“Is the sword ruined?” Cornelia asked, still unsure of herself around this man who had known Julius when he was as young as Octavian.

Tubruk shrugged. “Probably. But the boy won’t be, which is more than I could say if he’d gone his happy way in the city for much longer. Leave him in the stables for a while. He’ll have a good cry and then come in to eat, as if nothing had happened, if I know him.”

Octavian did not turn up for the evening meal and Clodia brought out a bowl of food as darkness fell. She couldn’t find him in the stables and a search of the estate brought no sign of the little boy. He and the gladius had gone.

*                                                      *                                                      *

“You’re too ugly to be a good swordsman,” Brutus said cheerfully as he moved lightly on the balls of his feet around the angry legionary. As the light faded, the men had gathered in the center of the camp as they had for the previous three nights to watch the bouts Brutus had started.

“You need a certain skill, it’s true, but being handsome is also important,” Brutus continued, watching the man with a close scrutiny belied by the banter. The legionary turned to face him, gripping his practice sword a little too tightly with tension. Although the wooden weapons were hardly lethal, a solid blow could break a finger or put out an eye. The wood was hollow all along the thick blade and had been filled with lead, making it heavier than a gladius. When the soldiers took up their real swords, they felt almost miraculously light in their hands.

Brutus turned in place to avoid a lunge, letting the blade pass only inches from him. He’d started the bouts at the end of the sixth evening, when he realized he wasn’t anywhere near as tired as he’d expected. They had quickly become the main item of entertainment for the bored soldiers, attracted by Brutus’s cocky assurance that there wasn’t one of them who could beat him. He often fought three or four legionaries in a row, and even the gambling games had ceased in the camp after the second night, with all the money placed in bets on or against Brutus. If he could keep winning, he would end the march with a small fortune.

“People like handsome heroes, you see. You hardly qualify,” Brutus announced, turning a sudden attack with a grunt as he finished. “It’s not something obvious like a nose or a peculiar mouth. . . .” He launched a spinning combination that was fended off desperately, and Brutus stepped back to let the man recover. The legionary had been just as cocky in the beginning, but now sweat spattered from his hair as he dodged and attacked. Brutus squinted at his face, as if judging his features.