He paused, panting as he crested the hill that overlooked his estate, not far from the new boundary fence hammered in by Suetonius’s father. Perhaps it was time to do something about that, at last. With good clean air filling his lungs and a light sweat from the run, he felt a lift in spirits as he surveyed the land that was his. Rome was ready for change. He could feel it even as he felt the subtle shift of seasons that would bring back the heat of summer to the streets and fields.

A thunder of hooves jolted him out of his reverie, and Julius stepped off the path as the noise grew louder. He guessed who it was before he caught sight of the little figure, perched high on the back of the most powerful stallion in the stables. Julius noted the boy’s balance and skill even as he forced a frown that brought Octavian to a shuddering stop in the damp leaves of the woods.

The stallion snorted and danced at being held back, tugging at the reins in a clear signal to go on. Octavian slid off his bare back with one hand buried in his mane. Julius said nothing as he approached.

“I’m sorry,” Octavian started, flushing with embarrassment. “He needed a run and the stable lads don’t like to stretch him. I know I said—”

“Come with me,” Julius interrupted.

They walked in silence down the hill, a forlorn Octavian leading the stallion behind Julius. He knew a beating was likely or, worse, he could be sent back to the city and never see a horse again. His eyes filled with tears that he wiped quickly away. Julius would despise him if he saw him weeping like a baby. Octavian resolved to take his punishment without tears, even if it was to be sent away.

Julius called for the gate to be opened and marched Octavian over to the stables. Some of the horses had been sold when Tubruk raised the ransom, but the estate manager had kept the best bloodlines to let them rebuild the stock.

The sun was rising as Julius entered the shadowy stalls, bringing a blessed breath of warmth. Julius hesitated as the horses turned their heads to welcome him, sniffing the air with soft noses. Without a word of explanation, he crossed to a young stallion Tubruk had raised and trained from a foal and ran his hand over the powerful brown shoulder.

As Octavian looked on, Julius buckled the reins and chose a saddle from the rack on the stable wall. In silence, he led the gently snickering horse out into the morning sun.

“Why don’t you take your pony out anymore?” he asked.