He gritted his teeth. The ones who had already joined would attract more to those eagles. By now, he imagined people asking what was wrong with Primigenia that no one wanted to join it. Hands would cover mouths and they would whisper with puerile excitement of the traitor legion. He cleared his throat and spat on the sandy soil. The testing finished at sundown and there was nothing to do but stand and wait for it to end, hoping perhaps to pick up a few stragglers as the light faded. The thought made him burn with embarrassment. He knew if Marius were there, he would have been walking amongst the young men, cajoling, joking, and persuading them to join his legion. Of course, back then there had been a legion to join.

Brutus resumed his sullen appraisal of the crowd, wishing he could make them understand. Three young men wandered toward his standard and he smiled at them as welcomingly as he could.

“Primigenia, is it?” one of them said.

Brutus watched as one of them hid a smile. They were here for sport, he guessed. For a fleeting instant, he considered knocking their heads together, but he controlled himself, sensing the eyes of his ten men on him. He could feel Renius bristle at his side, but the older man kept his peace.

“We were the legion of Marius, consul of Rome,” he said, “victors in Africa and all over Roman lands. There is a glorious history here, for the right men who join us.”

“What’s the pay like then?” the tallest said, with a mock-serious tone.

Brutus took a slow breath. They knew the Senate set the pay for all legions. With Crassus to back him, he would have loved to offer more, but the limit was there to prevent wealthy sponsors undermining the whole system.

“Seventy-five denarii, same as the others,” he replied quickly.

“Hold on, Primigenia? Weren’t they the ones who smashed the city up?” the tall boy asked as if he had been given a sudden revelation. He turned to his grinning friends, who were happy to let him give the show.

“It is!” he said, delighted. “Sulla broke them, didn’t he? They were led by some traitor or other.”

The tall one paused as he caught the change in his friends’ expressions, realizing he had gone too far. As he turned back, Brutus swung his fist, but Renius blocked the blow with an outstretched arm. The three young men all flinched at the threat, but their leader quickly recovered his confidence, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

Before he could speak, Renius stepped in close to him. “What’s your name?”

“Germinius Cato,” he replied haughtily. “You will have heard of my father.”

Renius turned to the soldiers behind him. “Put his name down. He’s in.”

The arrogance faded into amazement as Germinius watched his name inked onto the bare scroll.