“It’s good to see that name in the field again. I can’t tell you how much,” Pompey replied, losing his grimness for a moment and looking surprisingly boyish as he smiled. Then the mantle of his continual anger settled on him again, as it had ever since his daughter’s death. “I want Primigenia to march flank to Lepidus. I don’t trust any man who has Cato as his sponsor. When it comes to the fighting, stay close to him. I’ll trust you to do whatever has to be done. You’ll be my own extraordinarii, I think. You did well in Greece. Do well for me.”

“I am at your command,” Julius confirmed with a quick bow of his head. He met Crassus’s eyes, including him even as he began to plan. Brutus would have to be told.

As he left, with the soldiers of Primigenia falling in around him, Julius felt a touch of excitement and pride. He had not been forgotten and he would make certain Pompey didn’t regret the trust.

*                                                      *                                                      *

The slave sank his hoe into the hard ground, splitting the clods of pale earth with a grunt. Sweat dripped from his face to leave dark marks in the dust, and his shoulders burned with the effort. At first he did not notice the man standing near him, as he was too wrapped up in his own misery. He raised the tool again and caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye. He did not react immediately, his surprise covered in the motions of his work. The blisters on his hands had broken again and he laid down the hoe to tend them, aware of the man, but not yet willing to give his knowledge away. He had learned to guard the slightest advantage from his masters.

“Who are you?” the dark figure asked softly.

The slave turned to him calmly. The man was wrapped in a rough brown robe over a ragged tunic. His face was partially covered, but the eyes were alight with interest and pity.

“I am a slave,” he said, narrowing his eyes against the sun. Even in the vine rows, it beat down on his skin, burning and blistering him. His shoulders were mottled with raw redness and loose, flaking skin that itched all the time. He scratched idly at the area while he watched the newcomer. He wondered if the man knew how close the guards were.

“You should not stay here, friend. The owner has guards in the fields. They’ll kill you for trespassing if they find you.”

The stranger shrugged without shifting his gaze. “The guards are dead.”