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, panting. 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, tearstained 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.”