He gaped at her, seeing a cold hardness that was almost frightening in its intensity.

“I don’t understand you,” he said.

She pulled her hands back from him and he swayed. He was close enough to smell her perfume and it was maddening. Not to be able to touch her after every inch had been his. He felt anger surge in him.

“You are cruel, Servilia,” he muttered, and she laughed at him.

“Do you know how many jilted lovers I have seen shouting in this house? Consuls as well, Julius, or do you think they are too mighty for such a display? Whatever it is you wanted from me, it is not here. Do you understand?”

Somewhere behind her, Julius heard a man’s voice call out. He tensed.

“Crassus? Is he here?”

Servilia took a step forward, pushing her hand against his chest. Her teeth bared as she spoke and her voice had lost all of the softness he loved.

“It is no business of yours whom I see, Julius.”

Julius lost his temper, his hands clenching in impotent rage. In his passion, he thought of snatching the pearl from her neck, and she moved back from him as if she sensed it.

“You’ll be his whore now? He’s closer to your age, at least,” Julius said.

She slapped him hard and he rocked her head back with a blow of his own, following instantly from hers so that the sounds came almost together.

Servilia raked her other hand at his eyes, scoring his cheek with her nails, and Julius snarled at her, stepping in to attack. He was blind with fury as she fell back at last from him, and then the anger left him empty and panting, his face bitter. A drop of blood fell from his chin where she had marked him. His gaze followed it.

“So this is who you are, Julius,” she said, standing stiffly before him.

He saw her mouth already beginning to swell and shame overwhelmed him.

She sneered. “I wonder what my son will say when you see him next.” Her eyes glittered with malice and Julius shook his head.

“I would have given you everything, Servilia. Anything you wanted,” he said softly. She walked away from him then, leaving him alone.

Brutus was standing as Julius came back through the outer rooms of the house. Octavian and Domitius were with him and Julius knew from their expressions that they had heard. Brutus was pale, his eyes dead, and Julius felt an involuntary shudder of fear as he looked at his friend.

“You hit her, Julius?” Brutus said.

Julius touched his bloody cheek. “I will not explain myself to you, even to you,” he replied, beginning to walk past the three men.

Brutus dropped his hand to the gold hilt he had won, and Domitius and Octavian touched their own, moving to stand between him and Julius.

“Don’t,” Domitius snapped. “Take a step back!”

Brutus broke off his gaze from Julius to the men facing him with such menace.

“Do you really think you could stop me?” he said.

Domitius returned his glare. “If I have to. Do you think drawing your sword will change anything? What goes on between them is no more your business than it is mine. Let it go.”

Brutus took his hand away from his sword. He opened his mouth to speak and then walked past them all out to the horses, leaping into the saddle and kicking his mount into a canter back toward the gates.

Domitius wiped sweat from his forehead with his hand. He glanced at Octavian and saw the worry there as the young man was caught between forces he could not stand.

“He’ll calm down, Octavian, depend on it.”

“The march will sweat it out of him,” Julius said, looking after his friend. He hoped it was true. He touched his cheek again and winced.

“Not the best omen,” he murmured to himself. “Let’s go, gentlemen. I have seen enough of this city to last me for a long time. Once we step across the gate line, we are free of all of it.”

“I hope so,” Domitius replied, but Julius did not hear him.

As they trotted toward the Quirinal gate, Brutus was there in its shadow. Julius saw his eyes were bloodshot holes in a murderous expression, and he reined in by him.

“I made a mistake going back to her, Brutus,” Julius said, watching him closely. He loved his friend more than anyone in the world, but if his hand moved for the hilt of his gladius, Julius was ready to kick his horse straight at him to spoil an attack. Every muscle of his legs was tense for the action as Brutus looked up.

“The legions are ready to march. It’s time,” Brutus said. His eyes were cold and Julius let out a slow breath, words dying in his throat.

“Then lead us out,” he said softly.

Brutus nodded. Without a word, he rode under the gate and out onto the Campus, without looking back. Julius pressed his heels into his horse to follow him.

“Consul!” a shout came from the crowd.

Julius groaned aloud. Was there no end to it? The gate’s shadow was so close, beckoning him. With a grim expression, he watched a group of men run up to the horses. Herminius the moneylender was at their head, and as Julius recognized him, he eyed the gate with real longing.

“Sir, I’m glad I caught you. You cannot be meaning to leave the city without making good on your loans,

I am sure?” Herminius said, panting from his exertions.

“Come over here,” Julius said, beckoning to the man. He walked his horse under the shadow of the gate and onto the Campus, and Herminius came with him, uncomprehending.

Julius looked down at the man.

“Do you see that line, where the gate has left a ridge in the stone?” he asked.

Herminius nodded blankly and Julius smiled.

“Good. Then I can tell you I have spent every last copper coin I could borrow or beg to fit my men for Gaul. The provisions alone and the oxen and asses to carry them cost a small fortune. Salt, leather, iron pigs, gold for bribes, horses, spears, saddles, tents, tools-the list is endless.”

“Sir? Are you saying…” Herminius began, comprehension dawning.

“I am saying the moment I crossed that line, my debts were left behind me. My word is good,

Herminius. I will pay you when I return, on my honor. But for today, you will not get a coin from me.”

Herminius stiffened in impotent anger. He glanced at the silver armor of the men mounted at Julius’s side. Then he sighed and attempted a smile.

“I will look forward to your return, Consul.”

“Of course you will, Herminius,” Julius replied, inclining his head in ironic salute.

When the moneylender had gone, Julius looked back through the gate for the last time. The problems of the city were no longer his, at least for a time.

“Now,” he said, turning to Domitius and Octavian, “we go north.”

So why do you stay with him?” Cabera asked. The silver-armored warrior at his shoulder showed only flashes of the boy he had been, and few others in the camp would have dared to ask Brutus such a question.

They watched as Julius climbed oak steps to the archers’ wall at the top of the barrier they had built.

Brutus was too far away to make out details, though he could see the sun catch the breastplate Julius wore. Eventually Brutus looked away, then glanced at Cabera sharply as if he had remembered his presence.

“Look at him,” he replied. “Less than two years ago he left Spain with nothing, and now he is a consul with a blank mandate from the Senate. Who else could have brought me to this place with my own legion to command? Who else would you have me follow?”

His voice was bitter and Cabera feared for the two men he had known as boys. He had heard the details of Julius’s parting from Servilia, though her son had never spoken of it. He longed to ask Brutus, if only to judge the damage it had caused.

“He is your oldest friend,” Cabera said, and Brutus seemed to stir himself at the words.