Julia’s fear softened at the compliment and she turned to her son. “Go inside. I will play with you in a moment,” she said. They both watched as the boy nodded gravely and made his way back across the garden.

“Are you going to let me in?” Brutus asked.

Julia shook her head firmly. “Definitely not. I cannot be seen with you and I don’t think I could trust you.”

“I was remembering a night in a stable,” he admitted, enjoying the way she blushed. “You can’t tell me you prefer Pompey now?”

“He is my husband,” she said, but the firmness was gone from her voice.

Unconsciously, she had crept closer to the bars. If they had not been there, he could have taken her into his arms and kissed her, but he thought she was ready to leap away if he made such an attempt.

“Why did you leave my father?” she asked, suddenly. “I never expected that from you. It was not to be with me, I know that.”

His reply came so quickly that she didn’t notice him look away for a flickering instant. The lies came easily to him in that mood.

“Your father is the best man I have ever known, Julia. Pompey will have to be very lucky to beat him, for all his confidence.”

“Then why did you desert him?” she said, her eyes flashing.

He wondered at the conflict in her to have her husband planning a war with her father. As she looked at him, he had an idea as exciting as it was simple. By the gods it was a risk, though. How far could he trust what he saw in her eyes? Would she betray him?

“Do I have your oath not to tell Pompey?” he whispered.

“On the life of my son,” she replied, leaning even closer.

“I have not left Julius,” he said. “I am here to help him win.”

Her red lips opened as she took in what he was saying. He wanted to kiss them hungrily and his hand moved of its own accord to stroke her hair. She pulled back out of range on the instant.

“No one else knows,” he said. “I have told you only because I could not bear to have you think of me as a traitor.”

He could see she wanted to believe him and it was all he could do not to burst into laughter.

“Your husband does not trust me, though,” he continued. “He will not let me command enough men to make a difference. I think he intends to put me in the front ranks, to be killed in the first skirmish.” Was he being too obvious? He had intended a subtle barb to have her fear for him, but it was difficult to find exactly the right tone.