“No, it’s accumulated ugliness, as if nothing sits right at all,” he said.

The soldier snarled and aimed a blow with enough force to split Brutus’s skull if it landed. It sailed past and as the soldier followed it, Brutus tapped his own sword at the base of the man’s neck, just enough to force him to overbalance. He went flat and scrambled up with his chest heaving as he spoke.

“Tomorrow? I think I could beat you if I had another chance, ugly or not.”

Brutus shrugged and pointed to the line of waiting soldiers. “There’s a few ahead of you, but I’ll try to have Cabera put you at the front tomorrow evening, if you’re willing. You’re still holding on too tightly, you know.”

The soldier examined his grip and nodded.

“Work on your wrists,” Brutus continued seriously. “If you can trust their strength, you’ll be able to loosen up a little.”

The man retired to the crowd, moving the wooden sword slowly in concentration. Cabera brought up the next, ushering him forward like a favorite child.

“This one says he’s good. He was champion of his century a few years back. The quartermaster wants to know if you’re going to let the bet ride again. I think you’ve got him worried.” Cabera grinned at Brutus, well pleased that he had eased himself into the Primigenia ranks after the first dull evening near the back.

Brutus looked the latest opponent up and down, noting the powerful shoulders and slim waist. The man ignored the inspection, spending the time stretching his muscles.

“What’s your name?” Brutus asked him.

“Domitius. Centurion,” the man replied.

There was something about him that caused Brutus to narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“Century champion, were you? How many years ago?”

“Three. Legion champion last year,” Domitius replied, carrying on with the exercises without looking at the younger man.

Brutus exchanged a quick glance with Cabera and took in the fact that the crowd around them had grown to the point where everyone except the sentries must have been there. Renius had joined them and Brutus frowned at the sight of him. It was difficult to relax while the man who had taught you was shaking his head in apparent disbelief. He gathered his confidence.

“The thing is, Domitius, I’m sure you are competent enough, but in every generation, there has to be someone who is better than everyone else. It’s a law of nature.”

Domitius slowly stretched the muscles of his legs. He appeared to think it over.

“You’re probably right,” he replied.

“I am right. Someone has to be the best of his generation and I’m almost embarrassed to say that person is me.” Brutus watched Domitius for a reaction.

“Almost embarrassed?” the man murmured as he loosened the muscles in his back.