She watched it spiral and come to rest, as if hypnotized. As it became still, he spoke again, his voice languid and intimate.

“I have heard that a woman is never more beautiful than when she is pregnant, but that is not always true, is it?”

He stepped closer to her, gesturing with the goblet 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 realizes he has survived where others have fallen.