The thick wooden door to the shop creaked open, letting in a swirl of dust from the street. Octavian stood there. Tabbic took one look at his bruises and torn tunic and crossed over to him, his anger vanishing.

“I'm sorry,” the little boy cried as Tabbic guided him deeper into the shop. “I tried to fight them, but there was three and no one came to help me.” He yelped as Tabbic probed his heaving chest, looking for broken bones. The metalsmith grunted, whistling air through his closed teeth.

“They did a fair job on you, right enough. How's your breathing?”

Octavian wiped his running nose gingerly with the back of a hand.

“It's all right. I came back as quick as I could. I didn't see them in the crowd. Usually I keep a lookout for them, but I was hurrying and…” he broke off into sobs and Alexandria put her arm around him, waving Tabbic away.

“Go on with you, Tabbic. He doesn't want an examination. He's had a bad time and he needs care and rest.”

Tabbic stood clear as she took the boy into the back room and up the stairs to his home above the shop. Alone, he sighed and rubbed his grizzled face with a hand, scratching at the gray stubble that had come through since his morning shave. Shaking his head, he turned to his bench and began selecting the tools he would need to remake the ring for Gethus.

He worked in silence for a few minutes, then paused and looked back at the narrow stairs as a thought struck him.

“I'll have to make you a decent knife, my lad,” he muttered to himself, before taking up the tools once more. After a while, as he was sketching the setting with chalk, he murmured, “And teach you to use the thing, as well.”

Brutus stood on the Campus Martius, with the eagle standard of Primigenia in the ground at his side. He had been pleased to see that some of the other recruiting legions had to use banners of woven cloth, whereas the old standard Marius had made had been found for him. Hammered gold over copper, it caught the morning sun and he hoped it would catch the eye of more than a few of the crowd of boys who had been gathering since before dawn. Not all of them would be signing on with a legion. Some had come just to watch, and for those the food-sellers had set up stalls before first light. The smells of grilled meat and vegetables made him hungry, and he thought of getting an early lunch, jingling the coins in his pouch as he eyed the crowd around the line of standards.

He'd expected it to be easier. Renius looked every inch a lion of the old Rome, and the ten men they'd brought with them were impressive in new armor, polished to a high sheen for the admiration of the crowd. Yet Brutus had been forced to watch as all along the line, hundreds of young Romans signed up to be legionaries without one of them coming near his post. A few times, smaller groups had gathered, pointing and whispering, then moved on. He'd been tempted to grab a couple of the lads and find out what they'd said, but he held his temper. With noon close, the crowd had halved and, as far as he could see, Primigenia was the only standard not to be surrounded by windfalls from the new generation.

He gritted his teeth. The ones who had already joined would attract more to those eagles. By now, he imagined people asking what was wrong with Primigenia that no one wanted to join it. Hands would cover mouths and they would whisper with puerile excitement of the traitor legion. He cleared his throat and spat on the sandy soil. The testing finished at sundown and there was nothing to do but stand and wait for it to end, hoping perhaps to pick up a few stragglers as the light faded. The thought made him burn with embarrassment. He knew if Marius were there, he would have been walking amongst the young men, cajoling, joking, and persuading them to join his legion. Of course, back then there had been a legion to join.

Brutus resumed his sullen appraisal of the crowd, wishing he could make them understand. Three young men wandered toward his standard and he smiled at them as welcomingly as he could.

“Primigenia, is it?” one of them said.

Brutus watched as one of them hid a smile. They were here for sport, he guessed. For a fleeting instant, he considered knocking their heads together, but he controlled himself, sensing the eyes of his ten men on him. He could feel Renius bristle at his side, but the older man kept his peace.

“We were the legion of Marius, consul of Rome,” he said, “victors in Africa and all over Roman lands. There is a glorious history here, for the right men who join us.”

“What's the pay like then?” the tallest said, with a mock-serious tone.

Brutus took a slow breath. They knew the Senate set the pay for all legions. With Crassus to back him, he would have loved to offer more, but the limit was there to prevent wealthy sponsors undermining the whole system.

“Seventy-five denarii, same as the others,” he replied quickly.

“Hold on, Primigenia? Weren't they the ones who smashed the city up?” the tall boy asked as if he had been given a sudden revelation. He turned to his grinning friends, who were happy to let him give the show.

“It is!” he said, delighted. “Sulla broke them, didn't he? They were led by some traitor or other.”

The tall one paused as he caught the change in his friends' expressions, realizing he had gone too far. As he turned back, Brutus swung his fist, but Renius blocked the blow with an outstretched arm. The three young men all flinched at the threat, but their leader quickly recovered his confidence, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

Before he could speak, Renius stepped in close to him. “What's your name?”

“Germinius Cato,” he replied haughtily. “You will have heard of my father.”

Renius turned to the soldiers behind him. “Put his name down. He's in.”

The arrogance faded into amazement as Germinius watched his name inked onto the bare scroll.

“You can't do that! My father will have your-”

“You're in, boy. In front of witnesses,” Renius replied. “These men will swear it was voluntary. When we dismiss you, you'll be free to run and tell your father how proud you are.”

Cato's son glared at the older men, his confidence surging back. “My name will be off that scroll before sundown,” he said.

Renius stepped close to him again. “Tell him Renius took the name. He'll know me. Tell him you'll always be known as the boy who tried to back out of serving the city in the legions. He'll be destroyed if something like that gets out, wouldn't you say? You think you'll follow in his footsteps after shame like that? The Senate doesn't like cowards, boy.”

The young man paled with anger and frustration. “I will…” He paused and a terrible doubt crept into his face.

“What you'll do is stand by this eagle until we're ready to give you the oath. Until I'm told different, you're the first recruit of the day.”

“You can't stop me leaving!” Germinius replied, his voice cracking.

“Disobeying a lawful order? I'll have you whipped if you take another step away from me. Stand to attention before I lose my patience!”

The bark of an order held Germinius in impotent rage. Under Renius's eye, he drew himself straight. At his side, his friends began to edge away.

“Your names!” Renius snapped, freezing them. They looked mutely at him and he shrugged.

“Mark them down as legionaries two and three of the day. That will serve, now I know your faces. Stand straight for the crowd, boys.” He turned to the soldiers of Primigenia behind him for a moment, ignoring their amazement.

“If they run,” he said clearly, “I want them dragged back and flogged on the field. It'll cost us a few recruits, but the others might as well see there's a hard side to all that glory.”