The Field Of Swords

CHAPTER 2

Servilia stood at the rail of the little trade ship, watching the scurrying figures on the docks as they grew closer. There were hundreds of small boats in the waters around the port of Valentia, and the merchant captain had twice ordered fishing crews to steer away from his ship as they pressed in.

There seemed to be no order to it, and Servilia found herself smiling as yet another young Spaniard held up a fish he had caught and shouted prices up at her. She noted how the man balanced as his coracle bucked in the swell. He wore only a narrow cloth around his waist, with a knife dangling from a wide belt on a leather thong. Servilia thought he was beautiful.

The captain waved the boat away and was ignored as the fisherman scented a sale to the woman who laughed down so prettily at him.

“I will buy his catch, Captain,” Servilia said.

The Roman merchant frowned, his heavy eyebrows pulling together.

“They’re your coins, but the prices will be better in port,” he said.

She reached out and patted his shoulder and his gruff manner disappeared in confusion.

“Nonetheless, the sun is hot, and after so long aboard, I’d love something fresh.”

The captain gave way with little grace, picking up the heavy coil of rope and heaving it over the side.

The fisherman tied the end to a net at his feet and then climbed up to the deck, swinging his legs over the rail with easy agility as he reached the top. The young Spaniard was dark and hard from his labors, with white smears of salt on his skin. He bowed deeply in response to her appraisal and began pulling up his net. Servilia watched the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders with the eye of a connoisseur.

“Won’t your little boat drift away?” she asked.

The young Spaniard opened his mouth to reply and the captain snorted.

“He’ll speak only his own language, I’m afraid. They don’t have much in the way of schools until we build them.”

Servilia caught the scornful flash in the young man’s eyes as he listened. A narrow rope trailed from the net to his boat and with a flick of his wrist the Spaniard hitched it to the rail, tapping the knot with a finger in answer to Servilia’s question.

The net contained a writhing mass of dark blue fish, and Servilia shuddered and stepped clear as they flopped and jumped on contact with the deck. The fisherman laughed at her discomfort and pulled a big one up by its tail. It was as long as his arm and still very much alive. Servilia saw its eye move wildly as the fish jerked in his hand. Its blue skin was glossy and perfect and a darker line ran from the tail to the head.

She nodded and held up five fingers to an answering beam.

“Will five be enough for the crew, Captain?” she asked.

The Roman grunted his approval and whistled for two of the seamen to take the fish.

“Just a few coppers will do, madam,” he said.

Servilia unclipped a wide band around her wrist, revealing her small coins. She selected a silver denarius and handed it to the young man. He raised his eyebrows and added another of the largest fish from the net before pulling the drawstring tight. He flashed a triumphant expression at the captain and jerked his knot free before climbing the rail and diving into the blue water below. Servilia leaned over to watch him surface and laughed with pleasure as he pulled himself back in, gleaming in the sunlight like his fish. He pulled his net out of the water and waved to her.

“What a wonderful beginning,” she breathed. The captain muttered something unintelligible.

The crewmen who held the fish brought wooden clubs out of a deck locker and, before Servilia realized what they were doing, brought them down on the shining heads with a grim thumping sound. The eyes disappeared under the force of the blows, knocked inside the head as blood spattered over the deck.

Servilia grimaced as a spot of it touched her arm. The seamen were clearly enjoying themselves, suddenly more vital than they had been at any point in the voyage from Ostia. It was as if they had come alive in the killing, and they chuckled and joked with each other as they finished the grisly task.

When the last of the fish were dead, the deck was coated in their blood and tiny silver scales. Servilia watched as the seamen threw a canvas bucket on a line into the sea and sluiced the planks clean.

“The port is tight with ships, madam,” the captain said at her shoulder, squinting against the sun. “I’ll take her in as close as I can, but we’ll have to anchor for a few hours until there’s a place on the dock.”

Servilia turned to look again at Valentia, suddenly longing to be on land again. “As you say, Captain,” she murmured.

The mountains behind the port seemed to fill the horizon, green and red against the dark blue of the sky. Her son, Brutus, was somewhere over them, and seeing him after so long would be wonderful.

Strangely, her stomach tightened almost to an ache when she thought of the young man who was his friend. She wondered how the years had changed him, and touched her hair unconsciously, smoothing it back where it had fallen in tendrils, made damp by the sea air.

Evening had muted the heat of the sun into gray softness by the time the Roman trade ship was able to ease between the lines of anchored shipping and take her place on the dock. Servilia had brought three of her most beautiful girls with her, and they joined her on deck with the crew as they threw ropes to the dockworkers and used the steering oars to bring them safe against the massive wooden beams of the side.

It was a delicate maneuver and the captain showed his skill in its neatness, as he communicated with the mate at the bow with a series of hand signals and calls.

There was a general air of excitement and the young girls Servilia had brought laughed and joked as the workers on the docks caught sight of them and called ribald comments. Servilia let them preen without a word; all three were the rarity in her business who had not yet lost the love for the work. In fact,

Angelina, the youngest, was constantly falling in love with her customers, and few months went by without some romantic offering to buy her for marriage. The price always seemed to surprise them, and Angelina would sulk for days before someone else took her fancy.

The girls were dressed as modestly as the daughters of any great house. Servilia had taken enormous care with their safety, knowing that even a short sea journey gave a sense of freedom to men that could have caused trouble. Their dresses were cut to obscure the lines of their young bodies, though there were more provocative garments in the trunks Servilia had brought along. If the letters Brutus had sent were correct, there would be a market and the three girls would be the first in the new house she would buy.

The sailors who grunted and complained under the heavy trunks would have been shocked at the weight of gold that had been split between them.

Servilia’s perusal of the docks was interrupted as Angelina shrieked suddenly. Servilia’s sharp glance took in the sailor hurrying away and Angelina’s pleased outrage, before she turned back. They had reached land not a moment too soon, she thought.

The captain shouted for the dockworkers to make the ropes fast, and the crew cheered the announcement, already anticipating the pleasure of the port. Servilia caught the captain’s eye and he crossed the deck to her, suddenly more genial than she had grown to expect.

“We won’t break out the cargo until tomorrow morning now,” he said. “I can recommend a few places if you want to go ashore, and there’s a cousin of mine who’ll rent you as many carts as you want, at a good price.”

“Thank you, Captain. It’s been a great pleasure.” Servilia smiled at him, pleased to see a blush start high on his cheeks. Angelina was not the only one with a circle of admirers on the ship, she thought with some satisfaction.

The captain cleared his throat and raised his chin to speak again, looking suddenly nervous.

“I will be dining alone later, if you would like to join me. There’ll be fresh fruit sent to the ship, so it’ll be better than we’re used to.”

Servilia laid a hand on his arm and felt the heat of his skin beneath his tunic.

“It will have to be another time, I’m afraid. I’d like to be moving by dawn. Would you be able to have my trunks taken off first? I’ll speak to the legion to arrange a guard on it until the carts are loaded.”

The captain nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. His first mate had told him the woman was a whore, but he had the intense impression that offering her money to stay with him would lead to an awful humiliation. For a moment he looked so terribly lonely that Servilia considered letting Angelina raise his spirits. The little blonde loved older men. They were always so desperately grateful, and for such little effort. Looking at him, Servilia guessed he would probably refuse the offer. Men of his years often wanted the company of a mature woman as much as the physical pleasures, and Angelina’s earthy frankness would only embarrass him.

“Your trunks will be first on the dock, madam. It has been a pleasure,” he said, looking wistfully after her as she went to climb the steps onto the dock. A number of his crew had gathered in case the younger women were unsteady crossing the rail, and his eyebrows drew together as he considered them. After a moment of thought, he followed Servilia, knowing instinctively that he should be there to help the men.

Julius was deep in work when the guard knocked on the door to his rooms.

“What is it?”

The legionary looked unusually nervous as he saluted.

“I think you’d better come down to the gate, sir. You should see this.”

Raising his eyebrows, Julius followed the man down the steps and out into the powerful afternoon sun.

There was a peculiar tension affecting the soldiers who clustered around the gate, and as they parted for him Julius noticed one or two with the strained faces of men trying not to smile. Their amusement and the heat seemed to feed the prickling anger that had become the foundation of his waking hours.

Beyond the open gate was a string of heavily laden carts, their drivers lightly coated by the dust of the road. A full twenty of the Tenth had taken station to the fore and rear of the odd procession. With narrowed eyes, Julius recognized the officer as one who had been dispatched on port duty the previous day, and his temper frayed still further. Like the carts, the legionaries were coated in enough dust to show they had walked every step of the way.

Julius glared at them.

“I do not recall giving orders for you to escort trade goods from the coast,” he snapped. “There had better be an excellent reason for leaving your post and disobeying my orders. I cannot think of one myself, but perhaps you will surprise me.”

The officer paled slightly under the dust. “The lady, sir…” he began.

“What? What lady?” Julius replied, losing patience with the man’s hesitation. Another voice sounded then, making him start in recognition.

“I told your men you could not object to them helping an old friend,” Servilia said, stepping down from the riding seat of a cart and walking toward him.

For a moment, Julius could not respond. Her dark hair was wild around her head and his eyes drank in the sight of her. Surrounded by men, she seemed fresh and cool, perfectly aware of the sensation she caused. She walked like a stalking cat, wearing a brown cotton dress that left her arms and neck uncovered. She wore no jewels but a simple chain of gold ending in a pendant that was almost hidden as it disappeared between her breasts.

“Servilia. You should not have presumed on a friendship,” Julius said, stiffly.

She shrugged and smiled as if it were nothing. “I hope you won’t punish them, General. The docks can be dangerous without guards, and I had no one else to help me.”

Julius looked coldly at her, before returning his gaze to the officer. The man had followed the exchange and now stood with the glazed expression of one who waited for bad news.

“My orders were clear?” Julius asked him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you and your men will take the next two watches. Your rank makes you more responsible than they, does it not?”

“Yes, sir,” the hapless soldier replied.

Julius nodded. “When you are relieved, you will report to your centurion to be flogged. Tell him twenty strokes on my order and your name to be entered in the lists for disobedience. Now run back.”

The officer saluted smartly and spun on his heel. “Turn about!” he shouted to his twenty. “Double speed back to the docks.”

With Julius there, no one dared groan, though they would be exhausted before they were halfway back to their original post and the watches to come would see them dropping with tiredness.

Julius stared after them until they were clear of the line of carts, before turning back to Servilia. She stood stiffly, trying to hide her surprise and guilt at what her request had brought about.

“You have come to see your son?” Julius said to her, frowning. “He is training with the legion and should be back at dusk.” He looked at the line of carts and bellowing oxen, clearly caught between his irritation at the unexpected arrival and the demands of courtesy. After a long silence, he relented.

“You may wait inside for Brutus. I will have someone water your animals and bring you a meal.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Servilia replied, smiling to cover her confusion. She couldn’t begin to understand the difference in the young general. The whole of Rome knew he had lost his wife, but it was like speaking to another man from the one she had known. Dark pouches ringed his eyes, but it was more than simple tiredness. When she had seen him last, he had been ready to take arms against Spartacus and the fires in him were barely controlled. Her heart went out to him for what he had lost.

At that moment, Angelina leapt onto the road from her cart at the back of the line and waved, calling something to Servilia. Both she and Julius stiffened as the girlish voice rang out.

“Who is that?” Julius said, his eyes narrowing against the glare.

“A companion, General. I have three young ladies with me for the trip.”

Something in her tone made Julius glance at her in sudden suspicion.

“Are they…”

“Companions, General, yes,” she replied lightly. “All good girls.” For the right price, they could be superb, she added silently.

“I’ll put a guard on their door. The men are not used to…” He hesitated. “It may be necessary to keep a guard. On the door.”

To Servilia’s intense pleasure, a slow blush had started on Julius’s cheeks. There was still life in him, somewhere deep, she thought. Her nostrils flared slightly with the excitement of a hunt. As Julius marched back between the gates, she watched him and smiled, pressing the fullness of her lower lip between her teeth in amusement. Not too old after all, she told herself, smoothing her tangled hair with a hand.

Brutus stretched his back muscles as he rode the last miles toward the fort. His century of extraordinarii were in formation behind him and he felt a touch of pride as he glanced to each side and saw the neat line of cantering horses. Domitius was in position on his right and Octavian held the line a few places along. They thundered over the plain together, raising a plume of dust that left the taste of bitter earth in their mouths. The air was warm around them and their mood was light. They were all tired, but it was that pleasant lethargy of skilled work, with food and a good night’s sleep only a little way ahead.

As the fort came into sight, Brutus called to Domitius over the noise of the horses, “Let’s give them a show. Split and wheel on my signal.”

The guards on the gate would be watching them come in, he knew. Though the extraordinarii had been together for less than two years, Julius had given him what he wanted in the way of men and horses, and he had wanted the best of the Tenth. Man for man, Brutus would have wagered on them against any army in the world. They were the charge-breakers, the first into impossible positions. Every one of them had been picked for his ability with horse and sword, and Brutus was proud of them all. He knew the rest of the Tenth considered them more show than substance, but then the legion hadn’t seen a battle in their time in Spain. When the extraordinarii had been blooded and shown what they could do, they would justify their expense, he was certain. The armor alone had cost a small fortune: laced bronze and iron strips that allowed them greater movement than the heavier plates of the triarii legionaries. The men of Brutus’s extraordinarii had polished the metals to a high sheen, and, against the glossy skin of their mounts, they glowed in the dying sun.

Brutus raised his hand and made sharp gestures to each side. He kicked his mount into a gallop as the group slid smoothly apart as if an invisible line had been drawn on the ground. Now the wind pressed against Brutus’s face and he laughed with excitement, not needing to look to know the formation was perfect. Specks of white spittle flew back from his horse’s mouth, and he leaned forward into the saddle horn, gripping with his legs and feeling as if he were flying.

The fort was growing closer with astonishing rapidity and, caught up in the moment as he was, Brutus almost left it too late for the signal to re-form the split square. The two groups swerved together only moments before they were changing their holds on the reins to halt, but there were no mistakes. As one man, they dismounted, patting the steaming necks of the stallions and geldings Julius had brought over from Rome. Only cut mounts could be used against enemy cavalry, as intact stallions could be sent berserk by the scent of a mare in season. It was a balancing act between taking the best for the extraordinarii and keeping the bloodlines strong. Even the local Spanish whistled and called when they saw those horses, their love of the breed overcoming the usual reticence they showed to the Roman soldiers.

Brutus was laughing at something Domitius had said when he caught sight of his mother. His eyes widened for a moment before he rushed under the gate arch to embrace her.

“Your letters didn’t mention this!” he said, lifting her up to her toes and kissing her on both cheeks.

“I thought you might become overexcited,” Servilia replied. They both laughed and Brutus put her down.

Servilia held him back at arm’s length and smiled to see him so full of life. The years in Spain had suited her only son. He had a force for life in him that made other men look up and stand straighter in his presence.

“As handsome as ever, I see,” she said with a twinkle. “I suppose you have a string of local girls pining after you.”

“I daren’t go out without a guard to save me from the poor creatures,” he replied.

Domitius appeared suddenly, moving between them to force an introduction.

“Ah yes, this is Domitius, who cleans the horses. Have you met Octavian? He’s kin to Julius.” Grinning at Domitius’s appalled expression, Brutus had to wave Octavian closer.

Octavian was overcome and attempted a salute that ended in more confusion, making Brutus laugh.

He was too familiar with the effect his mother could have to be surprised by it, but he noticed they were quickly becoming the center of an admiring circle of the extraordinarii as they jostled to see the new arrival in their midst.

Servilia waved to them, enjoying the attention after the dull month at sea.

Young men were so peculiarly vibrant, untouched by the fears of age or death. They stood around her like innocent gods, and lifted her with their confidence.

“Have you seen Julius, Mother? He-” Brutus broke off at the sudden hush that fell over the yard.

Three young women swept out of an archway and the crowd of soldiers parted before them. They were all beautiful in different ways. The youngest was blonde and slight, her cheeks lit with rising color as she walked toward Servilia. At her shoulders were two others with features to make grown men weep into their wine.

The spell of their entrance was broken as someone let out a low whistle and the crowd came back to life.

Servilia raised an eyebrow at Angelina as they met. The girl knew exactly what she was doing. Servilia had seen that in her from the beginning. She was the sort of woman men fought each other to protect, and her presence in a drinking house was usually enough to start a riot before the evening was over. Servilia had found her serving wine and giving away what men would pay well for. It had not taken much persuasion, considering the sums involved. Servilia kept two-fifths of everything Angelina earned in the house in Rome, and still the young blonde was becoming a wealthy woman in her own right. As things stood, she would be looking to start her own establishment in a few years, and she would come to Servilia for the loan.

“We were worried about you, mistress,” Angelina lied cheerfully.

Brutus eyed her with open interest and she returned his gaze without embarrassment. Under the girl’s scrutiny, he could hardly confirm the suspicion that had come into his mind. Though he told himself he had come to terms with Servilia’s profession, the thought of his men knowing showed him he was not as secure as he’d thought.

“Are you going to introduce us, Mother?” he asked.

Angelina widened her eyes for a split second. “This is your son? He’s just as you said. How wonderful.”

Servilia had never discussed Brutus with Angelina, but was caught between exasperation at the girl’s transparency and a shrewder part of her that could smell the money to be made. The crowd around them had grown. These were not men used to the attentions of young women. She began to suspect that from legion trade alone Valentia was going to be very profitable indeed.

“This is Angelina,” she said.

Brutus bowed and Angelina’s eyes sparkled at his courtesy.

“You must join us at the general’s table this evening. I’ll raid the cellar for wine and we’ll wash the dust of the road off you.” He held Angelina’s eyes as he spoke and managed to make the proposition sound remarkably sexual.

Servilia cleared her throat to interrupt them, “Lead us in, Brutus,” she said.

The extraordinarii parted again to let them through. The hot meal that awaited them in their barracks did not seem half as tempting as it had on the ride back, without the company of the women as a spice. They stood as if abandoned in the courtyard until the small procession had disappeared inside. The spell was broken then and they broke apart to care for the horses, suddenly brisk in their movements as if they had never been interrupted at all.

Despite Angelina’s protests, Servilia left her three companions in the rooms they had been given.

Someone had to unpack the trunks and for that first night Servilia wanted her son’s full attention. She had not brought them to Valentia to find Brutus a wife from their number, after all.

Julius did not come down with the others, sending a curt apology with his personal guard when Brutus asked if he would join them. Servilia saw the refusal did not surprise any of the men at the table and wondered again at the changes Spain had wrought in them.

In Servilia’s honor, the meal was a mixture of local dishes, served in an array of small bowls. The spices and peppers made Octavian cough until he had to be thumped on the back and given wine to clear his throat. He had been in awe of Servilia from the first moment in the courtyard, and Brutus teased him subtly, while Servilia pretended not to notice the boy’s discomfort.

The room was lit with warm, flickering lamps, and the wine was as good as Brutus had promised. It was a pleasant meal and Servilia found that she was enjoying the banter between the men. Domitius allowed himself to be persuaded into telling one of his stories, though the conclusion was spoiled slightly as Cabera called it out with enthusiasm, then thumped the table in amusement.

“That story was old when I was a boy,” the old man cackled, reaching over to take a portion of fish from a bowl near Octavian. The young man was about to take the same piece and Cabera slapped his fingers to make him drop it, scooping up the rich flesh as it fell. Octavian scowled at him, clearly stifling a response as he remembered the presence of Servilia at the table.

“How did you come to be with the Tenth Legion, Domitius?” Servilia asked.

“Brutus arranged it when we were down in the south fighting Spartacus. I’d let him win a couple of practice bouts out of fairness, but on the whole he saw that he could benefit from my training.”

“Lies!” Brutus said, laughing. “I asked him in passing if he would be willing to transfer to the new legion, and he practically bit my arm off in enthusiasm. Julius had to pay a fortune in compensation to the legate. We’re all still waiting to see if he’ll be worth it.”

Domitius waited patiently until Brutus was drinking from his wine cup.

“I’m the best of my generation, you see,” he told Servilia, watching in amusement as Brutus fought not to choke, turning red in the process.

The sound of footsteps made them all look up, and the men rose together to welcome Julius. He took his place at the head of the table and signaled for them to sit. Servants brought fresh dishes and Brutus filled a cup with wine, smiling when he saw Julius raise an eyebrow at the quality.

The conversation began again and as it did Servilia caught Julius’s eye and inclined her head slightly.

He copied the gesture, accepting her at the table, and she found herself letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

There was an authority to him that she couldn’t recall seeing before. He didn’t join in the laughter, merely smiling at the more outrageous chatter. He punished the wine, Servilia noted, drinking as if it were water and with no obvious effect, though a slow flush appeared at his neck that could have been from the evening heat.

The high spirits at the table were quickly restored. The camaraderie between the men was infectious and after a while Servilia was engaged in the stories and humor with the others. Cabera flirted outrageously with her, winking at inopportune moments and making her snort with amusement. Once as she laughed she caught Julius’s eye again, and the moment seemed to freeze, hinting at a deeper reality behind the lively façade of the meal.

Julius watched her, constantly surprised at the effect she had wrought on the usually somber gathering. She laughed without affectation and in those moments he wondered how he could ever have found her less than beautiful. Her skin was dark and freckled from the sun and her nose and chin a little too strong, yet still she had something that set her apart. The calculating part of him saw how she transferred her attention to whoever spoke, flattering them simply by the interest she showed. She was a woman who liked men and they sensed it. Julius shook his head slightly. His reaction to her disturbed him, but she was so different from Cornelia that no comparison occurred to trouble his thoughts.

He had not been in female company for a long time and then only when Brutus managed to get enough drink in him that he didn’t care anymore. Looking at Servilia reminded him of the world outside his soldiers’ rough gatherings. He felt unbalanced with her, out of practice. The thought crossed his mind that he should be careful to keep a distance. A woman of her experience could very well eat him alive.

He shook his head to clear it, irritated with his weakness. The first woman to sit at their table for months and he was reacting with little more sophistication than Octavian, though he hoped his thoughts weren’t so obvious. He’d never hear the end of Brutus’s mockery if they were. He imagined the amused taunts with a shudder and pushed his wine cup away firmly. No matter what, she was hardly likely to show interest in a friend of her son. It was ridiculous even to entertain the idea.

Octavian interrupted Julius’s musings as he reached across the table to offer Servilia the last morsel of an herb dish. The young Roman had grown in strength and skill under the tutelage of Brutus and Domitius. Julius wondered if Octavian would have so much to fear from the apprentices in the city as he’d used to. He doubted it. The boy seemed to thrive in the company of the rough soldiers of the Tenth and even copied the way Brutus walked, to his friend’s amusement. He seemed so young, it was strange to think Julius had been married when only a year older.

“I learned a new feint this morning, sir,” Octavian said proudly.

Julius smiled at him. “You’ll have to show it to me,” he said, reaching over to ruffle the boy’s hair.

Octavian beamed in response to the small show of affection. “Will you train with us tomorrow, then?” he asked, readying himself for disappointment.

Julius shook his head. “I’m going out to the gold mines with Renius for a few days,” he said, “but perhaps I will when I come back.”

Octavian tried to look pleased, but they could all see he took it as a straight refusal. Julius almost changed his mind, but the dark humors that plagued him eased back into his thoughts. None of them understood his work. They had the light spirits of boys, and that carelessness was no longer a luxury he could afford. Forgetting his earlier resolution, Julius reached for his cup and emptied it.

Brutus saw the depression settle on his friend and struggled to find something to divert him.

“The Spanish swordsmith will begin working with our legion men tomorrow. Can’t you delay the trip until you’ve seen what you paid for?”

Julius stared at him, making them all uncomfortable.

“No, the preparations are made,” he said, refilling his cup and cursing softly as he spilled a little of the wine onto the table in the process. Julius frowned at his hands. Was there a tremble there? He couldn’t tell. As rather stilted conversation resumed, he watched them all, looking for some sign that they had seen his weakness. Only Cabera met his eyes and the old man’s face was full of kindness. Julius drained the cup, suddenly angry with all of them.

Servilia dipped her fingers in the water bowl and wiped her mouth delicately with them, a gesture that held Julius’s attention, though she seemed not to notice it.

“I have enjoyed this, very much, but the journey here was tiring,” she said, smiling at them all. “I will rise early to watch your training, Octavian, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course, come and watch,” Brutus said pleasantly. “I’ll get a carriage ready for you in the stables, as well. This is a luxurious post, compared to some. You’ll love it here.”

“Find a good horse and I won’t need the carriage,” Servilia replied, noting the flicker in Julius’s eyes as he digested this piece of information. Men were such strange creatures, but she had yet to find one who didn’t enjoy the thought of a beautiful woman on a horse.

“I hope my girls won’t be a disruption to you all. I will look for a place in the city tomorrow. Good night, gentlemen. General.”

They rose with her and again she experienced that strange frisson of excitement as Julius’s eyes met her own.

Julius stood soon after she had left, swaying slightly.

“I have left my orders in your quarters, Brutus, for the time I am away. Make sure there is a guard on those girls while they are in our care. Good night.” He left without another word, walking with the exaggerated stiffness of a man trying to hide the effects of too much wine in his blood. For a moment there was a pained silence.

“It’s good to have a new face here,” Brutus said, carefully avoiding more difficult subjects. “She’ll liven this place up a little. It’s been too quiet recently.”

Cabera whistled quietly to himself. “A woman like that… all men are fools around her,” he said softly, his tone making Brutus stare at him in puzzlement. The old man’s expression was unreadable as he shook his head slightly and reached for more wine.

“She is very… graceful,” Domitius agreed, searching for the final word.

Brutus snorted. “What did you expect after seeing me with a sword? I’d hardly come from a cart horse, would I?”

“I did think there was a female quality to your stance, yes,” Domitius replied, rubbing his forehead in thought. “Yes, I see it now. It looks better on her, though.”

“It is a manly grace in me, Domitius, manly. I’m quite happy to demonstrate it again to you tomorrow.”

The old smile had returned to Brutus’s face as he narrowed his eyes in mock offense.

“Do I have a manly grace, Domitius?” Octavian asked.

Domitius nodded slowly, his manner easy. “You do, of course, lad. It is only Brutus who fights like a woman.”

Brutus roared with laughter and threw a plate at Domitius, who ducked it easily. It crashed on the stone floor and they all froze comically before the tension dissolved into humor once again.

“Why does your mother want a house in the city?” Octavian asked.

Brutus looked sharply at him, suddenly sorry to have to puncture his innocence. “For business, lad. I think my mother’s girls will be entertaining the legion before too long.”

Octavian looked around in confusion for a moment, then his face cleared. They were all watching him closely.

“Will they charge full price for someone of my age, do you think?” Octavian said.

Brutus threw another plate in his direction, hitting Cabera.

Lying on the narrow pallet in his rooms above, Julius could hear their laughter and shut his eyes tightly in the darkness.