Here is part 2! Thanks for all of the positive reviews and I'm glad you guys enjoyed the first part! Hope you like the second!
He wasn't expecting this. He knew that Brutus was upset, same as everyone else except for possibly Antony, but he had never expected him to be the one to begin orchestrating the plot.
"He's like your father, Brutus."
"And he needs to die," he said, voice full of conviction as he sat across from Albert in the large, open office. All of the servants of the house were gone, leaving the two of them alone as Brutus told him something that finally shocked him into silence.
He wanted to assassinate Caesar.
"Are you sure you know what you're saying?" he asked, still in shock. "This could be considered treason if you share with the wrong person."
"That is why I am not sharing this with the wrong person," he said, sitting further in his seat, intensity in his gaze.
"How do you know you haven't already done so?"
"Are you saying you'd betray me?" he said, and Albert could hear the hesitation in his voice. "Perhaps I had read you wrong."
Eying him, Albert moved to straighten the cuff of his tunic. "Perhaps you did…"
"I know I didn't." Brutus said it immediately, and Albert knew Brutus could read him far too easily. "You're just as frustrated with what he's been doing—he's declared himself dictator for life, Wesker! He wants to ruin the republic. Ever since he waged war on Pompey and crossed the Rubicon he has been taking too much from us. We are no longer in charge of Rome; he is."
"And you honestly believe that death is the answer to your troubles with him?"
"You know as well as I do that he will not retire as easily as Sulla—he craves the power he gets from being in absolute control."
"Just as we crave the power to be consuls and senators," he drawled out, surprised by Brutus' bloodlust. What he was proposing was mad—insane, in fact. To kill Caesar was just asking for trouble—a civil war would no doubt break out again, and he and the people were tired of the internal fighting. But he hated seeing Caesar take everything over with no shame or tact; it was like a slap to the face every time he strode into the circular hall and declared that they would be meeting all of his demands, one way or another. He was a brilliant man, but brilliant to the point of madness.
There was also the issue of trusting Brutus. He was close to Caesar, always had been. His mother and he had almost raised him together after his biological father was killed during a war with Pompey, and since then Caesar had acted as his father. Many were surprised he hadn't adopted Brutus, but politics probably got in the way. The point of the matter was that Brutus was inextricably linked to Caesar, and his motives may be to weed out the rats rather than kill the cat.
So which won out? His mistrust of Brutus and knowledge that if Caesar died, civil war would break out, or his crave for power and allegiance to the republic?
"We have not gone mad with greed, though. Caesar has overstepped his boundaries and you are well aware of this. I can see it in your eyes, Wesker—you have wanted to get rid of him for a long time, and now is your chance. I am coming to you as a friend, and as a desperate man. We need your help."
"Who is this we you keep referring to?" Albert asked, his gaze once again circling the room to see if he could see a spy among them.
"There are others," Brutus began, sitting back in his chair, the urgency gone for the most part. "I've been having meetings with others and they've all signed themselves to the cause."
"You mean the plot?"
Growling softly, Brutus looked away and glared at the floor before replying, once again leaning forward. "You're very quick to judge despite being a man who has more blood on his hands than any others."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Albert said quickly, frowning. He had dealt with assassinations before, yes, but he had never been the one to directly carry them out—not to mention they were petty killings, ones that amounted to nothing outside of his close social circle.
"Fine, pretend to be blind to your own deeds, but remember that this is necessary and I came to you with the cause for a reason."
"Who is involved?" he asked once again, wishing to get as much information as possible.
"I need to know you're on board," Brutus replied, sweat beading down his forehead. "I will not dirty anyone else's name if you're going to run to Antony or Caesar himself."
Thinking it over, Albert once again riffled through his options before replying. "I will not be a part of the deed itself… but I will not stop it nor will I tell anyone else. You may trust me to keep the secret, but if you call upon me to thrust the knife in his side I shall not rescind to your request."
"That is the coward's way out," Brutus said between his teeth, and yet, despite the tension, he seemed to have calmed down.
"Would you rather I just go and tell Caesar what you've planned, because I assure you I can be a very persuasive person, even without solid proof."
"You're a snake."
"As are you—Now who is a part of this?"
"Cassius, Galba, Longus, Spurius, Aquila, Cimber," he began, and Albert waited patiently while Brutus listed off those who had agreed to the deed. When he was done, Albert was surprised by the numbers.
"You seem to have every member of the senate."
"Not everyone, of course… but close. You were not the only one upset, Wesker."
"It appears not," he said, tapping his bottom lip. "Cicero was not on the list."
"No, but I was planning on speaking with him today."
"Don't bother," Albert cut in, already thinking ahead. "He has more of a vendetta against Antony—he'll request that we take him out as well, a suicide mission for sure. Instead he'll need to be distracted for as long as possible."
"Antony could be a threat as well," Brutus said, but seemed to immediately dismiss the idea. "He'll need to be distracted when it happens, you're right. Otherwise he'll probably kill the entire senate in his attempt to protect Caesar."
"So you intend to do the deed yourself?"
"We need to send a message, and we cannot do it by poisoning him or sending someone else to do it," Brutus explained, standing up so he could begin to pace around the now stuffy room. "We planned to all carry knives and swarm him—strength in numbers."
And Brutus dared to call him a coward. This would be a bloody, painful death for sure. Most of the men had never killed a person, let alone used a knife properly, and Caesar would have a terrible death because of this. But he kept his mouth shut, and let Brutus spill out their entire plan.
It seemed as if the tyrant would fall sooner than he thought.
**XX**
Lounging on the bed, Albert listened to the noise outside. The birds that lived in the trees in the courtyard were yelling, the servants in the house were shuffling about, and the occasional roll of wheels over cobblestones could be heard in the distance when a lull in all of the other sounds occurred.
He should have been up by now and already preparing for the day's events, but found himself taking a moment. If he got up right away the servants would be upon him, helping him dress, asking what he wanted for breakfast, pushing letters and requests in his hands before he even had a chance to say good morning to anyone. He found it a wonder he was even able to think straight most days.
It had been two weeks since Brutus had approached him with their assassination plot. Two weeks and yet nothing had happened. He hadn`t asked when it would occur, but Brutus himself probably did not know, either. Such things took planning, and he hoped that Brutus and the other conspirators were thinking everything through, including what could go wrong. As soon as one thought their plan was foolproof, they were doomed to fail.
Sighing, he continued to stare out the window, birds fluttering past every now and then. He was beginning to suspect they had set up a nest near the window.
"Sir?"
Lifting his head from the pillows, Albert raised a brow at the young servant near the door, her eyes full of worry. "Yes?"
"Well… There is someone here to see you."
Sighing, Albert wanted to crawl back under the covers and pretend to be dead. "Who is it, did you ask?"
"He called himself Redfield, sir. He looks… dangerous."
Snorting, Albert laid back down. "Send him in."
Nodding, she bowed before leaving the room. Staying in the bed, he went back to staring out the window until he saw movement at the door. Flicking his gaze over to the door, he motioned the slave to leave as Chris walked into the room.
"You're still in bed," he said, sounding a little surprised.
"I'm taking a moment for reflection." Stretching out on the bed, Albert held back a yawn. "I don't get to do it often, but it's a good thing for the mind to do."
Nodding, Chris stood near the bed, hands at his sides. Watching him, Albert smiled a little and pushed the blankets around his form down a little—it looked casual, but it was all on purpose. Since their encounter two weeks ago, Chris had been over two other times, and both times it ended with a very satisfying afterglow. He never seemed hesitant when they were in the full act of sex, but after he seemed nervous, as if he didn't know if what he had done was right.
Sex in the Roman world was relaxed, but there were social protocols for it, like with everything else. As long as you kept yourself in a dominant position and never let another man penetrate you, it was fine to sleep with whom you wanted. But, occasionally, there were some who looked down on the relationship between two freed men. Men were allowed to do whatever they wanted to do with their slaves, but if a free, male Roman citizen willingly allowed another man to dominate him, there could be repercussions. That was only in the most extreme cases, though, and for the most part no one cared what you did as long as you didn't do it on the street.
Unfortunately, Chris still seemed to struggle with this, even though Albert had done nothing to threaten his masculinity and status as a solider.
"What brings you here this morning?" he asked, waiting for Chris to do something. Instead, he continued to stand near the bed, shrugging out an answer. "You're not going to tell me, then?"
Shrugging again, Chris finally moved and sat on the side of the bed, furthest from Albert. "I feel… I feel comfortable here, 's all," he said, shrugging as he locked his fingers together.
Smirking, Albert reached out to take one of his hands in his own, playing with the fingers to feel where callouses had formed after years of using a sword. "How many men have you killed?" Flicking his eyes up, he stared intently at Chris.
"Too many to count," he said with ease, although there was a change in his demeanour when Albert asked the question. He was tenser.
"Do you remember your first one?"
"You never forget your first," he said, taking his hand back. Albert did not let him stray too far, though, and stretched out on the bed again, tempting him to stay. It worked, and Chris settled further into the bed.
"What did it feel like?"
"How do you mean?"
"What did it feel like to thrust the blade into him? See the life from him leave because of what you did?" he asked, and Albert could see a hunger lurking behind his eyes. It was that same wild look he had when he got in the fight on the street, and the same one he had as they fucked.
"It was… strange," Chris said, going to look out the window where the birds continually fluttered past. "It was easier than I expected… both mentally and physically. The sword just went through him with no resistance, you know. It was like he was as thin as a piece of parchment… But at the same time, there was some resistance there. I do not know if it was his body trying to stop it, or his soul as it left for the gates of the underworld. But for a second I felt something leave him. Like I had become death and his soul was leaving because of what I had done."
Albert listened carefully, watching Chris' lips as he formed the words and said them out loud. To take another man's life was a rush for him—he could hear it in his words and feel it in his kisses. "You enjoy the kill."
"I enjoy winning. And if killing someone who was going to kill me means that I win… then perhaps I do enjoy it," he mumbled as Albert tugged him down onto the bed. Following his pull easily, Chris laid down beside Albert; no longer able to resist the throbbing between his legs, Albert moved to kiss Chris deeply. He needed to feel that power again.
Giving in to him, Chris relaxed and grasped Albert's nude hips, tugging their forms together as Albert's fingers strayed down to fondle him under his tunic. Letting himself be consumed by the kiss, Albert tasted the hunger and the desire in it. It rested hot and thick on his tongue, and trailed down to pool at his growing erection.
"Tell me another tale," he panted out when they parted, and Chris obliged as they tasted each other once more.
**XX**
He had been tempted to do the deed himself. He wanted to take a man's life as well, to feel the thrill of another man's soul passing through him. He wanted to be death for but a second. But as soon as such notions arrived he tossed them away, and he was glad he had for what he was seeing now.
Standing in the forum, Albert held his head high as he watched the flames flick up to touch the sky, the body of Gaius Julius Caesar resting deep within the inferno. They had done it—Brutus and forty other men had successfully killed him, and with it the threat to the republic. The death was bloody and torturous, as he had suspected it would be. They were too weak, and although they swarmed him, their blows had no force behind them.
He bled out. A slow, painful death done by those who wanted to prove something.
Only what they had hoped would happen was bringing their destruction. The people of Rome loved Caesar and his populares roots, and when Brutus and Cassius had declared the death of their beloved ruler, they had no option but to flee the city.
In their wake they left a devastated city—a city that would not soon forget their deeds if Antony and Octavian fed off of the distrust, anger, and betrayal that permeated the stone and woodwork.
Looking up over the flames, Albert studied Octavian through the smoke and haze, seeing the face of a young eighteen year old who had been given the most power in the world. Caesar had left him everything—his property, his money, his position of power, and his name.
Antony was infuriated with this, though, and Albert wondered what would become of this feud after the dust had settled and the blame was no longer able to be placed on Brutus and Cassius. Time would tell.
In the meantime, Albert would once again wait in the shadows, his hands clean of any blood, proclaiming his innocence. They would all destroy themselves, and those patient enough to wait it out would be rewarded in due time. Patience was the key… Patience and determination.
**XX**
Eleven months had passed—eleven long months in which Wesker began to realize everything was changing far too quickly for his liking.
Excella returned from the villa only days before she was due, and ended up giving birth to a baby boy, a relief for both of them. While having a girl was not the end of the world, her political career would have always been in the shadows; manipulating the affairs of those around her, but never achieving any glory for the name. But a son secured the family line, and both Excella and Albert had hopes for his political career.
Excella's return, though, meant he could not see Chris as often as he would have liked. The young man had begun to worm his way into his life, and he was finding it odd to wake up next to his wife rather than his lover. He had started to miss the stories he was told—a means in which he could escape for a short time. Instead, he was once again pulled into the political world, his mind constantly running as everything stayed stagnant, as if people were afraid to say or do anything. Octavian was biding his time, Antony was vowing revenge, and another player, Lepidus, was beginning to cause a stir in the power balance.
What was certain, though, was war was going to be called upon Brutus and Cassius soon enough. After the initial assassination of Caesar, the men who had done the deed were granted amnesty, a move proposed by Antony. But Octavian had recently obtained consulship at the young age of nineteen, and had Brutus and Cassius declared as murderers who should be punished—directly going against what Antony had suggested.
Tension was mounting between Antony and Octavian, which meant that tension was once again mounting in the senate. Albert was trying to keep back for as long as possible, until he heard that Cicero had messaged Brutus, informing him of the increased tension between the two men, and perhaps now would be the time to strike.
Knowing such valuable information and not knowing who to tell, Albert was beginning to grow frustrated. Both Antony and Octavian were too volatile, and despite wanting to keep the senate and the republic intact, he was becoming more and more wary of their personal ambitions. They were close to Caesar, and therefore they were most likely influenced by his ideals.
The republic was once again threatened, only this time civil war seemed to be the only option.
"Stop pacing," Chris said from his seat on the bed. Pausing only a moment, Albert gave him a stern look before he continued his pacing.
"I can't—I have things to work out," he said, frustrated with his lack of power. If only he could dispose of both Octavian and Antony; strangle their last breath away; destroy them and everything they stood for. The most important thing was the republic and the power—he was not going to see the opportunity that they had when Caesar died lost.
"We have the evening for ourselves for once, and all you can do is pace," Chris said after a time, his gaze never leaving Albert's form. Finally stopping, Albert looked at the naked man on the bed and sighed, realizing how foolish he was being. It wasn't every day he got to be with him, and tonight was special. Excella had gone to a women-only party, and the children were being watched by the wet nurse. They had the evening to themselves, and yet…
"Your general is an idiot," he said, going to sit on the bed.
"General Antony?"
"Yes… He's trying to play his hand at politics with a man far more intelligent than he is." Running a hand through his hair, he sent one of the oil lamps a glare as it flickered.
"There were rumours he was attempting to rally troops again," Chris said after a time, and Albert finally turned to look at him. "I was told to sign up."
"What for?" he asked, turning around so he was sitting cross-legged on the mattress.
"I don't know—the details are sketchy."
Humming, Albert frowned once more. What was Antony up to now? "Are you going to sign up?"
"I pledged my allegiance to him when I joined the first time," he said, going to stretch out on the bed like a big cat. Letting his eyes roam, Albert trailed a hand up his stomach before running along the scar on his chest.
"That means you'll be leaving if he does," Albert said. It wasn't a question, simply a statement of fact.
"Yes," he finally said, locking eyes with him. "I'm sorry, Wesker, but I have to go if I am called."
Rolling his eyes, Albert didn't say anything for a time and just continued to trace the scars and blemishes he found on his soldier. "Just remember that you are mine."
"When I return I'll have stories to tell you," he said, and Albert couldn't help but smile.
"Do try and make them exciting," he said, moving to kiss him.
Three days later, Antony marched his forces to Gaul.
**XX**
Antony had begun a war with Octavian. Octavian had wanted to start a war with Brutus and Cassius. Brutus wanted to strike when Octavian was weak… and Antony just wanted blood.
It ended with Brutus committing suicide, Cassius dead on the battle field, and the beginning of the end for the republic with the signing of the Second Triumvirate. Knowing he was unable to take Brutus' legions on his own, a treaty was formed between Antony and Octavian, and uneasy truce that was held up by their desire to destroy the lives of those who had wronged Caesar. Eventually Lepidus, an intelligent but more relaxed man joined the fray, signing the triumvirate in exchange for the use of his armies.
The battle of Philippi was where everything came to a head, and when the dust had settled, the dreams of everyone who had wished for the continuation of the republic fell.
**XX**
Throwing a vase against the wall, Albert watched the pieces break off in all directions, the sound of pottery against plaster satisfying to him. Picking up another vase, he tossed it too, yelling out his frustrations as the servants stood back, amazed by the sudden explosion of violence.
"Calm down, you're ruining the house!" Excella cried out, her hands pushing his arm down as he attempted to grab another object to toss. Yanking his arm back, he lashed out and hit her across the face, sending her falling to the ground. Momentarily astounded by his use of force, Albert looked down at his wife, realizing what he had just done.
Unable to fix it, though, he watched as their servants bent down to help her up. Tears streaked her face as she looked at him through her now messy hair, but there was no sadness in her gaze, only unfiltered rage.
"You touch me again, and I will cut you to pieces and feed you to the dogs," she growled out, pushing her favourite slave away as she attempted to soothe the red burn on her cheek. Storming past him, Albert stared at the floor where pottery littered it, wondering what had become of his plans.
**XX**
"You're back."
"Did you think I had died?" he asked, kissing along his jaw as soon as they embraced.
"Perhaps… Brutus controlled a strong force," he said, eyes closing as rough hands dragged across his back, skin catching on the soft silk of his tunic.
"Not as strong as the one I was in," Chris said, tossing his tunic across the room. The smell of his musk and leather overtook Albert, and he let his warrior take him away.
**XX**
The next day, Cicero's chopped off hands were nailed to the door of the senate house. It was a warning for those who crossed Antony. A blatant display of barbarism in the center of Rome.
Albert could hardly believe his eyes.
**XX**
None of the senate members had been privy to the private meeting, but they had to endure what was said and what was decided without them. The republic was collapsing—no longer was its survival a given. In fact, it was dead, the life from it leaving at a steady pace and everyone was powerless to stop it.
Albert had his wish of knowing what it felt like to take the life from something. For some reason, he disliked it more than he thought he would.
The empire had been divided. Octavian controlled the West, including Rome. Antony had the East, including the fertile Egypt. And Lepidus was given Africa.
The senate had nothing.
**XX**
He hadn't meant for it to go like this. They had begun to yell at each other, and a few hits were shared. He was now sitting on one of his chairs, blood pooling out of his nose, staining his white tunic as Chris headed to the door, clothes in disarray.
"There is going to be a war, and I told you I was leaving," Chris said, spitting some blood out on the floor. "Like it or not, your precious republic is dead, and all that is left is who's going to take over."
Growling, Albert ran a hand under his nose, the blood flowing less and less, yet it continued to stain his hands crimson. "By leaving to support him, you're simply destroying Rome more than she already has been—Antony is a lost cause, Chris. He's forsaken his Roman ideals, insulted Octavian and his sister, and married a barbarian queen. Supporting him in this is suicide."
"I have no choice," Chris said, and once again Albert grew enraged. Standing up, he stared Chris down, eyes wide.
"You do have a choice! You bloody well have the chance to come to Octavian's side and support him! It's suicide what you're doing! You're a fool and you will die if you go to Egypt."
Shaking his head, Chris stayed where he was, but gave Albert a look of pity rather than rage. "You may be able to change your ideals in order to save your own skin, but I'm not like you. I cannot forget everything in the blink of an eye, I cannot stab a man in the back to get my way—I cannot stand back and watch everything fall apart and do nothing. I'm a soldier who swore his allegiance to Antony, and if that means dying in order to uphold that oath, then so be it. I am not like you."
"Not like me?" Albert asked, eyes narrowing as he stared at Chris, the air thick.
"I have honour, and although I have killed, my hands are not as stained as yours are," Chris said, and Albert could hear the pity in his voice. It sickened him.
"You are a fool," Albert hissed out, wishing that Chris would forget his 'honour' and his ideals and save his own skin. This was suicide.
"Maybe you're right…" he said, his wild eyes staring deep into Albert's own icy grey. "Because falling in love with you was the most foolish thing I've ever done."
That was the last time Albert ever heard his voice.
**XX**
News reached Rome quickly. Cleopatra and Antony lost their army at the naval battle of Actium to Octavian's strong legions. Not long had passed before Antony committed suicide, believing that Cleopatra had killed herself the night before—a suicide done out of love, not dignity. It was pitiful, most declared.
Cleopatra's suicide turned out to be a fake one, but one the Egyptian queen soon regretted. Octavian promised to spare her and her youngest children their lives, on the condition that she visit to Rome for a while. He wanted to humiliate her. He wanted to show the world what he was capable of and make an example of her—he wanted to chain her and parade her around like some puppet. Just try to take his power, and see where it got you.
And so she, too, killed herself—an asp bite to her breast. It was quick and effective, and Octavian was left with a broken Egyptian kingdom, the bodies of two great leaders, and all of Rome.
Soon, the Roman Empire would begin.
**XX**
The divorce went through. Excella would take the children, the money, the villa—everything. Albert was fine enough with the dealings, realizing his time was up soon enough.
He had played his cards wrong. He had been so blinded by self-preservation that he forgot who he was and what his purpose was. He couldn't handle seeing anyone but himself in power, and eventually it consumed him completely.
The republic was gone. His senatorial position meant nothing with Emperor Augustus in charge. His manipulations and careful study of his fellow colleagues amounted to nothing. He had lost everything in a dangerous gamble involving human lives and dignity. He mourned for the loss of his pride. He mourned for the loss of what was once a promising future. He mourned for the loss of the republic.
Most of all, though, Albert mourned for the loss of his wild soldier. How he longed to hear another one of his stories, to feel the touch of his rough hands, and to taste the pomegranate seeds on his lips once more. But that, too, was gone, ripped from his grasp violently so that all that was left were his bloody palms.
No longer did Albert lust for the kill as he had so long ago. He knew what it felt like to take another man's life—more so than the most hardened of fighters. Brutus was right…
"You're very quick to judge despite being a man who has more blood on his hands than any other."
Staring at his own hands, Albert mused to himself, whispering what Brutus had told him years ago. The sound from the bird nest next to the window carried to him, bringing him a moment of peace in an otherwise chaotic time. Continuing to stare at his hands, he only looked up when one of the servants entered the room.
"Run me a hot bath," he said, catching the servant off guard. Clearly she had not seen him sitting alone at his desk.
"Are you sure, sir? It's a very hot day and tonight it won't be much cooler—"
"I am sure," he said, turning his gaze back to his hands. His last act as a Roman citizen would happen tonight. He had lost, and the dishonour he felt was too much for a Roman such as himself. He would do the honourable thing tonight.
Death was more welcome to him than the thought of being everything his beautiful warrior accused him of.
Before I have anyone start complaining that Wesker would never commit suicide, please keep in mind that this is ancient Rome. Their perception of suicide is much different than ours. In Rome, committing suicide was the honourable thing to do if you failed your duty as a Roman citizen; you would gain back some of your honour this way. The only time when suicide was looked down upon was if it was a soldier, a slave, or done out of love (as was the case with Antony). In any matter, I hoped you enjoyed this little adventure through Rome and the fall of the Republic, and I hope that I didn't butcher the characters too much! Thank you for reading!