Dripping raindrops, the old man entered and crossed quickly to the bed, looking stricken. With deft fingers, he checked the wounds, raising the blanket to see beneath. He looked at Julius’s desperate expression and sighed.

“I’ll try,” he said. He placed his hands on the bruised flesh around the stitches and closed his eyes.

Julius leaned forward, whispering a prayer under his breath. There was nothing to be seen, just the figure of the old healer bent over, his hands still and dark against the pale chest. Tubruk took a long inward breath in sudden spasm, then breathed out slowly. He opened his eyes and looked at Clodia.

“The pain’s gone, love,” he said. Then the life went out of him and Cabera staggered and fell.

*                                                      *                                                      *

Pompey frowned at the galley captain who stood stiffly before him.

“I don’t care what your orders are. These are mine. You will sail south toward Sicilia and hail any other galleys you see on the way down the coast. Every Roman vessel is to guard the south and prevent the slaves escaping. Is that understood, or must I have you arrested and appoint another captain in your place?”

Gaditicus saluted, disliking the arrogant senator with a passion he didn’t dare let show. After six months at sea, he had been hoping for some time ashore in the city, but he was being ordered out again without even a chance to clean the ship. Prax would be furious when he heard, he thought.

“I understand, sir. We’ll clear the docks on the next tide.”

“Be sure you do,” Pompey replied, before striding back to his waiting soldiers. Gaditicus watched him go and glanced at the other galleys that had already put out to sea. With them all heading for the strait of Sicilia, Roman ports everywhere would be easy prey. Whatever the Senate was planning, he hoped it was worth the risk.

*                                                      *                                                      *

As the evening darkened, Clodia came to Julius as he drank himself into a stupor in a dark room. He looked up as she entered, his eyes listless.

“Are you home for good now?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, I’m going back with Pompey in a few days. I’ll see to the funerals for both of them first.” His voice was slurred and miserable, but there were no words of comfort she could think to offer. Part of her wanted to make him feel pain for the cruel way he’d treated Cornelia, and it was only with the last of her strength that she didn’t speak to hurt him. His face showed he knew well enough.

“Will you stay and look after my mother and daughter?” he said without looking at her.

“I am a slave. I should return to Senator Cinna’s house,” she replied.