But Iason was right. It was all his fault. All of it.

Penelope's screams echoed in his ears. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled it as hard as she could. Her eyes wild, she wrenched the dagger from his waist.

"I want you dead! Dead!"

She plunged the dagger into his arm, then pulled back to strike again. Julian grabbed her hand.

With a feral shriek, she wrenched herself away.

"No," she said, her eyes crazed. "I want you to suffer. You took from me what I loved most. Now I will take the same from you." She ran from the room.

Overwhelmed by his grief and anger, Julian couldn't move as he watched the life drain out of Iason's body.

Until Penelope's words sank into his dazed mind.

"No!" he roared, rising to his feet. "Don't!"

He reached the door to her chambers in time to hear the children screaming. His heart shredded, he tried to open it, but she'd bolted it from the inside.

By the time he broke into her rooms, it was too late.

Too late…

Julian pressed his hands against his eyes as the horror of that day washed over him anew, and he felt Grace's soothing touch on his skin.

He would never be able to purge the sight of them, the fear in his heart. The absolute agony.

The only thing in life he'd ever loved had been his children.

And they alone had loved him.

Why? Why had they had to suffer for his actions? Why couldn't Priapus have tortured him without hurting them?

And how could Aphrodite have let it happen? It was one thing for her to turn a blind eye to him, but to let his children die…

That was why he'd gone to her temple that day. He'd planned to kill Priapus. To cleave his head from his shoulders and mount it on a pike.

"What happened?" Grace asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present.

"By the time I got there, it was too late," he said, his throat aching as raw grief tore through him. "Our children were dead, killed by their own mother. Penelope had already slashed her wrists and lay dying by their side. I called for a physician and tried to staunch the blood." He paused.

"With her dying breath, she spat in my face."

Grace closed her eyes as his pain washed over her. It was even worse than she had imagined.

Dear Lord, how had he survived it?

Over the years, she'd heard numerous horror stories, but none could compete with what he'd been through. And he'd suffered it all alone, with no one to help him. No one to care.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, rubbing her hands over his chest to comfort him.

"I still can't believe they're gone," he whispered, his voice laden with grief. "You asked me what I do while I'm in the book. I just stand there, and remember my son's and daughter's faces. I remember what it felt like when their tiny arms wrapped around me. The way they ran out to meet me when I came home from campaigns. And I relive every moment of that day, wishing I could have done something to save them."

Grace blinked back her tears. No wonder he'd never spoken of it.

Julian drew a deep, tormented breath. "The gods won't even grant me insanity to escape those memories. I'm not allowed even that much comfort."

After that, he spoke no more of it, or of anything else. He merely lay quietly in her arms.

Amazed by the strength of him, Grace sat for hours, just holding him. She didn't know what else to do.

For the first time in years, her therapist's training failed her completely.

Grace came awake to bright sunlight streaming in through her windows. It took her a full minute before she remembered the night before.

Sitting up, she reached over for Julian and found nothing but an empty bed.

"Julian?" she asked.

No one answered.

Throwing back the covers, she got up and quickly dressed.

"Julian?" she called as she went down the stairs.

Nothing. Not a single sound, other than her heart beating fiercely in her ears.

Panic began to set in. Had something happened to him?

Grace rushed into the living room where the book was lying on the coffee table. Flipping through it, she saw the blank page where Julian had been. Relieved he hadn't somehow returned to the book, she continued searching the house.

Where was he?

She went to the kitchen and noticed the back door slightly ajar. Her frown deepening, she opened it wider and walked out onto the deck.

Grace looked about the yard until she saw the neighbors' children sitting on the grass between her house and theirs. But what stunned her most was Julian sitting with them as he showed them a game with rocks and sticks.

The two boys and one of the girls were sitting next to him, listening attentively while their two-year-old sister toddled between them.

Grace smiled at the tranquil sight. Warmth flooded her, and she wondered if that was what Julian had looked like with his own children.

Leaving the deck, she walked toward them.

Bobby was the eldest of the children at nine, then his brother Tommy was a year younger and Katie was barely six. Their parents had moved in almost ten years ago as newlyweds and though they were friendly enough, they had never been much more than passing acquaintances.

"So, then what happened?" Bobby asked as Julian took a turn.

"Well, the army was trapped," Julian said, moving one of the rocks over a stick. "Betrayed by one of their own. A young hoplite who had sold out his comrades because he wanted to be a Roman centurion."

"They were the best," Bobby interrupted.

Julian scoffed. "They were nothing compared to the Spartans."

"Go, Spartans!" Tommy shouted. "That's our school mascot."

Bobby shoved his brother, knocking him over. "You're interrupting the story."

"You should never hit your brother," Julian said, his voice both stern, and yet strangely gentle. "Brothers are supposed to protect one another, not hurt each other."

The irony of his words wrenched her heart. It was a pity no one had ever taught his brothers that lesson.

"Sorry," Bobby said. "So what happened after that?"

Before Julian could answer, the baby fell and scattered the rocks and sticks. The boys shouted at her, but Julian calmed them while lifting Allison up and setting her back on her feet.

He touched the baby lightly on the nose, making her laugh. Then he set the game up again.

As Bobby took his turn with a rock, Julian began the story where he'd left off. "The Macedonian commander looked around the hills where the Romans had his army cornered. There was no way to outflank them, nowhere to retreat."

"Did they surrender?" Bobby asked.

"Never," Julian said with conviction. "Death always before dishonor."

Julian paused as the words echoed in his mind. Those words had been engraved on bis shield. As a commander, he had lived by them.

As a slave, he'd long forgotten them.

The boys moved closer.

"Did they die?" Katie asked.

"Some did," Julian said, trying to banish the memories that surged through him. Memories of a man who had once known no master save himself. "But not before they set the Romans back on their heels."

"How?" the boys asked anxiously.

This time, Julian caught the baby before she interrupted their game.

"Well," Julian said, giving Allison her small red ball. She sat on his bent knee and he held her in place with one hand around her waist. "As the Romans were riding down upon them, the Macedonian commander knew the Romans would expect him to pull his forces together into a phalanx, making them easy prey for the Roman cavalry and archers above. Instead, the commander ordered his men to disband, to aim their spears toward the horses, and break apart the Roman cavalry lines."

"Did it work?" Tommy asked.

Even Grace was getting interested in the story.

Julian nodded. "The Romans hadn't expected such a tactic from a civilized army. Completely unprepared for the move, their troops scattered."