Marcus was locked in a grip with Petronius, their hands tight on each other's armpits and shoulders. Another struggling combatant was shoved blindly into Petronius and the pair fell roughly, but Gaius's moment of inattention was punished by an arm circling his neck from behind and tightening on his windpipe. He kicked out backward and raked his sandals down someone's shin, hacking back with an elbow at the same time. He felt the grip loosen but then they were both sent sprawling by a knot of fighting boys. Gaius hit the ground hard and scrambled to get to the side of the square, even as a foot clouted into his cheek, splitting the skin.

Anger swelled for a moment, but he saw his attacker hadn't even registered him, and he retired to the edge of the square, cheering on Marcus, who had regained his feet. Petronius was down and out, knocked cold, and only Marcus and two others were still in the competition. The crowd that had gathered to watch were yelling encouragement and making side bets. Marcus grabbed one of the pair by the crotch and neck and tried to lift him into the air for throwing. The boy struggled wildly as his feet came off the ground, and Marcus staggered with him just as the last gripped him around his own chest and knocked him over backward in a heaving pile of limbs.

The stranger came to his feet with a whoop and took a circuit of the square with his hands held high. Gaius could hear Marcus laughing and breathed deeply in the summer air as his friend stood up, brushing off the dust. In the middle distance, beyond the vast Campus, Gaius could see the city, built on seven ancient hills centuries before. All around him were the shouts and cries of his people, and underneath his feet, his land.

In hot darkness, lit only by a crescent moon that signaled the month coming to a close, the two boys made their way in silence over the fields and paths of the estate. The air was filled with the smell of fruit and flowers, and crickets creaked in the bushes. They walked without speaking until they reached the place where they had stood with Tubruk earlier in the day, at the corner of the peg-marked line of a new field.

With the moon giving so little light, Gaius had to feel along the twine until he came to the broken spot at the corner, and then he stood and drew a slim knife from his belt, taken from the kitchens. Concentrating, he drew the sharp blade across the ball of his thumb. It sank in deeper than he had intended and blood poured out over his hand. He passed the blade to Marcus and held the thumb high, slightly worried by the injury and hoping to slow the bleeding.

Marcus drew the knife along his own thumb, once, then twice, creating a scratch from which he squeezed a few swelling beads of blood.

"I've practically cut my thumb off here!" Gaius said irritably.

Marcus tried to look serious, but failed. He held out his hand and they pressed them together so that the blood mingled in the darkness. Then Gaius pushed his bleeding thumb into the broken ground, wincing. Marcus watched him for a long moment before copying the action.

"Now you are a part of this estate as well and we are brothers," Gaius said.

Marcus nodded and in silence they began the walk back to the sprawling white buildings of the estate. Invisibly in the darkness, Marcus's eyes brimmed and he wiped his hand over them quickly, leaving a smear of blood on his skin.

Gaius stood on the top of the estate gates, shading his eyes against the bright sun as he looked toward Rome. Tubruk had said his father would be returning from the city, and he wanted to be the first to see him on the road. He spat on his hand and ran it through his dark hair to smooth it down.

He enjoyed being away from the chores and cares of his life. The slaves below rarely looked up as they passed from one part of the estate buildings to another, and it was a peculiar feeling to watch and yet be unobserved: a moment of privacy and quiet. Somewhere, his mother would be looking for him to carry a basket for her to collect fruit, or Tubruk would be looking for someone to wax and oil the leather harnesses of the horses and oxen or perform one of a thousand other little tasks. Somehow, the thought of all those things he was not doing raised his spirits. They couldn't find him and he was in his own little place, watching the road to Rome.

He saw the dust trail and stood up on the gatepost. He wasn't sure. The rider was still far away, but there weren't too many estates that could be reached from their road, and the chances were good.

After another few minutes he was able to see the man on the horse clearly and let out a whoop, scrambling to the ground in a rush of arms and legs. The gate itself was heavy, but Gaius threw his weight against it and it creaked open enough for him to squeeze through and run off down the road to meet his father.

His child's sandals slapped against the hard ground and he pumped his arms enthusiastically as he raced toward the approaching figure. His father had been gone for a full month, and Gaius wanted to show him how much he had grown in the time. Everyone said so.

"Tata!" he called, and his father heard and reined in as the boy ran up to him. He looked tired and dusty, but Gaius saw the beginnings of a smile crease against the blue eyes.

"Is this a beggar or a small bandit I see on the road?" his father said, reaching out an arm to lift his son to the saddle.

Gaius laughed as he was swung into the air and gripped his father's back as the horse began a slower walk up to the estate walls.

"You are taller than when I saw you last," his father said, his voice light.

"A little. Tubruk says I am growing like corn."

His father nodded in response and there was a friendly silence between them that lasted until they reached the gates. Gaius slid off the horse's back and heaved the gate wide enough for his father to enter the estate.

"Will you be home for long this time?"

His father dismounted and ruffled his hair, ruining the spit-smoothness he'd worked at.

"A few days, perhaps a week. I wish it were more, but there is always work to be done for the Republic." He handed the reins to his son. "Take old Mercury here to the stables and rub him down properly. I'll see you again after I have inspected the staff and spoken to your mother."

Gaius's open expression tightened at the mention of Aurelia, and his father noticed. He sighed and put his hand on his sons shoulder, making him meet his gaze.

"I want to spend more time away from the city, lad, but what I do is important to me. Do you understand the word 'Republic'?"

Gaius nodded and his father looked skeptical.

"I doubt it. Few enough of my fellow senators seem to. We live an idea, a system of government that allows everyone to have a voice, even the common man. Do you realize how rare that is? Every other little country I have known has a king or a chief running it. He gives land to his friends and takes money from those who fall out with him. It is like having a child loose with a sword.

"In Rome, we have the rule of law. It is not yet perfect or even as fair as I would like, but it tries to be, and that is what I devote my life to. It is worth my life-and yours too when the time comes."

"I miss you, though," Gaius replied, knowing it was selfish.

His father's gaze hardened slightly, then he reached out to ruffle Gaius's hair once more.

"And I miss you too. Your knees are filthy and that tunic is more suitable for a street child, but I miss you too. Go and clean yourself up-but only after you have rubbed Mercury down."

He watched his son trudge away, leading the horse, and smiled ruefully. He was a little taller. Tubruk was right.

In the stables, Gaius rubbed the flanks of his father's horse, smoothing away sweat and dust and thinking over his fathers words. The idea of a republic sounded very fine, but being a king was clearly more exciting.