Even so far below, Renius could hear Ciro grunting as he moved the block into place, the mortar squeezing out to fall in wet pats on the riverbed below. Renius shaded his eyes to see if one would come close enough to make him duck away, smiling at their efforts.

He liked the big man. Ciro didn’t say a great deal, but he held nothing back when it came to hard work and Renius would have liked him for that alone. It had surprised him at first to find he enjoyed teaching Ciro the skills more experienced legionaries took for granted. A legion could not be stopped by valleys or mountains. Every man on the scaffolding knew that there wasn’t a river they couldn’t bridge or a road they couldn’t cut in all the world. They built Rome wherever they went.

Ciro had been awed by the water and the miles of tunnels they had cut to bring it down from springs high in the mountains. Now the people who settled in the valley would not face disease every summer, with their wells becoming stale and thick. Perhaps then they would think of the men of Rome who had built them.

The peace of Renius’s thoughts was interrupted by a single rider in light armor guiding his horse over the bank and down to where he stood. The man was sweating in the heat and craned his neck to look up in instinctive fear as he passed under the arches. A heavy hammer dropped from that height could kill the horse as well as the man on it, but Renius chuckled at his caution.

“You have a message for me?” Renius asked him.

The man trotted into the shadow of the arch and dismounted.

“Yes, sir. The general requests your attendance at the barracks. He said to bring the legionary named Ciro with you, sir.”

“The last arch is nearly finished, lad.”

“He said to come immediately, sir.”

Renius frowned, then squinted up at Ciro high above him. Only a fool would shout orders to a man carrying a stone almost as heavy as he was, but he saw Ciro was standing back, wiping sweat from his brow with a rag. Renius filled his lungs.

“Come down, Ciro. We’re wanted.”

Despite the sun, Octavian felt chilled as the breeze whipped past his skin. His fifty were at full gallop down the steepest hill he had ever seen. If he hadn’t gone over every foot of it that morning, he would never have dared such a breakneck speed, but the turf was even and none of the experienced riders fell, using the strength of their legs to wedge them in the saddles. Even then, the pommel horns pressed sharply against their groins. Octavian gritted his teeth against the pain as the gallop bruised him unmercifully.

Brutus had chosen the hill with him, to show the reality and power of a charge. He awaited their arrival with a full century of the extraordinarii at the foot of the hill, and even at that distance Octavian could see the mounts move skittishly as they instinctively tried to shy away from the thundering fifty coming down.

The noise was incredible, as Octavian shouted for his men to dress the line. The charging rank was becoming a little ragged and he had to roar at his best volume to catch the attention of the wavering riders around him. They showed their skill as the line firmed without slowing, and Octavian drew his sword, gripping furiously with his knees. His legs were tortured at such an angle, but he held on.

The ground leveled slightly at the bottom and Octavian barely had time to balance his weight before his fifty were streaming through the wide-spaced ranks that faced them. Faces and horses blurred at appalling speed as they shot through the century and out the other side in what seemed like a single instant of time.

Octavian saw an officer looking pale as he flashed past him. If he had held the sword out, the man’s head would have flown.

Octavian shouted in excitement as he called for his men to turn and re-form. Some of them laughed in relief as they rejoined Brutus and saw the tense expressions of the men he commanded that day.

“With the right ground, we can be terrifying,” Brutus said, raising his voice for them all to hear. “I practically lost my bladder there at the end, and I knew you were just going through us!”

The riders under Octavian cheered the admission, though they didn’t believe it. One of them slapped Octavian on the back as Brutus turned to face them, with a leer.

“Now you’ll get a taste of it. Form up into wide ranks while I take mine up the hill. Hold them steady as we come through and you’ll learn something.”

Octavian swallowed sudden nervousness to grin, still filled with the wild thrill of the charge. Brutus dismounted to lead his horse up the hill and then saw a lone horseman cantering toward them.

“What’s this, I wonder?” he murmured.

The soldier dismounted neatly and saluted Brutus.

“General Caesar is asking for Octavian and yourself, sir.”

Brutus nodded, a slow smile beginning.

“Is he now?” He turned to his beloved extraordinarii.

“What if your officers were killed in the first charge? Would there be chaos? Carry on without us. I will expect a full report when you return to barracks.”

Octavian and Brutus fell in behind the messenger as he wheeled his mount. After a while, they tired of the pace he set and galloped past him.

Cabera ran his fingers along a length of blue silk with childish delight. He seemed to be caught between amazement and laughter at the costly furnishings Servilia had shipped in for the Golden Hand, and her patience was wearing thin. He interrupted her again to dart past and handle a delicate piece of statuary.

“So you see,” she tried once more, “I would like to establish a reputation for a clean house, and some soldiers use chalk dust to cover the rashes they have-”

“All this for pleasure!” Cabera interrupted, winking suggestively at her. “I want to die in a place like this.” As she frowned at him, he approached the edge of a pit of silk cushions, set below the level of the floor. He looked at her for permission and Servilia shook her head firmly.

“Julius said you have a fair knowledge of the diseases of the skin, and I would pay well for you to be available to the house.” She was forced to pause again as the old man jumped into the mass of cushions and scrambled around in them, chuckling.

“It isn’t difficult work,” Servilia continued doggedly. “My girls will recognize a problem when they see it, but if there’s an argument, I need someone to be able to examine the… man in question. Just until I can find a more permanent doctor from the town.” She watched astonished as Cabera tumbled around.

“I’ll pay five sesterces a month,” she said.

“Fifteen,” Cabera replied, suddenly serious. As she blinked in surprise, he smoothed his old robe down with swift strokes from his fingers.

“I will not go higher than ten, old man. For fifteen, I can have a local doctor living here.”

Cabera snorted. “They know nothing and you would lose a room. Twelve, but I won’t deal with pregnancy. You find someone else for that.”

“I do not run a backstreet whorehouse,” Servilia snapped. “My girls can watch the moon like any other woman. If they do fall pregnant, I pay them off. Most come back to me after the child is weaned. Ten is my final offer.”

“Examining the rotting parts of soldiers is worth another two sesterces to anyone,” Cabera told her cheerfully. “I would also like some of these cushions.”

Servilia gritted her teeth. “They cost more than your services, old man. Twelve, then, but the cushions stay.”

Cabera clapped his hands in pleasure. “First month’s pay up front and a cup of wine to seal the agreement, I think?” he said.

Servilia opened her mouth to reply and heard a throat delicately cleared behind her. It was Nadia, one of the new ones she had brought to the house, a woman with kohl-rimmed eyes as hard as her body was soft.