The Gods of War by Conn Iggulden

heaved him onto a cot in a back room, still in his armor. At the doorway, the jeweler paused, looking down at the sprawled figure, already beginning to snore.
    â€œMy daughters remember me every day,” he said softly. “I hope you make the right choices, lad. I really do.”
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    Julius picked a piece of fennel sausage out of his teeth and smiled as he watched the drunken guests become ever wilder as the moon sank toward the horizon. The music too became more frenzied as the wine flowed into the players. The drums and pipes beat out counterpoint rhythms, while the cithara players made their strings jump with blurring fingers. Julius had not heard a single dirge or ballad from them all the time he had been there, and their excesses suited his mood perfectly. The food too was magnificent after soldiers’ rations.
    The invitation was one of dozens that had been delivered before sunset, but the host, Cassius, was a senator who had remained behind and Julius wanted to cultivate the man. Only the first hour had been spent in conversation, as Julius became reacquainted with the social class of his city. The free wine had been delivered all over Rome and they seemed determined to obey his command to celebrate, becoming increasingly wild as the moon set over the hills.
    Julius barely listened to a drunken merchant who seemed to have fully recovered from his initial awe. The man wandered through topics without needing more than the occasional nod to keep him going. While he beamed and talked, Julius eyed the young ladies who had come to the party, not unaware that most of them had appeared only after his own presence became known. Some of them were shameless in their competition for his glance, and he had already considered more than one of those to share his bed that night. Their faces were flushed with sexual excitement as the red wine lit them up, and Julius found the spectacle mesmerizing. He had been a long time in the field and the opportunities for female companionship had been few. Brutus had called it “scratching his itch” and it had been no more satisfying, on the whole.
    In comparison with the camp whores, the beauties of Rome were like a flock of painted birds arrayed for his enjoyment. Julius could smell the mingling perfumes in the air, even over the fennel.
    He sensed his companion had stumbled at last to a halt, and Julius looked at him, wondering if a question had been asked. He was a little drunk himself, though his wine was cut with water. Since passing through the Quirinal gate, he had felt the intoxication of challenge and sheer pleasure at being back with his people. The wine bore but a little responsibility for his good spirits.
    â€œMy brothers in particular will be pleased to see a steady hand on the city after Pompey,” the merchant continued.
    Julius let his voice become a background noise as he watched the people around him. Apart from the simple arousal at the thought of bedding one of the Roman women, he wondered if he should be looking for something more than a night. He had once laughed at the suggestion that he needed heirs, but he had been younger then and many of those he called friends had still been alive. The thought sharpened his appraisal of the young women in the crowd, looking for more than a simple turn of leg and thigh, or the quality of the breasts. Given the option, he knew he would prefer a beauty, but perhaps it was also time to think of the connections and alliances of a union. Marriage was one of the powerful counters in the politics of Rome, and the right choice could benefit him as much as the wrong one could be wasted.
    With a slight gesture, Julius summoned Domitius from another knot of conversation. Senator Cassius saw the movement and came bustling over first, determined that Julius’s slightest whim should be met. He had been honored by the arrival of the general and Julius found the constant attention