“If I wanted you to forgive me anything, it would be for the years I could have had with you. Who I am, I would not change for anything, and the paths I have traveled to reach this day, this hour! They cannot be forgiven. You don’t have the right or the privilege to do it.”

“Then what do you want with me? I can’t just shrug and tell you to forget that I grew to manhood without you. I needed you once, but those I trust and love are the ones who were with me then. You were not there.”

He stood and looked down at her, confused and hurt. She stood with him.

“Will you leave me now?” she said quietly.

Brutus threw up his hands in despair.

“Do you want me to come back?” he asked.

“Very much,” she said, reaching out to touch him on the arm. The contact made the room waver and blur.

“Good. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she confirmed, smiling through tears.

*                                                      *                                                      *

Lucius Auriga hawked and spat irritably. There was something about the air of central Greece that always dried his throat, especially when the sun was warm. He would much rather have been enjoying an afternoon sleep in the shade of his house than be summoned to this vast plain, where the constant breeze wore at his temper. It wasn’t fitting for a Roman to be at the call of Greeks, no matter what their standing, he thought. It would no doubt be another complaint for him to deal with, as if he had nothing more to fill the days than to listen to their griping. He tugged his toga into position as they approached him. He must not seem discomfited by their choice of meeting place. After all, they were forbidden to ride, whereas he could simply mount up and be back inside the walls of Pharsalus before dark.

The man who had sent the summons walked unhurriedly toward them with two companions. His enormous shoulders and arms hung loosely, swinging slightly with his long stride. He looked as if he was fresh down from the mountains that broke the horizon all around them, and for a moment Lucius shivered delicately. At least they had not come armed, he thought. Mithridates was not usually a man who remembered to obey the laws of Rome. Lucius studied him as he walked over the scrub grass and wildflowers. He knew the locals still called him the king, and at least he walked like one, with his head unbowed, despite his disastrous rebellion.