Julius watched in silence as two of the strongest men dismounted and walked toward the plates of bronze and wax that sealed the city. They carried heavy hammers and as they raised them Julius heard the noise of the citizens swell like the sound of distant waves. With a crack, the plates fell away and the gates swung open for him to ride back to his work. The elections had given him legitimacy, but he would still have to take his legions over a hostile sea to Greece. For a moment, the thought that he would face Brutus there made him falter. It was a pain he crushed ruthlessly whenever it surfaced. The gods would grant him another meeting with his oldest friend, or they would not. He would lead his army to triumph, or he would be killed and his path would end. He could not allow himself to weaken, having come so far.

“It is just a step,” he said to himself as he crossed the line of the walls.

Servilia was there at the old house of Marius when Julius arrived, sweating and dusty from his ride through the sweltering city. She looked fresh in comparison, but in the bright light of day, her age was ever more visible. She had always been a woman for the evening. He busied himself with the saddle for a moment while he collected his thoughts, unwilling to launch straight into another difficult discussion. The crowds of Rome were far easier to handle than Servilia, he thought.

A slave brought him a cup of iced apple juice and Julius emptied it as he walked into the rooms where she waited. Water could be heard from the fountain in the courtyard and the inner rooms were arranged as squares around an open center so that the scent of plants and flowers was always in the air. It was a beautiful home and it was rare now that he imagined the voice of Marius echoing through it.

“Consul once again,” he said to her.

Her eyes softened for an instant, touched by his pride. There had been precious little softness from her since the night Brutus had left. At first, Julius had thought she felt guilt for her son’s betrayal, but he should have known better.

“Your wife will be pleased, Caesar,” Servilia said.

Julius sighed and saw her eyes flash with anger. He went to her and took her in his arms. “But I came here to you, Servilia, as I said I would. Pompeia is at the estate to give me an heir. Nothing more than that. We have discussed this enough, don’t you think? The granddaughter of Cornelius Sulla is the best match I could have found to give me a son. He will have the blood of two noble families running through him. One day, the boy will lead Rome after me.”

Servilia shrugged and he knew the hasty marriage still festered within her.