"Your son? Who else is with you here?"

"You must not talk to me, Brutus!" she said, looking around nervously. "He has guards within call and there are always slaves here. This is not private."

A little boy tottered out of the house and Brutus winked at him. The child beamed.

"He is very handsome, that one. Look at the size of his hands. He will be a great swordsman."

Julia's fear softened at the compliment and she turned to her son. "Go inside. I will play with you in a moment," she said. They both watched as the boy nodded gravely and made his way back across the garden.

"Are you going to let me in?" Brutus asked.

Julia shook her head firmly. "Definitely not. I cannot be seen with you and I don't think I could trust you."

"I was remembering a night in a stable," he admitted, enjoying the way she blushed. "You can't tell me you prefer Pompey now?"

"He is my husband," she said, but the firmness was gone from her voice.

Unconsciously, she had crept closer to the bars. If they had not been there, he could have taken her into his arms and kissed her, but he thought she was ready to leap away if he made such an attempt.

"Why did you leave my father?" she asked, suddenly. "I never expected that from you. It was not to be with me, I know that."

His reply came so quickly that she didn't notice him look away for a flickering instant. The lies came easily to him in that mood.

"Your father is the best man I have ever known, Julia. Pompey will have to be very lucky to beat him, for all his confidence."

"Then why did you desert him?" she said, her eyes flashing.

He wondered at the conflict in her to have her husband planning a war with her father. As she looked at him, he had an idea as exciting as it was simple. By the gods it was a risk, though. How far could he trust what he saw in her eyes? Would she betray him?

"Do I have your oath not to tell Pompey?" he whispered.

"On the life of my son," she replied, leaning even closer.

"I have not left Julius," he said. "I am here to help him win."

Her red lips opened as she took in what he was saying. He wanted to kiss them hungrily and his hand moved of its own accord to stroke her hair. She pulled back out of range on the instant.

"No one else knows," he said. "I have told you only because I could not bear to have you think of me as a traitor."

He could see she wanted to believe him and it was all he could do not to burst into laughter.

"Your husband does not trust me, though," he continued. "He will not let me command enough men to make a difference. I think he intends to put me in the front ranks, to be killed in the first skirmish." Was he being too obvious? He had intended a subtle barb to have her fear for him, but it was difficult to find exactly the right tone.

Still she did not reply and he could see the agony in her expression as she found herself caught between conflicting loyalties. She loved her father, he knew. He had gambled that she would not tell Pompey and see him executed. If affection had grown for the Dictator, Brutus knew his life could be measured in hours. Already he was appalled at the risk he had taken, and as she remained silent he would have given anything to take back the words.

"Does my father want you to lead a legion?" she asked faintly.

He smothered a grin then, knowing she was his and he had won. "He does, Julia," he said.

"Then I will persuade my husband to give you a command."

He forced surprise onto his face, as if he had never considered the idea.

"Can you do it? He will not like to be pushed," he said. He saw she had grown pale and now that the idea had been planted, he had a sense of time running away from him. He could not be found at her gate, especially now.

"I know him well," she said. "I will find a way." On impulse, she pressed her face against the bars and kissed him hard on the lips. "Let my father know I have not forgotten him," she said.

"I will, girl, but I must go now," he replied.

He could have sworn he heard the clatter of iron-shod sandals in the distance. He would have to be far away when they found him, preferably in a tavern with a girl on his arm. It would be difficult to talk his way out of it, but not, he hoped, impossible.

"When will I see you again?" she asked.

"Dismiss the slaves two days from now at the same time. If I can, I will be here," he said, rejoicing inwardly. It was far more than he had hoped for at the beginning. Instead of the private pleasure of rolling Pompey's wife once in a while, the stakes had become frighteningly large.

"Go quickly!" she said, catching his nervousness.

He nodded and ran at last, taking the first corner at a sprint. She watched him go and jumped as her husband's soldiers clattered by a few moments later. He would lead them a merry dance, she thought, and for the first time since her arrival in Greece, her heart beat wildly with excitement.

The festival of Bona Dea was in full cry and Rome was filled with women. On this one day each year, the men closed their doors and went to sleep early while the free women of the city drank and sang and danced. Some went bare-breasted, reveling in the festival's freedoms while their families were safely at home.

Many male citizens climbed to the roofs of their houses to watch the proceedings, but if they were seen, a barrage of stones would send them back out of sight. It would have been even less pleasant to be caught alone in the streets. Every year there were stories of young men who had been cornered after curiosity kept them out too long. Some of them were found trussed and naked the following morning, still too shocked to talk about what had happened.

Belas watched the old house of Marius from a high window opposite, wondering how to get closer. He had seen Caesar bid his wife a laughing farewell before heading off for an all-night meeting with his officers. The consul had left it late to make a dignified passage and his men were hooted as they marched down the Quirinal hill toward the forum. The normal rules were suspended for the Bona Dea, and Belas had enjoyed the consul's evident discomfort. There was no dignity in trying to resist the women's festival, even for members of the Senate.

From his vantage point, Belas watched with interest as a group of vestal virgins came whooping up the hill, accompanied by the sensual beat of drums and flutes. The two leaders were naked to the waist and their breasts bounced most attractively, in Belas's opinion, their long, oiled legs gleaming in the light of torches. He did not dare to lean out where they might glance up and see him. The vestals in particular could be wicked when they caught sight of a man on that night. It was death even to touch one of them and the sentence was always enforced. Belas reassured himself nervously that he had locked the door of the house below, after renting his room for the evening.

Marius's house was growing busy with the guests Pompeia had invited. As the wife of a consul, she had gained an instant social prestige and was clearly enjoying her new status. Belas watched the women of the great families arrive from all over the city and tapped his fingers on the windowsill in frustration at not being able to see what went on inside. Most men in Rome were prepared to add to the rumors of the festival, but Belas knew the gossip was based on very little. The secrets of the Bona Dea were well kept.

He strained to see through the open gate when it was not blocked with new arrivals. Large though the house was, Belas thought the grounds must be bursting with noble daughters. Their voices were raucous as they sang and laughed and chanted, knowing full well that men would hear and wonder what debauchery they were attempting.