‘I did my best to,’ he replied grimly, holding the man’s gaze with his one good eye.
‘But now it is over. Your army is broken. The rebellion has ended.’
Mithridates shrugged. What good was it to state the obvious?
Sulla continued: ‘I had no part in the killing of your wife and daughters. The soldiers involved have all been executed at my command. I do not make war on women and children and I am sorry they were taken from you.’
Mithridates shook his head as if to clear it of the words and the sudden flashes of memory. He had heard his beloved Livia screaming his name, but there were legionaries all around him armed with clubs to take him alive. He had lost his dagger in a man’s throat and his sword when it jammed in another’s ribs. Even then, with her screams in his ears, he had broken the neck of a man who rushed in on him, but as he stooped to pick up a fallen sword, the others had beaten him senseless and he had woken to find himself bound and battered.
He gazed up at Sulla, looking for mockery. Instead, he found only sternness and believed him. He looked away. Did this man expect Mithridates the King to laugh and say all was forgiven? The soldiers had been men of Rome and this golden figure was their master. Was a huntsman not responsible for his dogs?
‘Here is my sword,’ Sulla said, offering the blade. ‘Swear by your gods that you will not rise against Rome in my lifetime, and I will leave you alive.’
Mithridates looked at the silver gladius, trying to keep the surprise from his face. He had grown used to the fact that he would die, but to suddenly have the offer of life again was like tearing scabs away from hidden wounds. Time to bury his wife.
‘Why?’ he grunted through the drying blood.
‘Because I believe you to be a man of your word. There has been enough death today.’
Mithridates nodded silently in reply and Sulla reached round him with the unstained blade to cut the bonds. The king felt the soldiers nearby tense as they saw the enemy free once more, but he ignored them, reaching out and taking the blade in his scarred right palm. The metal was cold against his skin.
‘I swear it.’
‘You have sons, what about them?’
Mithridates looked at the Roman general, wondering how much he knew. His sons were in the east, raising support for their father. They would return with men and supplies and a new reason for vengeance.
‘They are not here. I cannot answer for my sons.’
Sulla held the blade still in the man’s grip.
‘No, but you can warn them. If they return and raise Greece against Rome while I live, I will visit upon her people a scale of grief they have never known.’
Mithridates nodded and let his hand fall from the blade. Sulla resheathed it and turned away, striding back to his horse without a backward glance.
Every Roman in sight moved off with him, leaving Mithridates alone on his knees, surrounded by the dead. Stiffly, he pulled himself to his feet, wincing at last at the score of pains that plagued him. He watched the Romans break camp and move to the west, back to the sea, and his eyes were cold and puzzled.
Sulla rode silently for the first few leagues. His friends exchanged glances, but for a while no one dared to break the grim silence. Finally, Padacus, a pretty young man from northern Italy, put out his hand to touch Sulla’s shoulder and the general reined in, looking at him questioningly.
‘Why did you leave him alive? Will he not come against us in the spring?’
Sulla shrugged. ‘He might, but if he does, at least he is a man I know I can beat. His successor might not make mistakes so easily. I could have spent another six months rooting out every one of his followers left alive in tiny mountain camps, but what would we have gained except their hatred? No, the real enemy, the real battle –’ He paused and looked over to the western horizon, almost as if he could see all the way to the gates of Rome. ‘The real battle has yet to be fought and we have spent too much time here already. Ride on. We will assemble the legion at the coast, ready for the crossing home.’
Gaius leaned on the stone window ledge and watched the sun come up over the city. He heard Cornelia stir on the long bed behind him and smiled to himself as he glanced back. She was still asleep, her long gold hair spilling over her face and shoulders as she shifted restlessly. In the heat of the night they had needed little to cover them and her long legs were revealed almost to the hip by the light cloth that she had gathered in one small hand and pulled closer to her face.
For a moment, his thoughts turned to Alexandria, but it was without pain. It had been hard for the first months, even with friends like Diracius to distract him. He could look back now and wince at his naivety and clumsiness. Yet there was sadness, too. He could never be that innocent boy again.
He had seen Metella privately and signed a document that passed Alexandria’s ownership over to the house of Marius, knowing he could trust his aunt to be kind to her. He had also left a sum of gold pieces, taken from his estate funds, to be handed to her on the day she purchased her freedom. She would find out when she was free. It was a small gift, considering what she had given him.
Gaius grinned as he felt arousal stir once more, knowing he would have to be moving before the household came awake. Cornelia’s father Cinna was another of the political heavyweights Marius was flattering and working to control. Not a man to cross, and discovery in his beloved daughter’s bedroom would mean death even for Marius’ nephew.
He glanced at her again and sighed as he pulled his clothes to him. She had been worth it though, worth the risk many times over. Three years older than him, she had yet been a virgin, which surprised him. She was his alone and that gave him quiet satisfaction and more than a little of the old joy.
They had met at a formal gathering of Senate families, celebrating the birth of twin sons to one of the nobilitas. In the middle of the day, there was nothing like the free licence of one of Diracius’ parties, and at first Gaius had been bored with the endless congratulations and speeches. Then, in a quiet moment, she had come over to him and changed everything. She had been wearing a robe of dark gold, almost a brown, with earrings and a torque at her throat of the same rich metal. He had desired her from the first moments, and liked her as quickly. She was intelligent and confident and she wanted him. It was a heady feeling. He had sneaked in over the roofs to her bedroom window, looking on her as she slept, her hair tousled and wild.
He remembered her rising from the bed and sitting on it with her legs drawn up under her and her back straight. It had been a few seconds before he noticed she was smiling. He sighed as he pulled on his clothes and sandals.
With Sulla gone from the city for a whole year as the Greek rebellion grew in ferocity, it was easy for Gaius to forget that there had to be a reckoning at some point. Marius, though, had worked from the first day for the moment that Sulla’s standards became visible on the horizon. The city was still buzzing with excitement and dread, as it had been for months. Most had stayed, but a steady trickle of merchants and families leaving the city showed that not every inhabitant shared Marius’ confidence about the outcome. Every street had shops that were boarded closed and the Senate criticised many of the decisions made, pushing Marius to rage when he came back to his home in the early hours of the mornings. It was a tension Gaius could barely share, with the pleasures of the city to distract him.
He looked over at Cornelia again as he tightened his toga and saw her eyes were open. He crossed to her and kissed her on the lips, feeling the rush of longing as he did. He dropped one hand to her breast and felt her start against him as he broke for air.
‘Will