“A wonderful speech, Caesar,” Pompey said. “You will be like a fresh wind in the Senate if you are successful. Practical dreamers, a wonderful concept.”

Julius clasped the offered hand before turning to call Crassus to the front. The other consul was already moving, too astute to let the opportunity pass without his presence.

The three men stood together while the crowd cheered, and from a distance their smiles looked genuine. Senator Prandus also rose, but no one noticed.

Alexandria turned to Teddus at her side as the crowd cheered the men on the platform.

“Well, what did you think of him?” she said.

The old soldier rubbed the bristles on his chin. He had come because Alexandria had asked him, but he hadn’t the slightest interest in the promises of the men who ruled his city, and didn’t know how to say that without offending his employer.

“He was all right,” he said, after reflection. “Though I didn’t hear him offer to have a coin stamped like the others. Promises are all very well, mistress, but a silver coin buys you a good meal and a jug.”

Alexandria frowned for a moment, then snapped open the heavy bangle she wore on her wrist, sliding a denarius out in her hand. She gave it to Teddus and he accepted it, raising his eyebrows.

“What’s that for?” he said.

“You spend it,” she replied. “When it’s gone and you’re hungry again, Caesar will still be there.”

Teddus nodded as if he understood her, carefully tucking the coin into the hidden pocket of his tunic.

He glanced around to see if anyone had noted where he kept his money, but the crowd seemed focused on the raised stage. Still, it paid to be careful in Rome.

Servilia watched the man she loved as Pompey clapped an arm on his shoulders. The consul could scent a changing wind as fast as any of the other men in the Senate, though she wondered if Pompey knew Julius would not allow even the semblance of control from the outgoing consuls.

There were times when she hated the shallow games they all played. Even giving Julius and Prandus the chance to speak at the formal consuls’ address was part of it. She knew of two more candidates on the Senate list, and there were still a few days to go before the lists were closed. None of those had been allowed to cheapen the consuls’ address with their tin promises.

The crowd would remember only three men and Julius was one of them. She let out a breath of tension.

Unlike most of those in the forum, she had not been able to relax and enjoy the speeches. While Julius stood to face them, her heart had pounded in fear and pride. He hadn’t slipped. The memory of the man she had found in Spain was simply that now. Julius had recaptured the old magic and it touched even her as she listened and saw his bright eyes sweep over her without stopping. He was so young; could the crowd see that? For all their skill and wit, Pompey and Crassus were fading powers compared to him, and he was hers.

A man stepped a little too closely to her as he wound his way through the crowd, and Servilia caught a glimpse of a hard, scarred face, damp with sweat. Before she could react, a strong hand fastened on the man’s arm, making him cry out.

“Be on your way,” Brutus said softly.

The man yanked hard to free himself and retreated, though he paused to spit when he was safely out of range. Servilia turned to her son and he smiled at her, the incident forgotten.

“I think you have backed the right horse, Mother,” he said, looking up at Julius. “Can’t you feel it?

Everything is in place for him.”

Servilia chuckled, caught by his enthusiasm. Without his armor, her son looked more boyish than usual, and she reached up to ruffle his hair affectionately.

“One speech doesn’t make a consul, you know. The work starts today.” She followed his gaze up to where Julius was turning away at last to make his way into the crowd, taking outstretched hands and responding to the citizens as they called to him. Even at a distance, she could see his joy.

“But it is a good start,” she said.

Suetonius walked with his friends through empty streets away from the forum. The stalls and houses were shut and barred, and they could still hear the muted sound of the crowd behind the rows of houses.

Suetonius didn’t speak for a long time, his face stiff with bitterness. Every cheer from the tradesmen had eaten at him until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Julius, always Julius. No matter what happened, the man seemed to have more luck than any three others. A few words to a crowd and they fawned on him, sickeningly, while Suetonius’s father was humiliated. It was appalling to see them swayed by tricks and words while a good Roman went unnoticed. He had been so proud when his father allowed his name to be entered for consul. Rome deserved a man of his dignity and his honor, not a Caesar, out for nothing more than his own glory.

Suetonius clenched his fists, almost growling at what he had witnessed. The two friends with him exchanged nervous glances.

“He’s going to win, isn’t he?” Suetonius said without looking at them.

Bibilus nodded, a pace behind his friend, then realized the gesture couldn’t be seen.

“Perhaps. Pompey and Crassus seem to think so, at least. Your father could still take the second post.”

He wondered whether Suetonius was going to march them all the way back to the estate outside Rome.

Good horses and comfortable rooms awaited them in the other direction as Suetonius stalked along, blind with his hatred. Bibilus hated to walk when horses were available. He hated riding as well, but it was easier on his legs and he sweated less.

“He deserts his post in Spain and strolls in to announce he will try for consul, and they simply accept it! I do wonder what bribes have changed hands to make this happen. He is capable of it, believe me. I know him well. The man has no honor. I remember that from the ships and Greece. That bastard, come back to haunt me. You would think he’d leave politics to better men after his wife died, wouldn’t you? He should have learned the dangers then. I tell you, Cato may have made enemies, but he was twice the man Caesar is. Your father knew that, Bibilus.”

Bibilus looked nervously around to see if anyone was within earshot. With Suetonius in this mood, there was no telling what he would say. Bibilus enjoyed his friend’s bitterness when they were in private rooms. He was quite in awe of the level of anger Suetonius seemed able to produce. In a public street, though, he felt his perspiration making his armpits slap wetly. Suetonius still marched as if the rising sun was nothing more than a vision, and the heat was growing.

Suetonius slipped on a loose stone and swore. Always Caesar to torment him. Whenever that man was in the city, the fortunes of his family suffered. He knew Caesar had spread the slurs about him that had kept him from command in a legion. He had seen the covered smiles and whispers and known the source.

When he had seen the assassins creeping toward Caesar’s home, he had experienced a moment of true pleasure. He could have raised an alarm, sent riders to warn them. He could have stopped it, but he had walked away, saying nothing. They had torn Caesar’s wife apart. Suetonius remembered how he had laughed when his father told him the awful news. The old man had such an expression of gravity that Suetonius had not been able to help himself. His father’s amazement seemed to fuel it until his eyes were pouring tears.

Perhaps his father would understand a little better now he had seen Caesar’s flattery and promises for himself. The thought sat strangely in his mind, that he might be able to speak to his father again, with something shared between them. Suetonius couldn’t recall the last time he had said more than a few curt words to his son, and that coldness too was Caesar’s doing. His father had given back the land they had won so cleverly while Julius was away. Given back the plot where Suetonius was to have built his house.