Julius smiled. “All right, but it’s still strange to think of men and women I will never meet—who will never see Rome even—but who will carry my face in their purses. I hope they do give it a glance before they exchange it.”

“You expect too much of people. You always did,” Brutus said seriously. “They’ll take the land and coin you give them and next year they’ll be back to clamor for more.”

Julius raised a hand, shutting weary eyes. “Is this the colonies again? I’ve heard the speeches from Suetonius. He called it corruption to give the poor of Rome their dignity. You tell me how it damages a man to give him a little land and coin to get the first crop in the ground? With my own funds I gave eighty thousand a new chance in life, and the only protests came from the pampered men of my own Senate.” He snorted in indignation. “It’s been a year, Brutus; have the exiles come back yet? Have they turned up as beggars in the forum? I haven’t seen them.” He frowned fiercely, waiting to be contradicted.

Brutus shrugged, tossing the chicken bone over his shoulder to land in the fountain. “For myself, I have never worried whether some peasant farmer will live or die. Some will starve or gamble away what you gave them. Others will be robbed. Perhaps a thousand will survive the first year working a trade they don’t understand. Rome has fewer beggars, though, which is pleasant. I can’t argue with you there.”

“Suetonius described it as both ‘courageous and flawed,’ as if it were a child’s idea.”

“They did not try to stop you,” Brutus said.

“They wouldn’t dare to try!” Julius snapped. “I could count the useful minds in the Senate on one hand. The rest are fawning idiots who can’t see further than their own vanity.”

Brutus looked sharply at the man he had known for so many years. “Can they be anything else? They are the Senate you wanted. They raise statues to you over Rome and invent new honors just for a nod of approval from you. Were you expecting passionate debate when just a word could have them dragged out by your guards? You’ve made them what they are, Julius.” He reached over to take the coin again, reading from it. “They have made you ‘Dictator Perpetuus,’ and now they are struggling to find more pretty words to gild your name. How it must sicken you.”

Julius sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “I have earned anything they can think of,” he said softly.

When his eyes opened, Brutus could not meet the cold gaze.