Thick clumps of dark cloud obscured the spring sun and the rain fell with no sign of easing as Julius and Cabera rode up to the estate. As he looked at his home Julius felt a deep weariness that had nothing to do with the ride through the night. With the weight of the old man behind him, Julius had slowed his mount to a walking pace through the hours. There was no urgency left in him. He’d wanted the time to stretch endlessly, begrudging every step that brought him closer to this moment. Cabera had been silent on the journey and his old infectious joy had been absent as they arrived back at the place of so many memories. His robe hung wetly on his thin frame, making him shiver.

Julius dismounted by the gate and watched it open for him. Somehow, now that he was there, he didn’t want to go in, but he walked the horse into the courtyard feeling numb.

Soldiers from Primigenia took the reins, their faces a reflection of his own agony. He didn’t speak to them, but crossed the yard to the main buildings through the swirling mud of puddles from the storm. Cabera watched him go, absently rubbing the soft muzzle of the horse as he held its reins.

Clodia was there, holding a bloody cloth in her hand. She was pale and exhausted looking, with dark pouches under her eyes.

“Where is she?” he asked, and she seemed to crumple in front of him.

“In the triclinium,” she said. “Master, I . . .”

Julius walked past her into the room and stopped inside the door. Torches burned at the head of a simple bed, lighting her face with their warmth. Julius crossed to his wife and looked down at her, his hands shaking. She had been washed and dressed in white cloth, her face left unpainted and her hair tied back behind her head.

Julius touched her face and winced at the softness of it.

There was no disguising death. Her eyes had opened a fraction and he could see the whites beneath the lids. With his hand, he tried to close them again, but they eased back open when he took his fingers away.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, his voice sounding loud against the fluttering of the torches. He took her hand in his, feeling the stiffness of the fingers as he knelt by her.

“I’m sorry they hurt you so badly. You were never part of it. I’m sorry I didn’t take you away. If you can hear me, I do love you, I always did.”