The boy king's flesh had been dried like old leather when the chanting priests came for him for the last time. Cleopatra had not insisted Julius be there, but he had been drawn to the last ritual, knowing he would never again have the chance to see the secrets of Egyptian death.

He had watched as the priests took a chisel formed of meteoric iron and broke open Ptolemy's lips with a rocking motion across the mouth. Without the translator Cleopatra had sent to him, Julius would have been lost and appalled at the apparent desecration of the body. The man's sibilant whisper into his ear still gave him chills in memory.

"Osiris the king, awake!" the priest had said. "I split open your mouth for you with iron of the gods. Live again, rejuvenated every day, while the gods protect you as their own."

The fumes of incense had swirled around the tiny figure of the boy king, and when the last rites were complete, the priests had moved outside into the air, to give the news to the city. The tomb had been sealed behind them with bronze, gold, and brass.

The horns had begun then, sounding in their thousands. The noise had built and built and every lamp and brazier was lit, making Alexandria shine under the heavens. The gods would see the light and know one of their own was ready to come to them.

Julius watched the festival of death from the high windows of the royal palace, Brutus at his side. Octavian had gone down into the city to lose himself in drink and women with many of the other officers. On the night of a king's death, there were no taboos, and Julius hoped his men would survive the feasting and debauchery without causing riots. It was probably a vain hope, but the responsibility would be on another's shoulders for a while. Cleopatra's barge rocked in the swell of the port, waiting to take him along the coast. They would have to survive without him until he returned. The news Cleopatra had brought overshadowed anything else.

As if he shared the thought, Brutus spoke, looking out over a city lit as brightly as day. He could sense the strange mood of excitement in Julius, though he could not guess at the reason.

"When will you return, do you know?"

"Before the year ends," Julius replied. "The legions have their quarters here. They have earned a rest. I have sent letters to Mark Antony in Rome. In a month or so the back pay will come. Let them take houses here, Brutus, while they wait for me. Let them grow fat and sleepy."

"You know them better than that," Brutus replied. "We've had to punish two more for looting the temples already. I'll have to take them out into the desert after the first weeks, or anything that can be lifted will vanish from Alexandria. As it is, the markets in Rome will be glutted with artefacts when we return."

Julius chuckled, and Brutus smiled. The darkest moments of the past seemed to have been forgotten between them, and his strength was returning. By the time the sun rose each day, Brutus had completed an hour of heavy sword practice with Domitius. He had lost some of the speed that had won tournaments, but he was no longer weak. He had not told Julius of a centurion who had sneered at him the day before. Brutus had taken him out to the training yard and beaten the man almost to death.

Perhaps Julius knew, Brutus thought, looking at him.

"Octavian is furious with my return to rank," Brutus said. "Or because of your pleasure cruise on the Nile. It is difficult to be sure which has annoyed him more."

Julius shook his head, exasperated. "He wants me to spend my final years in sleepy Senate debates." He snorted. "I suppose we seem ancient to the younger ones, fit for nothing more than patting each other on the back for past glories."

Brutus glanced at the alert, trim figure of his general, burnt a dark brown. If anything, Julius had been invigorated by the months in Egypt, no small part of it due to the prospect of peace at last. He and Brutus had suffered decades of war and privation. Perhaps the prize was simply an end to striving. Brutus could not imagine him contemplating cruises if Pompey still lived or Sulla threatened his city.

Brutus could not love the man who had pardoned him at Pharsalus, though when Julius had given him command in Alexandria, he felt a brief, uncluttered joy.

He sighed inwardly. Rome seemed far away, but he knew he should think of the future. There were years ahead to forget the shame of his defection to Pompey. Julius had trusted him with authority and the message would not be lost on the legions. It was time to rebuild a career that should have ended at Pharsalus. After all, Rome had been built by men who had survived defeat.

Brutus looked steadily at Julius, missing the old friendship. There were precious moments when he thought they shared an understanding impossible to voice. Yet without warning, he could feel an old jealousy and a destructive pride. With time, perhaps that too would ease.

"This is an old land," Julius said suddenly, interrupting Brutus's thoughts. "It could be a second Rome, a twin capital of an empire. I'm not too old to dream of that. I know there is work ahead, but for a little while I want to forget it all and see the Nile with my queen."

Brutus dropped his head an inch, wondering at the choice of words. "Will you take her back with you?" he asked.

"I think I will," Julius replied, smiling slowly at the thought. "She brings new life to my bones. With her at my side, I could make an empire to rival Alexander's own. It would be fitting to make his city the second heart of it."

Brutus felt himself growing cold. "So you will be a king? Like Ptolemy?"

Julius turned to him, his dark eyes seeming to bore into his oldest friend.

"What else would you have me call myself? I am the first in Rome. Rome is first in the world."

"What of my mother, Servilia? Will you cast her off as you did Pompeia? Or your wife, Calpurnia? Will you divorce her as well?"

Julius hesitated, blind to Brutus's growing anger. "It is too early to plan such things. When I am home, I will do what is necessary. Calpurnia will not resist, I know."

"The Senate will resist your ambition," Brutus said softly.

Julius laughed. "They would not dare to, my friend. They will honor me and they will honor the queen I bring home. Rome was built on kings. It will be reborn from my line."

"From your daughter?" Brutus asked.

Julius's eyes were bright as he looked across the city. He gripped the stone windowsill like its owner. "I cannot hold the news, Brutus. It is too much for me. From my son, who will be born. The queen is pregnant, and her omen-takers say it will be a boy. A son to rule two empires." He laughed aloud in wonder. It had to be a boy, he thought. The gods would not be so cruel.

Brutus took a step away from him, his calm shattering. What friendship could survive such a relentless ambition? Brutus saw that Julius had not sated his appetite in Egypt. He would return to Rome with greater dreams than any one of those they had destroyed. Not Sulla, not Cato, not even Pompey had reached so far.

"The Republic…" Brutus began, shocked into stammering.

Julius shook his head. "… was a glorious experiment. I honor it, but it has served its purpose. When I return to Rome, we will begin an empire."