LITMIR.BIZ

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to her, gesturing with the cup as he spoke, slopping drops over the rim.

      ‘I … do not know, sir, it…’

      ‘Oh, I have seen them. Rat-haired heifers that amble and bellow, their skin blotched and sweating. Common women, of common stock, whereas the true Roman lady, well …’

      He pressed even closer to her and it was all she could do not to pull away from him. There was a glitter to his eyes and suddenly she thought of screaming, but who would come? Who would dare come?

      ‘The Roman lady is a ripe fruit, her skin glowing, her hair shining and lustrous.’

      His voice was a husky murmur, and as he spoke he reached out and pressed his hand against the swelling of the child.

      ‘Please …’ she whispered, but he seemed not to hear. His hand trailed over her, feeling the heavy roundness.

      ‘Ah, yes, you have that beauty, Cornelia.’

      ‘Please, I am tired. I would like to go home now. My husband …’

      ‘Julius? A very undisciplined young man. He refused to give you up, did you know? I can see why, now.’

      His fingers reached up to her breasts. Swollen and painful as they were at this late stage, they were held only loosely in the mamillare and she closed her eyes in helpless misery as she felt his hands easing over her flesh. Tears came swiftly into her eyes.

      ‘What a delicious weight,’ he whispered, his voice ugly with passion. Without warning, he bent and pressed his mouth on hers, shoving his fat tongue between her lips. The taste of stale wine made her gag in reflex and then he pulled away, wiping loose lips with the back of his hand.

      ‘Please don't hurt the baby,’ she said, her voice breaking. Tears streamed out and the sight of them seemed to disgust Sulla. His mouth twisted in irritation and he turned away.

      ‘Take yourself home. Your nose is running and the moment is spoiled. There will be another time.’

      He filled his cup from the amphora yet again as she left the room, her sobs almost choking her and her eyes blind with shining tears.

      * * *

      Julius roared as his men charged into the small yard where Gaditicus fought the last of the rebels. As his legionaries hit the rebel flank, there was instant panic in the darkness and the Romans took advantage, bodies falling quickly, ripped apart by their swords. Within seconds, there were fewer than twenty facing the legionaries and Gaditicus shouted, his voice a bellow of authority.

      ‘Drop your weapons!’

      A second of hesitation followed, then a clatter as swords and daggers fell to the tiles and the enemy were still at last, chests heaving, drenched in sweat, but beginning to feel that moment of joyous disbelief that comes when a man realises he has survived where others have fallen.

      The legionaries moved to surround them, their faces hard.

      Gaditicus waited until the rebels' swords had been taken and they stood in a huddled and sullen group.

      ‘Now, kill them all,’ he snapped and the legionaries threw themselves in one last time. There were screams, but it was over quickly and the small yard was quiet.

      Julius breathed deeply, trying to clear his lungs of the smells of smoke and blood and opening bowels. He coughed and spat on the stone floor, before wiping his gladius on a body. The blade was nicked and scarred, almost useless. It would take hours to rub out the flaws and he would be better exchanging it quietly for another from the stores. His stomach heaved slightly and he concentrated even harder on the blade and the work to be done before they could return to Accipiter. He had seen bodies piled high before and it was that memory of the morning after his father's death that made him suddenly believe he could smell burning flesh in his nostrils.

      ‘I think that's the last of them,’ Gaditicus said. He was pale with exhaustion and stood bent over with his hands on his knees for support.

      ‘We'll wait for dawn before checking every doorway, in case a few more are hiding in the shadows.’ He rose straight, wincing as his back stretched and clicked. ‘Your men were late in support, Caesar. We were naked for a while.’

      Julius nodded. He thought of saying what it had taken to get to the centurion at all, but kept his mouth tightly shut. Suetonius grinned at him. He was dabbing a cloth to a gash on his cheek. Julius hoped the stitches would hurt.

      ‘He was delayed rescuing me, Centurion,’ a voice said. The governor had recovered consciousness, leaning heavily on the shoulders of the two men carrying him. His hands were purple and impossibly swollen, hardly like hands at all.

      Gaditicus took in the Roman style of the filthy toga, stiff with blood and dirt. The eyes were tired but the voice was clear enough, despite the broken lips.

      ‘Governor Paulus?’ Gaditicus asked. He saluted when the governor nodded.

      ‘We heard you were dead, sir,’ Gaditicus said.

      ‘Yes … it seemed that way to me for a while.’

      The governor's head lifted and his mouth twisted in a slight smile.

      ‘Welcome to Mytilene fort, gentlemen.’

      * * *

      Clodia sobbed as Tubruk put his arm around her in the empty kitchens.

      ‘I don't know what to do,’ she said, her voice muffled by his tunic. ‘He's been at her and at her all through the pregnancy.’

      ‘Shhh … come on.’ Tubruk patted her back, trying to control the fear that had leapt in him when he first saw Clodia's dusty, tear-stained face. He didn't know Cornelia's nurse well, but what he had seen had given him an impression of a solid, sensible woman who would not be crying over nothing.

      ‘What is it, love? Come and sit down and tell me what's going on.’

      He kept his voice as calm as he could, but it was a struggle. Gods, was the baby dead? It was due any time and childbirth was always risky. He felt coldness touch him. He had told Julius he would keep an eye on them while he was away from the city, but everything had seemed fine. Cornelia had been a little withdrawn in the last months, but many a young girl felt fear with the ordeal of her first birth ahead of her.

      Clodia allowed herself to be guided to a bench next to the ovens. She sat without checking the seat for grease or soot, which worried Tubruk even further. He poured a cup of pressed apple juice for her and she gulped at it, her sobs subsiding to shudders.

      ‘Tell me the problem,’ Tubruk said. ‘Most things can be solved, no matter how bad they might seem.’

      He waited patiently for her to finish drinking and gently took the cup from her limp hand.

      ‘It's Sulla,’ she whispered. ‘He's been tormenting Cornelia. She won't tell me all the details, but he has his men bring her to him at any time of the day or night, pregnant as she is, and she comes back in tears.’

      Tubruk paled in anger.

      ‘Has he hurt her? Hurt the child?’ he pressed, stepping closer.

      Clodia leaned away from his intensity, her mouth quivering with returning force.

      ‘Not yet, but every time is worse. She told me he is always drunk and he … places his hands on her.’

      Tubruk closed his eyes briefly, knowing he had to remain calm. The only outward sign was a clenched fist, but when he spoke again, his eyes glittered dangerously.

      ‘Does her father know?’

      Clodia took his arm in a sudden grip.

      ‘Cinna must not know! It would break him. He would not be able to meet Sulla in the Senate without accusations and he would be killed if he said anything in public. He cannot be told!’

      Her voice rose higher as she spoke and Tubruk patted her hand reassuringly.

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