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' 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 … afterwards?’
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 centre 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 civilisation and a glimpse of what man could achieve. All they 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 armour, 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.
He disagreed with Gaditicus over the need for the march. The centurion was happy to break a rebellion and vanish, leaving someone else to handle the politics, but it was important to remind the town that the governor was not to be touched above all else.
He glanced over at Paulus, taking in the heavily bandaged hands and the still-swollen face. Julius admired him for refusing to be carried in a litter, determined to show himself unbeaten after his torture. Fair enough that the man wanted to come back to town at the head of an army. There were men like him all over Roman lands. They had little support from the Senate and were like small kings who nonetheless depended on the goodwill of the locals to make things happen as they wanted. When that goodwill failed, Julius knew a thousand things could make life very difficult. No wood or food delivered except at sword-point, roads damaged and property burnt. Nothing to turn out the guards for, but constant irritations, like burrs caught in the skin.
From what the governor said of the life, Paulus seemed to enjoy the challenges. Julius had been surprised to note that his main feeling was not anger at his ordeal, but sadness that people he had trusted had turned against him. Julius wondered if he would be so trusting in the future.
The legionaries marched through the town, ignoring the stares and sudden movement as mothers cleared playing children from their path. Most of the Romans were feeling the aches of the night before and were pleased to reach the governor's home in the centre. They formed a square in front of the building and Julius saw one of the benefits of the post Paulus held in the beauty of the white walls and ornamental pools. It was a piece of Rome, transplanted into the Greek countryside.
Paulus laughed aloud as his children came running to greet him. He went down on one knee, letting them embrace him while he kept his broken hands clear. His wife too came out and Julius could see tears in her eyes, even from the second rank. A lucky man.
‘Tesserarius Caesar, stand forward,’ Gaditicus ordered, startling Julius out of his thoughts. Julius moved quickly and saluted. Gaditicus looked
