Brutus stood with his arms outstretched, taking long, slow breaths. His body had been oiled and scraped and his skin shone with health. His mind was on the battle to come and he hardly noticed the silent slaves as they raised his tunic over his head and tugged it into place, gathering it in a knot tied at the nape of his neck. His armor hung on a wooden tree in the tent and he looked it over with a critical eye, noting where old scratches and dents had been hammered and polished out. The silver had not lost its luster with use and though it was a softer metal than iron, he knew its white gleam could be seen across a battlefield. Julius would see it as soon as the armies met.

While he stood motionless, the slaves buckled a wide leather belt around his waist, drawing in the folds of dark linen. Before they could proceed, he flexed his shoulders and checked he was still free to move. The ritual was carried out in silence and Brutus took comfort from its familiarity. Nothing he wore was new and the woolen bracae and tunic had been part of his kit in Gaul. The colors were faded from being washed a thousand times, but they were comfortable as new, itchy material could never be. He bowed his head as the slaves tied a light scarf around his throat to protect his neck from chafing. He loosened it slightly with two fingers and stared at nothing, thinking of facing Julius.

Pompey had come back from the Senate meeting with a fire under him at last. There would be no rest for any of them until their enemies were beaten in Greece. It was as Brutus had wanted from the beginning and he knew his four cohorts would be first in the line of battle.

That was the thought that sent a shudder of fear down his spine. For all his training, if Julius sent in the Tenth as his front line, it would be hard and bloody work. Brutus had seen them fight enough to know they would not give ground except over their dead. They were the surviving veterans of countless battles and the Greek legions had nothing like their experience.

“We have the numbers,” Brutus murmured, causing the dress slaves to pause and look at him inquiringly. “Go on,” he said to them.

One of the men knelt at his feet to tie the laces of his sandals, checking they were taut with elaborate care as he crossed them up to Brutus’s ankles. The soft woolen cloth under them bulged against the restraining net of leather and Brutus splayed his toes comfortably. He raised his arms again as a leather kilt was tied around his waist to protect his groin and felt a thrill of anticipation as both men turned toward the armor at last.