"Julius Caesar," he said. "Captured at the very height of the excitement, I believe. Let him stand, gentlemen; this is not a common man. Remove his gag-gently."

He looked at the young lad and was pleased to note how he straightened. His face bore some bruising, but Sulla knew his men would have been wary of risking their general's displeasure with too much damage before judgment. He stood tall, a fraction under six feet, and his body was well muscled and sun-dark. Blue eyes looked coldly out from his face and Sulla could feel the force of the man coming at him, seeming to fill the room till it was just the two of them, soldiers, torturer, scribe, and slave all forgotten.

Sulla tilted his head back slightly and his mouth stretched and opened into a pleased expression.

"Metella died, I am sorry to say. She took her own life before my men could break in and save her. I would have let her go, but you… you are a different problem. Did you know the old man captured with you escaped? He seems to have slipped his bonds and freed the other. Most unusual companions for a young gentleman." He saw the spark of interest in the other's face.

"Oh, yes. I have men out looking for the pair, but no luck at present. If my men had tied you with them, I daresay you would be free by now. Fate can be a fickle mistress-your membership in the nobilitas leaves you here while those gutter scum run free."

Julius said nothing. He did not expect to live an hour longer and suddenly saw that nothing he could say would have meaning or use. Raging at Sulla would only amuse him and pleading would arouse his cruelty. He remained silent and glared.

"What do we have on him, scribe?" Sulla spoke to the man with the parchment.

"Nephew of Marius, son of Julius. Both dead. Mother Aurelia, still alive, but deranged. Owns a small estate a few miles outside the city. Considerable debts to private houses, sums undisclosed. Husband of Cornelia, Cinna's daughter, married on the morning of the battle."

"Ah," Sulla said, interrupting. "The heart of the matter. Cinna is no friend of mine, though he is too wily to have supported Marius openly. He is wealthy; I understand why you would want the support of the old man, but surely your life is worth more.

"I will offer you a simple choice. Put this Cornelia aside and swear loyalty to me and I will let you live. If not, my torturer here is heating his tools once again. Marius would want you to live, young man. Make the right choice."

Julius glared his anger. What he knew of Sulla didn't help him. It could be a cruel trick to make him deny those he loved before executing him anyway.

As if sensing his thoughts, Sulla spoke again. "Divorce Cornelia and you will live. Such a simple act will shame Cinna, weakening him. You will go free. These men are all witnesses to my word as ruler of Rome. What is your answer?"

Julius held himself perfectly still. He hated this man. He had killed Marius and crippled the Republic his father had loved. No matter what he lost, the answer was clear and the words had to be said.

"My answer is no. Make an end of it."

Sulla blinked in surprise and then laughed out loud. "What a strange family! Do you know how many men have died in this very room over the last few days? Do you know how many have been blinded, castrated, and scarred? Yet you scorn my mercy?" He laughed again and the sound was harsh under the echoing dome.

"If I let you go free, will you try to kill me?"

Julius nodded. "I will devote my remaining years to that end."

Sulla grinned at him in genuine pleasure. "I thought so. You are fearless, and the only one of the nobilitas to refuse a bargain of mine." Sulla paused for a moment, raising his hand to signal to the torturer, who stood ready. Then his hand dropped listlessly.

"You may go free. Leave my city before sunset. If you come back while I live, I will have you killed without trial or audience. Cut his ropes, gentlemen. You have bound a free man." He chuckled for a moment, then was still as the ropes fell in twisted circles by Julius's feet. The young man rubbed his wrists, but his expression was as still as stone.

Sulla stood from his throne. "Take him to the gates and let him walk." He turned to look Julius in the eye. "If anyone ever asks you why, tell them it was because you remind me of myself and perhaps I have killed enough men today. That's all."

"What about my wife?" Julius called as his arms were taken again by the guards.

Sulla shrugged. "I may take her as a mistress, if she learns to please me."

Julius struggled wildly, but could not break free as he was dragged out.

The scribe lingered by the door. "General? Is that wise? He is Marius's nephew, after all…"

Sulla sighed and accepted another cup of cold liquid from the slave girl. "Gods save us from little men. I gave you my reason. I have achieved anything I ever wanted and boredom looms. It is good to leave a few dangers to threaten me."

His gaze focused far away. "He is an impressive young man. I think there may be two of Marius inside him."

The scribe's expression showed he understood none of it. "Shall I have the next one brought in, Consul?"

"No more today. Are the baths heated? Good, the Senate leaders will be dining with me tonight and I want to be fresh."

Sulla always had his pool as hot as he could possibly stand it. It relaxed him wonderfully. His only attendants were two of his house slave girls, and he rose naked out of the water without self-consciousness in front of them. They too were naked, except for bangles of gold on their wrists and around their necks.

Both had been chosen for their full figures, and he was pleased as he allowed them to rub the water from his body. It was good for a man to look on beautiful things. It raised the spirit above the level of the beasts.

"The water has brought my blood to the surface, but I feel sluggish," he murmured to them, walking a few paces to a long massage bench. It was soft under him and he felt himself relax completely. He closed his eyes, listening to the two young women as they tied the thin, springy wands of the birch tree, gathered fresh that morning and still green.

The two slaves stood over his heat-flushed body. Each held a long bunch of the cut branches, almost like a brush, three feet long. At first they almost caressed him with the birch twigs, leaving faint white marks on his skin.

He groaned slightly and they paused.

"Master, would you like it harder?" one of them asked timidly. Her mouth was bruised purple from his attentions the night before, and her hands trembled slightly.

He smiled without opening his eyes and stretched out on the bench. It was splendidly invigorating. "Ah yes," he replied dreamily. "Lay on, girls, lay on."