“Can you trust Durus?” Gaditicus asked him. Julius thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“Not with so much gold. I will leave Prax to keep him honest.” He searched out his old optio and was pleased to see him signal consent. With that settled, Julius took a deep breath as he looked over the seated men. He could name them all.

“Will you take the legion oath and be sworn to my command?”

They roared their agreement at him. Gaditicus whispered harshly, leaning close to Julius’s ear.

“Gods, man. The Senate will have my balls if I do!”

“You should leave, then, Gadi, join Suetonius back at the ship while I give them the oath,” Julius replied.

Gaditicus looked at him coolly, weighing him up. “I wondered why you left him there,” he said. “Have you thought where you will lead them?”

“I have. I’m going to raise an army and lead them straight down Mithridates’ throat.”

He held out his hand and Gaditicus hesitated, then took it in a brief grip that was almost painful.

“Then our path is the same,” he said, and Julius nodded his understanding.

Julius raised his arms for quiet, smiling as it came. His voice carried clearly in the sudden silence. “I never doubted you,” he said to the men. “Not for a moment. Now stand and repeat these words.”

They rose as one and stood to attention, with heads raised and backs straight.

Julius looked round at them and knew he was committed to his course. There was nothing in him to say turn back, but with the oath, his life would change until Mithridates was dead.

He spoke the words his father had taught him when the world was simple.

“Jupiter Victor, hear this oath. We pledge our strength, our blood, our lives to Rome. We will not turn. We will not break. We will not mind suffering or pain.

“While there is light, from here until the end of the world, we stand for Rome and the command of Caesar.”

They chanted the words after him, their voices clear and firm.

Chapter 21

                  CHAPTER 21                  

Alexandria tried to watch without being obvious as Tabbic explained a technique to Octavian, his voice a constant low murmur accompanying each movement of his powerful hands. On the workbench in front of them, Tabbic had laid a thick piece of gold wire on a square of leather. Both ends of the wire were trapped in tiny wooden clamps, and Tabbic was gesturing to show how Octavian should move a narrow wooden block over the wire.

“Gold is the softest metal, boy. To make a pattern in the wire, all you have to do is press the marking block gently against it and run it back and forth, keeping your arm very straight, as I showed you. Try it.”

Octavian brought the block down slowly, letting the ridged teeth of the underside rest on the fragile-looking line of precious metal.