Clodia allowed herself to be guided to a bench next to the ovens. She sat without checking the seat for grease or soot, which worried Tubruk even further. He poured a cup of pressed apple juice for her, and she gulped at it, her sobs subsiding to shudders.

“Tell me the problem,” Tubruk said. “Most things can be solved, no matter how bad they might seem.”

He waited patiently for her to finish drinking and gently took the cup from her limp hand.

“It's Sulla,” she whispered. “He's been tormenting Cornelia. She won't tell me all the details, but he has his men bring her to him at any time of the day or night, pregnant as she is, and she comes back in tears.”

Tubruk paled in anger. “Has he hurt her? Hurt the child?” he pressed, stepping closer.

Clodia leaned away from his intensity, her mouth quivering with returning force. “Not yet, but every time is worse. She told me he is always drunk and he… places his hands on her.”

Tubruk closed his eyes for a moment, knowing he had to remain calm. The only outward sign was a clenched fist, but when he spoke again, his eyes glittered dangerously.

“Does her father know?”

Clodia took his arm in a sudden grip. “Cinna must not know! It would break him. He would not be able to meet Sulla in the Senate without accusations, and he would be killed if he said anything in public. He cannot be told!”

Her voice rose higher as she spoke and Tubruk patted her hand reassuringly.

“He won't learn it from me.”

“I have no one else to turn to but you, to help me protect her,” Clodia said brokenly, her eyes pleading.

“You've done right, love. She carries a child of this house. I need to know everything that has happened, do you understand? There must be no mistake in this. Do you see how important that is?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes roughly.

“I hope so,” he continued. “As the Dictator of Rome, Sulla is almost untouchable under the law. Oh, we could bring a case to the Senate, but not one of them would dare to argue the prosecution. It would mean death for anyone who tried. That is the reality of their precious ‘equal law.' And what is his crime? In law, nothing, but if he has touched her and frightened her, then the gods call for punishment even if the Senate would not.”

Clodia nodded again. “I understand that-”

“You must understand,” he interrupted sharply, his voice hard and low, “because it means that anything we do will be outside the law, and if it is any sort of attack on the body of Sulla himself, then to fail would mean the deaths of Cinna, you, me, Julius's mother, servants, slaves, Cornelia and the child-everybody. Julius would be tracked down no matter where he hid.”

“You will kill Sulla?” Clodia whispered, moving closer.

“If everything is as you say, I will certainly kill him,” he promised, and for a moment, she could see the gladiator he had once been, frightening and grim.

“Good, it is what he deserves. Cornelia will be able to put these dark months behind her and bear the child in peace.” She dabbed at her eyes and some of the grief and worry eased from her visibly.

“Does she know you have come to me?” he asked quietly.

Clodia shook her head.

“Good. Don't tell her what I have said. She is too close to birth for these fears.”

“And… afterward?”

Tubruk scratched the short crop of hair on the back of his head. “Never. Let her believe it was one of his enemies. He has enough of them. Keep it a secret, Clodia. He has supporters who will be calling for blood for years later if the truth comes out. One wrong word from you to another, who then tells a friend, and the guards will be at the gate to take Cornelia and the child away for torture before the next dawn.”

“I will not tell,” she whispered, holding his gaze for long seconds. At last she looked away and he sighed as he sat on the bench next to her.

“Now, start from the beginning and don't leave anything out. Pregnant girls often imagine things, and before I risk everything I love, I need to be sure.”

They sat and talked for an hour in quiet voices. By the end, the hand she placed on his arm marked the beginning of a shy attraction, despite the ugliness of the subject they discussed.

“I had intended to be on the next tide out to sea,” Gaditicus had said sourly. “Not to take part in a parade.”

“You believed me to be a corpse then,” Governor Paulus had replied. “As I am battered but alive, I feel it necessary to show the support of Rome that stands with me. It will discourage… further attempts on my dignity.”

“Sir, every young fighter on the whole island must have been holed up in that fort-and a fair few from the mainland as well. Half the families in the town will be grieving for the loss of a son or father. We have shown them well enough what disobedience to Rome means. They will not rebel again.”

“You think not?” Paulus had replied, smiling wryly. “How little you know these people. They have been fighting against their conquerors since Athens was the center of the world. Now Rome is here and they fight on. Those who died will have left sons to take up arms as soon as they are able. It is a difficult province.”

Discipline had prevented Gaditicus from arguing further. He longed to be back at sea in Accipiter, but Paulus had insisted, even demanding four of the legionaries to stay with him permanently as guards. Gaditicus had nearly walked back to the ship at that order, but a few of the older men had volunteered, preferring the easier duty to pirate hunting.

“Don't forget what happened to his last set of guards,” Gaditicus had warned them, but it was a hollow threat, as well they knew after the rebels' pyre lifted a stream of black smoke high enough to be seen for miles. The job would take them safely to retirement.

Gaditicus cursed under his breath. He was going to be very short of good men for the next year. The old man Caesar had brought on board with him had turned out to be good with wounds, so a few of the injured might be saved from an early release and poverty. He wasn't a miracle worker, though, and some of the crippled ones would have to be put off at the next port, there to wait for a slow merchant ship to take them back to Rome. The galley century had lost a third of its men in Mytilene. Promotions would have to be made, but they couldn't replace twenty-seven dead in the fighting, fourteen of them competent hastati who had served on Accipiter for more than ten years.

Gaditicus sighed to himself. Good men lost just to smoke out a few young hotheads trying to live the stories their grandfathers told. He could imagine the speeches they had made, whereas the truth was that Rome brought them civilization and a glimpse of what man could achieve. All the rebels fought for was the right to live in mud huts and scratch their arses, did they but know it. He didn't expect them to be grateful, he had lived too long and seen too much for that, but he demanded their respect, and the ill-planned mess at the fort had shown precious little of that. Eighty-nine enemy bodies had been burned at dawn. The Roman dead were carried back to the ship for burial at sea.

It was with such angry thoughts buzzing around in his head that he marched into the town of Mytilene in his best armor, with the rest of his depleted century shining behind him. Rain threatened in the form of dark, heavy clouds, and the stiflingly hot air matched his mood perfectly.

Julius marched stiffly after the battering he had taken the night before. It amazed him how many small cuts and scrapes he had picked up without noticing. His chest was purple all down the left side, and a shiny yellow lump stood out on one of his ribs. He would have Cabera look at it back on Accipiter, but he didn't think it was broken.