messages of welcome for you to take to Sulla.’
‘General?’ the messenger asked, surprised.
‘Ask no questions. Is he not the conquering hero returned to us? Meet me here in an hour to receive the letters.’
Without another word, the man bowed and left.
* * *
The captain was found by the searchers as he stumbled naked from the bell tower, holding his head. There was no sign of the intruder, despite the exhaustive search that went on all morning. One of the soldiers remembered a man dressed like the captain who had gone off to check down a side street, but he couldn't remember enough detail to give a good description. At midday, the search was called off and by then the news of Sulla's return had hit the streets of Rome. An hour later, one of the house guards noticed a small wrapped package leaning against the house gate and opened it, finding the captain's uniform, scabbard and sandals. The captain swore as he was handed it.
Gaius was summoned into Marius' presence that afternoon and had prepared a defence of his actions. However, the general seemed not to have heard the scandal and only motioned Gaius to sit with his centurions.
‘No doubt by now you will have heard that Sulla has landed his forces on the coast and is only three or four days from the city.’
The others nodded and only Gaius had to try to hide the shock he felt.
‘It is a year and four months to the day since Sulla left for Greece. I have had enough time to prepare a suitable homecoming.’
Some of the men chuckled in response and Marius smiled grimly.
‘This is no light undertaking. You are all men I trust and nothing I say here is to leave this room. Do not discuss this with your wives or mistresses or most trusted friends. I have no doubt that Sulla has had spies in the city watching my every move. He must be aware of our preparations and will arrive fully warned of Rome's readiness for civil war.’
The words, said at last in the open, chilled the hearts of all who heard them.
‘I cannot reveal all my plans even now, save to say this. If Sulla reaches the city alive, and he may not, we will treat his legion as an attacking enemy, destroying them on the field. We have supplies of grain, meat and salt to last us for many months. We will seal the city against him and destroy him on the walls. Even as we speak, the flow of traffic has ceased in and out of Rome. The city stands alone.’
‘What if he leaves his legion in camp and comes to demand his rightful entry?’ asked a man Gaius didn't know. ‘Will you risk the wrath of the Senate, declare yourself dictator?’
Marius was silent for a long time, then he raised his head and spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.
‘If Sulla comes alone, then I will have him cut down.
The Senate will not brand me a traitor to the state. I have their support in everything I do.’
This much was true: there was not a man of influence who would dare to put a motion to the Senate condemning the general. The position was clear.
‘Now, gentlemen, your orders for tomorrow.’
Cornelia waited patiently until her father had finished, allowing his rage to wash over her, leaving her untouched.
‘No, Father. You will not have him tracked down. He will be my husband and you will welcome him into our house when the time comes.’
Cinna purpled in renewed anger. ‘I'll see his body rot first! He comes like a thief into my home and you sit there like a block of marble and tell me I will accept it? I will not, until his body lies broken at my feet.’
Cornelia sighed gently, waiting for the tirade to slow down. Shutting her ears against the shouting, she counted the flowers that she could see from the window. Finally, the tone changed and she brought her attention back to her father, who was looking at her doubtfully.
‘I love him, Father, and he loves me. I am sorry we brought shame to the house, but the marriage will wash it all away, despite the gossips in the market. You did tell me I could choose a man I wanted, remember?’
‘Are you pregnant?’
‘Not as far as I know. There will be no sign when we are married, no public show.’
Her father nodded, looking older and deflated.
Cornelia stood and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘You won't regret it.’
Cinna grunted dubiously. ‘Do I know him, this despoiler of innocence?’
Cornelia smiled, relieved at his change in mood. ‘You do, I'm sure. He is the nephew of Marius. Gaius Julius Caesar.’
Her father shrugged. ‘I have heard the name.’
Cornelius Sulla sipped cooled wine in the shadow of his tent, looking over the legion camp. It was the last night he would have to bear away from his beloved Rome. He shivered slightly in the breeze and perhaps in anticipation of the conflict to come. Did he know every aspect of Marius' plans or would the old fox surprise him? Messages of official welcome lay upon the table, ignored for the formality they were.
Padacus rode up, pulling the horse into a flashy stop with the rear legs buckling on the turn. Sulla smiled at him. So very young, and such a very beautiful man, he noted to himself.
‘The camp is secure, General,’ Padacus called as he dismounted. Every inch of his armour was polished and glowing, the leather soft and dark with oil. A young Hercules, Sulla thought as he received and answered the salute. Loyal unto death, though, like a pampered hound.
‘Tomorrow night, we will enter the city. This is the last night for hard ground and living like barbarians,’ Sulla told him, preferring the simple image over the reality of soft beds and fine linen in the general's tent at least. His heart was with the men, but the privations of a legionary's life had never appealed to the consul.
‘Will you share your plans, Cornelius? The others are all eager to know how you will handle Marius.’
Padacus had pressed a little too closely in his enthusiasm and Sulla held up a palm.
‘Tomorrow, my friend. Tomorrow will be soon enough for preparations. I will retire early tonight, after a little more wine.’
‘Will you require … company?’ Padacus asked softly.
‘No. Wait. Send a couple of the better-looking whores to me. I might as well see if I have anything new to learn.’
Padacus dropped his head as if he'd been struck. He backed to his horse and trotted away.
Sulla watched his stiff retreat and sighed, splashing the remaining wine in his goblet onto the black ground. It was the third time the young man had offered and Sulla had to face the fact that he was becoming a problem. The line between adoration and spite was fine in young Padacus. Better to send him away to some other legion before he caused trouble that could not be ignored. He sighed again and walked into the tent, flicking the leather sheet closed over the entrance behind him.
The lamps had been lit by his slaves, the floor was covered in rugs and cloth. Sweet-smelling oil burned in a tiny cup, a rare mixture he enjoyed. Sulla took a deep breath and caught a flicker of movement coming at him from the right. He collapsed backwards out of the line of the attack and felt the air move as something slashed above him. Sulla kicked out with powerful legs and his attacker was knocked from his feet. As the assassin flailed round, Sulla caught his knife hand in a crushing grip. He levered himself up so that his weight was on the man's chest and he smiled as he watched the man's expression change from anger and fear to surprise and despair.
Sulla was not a soft man. True, he didn't favour the more extreme Roman tests of courage, where injuries and scars showed