Cornelia bore his kisses and wanted to sob out her grief for what had been hurt in her. She had told no one about what Sulla had done, not even Clodia. It was a shame she had hoped to forget, something she had successfully pressed deep away inside her until it almost hadn’t happened. She moved with Julius as he became aroused, but felt nothing except fear as the memories of the final visit of the Dictator flashed into her mind unbidden. She heard again the cry of her daughter in the cot at her bedside as Sulla pressed on her, and tears seeped slowly from her eyes as the cruelty surfaced in her memories with appalling force.

“I don’t think I can, Gaius,” she said, her voice breaking.

“What is it?” Julius replied, shocked at her tears.

Cornelia curled against him and he wrapped his arms around her body, resting his head on hers as sobs convulsed her.

“Has someone hurt you?” he whispered, and a great emptiness stole into his chest as he voiced the terrible thought.

She could not answer him at first, but then she began to whisper, her eyes tightly closed. Not the worst of it, but the beginning, the terror of her pregnancy, the helpless anger at knowing there was no one to stop Sulla in all Rome.

Julius felt a great sadness weight him down as he listened. Without warning, tears of rage and frustration came from him at what she had gone through. He controlled himself, viciously biting his lip against the questions he wanted to ask, the pointless stupid questions that would serve nothing except to wound both of them even further. None of it mattered, except for him to hold her and hold her until the sobbing slowly died away into tiny aching shivers.

“He is dead now, Lia. He cannot hurt you or frighten you anymore,” he said.

He told her how her love had kept him strong when he thought he would go insane in the dark cell, how proud he had been at the wedding, how much she meant to his life. His tears dried with hers, and as the moon sank toward dawn, they slept, slipping away from each other.

Chapter 31

                  CHAPTER 31                  

With the sun only two spans above the horizon, Tubruk found Julius leaning against the outer wall of the estate, a blanket over his bare chest against the morning cold.

“You look ill,” the old gladiator told him. To his surprise, Julius didn’t reply and hardly seemed to notice his approach. The young man’s eyes were red from too little sleep, and the chill breeze sent shivers over his skin that he ignored. Tubruk could see the white traces of scars against the darker tan, a written script for old pain and struggle.