It would not be long, he thought, before someone came to ask questions. The city had scouts out for miles and he knew his movements had been seen and reported. He wondered to whom they would report, now that Pompey had gone. Rome was without a government for the first time in centuries, and memories of the chaos under Clodius and Milo would still be fresh in many minds. Fear would keep them in their houses, he suspected, while they waited for the new master to come in.

A clatter of iron-shod sandals made him look up and grunt at Seneca as the young man put his head around the doorway.

“Come in and have a drink, lad. It’s been a strange day.”

“I have to find—” Seneca began.

“Sit down and have a drink, Sen. They’ll get by without you for a little while.”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

Ahenobarbus sighed. He’d thought some of the reserve between them had been broken down, but with the city walls in sight Seneca had once again begun to think of his future, like every other young Roman of the times. It was the disease of the age.

“Have you sent runners out? We’d better be sure Pompey isn’t still waiting at the coast for us.”

“No! I didn’t think of it,” Seneca replied, beginning to rise.

Ahenobarbus waved him back to his seat. “That will wait as well. I’m not even sure we could join him now.”

Seneca suddenly looked wary and Ahenobarbus watched as the young man pretended to be confused.

“You gave the oath to Caesar, just as I did, lad. You won’t be telling me you didn’t understand what it meant.”

He thought the young man might lie, but Seneca raised his head and returned his gaze.

“No. I understood it. But I swore another oath to fight for Rome. If Pompey has taken the Senate to Greece, I must follow him.”

Ahenobarbus gulped at the wine before passing it over.

“Your life belongs to Caesar, lad. He told you enough times. If you take the field against him after what happened, there’ll be no mercy from him, not again.”

“My duty is with Pompey,” Seneca replied.

Ahenobarbus looked at him and blew air out in a long sigh. “Your honor is your own, though. Will you break the oath to Caesar?”

“An oath to an enemy does not bind me, sir.”

“Well, it binds me, lad, because I say it does. You want to think whose side you would rather be on. If you go to Pompey, Caesar will cut your balls off.”

Seneca stood, flushed with anger. “As he did yours?” he said.