"Make it one in three if they're on my land. I'll replace them when things have settled. I don't like the thought of letting anyone who fought against me last night go without punishment."

The centurion looked at him for a second, unsure. "Begging your pardon, sir, but are you able to give that order? You'll excuse me checking, but, in the circumstances, is there anyone to back you?"

For a second, anger flared in Gaius, but then he remembered what he must look like to the man. There had been no opportunity to clean himself up after Lucius and Cabera had restitched and rebandaged his wounds. He was dirty and bloodstained and unnaturally pale. He didn't know that his blue eyes were also rimmed with red from the oily smoke and crying, and that only something in his manner kept a seasoned soldier like Titus from cuffing the boy for his insolence. There was something, though, and Titus couldn't have said exactly what it was. Just a feeling that this young man was not someone to cross lightly.

"I would do the same in your position. I will fetch my estate manager, if the doctor is finished with him." Gaius turned away without another word.

It would have been politeness to offer the men refreshment, but Gaius was annoyed that he had to summon Tubruk to establish his bona fides. He left them waiting.

Tubruk was at least clean and dressed in good, dark clothing. His wounds and bandages were all concealed under his woolen tunic and bracae-leather trousers. He smiled as he saw the legionaries. The world was turning the right way up again.

"Are you the only ones in this area?" he asked without preamble or explanation.

"Er, no, but…" Titus began.

"Good." Tubruk turned to Gaius. "Sir, I suggest you have these men send out a message that they will be delayed. We need men to get the estate back in order."

Gaius kept his face as straight as Tubruk's, ignoring Titus's expression. "Good point, Tubruk. Sulla has sent them to help the outlying estates, after all. There is much work to be done."

Titus tried again. "Here, now look…"

Tubruk noticed him once more. "I suggest you take the message yourself. These others look fit enough for a little hard labor. Sulla won't want you to abandon us to our wreckage, I'm sure."

The two men faced each other and Titus sighed, reaching up to remove his helmet.

"Never let it be said that I shirked a job of work," he muttered. Turning to one of the legionaries, he jerked his head toward the fields. "Get back out and join up with the other units. Spread the word that I'll be held up here for a few hours. Any slaves you find-tell them one in three, all right?"

The man nodded cheerfully and took off. Titus began to unbuckle his breastplate. "Right, where do you want my lads to start?"

"You handle this, Tubruk. I'll go and check on the others." Gaius turned away, showing his appreciation with a quick grip of the other's shoulder as he left. What he wanted to do was to go for a long walk in the woods by himself, or sit by the river pool and settle his thoughts. That would come later, though, after he had seen and spoken with every man and woman who had fought for his family the night before. His father would have done the same.

As he passed the stables, he heard a pulsing sob from the darkness within. He paused, unsure whether he should intrude. There was so much grief in the air, as well as inside him. Those who had fallen had friends and relatives who had not expected to begin this day alone. He stood for a moment longer, still smelling the oily stink of the bodies he had fired. Then he went into the cool shadow of the stalls. Whoever it was, their grief was now his responsibility, their burdens were his to share. That was what his father had understood and why the estate had prospered for so long.

His eyes adjusted slowly after the morning glare, and he peered into each stall to find the source of the sounds. Only two held horses, and they nickered softly to him as he reached and stroked their soft muzzles. His foot scraped against a pebble and the sobbing ceased on the instant, as if someone were holding their breath. Gaius waited, as still as Renius had taught him to stand, until he heard the sigh of released air and knew where the person was.

In the dirty straw, Alexandria sat with her knees tight against her chin and her back to the far stone wall. She looked up as he came into sight, and he saw that the dirt on her face was streaked with tears. She was close to his own age, maybe a year older, he recalled. The memory of her being flogged by Renius came into his mind with a stab of guilt.

He sighed. He had no words for her. He crossed the short distance and sat against the wall next to her, taking care to leave space between them as he leaned back so that she would not be threatened. The silence was calm and the smells and feel of the stables had always been a comforting place to Gaius. When he was very young, he too had escaped here to hide from his troubles or from punishment to come. He sat, lost in memory for a while, and it didn't seem awkward between them, though nothing was said. The only sounds were the horses' movements and the occasional sob that still escaped Alexandria.

"Your father was a good man," she whispered at last.

He wondered how many times he would hear the phrase before the day was over and whether he could stand it. He nodded mutely.

"I'm so sorry," he said to her, feeling rather than seeing her head come up to look at him. He knew she'd killed, had seen her covered in blood down in the yard as he'd come out the night before. He thought he understood why she was crying and had meant to try to comfort her, but the words unlocked a rush of sorrow in him and his eyes filled with tears. His face twisted in pain as he bowed his head to his chest.

Alexandria looked at him in astonishment, her eyes wide. Before she had time to think, she had reached over to him and they were holding each other in the darkness, a blot of private grief while the world went on in the sun outside. She stroked his hair with one hand and whispered comfort to him as he apologized over and over, to her, to his father, to the dead, to those he had burned.

When he was spent, she began to release him, but in the last fragment of time before he was too far, she pressed her lips lightly on his, feeling him start slightly. She pulled away, hugging her knees tightly, and, unseen in the shadows, her face burned. She felt his eyes on her but couldn't meet them.

"Why did you…?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and swollen from crying.

"I don't know. I just wondered what it would be like."

"What was it like?" he replied, his voice strengthening with amusement.

"Terrible. Someone will have to teach you to kiss."

He looked at her, bemused. Moments before, he had been drowning in a sorrow that would not diminish or wane in him. Now he was noticing that beneath the dirt and wisps of straw and smell of blood-beneath her own sadness-there was a rare girl.

"I have the rest of the day to learn," he said quietly, the words stumbling out past nervous blockages in his throat.

She shook her head. "I have work to do. I should be back in the kitchen."

In a smooth movement, she rose from her crouch and left the stall, as if she were going to walk right away without another word. Then she paused and looked at him.

"Thank you for coming to find me," she said, and walked out into the sunlight.

Gaius watched her go. He wondered if she had realized he had never kissed a girl before. He could still feel a light pressure on his lips as if she had marked him. Surely she hadn't meant "terrible"? He saw again the stiff way she had carried herself as she left the stables. She was like a bird with a broken wing, but she would heal with time and space and friends. He realized he would as well.