He looked over to Varro's sons and sighed. Those same retired legionaries had children who had never seen Rome, providing new men for the pirate ships when they came. He noted the dark skins of the pair, their features a mingling of Africa and Rome. How many of these would there be, knowing nothing of their fathers' loyalties? They could never be farmers any more than he could, with a world to see.

Varro rubbed his neck as he watched Julius and tried to guess at his thoughts, his spirits sinking as he saw the strange eyes come to rest on his beloved sons. He feared for them. He could feel the anger in the young officer even now.

“We never had a choice,” he said. “Celsus would have killed us all.”

“You should have sent messages to Rome, telling them about the pirates,” Julius replied distantly, his thoughts elsewhere.

Varro almost laughed. “Do you think the Republic cares what happens to us? They make us believe in their dreams while we are young and strong enough to fight for them, but when that is all gone, they forget who we are and go back to convincing another generation of fools, while the Senate grow richer and fatter off the back of lands we have won for them. We were on our own and I did what I had to.”

There was truth in his anger and Julius looked at him, taking in the straighter bearing.

“Corruption can be cut out,” he said. “With Sulla in control, the Senate is dying.”

Varro shook his head slowly. “Son, the Republic was dying long before Sulla came along, but you're too young to see it.”

Varro collapsed back into his seat, still rubbing his throat. When Julius looked away from him, he found all the officers of Accipiter watching him, waiting patiently.

“Well, Julius?” Pelitas said quietly. “What do we do now?”

“We gather what we need and move on to the next village, then the next. These people owe us for letting the pirates thrive in their midst. I do not doubt there are many more like this one,” he replied, indicating Varro.

“You think you can keep doing this?” Suetonius said, horrified at what was happening.

“Of course. Next time, we will have swords and good clothes. It will not be so hard.”

Tubruk swung the axe smoothly into the cut in the dying oak. A sliver of healthy wood jolted out under the blow, but the dead branches showed it was time for the old tree to come down. It wouldn't be long until he reached the heartwood, and he was sure the core was rotten. He had been working for more than an hour, and sweat plastered his linen bracae to him. He had removed his tunic after warming up and felt no need for it, despite the breeze that blew through the woods. The drying perspiration cooled him and he felt at peace. It was difficult not to think about the problems of running the estate after the ransom payment, but he pushed those thoughts aside, concentrating on the swing and strike of the heavy iron blade.

He paused, panting, and rested his hands on the long axe handle. There had been a time when he could have swung an axe all day, but now even the hairs on his chest had turned a winter gray. Foolish to keep pushing himself, perhaps, but old age came fastest to those who sat and waited for it, and at least the exercise kept his belly flat.

“I used to climb that tree,” a voice sounded behind him. Tubruk jumped at the interruption to the quiet of the woods, turning with the axe in his hands.

Brutus was there, sitting on a stump with his arms folded and the old grin making his eyes bright. Tubruk laughed with the pleasure of seeing him and rested the axe against the wide trunk of the oak. For a moment, they didn't speak, then Tubruk crossed the space to him and gripped him in a great hug, lifting him off the stump.

“By all the gods, Marcus, it's good to see you, lad,” Tubruk said as he let Brutus go. “You've changed. You're taller! Let me look at you.”

The old gladiator stepped back and pulled on his tunic.

“That's a centurion's armor. You've prospered.”

“Bronze Fist,” Brutus replied. “Never lost a battle, though we came close once or twice when I was giving the orders.”

“I doubt it. Gods, I'm proud of you. Are you back for good now, or on your way through?”

“My posting is over. There are a few things I want to do in the city before finding a new legion.”

For the first time, Tubruk noticed how dusty the young man was.

“How far have you walked?”

“Halfway across the world, it feels like. Renius doesn't like to part with his money for horses, though we found a couple of nags for part of it.”

Tubruk chuckled as he picked up the axe and rested it on his shoulder.

“He came back with you, then? I thought he'd given up on the city when they burned his house in the riots.”

Brutus shrugged. “He's gone to sell the plot and find a place to rent.”

Tubruk smiled in memory. “Rome is too quiet for him now. I should think he'd hate it.” He clapped a hand on Brutus's shoulder. “Come down the hill with me. Your old room is just as it was and a good soak and rubdown will take the dust of the road out of your lungs.”

“Is Julius back?” Brutus asked.

Tubruk seemed to slump a little as if the axe had suddenly become heavier.

“We had to raise a ransom for him when pirates took his galley. We're still waiting to hear if he's safe.”

Brutus looked at him in amazement. “Gods, I haven't heard this! Was he wounded?”

“We know nothing. All I've had was the order for the money. I had to pay for guards to load it onto a merchant ship at the coast. Fifty talents, it was.”

“I didn't think the family had that kind of money,” Brutus said quietly.

“We don't now. All the businesses had to be sold, as well as some of the estate land. There's just the crop revenue left. The years will be hard for a while, but there is enough to live on.”

“He's had his share of bad luck. Enough for a lifetime.”

“I doubt he'll be down for long. Julius and you are the same. Money can always be made again, if you live long enough. Did you know Sulla was dead?”

“Even in Greece, we were told to wear black. Is it true he was poisoned?”

Tubruk frowned for a second, looking away before replying, “It's true. He made a lot of enemies in the Senate. His general, Antonidus, is still searching for the killers. I don't think he will ever give up.”

As he spoke, he thought of Fercus and the terrible days that had followed after hearing he had been taken. Tubruk had never known fear like it, waiting for soldiers to march from the city and take him back for trial and execution. They had not come and Antonidus continued to question and search. Tubruk didn't even dare look for Fercus's family in case Antonidus was watching them, but he had sworn the debt would be repaid somehow. Fercus had been a true friend, but more than that, he had believed in the Republic with a passion that had surprised the old gladiator when he had first broached the plan for killing Sulla. Fercus had hardly needed to be persuaded.

“Tubruk?” Brutus broke into his thoughts, looking curious.

“I'm sorry. I was thinking of the past. They say the Republic has returned and Rome is once again a city of law, but it isn't true. They sink their teeth into each other to prevent anyone taking over from Sulla. Only recently, two senators were executed for treason on nothing more than the word of their accusers. They bribe and steal and give out free corn to the mob, who fill their bellies and go home satisfied. It is a strange city, Marcus.”

Brutus put his hand on Tubruk's shoulder. “I did not know you cared so much about it,” he said.

“I always did, but I trusted more when I was younger. I thought that men like Sulla and, yes, Marius could not harm her, but they can. They can kill her. Do you know that free corn wipes out small farmers? They cannot sell their crops. Their lands are put up for sale and added to the swollen holdings of the senators. Those farmers end up on the city streets being given the very corn that ruined them.”