Pompeia cried out in panic and Julius turned to slap her hard across the face. The shock silenced her and her eyes filled with tears as the young man rose to his feet and stood to face his tormentors. He was breathing heavily as he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Take me,” he said clearly. “Let her go.”

“Get him inside,” Julius snapped. “I won’t have the whole of Rome watching this.”

His men laid heavy hands on the youth, dragging him into the garden and locking the gate behind them. Pompeia followed, her eyes dark with terror and misery as they moved out of the sun into the cool halls beyond.

The soldiers threw the young man down on the marble with a hard slapping sound. He groaned in pain before staggering upright. He looked at Julius with reproof.

“Well?” Julius said. “What’s your name, boy? I am curious to find out what exactly you thought would happen here.”

“My name is Publius and I thought you might kill her,” the young man replied.

He held his head proudly and Julius lost his temper for an instant, rapping him hard across the mouth with his knuckles. Blood drooled slowly down Publius’s face, but the eyes remained defiant.

“We are talking about my wife, boy. You have no right to an opinion,” Julius said slowly.

“I love her. I loved her before you married her,” Publius said.

It was all Julius could do not to kill him. The rage he had expected was banishing the weariness from his mind at last, fueling a restless energy that made him want to cut the arrogant fool down.

“Please don’t tell me you expected to save her, puppy? Should I give her to you and wish you both luck? What do you think?”

As Publius began to reply, Julius hit him again, knocking him down. Publius panted hard as he struggled up and his hands were shaking.

Julius saw that blood had spattered across the marble of the entrance hall and fought for control of his emotions. Pompeia was sobbing again, but he could not look at her for fear his anger would become uncontrollable.

“I am leaving Rome in less than a month to fight an army twice as large as the one I have. Perhaps you are hoping that I will leave you two together while I am gone? Or that I may not return, even?” He swore, disgustedly. “It’s a long time since I was as young as you, Publius, but I was never such a fool. Never. You’ve staked your life on a romantic gesture, and the trouble with the great poems and plays is that they rarely understand what it means to stake your life. It means I have my men take you somewhere quiet and beat you until your face caves in. Do you understand? How romantic will you look then, do you think?”