Malice glinted in Octavian’s face and Brutus sat up in his chair, anticipating the first crack in the calm. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to have Octavian sent home in disgrace. Regardless of circumstances, the Senate would be harsh with any man who disobeyed an order from his appointed commander. If Octavian drew his sword or raised a fist, he would be finished.

Octavian saw the eagerness and at first controlled his dislike. He was on the point of saluting when his anger surfaced uncontrollably.

“Is it that you don’t want to see the faces of men you fought with as a traitor?” he snapped. “Is that why you won’t go out to see them?”

Brutus smiled slowly in triumph. “Now, is that any way to speak to your superior, boy? Is it? I think you have gone a little too far today. I suppose I should demand an apology, in case Julius asks me about it afterwards.”

Octavian was not a fool. Brutus watched him weigh the difference in their ages and positions. The younger man made a decision and became calm.

“You are not fit for your rank,” Octavian said. “He should have known better than to trust you again.”

With infinite satisfaction, Brutus rose. It had been an enjoyable month of goading the younger man, but he had known the moment would come.

“I can have Domitius come in here and do this formally, or you and I can go out to find a quiet place and I’ll teach you manners. What’s it to be?”

Octavian had come too far to back down from any threat. He tapped his fingers on his sword hilt in answer. Brutus grinned, delighted with the morning’s work.

“I will enter it in the staff record as a training session,” he said. He gestured to the door. “You go first, boy. I’ll be behind you all the way.”

Legion guards saluted automatically as the two men strode past them. Brutus followed Octavian down a flight of stairs and a corridor that still bore the marks of Roman treasure hunting. Brutus rolled his shoulders as he walked, loosening the muscles.

The training yard was busy with men, as it was every morning. Dressed in only loincloths and sandals, the sun-darkened Romans used heavy leather balls and iron weights to keep themselves trim. Others fought in pairs with the lead-weighted practice swords, the clack and clatter loud after the silence of the halls.

“Return to your duties, gentlemen,” Brutus said without taking his eyes from Octavian. He waited patiently as the soldiers put away their equipment and left them alone. He could feel their curiosity, but an audience would shape the manner of the lesson he intended to give. He did not want to feel restrained.