when they heard. They would not understand his reasons. Friends who had known him for years would be appalled. Domitius would not believe it at first, Brutus thought bitterly. Octavian would be crushed.

He wondered if Regulus would understand. The man had betrayed his own master, after all. Brutus doubted he would find sympathy there. The rabid loyalty that Regulus had shown to Pompey had been transferred in one violent jolt to his new master. Regulus was a zealot. There could be no half measures for him and he would hunt Brutus tirelessly if Julius gave the order.

Oddly, it was most painful to imagine Julius’s face as he heard the news. He would assume there had been a mistake until Servilia spoke to him. Even then, Brutus knew he would be hurt and the thought made his knuckles whiten on the reins. Perhaps Julius would grieve for him in his sanctimonious way. He would shake his balding head and understand that he had lost the best of them through his own blindness. Then he would send the wolves after him. Brutus knew better than to expect forgiveness for his betrayal. Julius could not afford to let him reach Pompey.

Brutus glanced behind him, suddenly afraid he would see the extraordinarii galloping in his wake. The fields were quiet and he took a better grip on his emotions. The column was a more immediate threat, and as he came closer he saw the pale ovals of faces glancing in his direction and the distant din of a sounding horn. He dropped his hand to his sword and grinned into the wind. Let the bastards try to take him, whoever they were. He was the best of a generation and a general of Rome.

The column came to a halt and Brutus knew who they were the moment he saw their lack of perfect order. The road guards had been sent to the old Primigenia barracks, but Brutus guessed these were the stubborn ones, finding their own way to reach a general who cared nothing for them. Whether they realized it or not, they were natural allies, and a plan sprang full-grown into his head as he rode up to them. An inner voice was amused at how his thoughts seemed to come faster and with more force the further away he was from Julius. He could become the man he should have been without that other’s shadow.

Seneca turned in panic as the cornicen sounded a warning note. He felt a cold thumping in his chest as he expected to see the ranks of Caesar’s horsemen riding down to punish him.