face changed slightly as pride and love suffused her features. ‘Out riding. She takes her pony into the woods whenever she can. She looks like Cornelia, Julius. The same hair. Sometimes, when she laughs, it’s like thirty years have gone and she’s there again with me.’ She saw the tension in him and misunderstood. ‘I never let her ride alone. She has two servants with her, for safety.’
‘Will she know me?’ Julius asked, suddenly uncomfortable. He glanced at the gates as if speaking of Julia could bring her into sight. He remembered only a little of the daughter he had left in her care. Just a fragile girl he had comforted while her mother was laid out in the darkness. The memory of her tiny hands wrapped around his neck was strangely powerful.
‘She will, I’m sure. She’s always asking for stories of you and I’ve told her all I can.’ Clodia’s gaze strayed past him to Octavian as he stood stiffly by the horses.
‘Octavian?’ she said, wondering at the changes in him.
Before he could resist, Clodia ran to him and administered a smothering hug. Julius chuckled at his discomfort.
‘There’s dust in our throats, Clodia. Will you keep us standing out here all day?’
Clodia let Octavian escape her.
‘Yes, of course. Give your horses to one of the boys there and I’ll see to the kitchen. There’s only a few of the slaves and me now. Without the papers in your name, the merchants wouldn’t deal with me. Without Tubruk to run the place, it’s been …’
Julius flushed as the woman came close to tears again. He had not done his duty by her, he realised, wondering at his own blindness. She was making little of hard years and, to his shame, he could have eased the burden. He should have replaced Tubruk before he left and signed the control of funds over to her. Clodia seemed suddenly flustered at the thought of Julius seeing the house she had come to think of as her home and he laid a hand on her arm to ease her.
‘I could not have asked for more,’ he said.
Some of the tightness in her eased. As the horses were led away to be brushed and fed, Clodia bustled before them into the house and they followed, Julius swallowing dryly as they passed from the courtyard into the rooms of his childhood.
The meal Clodia brought to them was interrupted by a high sweet call outside as a clatter of hooves marked Julia’s return. With his mouth filled with bread and honey, Julius leapt to his feet and strode out into the sun. He had thought he would let her come in to him and greet her formally, but the sound of her voice overrode his patience and he couldn’t wait.
Though she had seen only ten summers, she was the image of her mother and her dark hair was worn long in a braid down her back. Julius laughed at the sight of the girl as she jumped down from her pony and fussed around him, pulling thorns and snags from his mane with her fingers as a comb.
His daughter started at the sound of the strange voice and looked around to see who dared to chuckle at her in her own home. When her eyes met Julius’, she frowned in suspicion. Julius watched her closely as she walked over to him, her head tilted to one side in silent enquiry in a way he remembered Cornelia doing.
She walked with confidence, he noted with pleasure. A mistress of an estate come to meet visitors. She was dressed in a threadbare cream tunic and leggings for riding and with her hair tied back and no sign of breasts under the cloth, she could almost have passed for a boy. He saw a simple silver bangle at her wrist and recognised it as one of his mother’s.
Clodia had come out to witness the meeting and smiled at them both with maternal pride.
‘This is your father, Julia,’ she said. The little girl froze in the act of rubbing dust from her sleeve. She looked up at Julius with a blank expression.
‘I remember you,’ she said slowly. ‘Are you back to stay?’
‘For a while,’ Julius replied as seriously.
The little girl seemed to digest this and nodded.
‘Will you buy me a horse? I’m getting too big for old Gibi and Recidus says I would do well on a mount with a bit of spirit.’
Julius blinked at her and some of the past seemed to melt away in his amusement.
‘I will find you a beauty,’ he promised, rewarded with a smile that thumped his heart for the woman he had lost.
Alexandria stood back from the heat of the forge, watching as Tabbic removed the cup of molten gold and positioned it over the pouring holes in the clay.
‘A steady hand now,’ she cautioned unnecessarily, as Tabbic began to rotate the long wooden handle without a tremor. Both of them gave the liquid metal the respect it deserved as it hissed and gurgled into the cast. A single splash would burn flesh to the bone and every part of the process had to be slow and careful. Alexandria nodded in satisfaction as vapour whistled out of the air holes in the clay and the deep gulping sound began to rise in tone until the structure was full. When the gold had cooled, the clay would be painstakingly removed to reveal a mask as perfect as the face of the woman it represented. At a senator’s bidding, Alexandria had performed the unpleasant task of taking a cast from his dead wife only hours after her death. Three lesser masks had followed in clay as Alexandria altered the lines of the face to smooth away the ravages of disease. With infinite care, she had rebuilt the nose where sickness had eaten the flesh and at last the man had wept to see the image death had taken from him. In gold, she would be preserved forever young, long after the man who loved her was ashes himself.
Alexandria touched a hand to the clay, feeling the heat constrained within and wondering if a man would ever love her enough to keep her image all his life.
Lost in thought, she did not hear Brutus enter the workshop and only the stillness as he gazed at her made her turn, sensing something she could not have named.
‘Break out the good wine and take your clothes off,’ he said. His eyes were on her and he didn’t even notice Tabbic standing there with his mouth open. ‘I’m back, girl. Julius is back and Rome will be turned on its head when we’re done.’
Brutus patted Alexandria’s thigh, enjoying the feel of her as they rode through the dusk out to the estate. After spending the day in bed with her, he felt more relaxed and at ease with the world than he could remember. He wished all his homecomings were of that quality.
Not used to riding, she held him tightly and he could feel the whip of her hair as it struck his bare neck, something he found extraordinarily erotic. She had grown strong while he was away, her body taut with health and strength. Her face too had altered subtly and her forehead was marked with a scar from a splash of hot metal, almost in the shape of a tear.
Her black cloak snapped around him for a moment in the wind and he gripped the edge of it, pulling her in closer. She wrapped her arms around his chest and breathed deeply. The air was warm as the land gave back the heat of the sun and Brutus only wished there was someone there to witness how magnificent they must look as he cut across the fields to the estate.
He saw it from far away, the light of torches blurring together to make the walls a crown
