Julius left them murmuring in his wake as he approached the great gates and columns of Bibilus’s house. His resolve hardened as he raised his fist to hammer on the oak door. He would not be denied this last step.

The slave that answered the summons was a youth whose face was heavily painted, giving him a lascivious expression even as he recognized the visitor and his eyes opened in surprise.

“I am a consul of Rome. You know the law?”

The slave nodded, terrified.

“Then bar no door to me. Touch my sleeve and you will die. I have come to see your master. Lead me in.”

“C-Consul…”

The young man tried to drop to one knee and Julius snapped at him.

“Now!”

The painted boy needed no other urging. He turned and almost ran from Julius, leaving the door to the street swinging behind them.

Julius marched behind, passing through rooms where a dozen similarly painted children watched, frozen as he passed. One or two of them cried out in amazement and Julius glared at them. Were there no adults in this place? The way they were dressed reminded him more of Servilia’s whores than…

He almost lost the boy slave around a corner as the thought came to him. Then he hurried and the slave increased his speed through antechambers and corridors until they burst together into a lighted room.

“Master!” the young man cried out. “Consul Caesar is here!”

Julius paused, panting slightly with the anger that coursed through his veins. Bibilus was there in the room and Suetonius stood bent over him, whispering into his ear. More of the pretty slaves were standing at the edges, and two naked boys lolled at the feet of the two men. Julius saw their faces were flushed with wine and their eyes were older than their flesh. He shuddered as he turned his face to Suetonius.

“Get out,” he said.

Suetonius had risen slowly as if in a trance at Julius’s entrance. He was ugly with malice as he struggled with conflicting emotions. A consul could not be touched, could not be held. Even Suetonius’s position in the Senate would not save him after an insult.

Casually, Julius dropped his hand to his sword. He knew Bibilus would be weaker without his friend.

Julius had known that even when he had not had a lever to twist into the fat man’s innards. Now he had found one.

As Suetonius looked to Bibilus for a reprieve, he found nothing but terror in the consul’s fleshy face.

Suetonius heard Julius march across the marble floor and still he delayed, waiting for the single word that would allow him to stay.

Bibilus watched like a child with a snake as Julius came close to Suetonius and leaned in toward him.

Suetonius shrank back.

“Get out,” Julius repeated softly, and Suetonius fled.

As Julius turned to Bibilus, the consul found a stammering voice.

“This is my h-home…” he attempted.

Julius roared at him, a crash of sound that sent Bibilus scrambling backwards on his couch.

“You filth! You dare to talk to me with these children sitting at your feet! If I killed you now, it would be a blessing for Rome. No, better, I should cut off the last thing that makes you a man. I will do it, now.”

Drawing his sword, Julius advanced on the couch and Bibilus screamed, clawing at the cloth to try to get away. He wept heavy tears as Julius held the gleaming blade next to his groin.

Bibilus froze. “Please,” he whimpered.

Julius twisted the blade, worrying it deeper into the folds of cloth. Bibilus pressed himself against the back of the couch but could retreat no farther.

“Please, whatever you want…” He began a series of choking sobs that added shining mucus to his tears until his face was barely human.

Julius knew the Fates had given everything into his hands. The coldest part of him rejoiced in Bibilus revealing such a weakness. A few choice threats and the man would never dare show his face in the Senate again. Yet even as Julius began to speak, one of the children shifted and Julius glanced at him. The boy was not looking at Julius, but at his master, craning to get a better view. There was hatred there, horrifying in such a young face. The boy’s ribs could be clearly seen and his neck bore a purple bruise. Julius realized his daughter was the same age. He turned his anger on Bibilus.

“Sell your slaves. Sell them where they will not be hurt, and send me the addresses, that I may check each one. You will live alone, if I let you live at all.”

Bibilus nodded, his jowls quivering. “Yes, yes, I will… don’t cut me.” He broke down again into a stream of miserable sound, and Julius struck him twice across the face, rocking his head back. A thin stream of blood dribbled down across his lips, and he shook visibly.

“If I see you in the Senate, your immunity will not protect you, I swear by all the gods. I will see to it that you are taken somewhere quiet and burnt and broken over days. You will beg for an end to it.”

“But I am consul!” Bibilus choked.

Julius leaned in with the sword tip, making him gasp.

“Only in name. I will not have a man like you in my Senate house. Never in this life. Your time there is over.”

“Can he hurt me now?” the slave boy asked suddenly.

Julius looked at him and saw that he had risen to his feet. He shook his head.

“Then give me a knife. I’ll cut him,” the boy said.

Julius looked into his eyes and saw nothing but resolve.

“You’ll be killed if you do,” Julius said softly.

The boy shrugged. “Worth it,” he said. “Give me a blade and I’ll do it.”

Bibilus opened his mouth and Julius twisted the gladius viciously.

“You be quiet. There are men talking here. You’ve no part in it.” He turned back to the slave and saw the way he stood a little straighter at the words.

“I won’t stop you, lad, if you want it, but he’s more use to me alive than dead. At least for now.” A corpse would mean another election and a new adversary who might not have Bibilus’s weaknesses. Yet Julius did not send the boy away.

“You want him alive?” the child said.

Julius returned the gaze for a long moment before nodding.

“All right, but I want to leave here tonight.”

“I can find you a place, lad. You have my gratitude.”

“Not just me. All of us. No more nights here.”

Julius looked at him in surprise. “All of you?”

“All of us,” the slave said, holding his eyes without the slightest tremor. Julius looked away first.

“Very well, boy. Gather them at the front door. Leave me alone with Bibilus for a little while longer and I’ll come to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” the boy said. In a few moments, all the children in the room had vanished with him, and the only sound was Bibilus’s tortured breathing.

“How d-did you find out?” Bibilus whispered.

“Until I saw them, I did not know you for what you are. Even if I had not, you are greasy with guilt.”

Julius growled, “Remember, I will know if you bring more children into your home. If I hear of a single boy or girl coming through your doors, I will know and I will not hold back from you. Do you understand me?

The Senate is mine now. Completely.”

At the last word, Julius jerked his blade and Bibilus screamed, releasing his bladder in terror.

Moaning, he clutched at the spreading stain of urine tinged with blood. Julius sheathed the sword and headed back to the front, where more than thirty of the slaves had gathered.

Each one of the refugees held a few items of clothing bundled in their arms. Their eyes were large and fearful in the light of the lamps, and the silence was almost painful as they all turned to look at him.

“All right. Tonight you’ll stay in my own home,” Julius said. “I’ll find you families who have lost a child and who will love you.” The happiness in their expression shamed him worse than knives. He had not come to the house for them.