“I have my daughter,” he reminded her.

“A son, Julius! Do you not want to have sons of your own to follow you? How often have I heard you speak of your own father? You would never be satisfied with a daughter who cannot set foot in the Senate building. A daughter who cannot lead your legions for you.”

“That was why you left me?” he said, understanding. “I can find a wife from any family in Rome to carry my blood. Nothing between us would change.”

Servilia shook her head in weariness. “It would, Julius. It must. You would look at me with guilt for every hour we spent together. I couldn’t bear to see it.”

“Then why are you here?” he demanded, suddenly angry. “What has changed for you to come to me and set everything on its head once again?”

“Nothing has changed. There are days when I do not think of you at all and others when you are constantly in my thoughts. When Crassus told me he was coming to this meeting, I joined him. Perhaps I should not have done. By your side, the future is miserable for me.”

“I don’t understand you at all, you know,” Julius said softly, touching her face. “I do not care about sons, Servilia. If there is a time when I do, I will marry some daughter of a senator for that reason. If you are mine, I will love no other.”

She closed her eyes, and in the first light of dawn, he could see tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I should not have come,” she whispered. “I should have left you alone.”

“I was alone,” he said, gathering her in, “but now you are here with me.”

The winter sun had risen when Julius found Brutus in the small courtyard of the house, deep in conversation with Crassus over the lodgings for the century of the Tenth. They had brought ten mounts from Gaul and hobbled them in the yard the night before, with heavy blankets against the cold. Brutus had refilled their nosebags with grain and broken the thin sheet of ice that had formed on the water buckets. At the sound of footsteps, Brutus looked up.

“I would like a private word,” Julius said.

Crassus understood immediately and left them together. Brutus began to brush the shaggy winter coats of the horses in long strokes.

“Well?” he said.

“Your mother is here,” Julius said.

Brutus stopped his brushing and looked at him. His face tightened with sudden knowledge. “To see me, or to see you?”

“Both, Brutus.”

“So you raise your fist to my mother and now she comes crawling back into your bed, is that it?”

Julius tensed with anger. “Just once, think before you speak to me. I will not suffer your anger this time, Brutus, I swear it. One more word in that tone and I will have you hanged in this courtyard. I’ll pull the rope myself.”

Brutus turned to face him and Julius saw he was unarmed. He was glad of it. He spoke with a terrible slowness, as if each word was forced out of him.

“You know, Julius, I have given you a great deal. Do you know how many battles I have won for you?

I’ve been your sword all the years of my life, and I have never been anything but loyal. But the first moment you feel a prick of anger, you threaten me with a rope?”

He leaned very close to Julius.

“You forget yourself. I’ve been there from the beginning. And what has it gained me? Do you praise my name as you do Mark Antony’s? Do you give me the right flank when I risk my life for you? No, you come out here and treat me like your dog.”

Julius could only stare at the pale rage he saw. Brutus’s mouth twisted in bitter mockery.

“Very well, Julius. You and she are none of my concern. She made that perfectly clear to me before. But I will not stay here to watch you spend the winter… renewing your relationship. Is that sweetly enough phrased for you?”

For a moment, Julius could not answer him. He wanted to find words to ease the pain in his friend, but after his threats they would have been worthless. In the end, he set his jaw and retreated behind coldness.

“I will not keep you, if you want to go,” he said.

Brutus shook his head. “No, it would be unpleasant for the pair of you having me as a witness. I will travel down to Rome until spring. There is nothing holding me here.”

“If that is what you want,” Julius said.

Brutus did not reply, simply nodding and turning back to his brushing. Julius stood in painful silence, knowing he should speak. Brutus muttered softly to his horse, easing the bit into its mouth. As he mounted, he looked down at the man he revered above all others.

“How will it end this time, do you think? Will you hit her?” he said.

“It is not your concern,” Julius replied.

“I don’t like to see her treated as one of your conquests, Julius. When will you be satisfied, I wonder?

Even Gaul is not enough for you, with another twenty ships being built. Campaigns are meant to end,

Julius, or did no one ever tell you that? Legions are meant to come home when the war is over, not find another one and another.”

“Go to Rome,” Julius replied. “Rest the winter. Just remember that I will need you in the spring.”

Brutus unrolled a fur cloak and tied it tight around his shoulders before mounting. He had enough gold in his pouch to buy food on the journey south, and he wanted to leave. Yet when he gathered the reins in his hands and looked down at the miserable face of his friend, he knew he could not dig in his heels and leave him there without speaking again.

“I’ll be here,” he said.

Crassus and Pompey traveled back to Rome the following morning, leaving Julius the full run of the house. Within a week, he had settled into a routine of writing letters and reports in the morning with Adàn and spending the rest of the day with Servilia. He traveled with her to the shipyards in the west, and for those weeks it was as if they were a newly married couple. Julius blessed the fact that she had come to him. After the exhaustion of his campaigns in Gaul, it was a pure joy to visit the theaters in a Roman city and listen to his own language in every mouth of the markets. It made him yearn to see Rome again, but even in Ariminum he had to be careful. If the moneylenders of his city found that he was back in the country, they would demand a settlement, and he had very little left to tide his men over the winter.

Julius knew his one advantage lay in the fact that men like Herminius wanted their money more than his blood. If he were taken and brought back to the city, they would end up with nothing. Even so, his men wore cloaks over their distinctive armor in public and Julius avoided the houses of those who might have known him.

He reveled in Servilia and their lovemaking was like water in a desert. He could not quench his thirst and the scent of her was on his skin and in his lungs at all times. As the winter began to ease and the days lengthened, the thought of parting from her was almost a physical pain. At times, Julius thought of taking her with him, or arranging visits to the new lands he was taking for Rome. Thousands of other settlers were already farming stretches of the virgin soil, and he could promise at least some comfort.

It was just a dream and they both knew it, even as they fantasized about establishing a small house for her in the Roman provinces. Servilia could no more leave the city than the Senate could. It was part of her; away from it, she was lost.

Through her, Julius learned how far Clodius and Milo had come in their domination of the poorer areas. He hoped Pompey’s confidence was not misplaced and wrote to him again pledging support if Pompey wanted to force a vote for Dictatorship. Though Julius knew he could never fully trust the man, there were few others with the strength and ability to control their tempestuous city and the offer was genuine. Having Pompey as Dictator was far preferable to anarchy.