“I thought you might be ashamed of me, and I couldn't face seeing that in my son. Do not expect me to feel that shame. I lost that too long ago to even remember. I would live my life differently if I could go back, but I don't know anyone who hasn't the same useless, idle dream. I will not live my life now with my head bowed in guilt every day! Even for you.”

“Why did you ask me to come back today?” Brutus asked, suddenly incredulous that he had answered the call so easily.

“I wanted to see if your father would still be proud of you. I wanted to see if I was proud of you! I have done many things in my life that I regret, but having you has comforted me whenever it was all too much to bear.”

“You left me! Don't say it comforted you, you never even came to see me. I didn't even know where you were in the city! You might have gone anywhere.”

Servilia held up four rigid fingers to him, folding her thumb under them.

“Four times I have moved house since you were a baby. Each time I sent a message to Tubruk to say where I was. He has always known how to contact me.”

“I didn't know,” he replied, struck by her intensity.

“You never asked him,” she said, dropping her hand back into her lap.

The silence began again as if it had never been broken, suddenly swelling into the spaces between them. Brutus found himself looking for something he could say that would finally confound her, allowing him to walk out and away with dignity. Cutting remarks came and went in his thoughts until he finally saw that he was being a fool. Did he despise her, feel shame about her life or her past? He looked inside for an answer and found one. He felt not a scrap of shame. He knew in part it was because he had led men as an officer in a legion. If he had come to her when he had done nothing, he might hate her, but he had stood and measured his worth in the eyes of enemies and friends and was not afraid to measure it in hers.

“I… don't care what you have done,” he said slowly. “You are my mother.”

She burst into a guffaw of laughter, rocking back into the couch. Once again he was lost in front of this strange woman, who was able to shatter every moment of calm he could summon.

“How nobly you say it!” she said through laughter. “Such a stern face to give me absolution. Did you not understand me at all? I know more about the way this city runs than any senator in his little robe and trim beard. I have more wealth than I could ever spend and more power in my word than you can imagine. You forgive me for my wicked life? My son, it breaks my heart to see how young you are. It reminds me of how young I was, once.”

Her face became still and the laughter died from her lips.

“If I wanted you to forgive me anything, it would be for the years I could have had with you. Who I am, I would not change for anything, and the paths I have traveled to reach this day, this hour! They cannot be forgiven. You don't have the right or the privilege to do it.”

“Then what do you want with me? I can't just shrug and tell you to forget that I grew to manhood without you. I needed you once, but those I trust and love are the ones who were with me then. You were not there.”

He stood and looked down at her, confused and hurt. She stood with him.

“Will you leave me now?” she said quietly.

Brutus threw up his hands in despair.

“Do you want me to come back?” he asked.

“Very much,” she said, reaching out to touch him on the arm. The contact made the room waver and blur.

“Good. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she confirmed, smiling through tears.

Lucius Auriga hawked and spat irritably. There was something about the air of central Greece that always dried his throat, especially when the sun was warm. He would much rather have been enjoying an afternoon sleep in the shade of his house than be summoned to this vast plain, where the constant breeze wore at his temper. It wasn't fitting for a Roman to be at the call of Greeks, no matter what their standing, he thought. It would no doubt be another complaint for him to deal with, as if he had nothing more to fill the days than to listen to their griping. He tugged his toga into position as they approached him. He must not seem discomfited by their choice of meeting place. After all, they were forbidden to ride, whereas he could simply mount up and be back inside the walls of Pharsalus before dark.

The man who had sent the summons walked unhurriedly toward them with two companions. His enormous shoulders and arms hung loosely, swinging slightly with his long stride. He looked as if he was fresh down from the mountains that broke the horizon all around them, and for a moment Lucius shivered delicately. At least they had not come armed, he thought. Mithridates was not usually a man who remembered to obey the laws of Rome. Lucius studied him as he walked over the scrub grass and wildflowers. He knew the locals still called him the king, and at least he walked like one, with his head unbowed, despite his disastrous rebellion.

All history now, Lucius thought, and before my time like everything else in this uncomfortable country. Even if the chance came to take the post of governor, he knew he would refuse it. They were such an unpleasant people. It baffled him how such coarse and vulgar farmers could have produced mathematics of such extraordinary complexity. If he hadn't studied Euclid and Aristotle, he would never have accepted the posting out of Italy, but the thought of meeting such minds had been intoxicating to the young commander. He sighed to himself. Not a Euclid to be found in a city of them.

Mithridates didn't smile as he halted before the small group of eight soldiers Lucius had brought with him. Turning on the spot, he gazed into the distance all around, then took a deep breath of air, filling his powerful chest and closing his eyes.

“Well? I have come here as you requested,” Lucius said loudly, forgetting for a moment that he must appear calm and unruffled. Mithridates opened his eyes.

“Do you know what this place is?” he said. Lucius shook his head. “This is the very spot where I was defeated by your people three years ago.” He raised his thick arm with the fingers outstretched, pointing.

“That hill, can you see that? They had archers in the woods there, pouring down fire on us. We got to them in the end, though they had trapped and spiked the ground. A lot of men were lost in removing them, but we couldn't leave them at our back, you see? It destroys morale.”

“Yes, but…” Lucius began. Mithridates raised his hand with the palm flat.

“Shhh,” he said. “Let me tell the story.” The man stood a foot higher than Lucius and seemed to carry a strength that forbade interruption. His bare arm reached out again, the corded muscles moving under the skin with his fingers.

“Where the land creases there, I had sling men, the best I have ever fought with. They brought down many of your people and then took up swords to join their brothers at the end. The main lines were behind you, and my men were astonished at the skill they saw. Such formations! I counted seven different calls in the battle, though there could have been more. The square, of course, and horns to encircle. The wedge-oh, it was something to see them form a wedge in the midst of my men. They used the shields so well. I think the men of Sparta would have held them, but on that day we were destroyed.”

“I don't think…” Lucius tried again.

“Over there was my tent, not forty paces from where we stand today. The ground was mud then. Even now, these flowers and grasses look strange to me when I imagine that battle. My wife and daughters were there.”

Mithridates the king smiled, his eyes distant. “I shouldn't have let them come, but I never thought the Romans would cover so much distance in a single night. As soon as we realized they were in the area, they were on us, attacking. My wife was killed at the end, and my daughters dragged out and murdered. My youngest girl was only fourteen and she had her back broken first before they cut her throat.”