“Sweet gods, no,” he whispered. “It hardly says anything. What about Tubruk? Octavian? My daughter is not mentioned. There’s nothing there but a few words. Cornelia . . .” He could not finish and his head bowed in mute misery.

“It’s a formal dispatch, Julius,” Pompey whispered. “It may be they still live. There will be other letters to follow.” He paused for a moment, coming to a decision. “As close as we are to the city, I will understand if you take a short leave to see to your affairs at home.”

Julius did not seem to hear him. Crassus crossed to the young man who had seen so much grief in his life.

“If you want to go back to your estate, I’ll sign the orders. Do you hear?”

Julius raised his head and both men looked away rather than see his agony.

“I request permission to take the Tenth with me,” Julius said, shaking.

“I cannot allow that, Julius. Even if we could spare them, I cannot give you a legion to use against your enemies.”

“Just a fifty, then. Ten even,” Julius said, his voice breaking.

Pompey shook his head. “I am going back to the city myself, Julius. There will be justice done, I swear it to you, but it will be under the rule of law, the peace of the city. Everything Marius worked for. You will come back with me in a few days to finish the rebellion. That is your duty and mine.”

Julius turned as if to leave the tent, holding himself still with an immense effort of will. Pompey put a hand on his shoulder.

“The Republic is not to be thrown away when we tire of the restrictions, Julius. When my daughter died, I made myself wait. Marius himself said the Republic is worth a life, do you remember that?”

“Not her life,” Julius replied. He breathed in sobs that he tried to talk over even as they wrenched at him. “She wasn’t part of it.”

The two generals shared a glance over his head.

“Go home, Julius,” Crassus said softly. “There’s a horse waiting for you. Brutus will command the Tenth while you are gone.”

Julius stood finally, taking deep breaths to find some semblance of control in front of Crassus and Pompey.

“Thank you,” he said, attempting a salute. He still clutched the report in his hand, and he noticed it then, placing it on the seat before leaving the tent and taking the reins of the horse that had been brought for him. Some part of him wanted just to dig his heels in and gallop from the camp, but instead he wheeled and rode to where the Tenth lay sleeping in their tents. He pulled back the flap to rouse Brutus, who came out quickly when he saw his expression.

“I’m going back to Rome, Brutus. Cornelia is dead, somehow. I don’t . . . understand.”