The chestplate brought back bittersweet memories as he thought of the hands that had made it. Alexandria had loved him when she worked on the design, and her care showed. It was a beautiful thing, with a representation of muscle overlaid by carved figures of Mars and Jupiter, joining hands at his throat. Brutus took a deep breath as it was fastened to its mate at his back, releasing the air as the buckles were pulled tight. It would not restrict him. He moved his head from side to side and felt the beginning of excitement that wearing it always brought. The shoulder pieces were joined at his throat and made secure and again he tested it, checking for snags in movement. He brought his left leg forward to have the silver greave attached and then took the helmet and lowered it onto his head. It too was a marvel of light design and shone even in the dimness of the tent. It would draw the enemy to him, he knew.

He secured the buckle that held the cheek-guards and enclosed his head in metal.

Seneca entered the tent as Brutus stood there testing every one of the knots and buckles the slaves had tied. Seneca knew better than to interrupt the ritual, but Brutus looked at him and smiled.

“Are you ready?” he said.

“I am, but that is not why I’ve come here. There is a stranger from the city who has come to see you.”

“Send him away,” Brutus replied immediately. “Whatever it is can wait. We’re marching at dawn.”

“I would have, but when I told him to go back he gave me this.”

Seneca held up a ring Brutus knew very well. It was a simple gold seal and his hand shook slightly as he took it.

“Do you know what this is?” he said.

Seneca shook his head and Brutus rubbed his fingers over the crossed-arrow design that had once belonged to Marius. It felt hot in his hand and he thanked his gods that Seneca had not understood its significance. If Pompey had seen it, or any of the older men, it would have meant his death.

“Bring him to me,” he said, dismissing the slaves. Seneca looked curiously at his general, but he saluted and left him alone without a word.

Brutus found himself sweating as he waited. After consideration, he walked to where his weapons lay on a table and took up the gladius he had won in the tournament for all Rome. Like his armor, it was beautiful, finely balanced and made of the best iron in the world. He would have liked to draw the blade to check for flaws as he had a thousand times before, but at that moment Seneca returned, bringing the stranger.