In the end, Angelina surprised her with a suggestion. “The Golden Hand” was sufficiently erotic without being crude, and Servilia had wondered whether Angelina’s light coloring had prompted the idea. When she’d acquiesced, Angelina had leapt up and kissed her on both cheeks. The girl could be adorable when she had her own way, there was no doubt about it.

On the third morning after entering the city, Servilia watched a delicately drawn sign lifted onto iron hooks and smiled as a few of the Tenth cheered the sight. They would spread the word that the house was open for business, and she expected the first night to be a busy one. After that, the future was assured and she fully expected to be able to pass over control to someone else in a few months. It was tempting to think of a similar establishment in every city of Spain. The finest girls and the feel of Rome. The market was there and the money would pour into her coffers.

Servilia turned to her son’s guards and smiled at them.

“I hope you will be able to get passes for tonight?” she said lightly.

They looked at each other, aware that the dock watch had suddenly become a valuable counter in their purses.

“Perhaps your son could intercede for us, madam,” the officer replied.

Servilia frowned at that. Though they had not discussed it openly, she suspected Brutus was more than a little uncomfortable with her business. For that matter, she wondered if Julius had been told about the new house and what he thought of the idea. He might not have heard of her plans away in the south at his mines, though she couldn’t see how he could object.

Servilia ran a hand idly along the line of her throat as she thought of him. Today was the day he was due to return. He was probably eating in the barracks at that moment, and if she set off without delay, she could be back at the fort before the day was wasted.

“I will need permanent guards for the house,” she said as the thought occurred to her. “If you wish, I will ask the general to post you here,” she told the officer. “I am a Roman citizen after all.”

The guards looked at each other in wild surmise. Wonderful as the idea seemed, the thought of Caesar hearing their names in a request to guard a whorehouse was enough to cool any man’s ardor. Reluctantly, they shook their heads.

“I think he would prefer local men as guards here,” the officer said at last.

Servilia took the reins of her horse from one of the Tenth and leapt into the saddle. The leggings she wore were a little loose on her, but a skirt or stola would hardly have been appropriate.

“Mount up, lads. I’ll go and ask him and we’ll see,” she said, wheeling her horse around and kicking it into a canter. The hooves rattled loudly on the street and the local women raised their eyebrows at this strange Roman lady who rode like a soldier.

Julius was greeting an elderly Spaniard as Servilia rode up to the gates of the fort. During daylight hours the gates were left open, and the guards passed them straight through into the yard with only a nod.

Her escort from town led their mounts back to food and water, leaving her alone. Being Brutus’s mother was proving extremely useful, she realized.

“I would like to have a word with you, General, if I may,” she called, walking her horse over to the pair.

Julius frowned in barely concealed anger.

“This is Mayor Del Subió, Servilia. I’m afraid I have no time to see you this afternoon. Perhaps tomorrow.”

He turned away to guide the older man into the main building, and Servilia spoke quickly, acknowledging the mayor with a swift smile.

“I was thinking of riding out to the local towns, General. Are you able to recommend a route?”

Julius turned to the mayor. “Please excuse me for a moment,” he said.

Del Subió bowed, glancing at Servilia from under bushy eyebrows. If he had been the Roman general, he would not have left such a beauty to pout alone. Even at his age, Del Subió could appreciate a fine woman, and he wondered at Caesar’s irritation.

Julius walked to Servilia.

“These hills are not completely safe. There are rogues and travelers who would think nothing of attacking you. If you’re lucky, they will just steal the horse and let you walk back.”

With the warning delivered, he tried to turn back to the mayor again.

“Perhaps you would like to join me, then, for protection?” Servilia said softly.

He froze, looking into her eyes. His heart thumped in his chest at the thought before he gathered his control. She was not easy to refuse, but his afternoon was filled with work. His eyes raked the yard and caught sight of Octavian coming out of the stables. Julius whistled sharply to catch the boy’s attention.

“Octavian. Saddle a horse for yourself. Escort duty.”

Octavian saluted and disappeared back into the darkness of the stable block.

Julius looked at Servilia blankly, as if the exchange were already forgotten.

“Thank you,” she said, but he did not reply as he took Del Subió inside.

When Octavian reappeared, he had already mounted and had to lean low on the saddle to clear the arch of the stables. His grin faded at Servilia’s expression as she took a grip on the pommel and threw a leg over her saddle. He had never seen her angry and, if anything, the fury in her eyes made her more beautiful. Without a word to him, she started forward into a gallop through the gates, forcing the guards to step aside or be knocked down. Eyes wide with surprise, Octavian followed her out.

She rode hard for a mile before reining back to a more sedate canter. Octavian closed the gap to ride at her shoulder, unconsciously showing his expertise with the way he matched her pace so exactly. She handled the horse well, he noted, with the skilled eye of the extraordinarii. Small flicks of the reins guided the blowing animal left and right around obstacles, and once she urged her mount to jump a fallen tree, rising in the saddle and taking the landing without a tremor.

Octavian was entranced and told himself he wouldn’t speak until he found something sufficiently mature and interesting to say. Inspiration didn’t come, but she seemed willing to let the silence continue, taking out her anger at Julius’s snub in the exertion of the ride. At last she reined in, panting slightly. She let Octavian approach and smiled at him.

“Brutus said you were a relation to Caesar. Tell me about him.”

Octavian smiled back, completely unable to resist her charm or question her reasons.

Julius had dismissed his last supplicant an hour before and stood alone by the window that looked out over the hills. He had signed orders to recruit another thousand for the developing mines, and granted compensation to three men whose lands had been encroached by the new buildings on the coast. How many other meetings had there been? Ten? His hand ached from the letters he had written, and he massaged it slightly with the other as he stood waiting. His last scribe had retired a month before and he felt the loss keenly. His armor hung on the wooden tree by his desk, and the night air was a relief on the sweat-darkened tunic underneath. He yawned and rubbed his face roughly. It was getting dark, but Octavian and Servilia were still out somewhere. He wondered if she was capable of keeping the boy late to worry him, or whether something had happened. Perhaps one of the horses had become lame and had to be walked back to the fort.

Julius snorted softly to himself. That would be a lesson well learned, if it was so. Away from the roads, the land was rugged and wild. A horse could easily break a leg, especially in the gloom of evening, when pits and animal holes would be hidden in shadow.

It was ridiculous to worry. Twice he lost patience and strode away from the window, but as he thought through the tasks for the next day, he found himself edging back to the view over the hills, looking for them. Away from the breeze, the room could be stifling, he told himself, too weary even to believe his own self-deceptions.