On the top of the tomb, a shallow bowl had been cut into the marble, leading to a hole no larger than a copper coin. As Julius broke the seal on the wine, he wondered if Clodia ever took his daughter out to feed the dead. He didn’t think the old woman would have forgotten Cornelia, any more than he could.

The dark wine sloshed into the bowl and Julius could hear it dripping down to fall inside.

“This cup for my father, who made me strong,” he whispered. “This for my mother, who gave her love.

This last for my wife.” He paused, hypnotized by the swirling wine as it vanished into the tomb. “Cornelia, whom I loved and honor still.”

When at last he returned the amphora to Octavian, his eyes were red with weeping.

“Bind the neck securely, lad. There is another grave to see before we go home to the estate, and Tubruk will want more than just a cupful.” Julius forced himself to smile and felt some of his grief lighten in him as he remounted, the gelding’s hooves clattering enough to break the stillness of the line of tombs stretching away.

Julius approached his estate with something like fear gnawing at him. It was a place of so many memories and so much pain. The eye of his childhood noted the rough weeds among the straggling crops and saw a subtle air of decay in every overgrown track or poorly repaired wall. The low drone of the hives could be heard and he felt his eyes prickle at the sound.

The white walls around the main buildings caused an ache to start in him. The paint was mottled with bare patches and he felt a stab of guilt. The house had been a part of every wound in memory and not a single letter had come from his hand to his daughter or Clodia. He gripped the reins and slowed his mount, each step bringing more pain.

There was the gatepost where he had watched for his father coming back from the city. Beyond it would be the stables where he had tasted his first kiss and the courtyard where he had almost died at the hand of Renius, years before. Despite its run-down appearance, it was still the same where it counted, an anchor in the changes of his life. Yet he would have given anything for Tubruk to come out to greet him, or for Cornelia to be there.

He paused before the gate and waited in silence, lost in memories that he clutched to him as if they could remain real until the gate opened and everything changed again.

A man he did not know appeared above the wall, and Julius smiled as he thought of the steps hidden from view. He knew them as well as anything else in the world. His steps. His home.

“What is your business here?” the man asked, keeping his voice neutral. Though Julius wore the simplest of armor, there was nonetheless an aura of authority in his silent appraisal of the walls and the man sensed it.

“I have come to see Clodia and my daughter,” Julius replied.

The man’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise, before he disappeared to signal those within.

The gate swung open slowly and Julius rode through into the courtyard with Octavian behind him.

Distantly, he heard someone calling for Clodia, but the moment of memory held for him and he took a deep breath.

His father had died defending that wall. Tubruk had carried him on his shoulders under the gate.

Julius shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the sun. There were too many ghosts in that place. He wondered if he would ever be truly comfortable there, with every corner and turn reminding him of his past.

Clodia came out of the buildings in a rush and froze as she saw him. As he dismounted, she went down into a low bow. Age had not been kind to her, he thought, as he took her by the shoulders and raised her into his embrace. She had always been a large, capable woman, but her face was lined by more than time.

If Tubruk had lived, she would have married him, but that chance for happiness had been stolen away by the same knives that had taken Cornelia.

As she raised her face to him, he saw fresh tears, and the sight seemed to pull his private grief closer to the surface. They had shared a loss together, and he was unprepared for the rawness of his feelings as the years vanished and they were standing again in the yard while the slave rebellion tore through the south.

She had promised to stay and raise his daughter then, the last words they had spoken before he left.

“It’s been so long without hearing from you, Julius. I didn’t know where to send the news about your mother,” she said. Fresh tears spilled over her cheeks as she spoke, and Julius held her tightly.

“I… knew it was coming. Was it hard?”

Clodia shook her head, wiping at her eyes.

“She spoke of you at the end and took comfort from Julia. There was no pain for her, none at all.”

“I’m glad,” Julius said softly. His mother had been a distant figure to him for so long that he was surprised at how much he missed the chance to see her and sit on her bed to tell her all the details of Spain and the battles he had seen. How many times had he come to tell her what he had done with his life? Even when her illness had stolen her reason, she seemed to hear him. Now there was no one. No father to run to, no Tubruk to laugh at his mistakes, no one who loved him without limit left in the world.

He ached for them all.

“Where is Julia now?” he said, stepping back.

Clodia’s face changed slightly as pride and love suffused her features. “Out riding. She takes her pony into the woods whenever she can. She looks like Cornelia, Julius. The same hair. Sometimes, when she laughs, it’s like thirty years have gone and she’s there again with me.” She saw the tension in him and misunderstood. “I never let her ride alone. She has two servants with her, for safety.”

“Will she know me?” Julius asked, suddenly uncomfortable. He glanced at the gates as if speaking of Julia could bring her into sight. He remembered only a little of the daughter he had left in her care. Just a fragile girl he had comforted while her mother was laid out in the darkness. The memory of her tiny hands wrapped around his neck was strangely powerful.

“She will, I’m sure. She’s always asking for stories of you, and I’ve told her all I can.” Clodia’s gaze strayed past him to Octavian as he stood stiffly by the horses.

“Octavian?” she said, wondering at the changes in him.

Before he could resist, Clodia ran to him and administered a smothering hug. Julius chuckled at his discomfort.

“There’s dust in our throats, Clodia. Will you keep us standing out here all day?”

Clodia let Octavian escape her.

“Yes, of course. Give your horses to one of the boys there and I’ll see to the kitchen. There’s only a few of the slaves and me now. Without the papers in your name, the merchants wouldn’t deal with me. Without Tubruk to run the place, it’s been…”

Julius flushed as the woman came close to tears again. He had not done his duty by her, he realized, wondering at his own blindness. She was making little of hard years and, to his shame, he could have eased the burden. He should have replaced Tubruk before he left and signed the control of funds over to her. Clodia seemed suddenly flustered at the thought of Julius seeing the house she had come to think of as her home, and he laid a hand on her arm to ease her.

“I could not have asked for more,” he said.

Some of the tightness in her eased. As the horses were led away to be brushed and fed, Clodia bustled before them into the house and they followed, Julius swallowing dryly as they passed from the courtyard into the rooms of his childhood.

The meal Clodia brought to them was interrupted by a high sweet call outside as a clatter of hooves marked Julia’s return. With his mouth filled with bread and honey, Julius leapt to his feet and strode out into the sun. He had thought he would let her come in to him and greet her formally, but the sound of her voice overrode his patience and he couldn’t wait.