“Amounts like that don’t mean a great deal to Crassus. The gossip says he could buy half the Senate if he wanted to,” Tubruk said, pausing to lean on his axe. The wind swirled leaves around them. The air they pulled in bit at their throats with cold that was almost a pleasure.

“I know. My mother says he already owns more of Rome than he knows what to do with. Everything he buys makes a profit, which is all the more reason to wonder where the profit is in buying Primigenia.”

Tubruk shook his head as he raised his axe again. “He hasn’t bought it, or you. Don’t even say it. Primigenia is not a house or a brooch, and only the Senate can command it. If he thinks he is raising his own private legion, you should tell him to set a new standard on the rolls.”

“He hasn’t said that. All he does is sign the bills I send him. My mother thinks he is hoping to secure her approval with the money. I want to ask him, but what if it’s true? I won’t prostitute my own mother to that man or anyone, but I must have Primigenia.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time for Servilia,” Tubruk remarked with a chuckle.

Brutus placed his axe carefully on a log. He faced Tubruk and the old gladiator paused as he saw his angry expression.

“You can say that once, Tubruk. Don’t do it again,” Brutus said. His voice was as cold as the wind that wrapped around them, and Tubruk rested again on his axe as he met the piercing eyes.

“You mention her a lot these days. I didn’t teach you to drop your guard so easily with anyone. Neither did Renius.”

Renius snorted softly in reply as he kicked a piece of branch from under his feet. His pile of split logs was barely half the size of the others, though it had cost him more.

Brutus shook his head. “She is my mother, Tubruk!”

The older man shrugged. “You don’t know her, lad. I just want you to be careful until you do.”

“I know enough,” Brutus said, picking up his axe again.

For almost an hour, the three men worked in silence, cutting the wood and piling it onto the small handcart that stood nearby. Finally, seeing that Brutus wasn’t going to speak, Tubruk swallowed his irritation.

“Will you go to the legion field with the others?” he asked without looking at Brutus. He knew the answer, but at least it was a safe topic to continue their conversation. Every year in winter, all the boys who had turned sixteen went to the Campus Martius, where new legions planted their standards. Only the lame and the blind would be turned away. Freshly restored to the rolls of the Senate, Primigenia qualified to plant their eagle with the others.