For a long moment their gazes locked, and then the assassin's eyes dropped to the blade that Pompey held so casually. His daughters looked on, their tears drying. They didn't understand the danger and he could have cried for their innocence as they watched their father so trustingly. They were not appalled by his sores. In fact, without the gentle bathing they administered to their father, he knew he would have taken his own life a long time before. They had none of the disease, their skin perfect under the dirt they used to hide themselves from the predators of the alleys. Who would care for them when he was gone? He knew Pompey well enough to see his own life was finished. He'd had no mercy in him since the death of his daughter, if he ever had.

“Let my daughters go and I will tell you,” the assassin wheezed, his eyes pleading.

Pompey grunted softly, then reached out to the youngest one, holding her tightly by the hair. With his other hand, he drew the dagger across her throat and dropped her as she twisted in his grip.

The assassin screamed in unison with his daughter, straining to break the grip of the men that held him. He began to weep then, sagging in their arms.

“Now you know,” Pompey said. He wiped the blade between two of his fingers, the blood falling in heavy soundless drops to the earthern floor. He waited patiently until the assassin had subsided into choking sobs.

“The other one will live, perhaps. Last time of asking. Whose gold did you take?”

“Cato… it was Cato, through Antonidus. That is all I know, I swear.”

Pompey turned to the soldiers around him. “Did you men hear?”

They nodded, grim as their commander. “Then we are finished in this place.” He turned to leave, only a slight stain on his hands showing he had ever been there.

“Kill them both, the girl first,” he added as he went out into the alleys beyond.

“Is he awake?” Julius asked. The room stank of sickness and Tubruk lay sprawled on a bed that showed rusty stains from his bleeding. Before he entered, Julius had waited out his daughter's tears and gently taken her fingers from around his neck. She had cried again then, but he would not take her into another death room and Clodia had found a young female slave to take care of her. From the way the little girl went into her arms, it was clear the woman had comforted her before over the last, terrible days.

“He may wake if you speak to him, but he hasn't long now,” Clodia said, looking into the room. Her face told him more than he wanted to know, and he closed his eyes for a moment before entering.

Tubruk lay awkwardly, fresh stitches showing on his chest and disappearing under the blankets. Though he seemed to sleep, he shivered and Julius tugged the blanket up to cover him. There was a trace of blood around his mouth, fresh and red. Clodia brought a bowl of crimson water from the floor and dabbed at the smear as Julius watched in despair. Too many things had changed for him to take in, and he stood frozen as Clodia cleaned the lips and weeping stitches with tender care.

Tubruk groaned and opened his eyes at her touch. He couldn't seem to focus properly.

“You still here, old woman?” he whispered, a faint smile pulling at his mouth.

“As long as you need me, love,” she replied. She glanced up at Julius and back to the man on the bed.

“Julius is here,” she said.

Tubruk turned his head. “Come where I can see you,” he said.

Clodia stood back and Julius came and looked into his eyes. Tubruk took a deep breath and his whole body shivered again with the release.

“I couldn't stop them, Julius. I tried, but… I couldn't reach her.”

Julius began to sob softly as he looked down at his old friend.

“It isn't your fault,” he whispered.

“I killed them all. I killed him to save her,” Tubruk said, his eyes blank. His breathing was ragged and Julius despaired of the gods. They had given too much pain to ones he loved.

“Call Cabera in here. He's a healer,” he said to Clodia.

She beckoned him away from the tortured figure on the bed, and he bent his head to hear.

“Don't let him be troubled. There's nothing to do but wait now. There's no blood left in him.”

“Fetch Cabera,” Julius replied, his eyes fierce. He thought for a moment that she would refuse again, but then she left and he could hear her voice calling out in the courtyard.

“Cabera's here, Tubruk. He'll make you better,” Julius said, the soft sobbing starting again in his throat.

Dripping raindrops, the old man entered and crossed quickly to the bed, looking stricken. With deft fingers, he checked the wounds, raising the blanket to see beneath. He looked at Julius's desperate expression and sighed.

“I'll try,” he said. He placed his hands on the bruised flesh around the stitches and closed his eyes.

Julius leaned forward, whispering a prayer under his breath. There was nothing to be seen, just the figure of the old healer bent over, his hands still and dark against the pale chest. Tubruk took a long inward breath in sudden spasm, then breathed out slowly. He opened his eyes and looked at Clodia.

“The pain's gone, love,” he said. Then the life went out of him and Cabera staggered and fell.

Pompey frowned at the galley captain who stood stiffly before him.

“I don't care what your orders are. These are mine. You will sail south toward Sicilia and hail any other galleys you see on the way down the coast. Every Roman vessel is to guard the south and prevent the slaves escaping. Is that understood, or must I have you arrested and appoint another captain in your place?”

Gaditicus saluted, disliking the arrogant senator with a passion he didn't dare let show. After six months at sea, he had been hoping for some time ashore in the city, but he was being ordered out again without even a chance to clean the ship. Prax would be furious when he heard, he thought.

“I understand, sir. We'll clear the docks on the next tide.”

“Be sure you do,” Pompey replied, before striding back to his waiting soldiers. Gaditicus watched him go and glanced at the other galleys that had already put out to sea. With them all heading for the strait of Sicilia, Roman ports everywhere would be easy prey. Whatever the Senate was planning, he hoped it was worth the risk.

As the evening darkened, Clodia came to Julius as he drank himself into a stupor in a dark room. He looked up as she entered, his eyes listless.

“Are you home for good now?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, I'm going back with Pompey in a few days. I'll see to the funerals for both of them first.” His voice was slurred and miserable, but there were no words of comfort she could think to offer. Part of her wanted to make him feel pain for the cruel way he'd treated Cornelia, and it was only with the last of her strength that she didn't speak to hurt him. His face showed he knew well enough.

“Will you stay and look after my mother and daughter?” he said without looking at her.

“I am a slave. I should return to Senator Cinna's house,” she replied.

He met her eyes then and waved his hand drunkenly. “I free you, then. I'll buy your paper from her father. I can do that much at least before I go back. Just look after Julia. Is Octavian here?”

“In the stables. I wasn't sure if he should go back to his mother and…”

“Look after him too. He's my blood and I made a promise. I always keep my promises.” His face screwed up in anguish. “I want you to stay here and run this house. I don't know when I'll be back, but when I am I want you to talk about her. You knew her before I did and I want to know everything.”