“When the judges return, there will be no disturbance, whatever the outcome. Be sure that any hostility will be met with quick and final punishment. You will depart peacefully and any man who does not will suffer my displeasure.”
He took his seat again, ignoring the baleful stares that were focused on him from the people of Rome. The silence held for only a few seconds, then a lone voice called “Ma-ri-us!” and was quickly joined by those around him. In a few moments, the whole crowd was stamping and yelling the name, and the assembled members of the Senate looked around them nervously, suddenly aware that only a thin line of soldiers stood between them and the mob.
Moving with stately slowness, Julius decided the moment was right to reveal the rest of Alexandria's work. He caught her eye on the benches as he grasped the rough cloth that covered the first and saw she was grinning with excitement. Then he whipped it away and the crowd cheered raucously. It was the three crossed arrows of Primigenia, Marius's beloved legion. On the benches, Brutus stood on impulse to cheer as wildly as the crowd, and others close by him followed his lead.
The praetor snapped out some order to Julius, but it went unheard over the unruly crowd and Julius moved to the others, pulling away the coverings one by one. With each the crowd grew louder in their roaring as those who could see shouted out descriptions to those behind. Small children were hoisted to their parents' shoulders to see, and fists punched the air in raucous enjoyment. Scenes from Marius's life were shown, his battles in Africa, the Triumph through the streets of the city, his proud stance on the walls as he waited for Sulla.
Julius paused dramatically as he reached the last one, and the crowd quietened as if at an unseen signal. Then he pulled the cloth away to reveal the last shield. It shone in the morning light, completely blank.
Into the silence, Julius spoke. “People of Rome, we cast the last image on this day!” he cried, and they erupted into a bellow of cheering and shouts that had the praetor on his feet, shouting to his guards. The space between the crowd and the court was widened, with the soldiers using their staffs to push the people back. They moved away in confusion, yelling defiance and jeering Antonidus. The name of Marius began again as a chant and it seemed as if all Rome was shouting the name.
Cornelia watched in the gray light as Tubruk leaned toward Clodia and kissed her. He was so gentle, it almost hurt to watch, but she could not look away. She hid from their sight in a dark window, and felt more alone than ever. Clodia would ask for her freedom, she was sure, and then she would have no one.
Cornelia smiled bitterly as she probed the tender places of her memories. It should have been different. Julius seemed so full of life and energy as he took Rome in his hands, but none of it was for her. She remembered the words that used to pour out of him when Marius was still alive. She'd had to put a hand over his mouth to stop her father's servants from hearing as he talked and laughed with her. There had been such joy in him then. Now he was a stranger and though once or twice she had caught him looking at her with the old fire, it had gone as soon as she recognized it. There had been times when she'd gathered courage to demand that he make love to her, just to break the ice that was forming between them. She wanted it, even dreamed of him, but each time the memory of Sulla's rough fingers took her resolution and she slipped alone into her nightmares. Sulla was dead, she told herself, but she could still see his face and sometimes in the wind she thought she could smell his scent. Then terror would curl her into the bedclothes against the world.
Tubruk put his arm around her nurse and Clodia rested her head on his shoulder, whispering to him. Cornelia heard his deep chuckle for a moment and envied them what they had found. It was not in her to refuse if Clodia asked, though the thought of being the forgotten wife while Julius gloried in his city and his legion was unbearable. She had seen them before, those poisonous Roman matrons with nurses for their children and slaves to work in the houses. They spent their days buying rich cloth, or organizing a social circle that Clodia saw as a kind of death. How they would pity her when they clawed out the truth of a loveless marriage.
Cornelia rubbed angrily at her eyes. She was too young to be destroyed by this, she told herself. If it took a year to recover, then she would wait out the healing. Though he had changed in his prison, there was still the young man she'd known in Julius. The one who had risked life and her father's anger to come to her room over the slippery rooftops. If she could only keep that man in mind, she would be able to talk to him again and perhaps he would remember the girl he'd loved. Perhaps the conversation would not become an argument and neither of them would leave the other alone.
A shadow moved in the courtyard and Cornelia raised her head to see. It could have been one of the soldiers on his rounds, she thought, then let out her held breath as the graying night revealed him. Octavian, spying on the lovers. If she called to him, the moment of privacy Clodia and Tubruk had found would be spoiled, and she hoped the boy would have the sense not to get too close.
Julius too had grown up inside the walls and once had been as fascinated by love as Octavian.
She watched in silence as Octavian crouched behind a water trough and peered at Tubruk. The couple kissed again and Tubruk reached down to the ground, his fingers searching as he chuckled again. When he had found what he wanted, Cornelia saw his arm go back and jerk forward, sending a pebble clattering toward where Octavian hid.
“Go back to bed,” Tubruk called to the boy. Cornelia smiled, turning away to take the advice herself.
“The Senate doors are opening!” Quintus said at Julius's shoulder. Julius turned to see the magistrates returning.
“That was fast,” he said nervously to the jurist.
The old man nodded. “Fast is not good in a property case, I think,” he muttered ominously.
Julius tensed in sudden fear. Had he done enough? If the decision went against him and the judges accepted the call for a death penalty, he would be dead before the sun set. He could hear their sandals on the forum stones, as if they marked off his last moments. Julius felt sweat trickle down his side under his toga, cold against his skin.
With the rest of the court, he stood to receive the magistrates, bowing as they entered. The soldiers who had accompanied them from the Senate building took up their posts in a second line between the crowd and the court, their hands on their swords. Julius's heart sank. If they were expecting trouble, it could be the magistrates had warned them of the verdict already.
The three judges moved to their seats with slow dignity. Julius tried to catch their eyes as they settled, desperate for some clue of what was to come. They gave nothing away and the crowd became silent as the tension grew, waiting for them.
The magistrate who had spoken throughout the proceedings rose ponderously to his feet, his expression grim.
“Hear our verdict, Rome,” he called. “We have searched for truth and speak as law.”
Julius held his breath unconsciously and the silence that surrounded them seemed almost painful after the crashing cheers and chants before.
“I find in favor of General Antonidus,” the man said, his head and neck stiff. The crowd roared in anger, then a hush fell again as the second judge rose.
“I too find in favor of Antonidus,” he said, his gaze swinging over the unruly chaos of the crowd. A fresh bellow of jeers followed his words and Julius felt suddenly dizzy with reaction.