Though she had seen only ten summers, she was the image of her mother, and her dark hair was worn long in a braid down her back. Julius laughed at the sight of the girl as she jumped down from her pony and fussed around him, pulling thorns and snags from his mane with her fingers as a comb.

His daughter started at the sound of the strange voice and looked around to see who dared to chuckle at her in her own home. When her eyes met Julius’s, she frowned in suspicion. Julius watched her closely as she walked over to him, her head tilted to one side in silent inquiry in a way he remembered Cornelia doing.

She walked with confidence, he noted with pleasure. A mistress of an estate come to meet visitors. She was dressed in a threadbare cream tunic and leggings for riding, and with her hair tied back and no sign of breasts under the cloth, she could almost have passed for a boy. He saw a simple silver bangle at her wrist and recognized it as one of his mother’s.

Clodia had come out to witness the meeting and smiled at them both with maternal pride.

“This is your father, Julia,” she said. The little girl froze in the act of rubbing dust from her sleeve. She looked up at Julius with a blank expression.

“I remember you,” she said slowly. “Are you back to stay?”

“For a while,” Julius replied as seriously.

The little girl seemed to digest this and nodded.

“Will you buy me a horse? I’m getting too big for old Gibi and Recidus says I would do well on a mount with a bit of spirit.”

Julius blinked at her and some of the past seemed to melt away in his amusement.

“I will find you a beauty,” he promised, rewarded with a smile that thumped his heart for the woman he had lost.

Alexandria stood back from the heat of the forge, watching as Tabbic removed the cup of molten gold and positioned it over the pouring holes in the clay.

“A steady hand now,” she cautioned unnecessarily, as Tabbic began to rotate the long wooden handle without a tremor. Both of them gave the liquid metal the respect it deserved as it hissed and gurgled into the cast. A single splash would burn flesh to the bone, and every part of the process had to be slow and careful. Alexandria nodded in satisfaction as vapor whistled out of the airholes in the clay and the deep gulping sound began to rise in tone until the structure was full. When the gold had cooled, the clay would be painstakingly removed to reveal a mask as perfect as the face of the woman it represented. At a senator’s bidding, Alexandria had performed the unpleasant task of taking a cast from his dead wife only hours after her death. Three lesser masks had followed in clay as Alexandria altered the lines of the face to smooth away the ravages of disease. With infinite care, she had rebuilt the nose where sickness had eaten the flesh, and at last the man had wept to see the image death had taken from him. In gold, she would be preserved forever young, long after the man who loved her was ashes himself.

Alexandria touched a hand to the clay, feeling the heat constrained within and wondering if a man would ever love her enough to keep her image all his life.

Lost in thought, she did not hear Brutus enter the workshop, and only the stillness as he gazed at her made her turn, sensing something she could not have named.

“Break out the good wine and take your clothes off,” he said. His eyes were on her and he didn’t even notice Tabbic standing there with his mouth open. “I’m back, girl. Julius is back and Rome will be turned on its head when we’re done.”

CHAPTER 9

Brutus patted Alexandria’s thigh, enjoying the feel of her as they rode through the dusk out to the estate. After spending the day in bed with her, he felt more relaxed and at ease with the world than he could remember. He wished all his homecomings were of that quality.

Not used to riding, she held him tightly and he could feel the whip of her hair as it struck his bare neck, something he found extraordinarily erotic. She had grown strong while he was away, her body taut with health and strength. Her face too had altered subtly and her forehead was marked with a scar from a splash of hot metal, almost in the shape of a tear.

Her black cloak snapped around him for a moment in the wind, and he gripped the edge of it, pulling her in closer. She wrapped her arms around his chest and breathed deeply. The air was warm as the land gave back the heat of the sun, and Brutus only wished there was someone there to witness how magnificent they must look as he cut across the fields to the estate.

He saw it from far away, the light of torches blurring together to make the walls a crown of light in the growing darkness. He slowed at the end and for a moment he thought it was Tubruk waiting for him by the open gate.

Julius stayed silent as he watched them slow to a walk, guessing at Brutus’s thoughts and understanding them. He put aside his impatience and gave silent thanks for his friend’s arrival. It was right that he be there, and they shared a private smile of regret as Brutus turned in the saddle to help Alexandria down and then jumped to the ground beside her.

Julius kissed Alexandria on the cheek. “I’m honored to have you at my home. The servants will take you in while I have a word with Brutus,” he said. Her eyes sparkled, he thought, wondering if her mind ever strayed back to one particular evening as his did.

When she had gone inside, Julius took a deep breath and clapped Brutus on the shoulder in affection.

“I can’t believe Tubruk isn’t here,” Julius said, looking out over the fields.

Brutus glanced at him in silence for a moment, then reached down and picked up a handful of dust.

“Do you remember when he made you hold this?” he said.

Julius nodded, copying the action. Brutus was pleased to see him smile as he let the dust trickle into the breeze.

“Fed with the blood of those who have gone before us,” Julius said.

“And our blood. He was a good man,” Brutus replied, letting his own handful lift away and bringing his hands together in a sharp clap. “You’ll have to find someone else to get the fields plowed under again. I’ve never seen the place so ragged. Still, you’re back now.”

Julius frowned at him. “I was going to ask where you had disappeared to, but I see you found something better than seeing to the camp at Ostia.” Julius could not bring himself to be angry with his friend, though he had intended to make the point very clearly.

“Renius had it all in hand and it’s a good thing I did,” Brutus replied. “Alexandria told me there will be a public debate tomorrow in the forum and I rode straight here to tell you.”

“I know about it. Servilia told me as soon as she heard. Still, I’m glad you came. I would have sent for you even if you hadn’t disobeyed my orders.”

Brutus looked at his friend, trying to judge how seriously he was being criticized. The strain and exhaustion of the time in Spain had left Julius’s face, and he seemed younger than he had for a long time.

Brutus waited for a moment.

“Am I forgiven?” he said.

“You are,” Julius replied. “Now come inside and meet my daughter. There’s a room ready for you and I want you with me to plan a campaign. You are the last to come in.”

They walked together through the courtyard, the only sound the snap and flutter of the lamps along the wall. The breeze cut across them for a moment as the gate was shut, and Brutus felt the hairs lift on his arms, making him shiver. Julius opened a door into a room of life and chatter, and he ducked his head to go in, feeling the first touches of excitement.

Julius had summoned them all, Brutus saw as he looked round the room and greeted his friends. With Alexandria, everyone he cared about was in that one room, and they had the bright eyes of joyful conspirators, planning how to rule a city. Servilia, Cabera, Domitius, Ciro, Octavian, all the ones Julius had gathered to his side. The only stranger was the young Spaniard who had come with them as Julius’s scribe. Adàn looked from face to face even as Brutus did, and when their eyes met, Brutus nodded to him, acknowledging him as Julius would have wanted.