up the kiss in the stables with her and wondered if she thought of it as often as he did. He cleared his mind of her, knowing he had to be sharp and focused to meet a consul of Rome.
A portly slave stopped them outside the door to the chamber and fussed with their clothing, producing a carved ivory comb to pull Marcus' curls back into place and straightening Tubruk's jacket. As the fleshy fingers approached Cabera, the old man's hands shot out and slapped them away.
‘Don't touch!’ he snapped waspishly.
The slave's face remained blank and he carried on improving the others. At last he was satisfied, although he permitted himself a frown at Cabera.
‘The master and mistress are present this evening. Bow first to the master as you present yourselves and keep your eyes on the floor as you bow. Then bow to Mistress Metella, an inch or two less deep. If your barbarian slave requires it, he can knock his head on the floor a few times as well.’
Cabera opened his mouth to retort, but the slave turned away and pushed the doors open.
Gaius entered first and saw a beautiful room with a garden in the centre, open to the sky. Around the rectangle of the garden was a walkway, with other rooms leading off it. Columns of white stone held the overhang of roof and the walls were painted with scenes from Roman history: the victories of Scipio, the conquest of Greece. Marius and his wife Metella stood to receive their guests and Gaius forced a smile onto his face, suddenly feeling very young and very awkward.
As he approached, he could see the man sizing him up and wondered what conclusions he was drawing. For his own part, Marius was an impressive figure. General of a hundred campaigns, he wore a loose toga that left his right arm and shoulder bare, revealing massive musculature and a dark weave of hair on the chest and forearms. He wore no jewellery or adornment of any kind, as if such things were unnecessary to a man of his stature. He stood straight and radiated strength and will. His face was stern and dark-brown eyes glared out from under heavy brows. Every feature revealed the city of his birth. His arms were clasped behind him and he said nothing as Gaius approached and bowed.
Metella had once been a beauty, but time and worry had clawed at her face, lines of some nameless grief gripping her skin with an old woman's talons. She seemed tense, the cords of sinew on her neck standing out. Her hands quivered slightly as she looked at him. She wore a simple dress of red cloth, complemented with earrings and bracelets of bright gold.
‘My sister's son is always welcome in my house,’ Marius said, his voice filling the space.
Gaius almost sagged with relief, but held himself firm.
Marcus came up beside him and bowed smoothly. Metella locked eyes with him and the quivering in her hands increased. Gaius caught Marius' sideways glance of worry at her as she stepped forward.
‘Such beautiful boys,’ she said, holding out her hands. Bemused, they took one each. ‘What you have suffered in the uprising! What you have seen!’
She put a hand to Marcus' cheek. ‘You will be safe here, do you understand? Our home is your home, for as long as you want.’
Marcus put his hand up to cover hers and whispered, ‘Thank you.’ He seemed more comfortable with the strange woman than Gaius was. Her intensity reminded him too painfully of his own mother.
‘Perhaps you could check on the arrangements for the meal, my dear, while I discuss business with the boys,’ Marius boomed cheerfully from behind them.
She nodded and left, with a backward glance at Marcus.
Marius cleared his throat.
‘I think my wife likes you,’ he said. ‘The gods have not blessed us with children of our own and I think you will bring her comfort.’
His gaze passed over them.
‘Tubruk – I see you are still the concerned guardian. I heard you fought well in the defence of my sister's house.’
‘I did my duty, sir. It was not enough in the end.’
‘The son lives, and his mother. Julius would say that was enough,’ Marius replied. At this, his eyes returned to Gaius.
‘I can see your father's face in yours. I am sorry for his leaving. I cannot say we were truly friends, but we had respect for each other, which is more honest than many friendships. I could not attend his funeral, but he was in my thoughts and prayers.’
Gaius felt the beginnings of liking for this man. Perhaps that is his talent, warned an inner voice. Perhaps that is why he has been elected so many times. He is a man whom others follow.
‘Thank you. He always spoke well of you,’ he replied out loud.
Marius laughed, a short bark.
‘I doubt it. How is your mother, is she … the same?’
‘Much the same, sir. The doctors despair.’
Marius nodded, his face betraying nothing. ‘You must call me uncle from now on, I think. Yes. Uncle suits me well. And you, who is this?’ Once again, his eyes and focus had switched without warning, this time to Cabera, who looked back impassively.
‘He is a priest and healer, my adviser. Cabera is his name,’ Gaius replied.
‘Where are you from, Cabera? Those are not Roman features.’
‘The distant east, sir. My home is not known in Rome.’
‘Try me. I have travelled far with my legion in my lifetime.’ Marius did not blink, his gaze was relentless.
Cabera didn't seem perturbed by it.
‘A hill village a thousand miles east of Aegyptus. I left it as a boy and the name is lost to me. I too have travelled far since then.’
The flame gaze snapped away as Marius lost interest. He looked again at the two boys.
‘My house is your home from now on. I presume Tubruk will be returning to your estate?’
Gaius nodded.
‘Good. I will arrange your entrance to the Senate as soon as I have sorted out a few problems of my own. Do you know Sulla?’
Gaius was painfully aware that he was being assessed. ‘He controls Rome at present.’
Marius frowned, but Gaius went on: ‘His legion patrols the streets and that gives him a great deal of influence.’
‘You are correct. I see living on a farm hasn't kept you completely away from the affairs of the city. Come and sit down. Do you drink wine? No? Then this is as good a time as any to learn.’
As they sat on couches around the food-laden table, Marius bowed his head and began to pray aloud: ‘Great Mars. Grant that I make the right decisions in the difficult days to come.’ He straightened and grinned at them, motioning for a slave to pour wine.
‘Your father could have been a great general, if he had wanted,’ Marius said. ‘He had the sharpest mind I have ever encountered, but chose to keep his interests small. He did not understand the reality of power – that a strong man can be above the rules and
