The watch was uneventful and Julius exchanged places with another from the tent, willing sleep to come quickly. The problems with Cornelia and Cato seemed distant as he lay with his eyes closed, listening to the snores of the men around him. It was easy to imagine there wasn't a force in the world to trouble the vast array of might that Crassus had marched north from Rome. As he passed into sleep, Julius's last thought was the hope that he and Brutus would have the chance to make a beacon of the name Primigenia in the bloodshed to come.

Octavian yelled a high-pitched cry of challenge to the swarm of adversaries all around him. They hadn't realized that he was a warrior born and every blow he struck left another one dying, calling for their mothers. He lunged to spear the leader, who bore a strong resemblance to the butcher's apprentice in his fevered imagination. The enemy soldier fell with a gurgle and beckoned Octavian close to his bloody mouth to hear his final words.

“I have fought a hundred battles, but never met an opponent so skilled,” he whispered with his last breath.

Octavian whooped and ran around the stables, whirling the heavy gladius over his head. Without warning, a powerful hand gripped his wrist from behind and he yelped in surprise.

“What do you think you are doing with my sword?” Tubruk asked, breathing hard through his nose.

Octavian winced in expectation of a blow, then opened his eyes slowly when it didn't come. He saw the old gladiator was still glaring at him, waiting for an answer.

“I'm sorry, Tubruk. I just borrowed it for practice.”

Still holding the little boy's wrist too firmly to permit escape, Tubruk reached over and took the sword from unresisting fingers. He brought the blade up and swore in anger as he looked at it, making Octavian jump. The boy's eyes were wide with fear at the expression that crossed Tubruk's face. He had not expected him to return from the fields for another few hours, and by that time the sword would have been back in its place.

“Look at that! Have you any idea how long it will take to get an edge back on it? No, of course you haven't. You're just a stupid little fool who thinks he can steal anything he wants.”

Octavian's eyes filled with tears. He wanted nothing more in the world than to have the old gladiator approve of him, and the disappointment was worse than pain.

“I'm sorry. I just wanted to borrow it. I'll sharpen it so you can't see the marks!”

Tubruk looked again at the blade. “What did you do, smash it deliberately? That can't be sharpened. It needs to be completely reground, or better still, thrown away for scrap. I've carried that sword through bouts in the gladiator ring and three wars, and all that is undone by one thoughtless hour with a boy who can't keep his hands away from other people's belongings. You've gone too far this time, I swear it.”

Too furious to speak further, Tubruk threw the sword onto the ground and let go of the snivelling child, storming out of the stables and leaving him alone with his misery.

Octavian picked up the weapon and ran his thumb over the edge, which had been folded right over in some places. He thought if he could find a good sharpening stone and disappear from the estate for a few hours, by the time he returned Tubruk would have calmed down and he could give him the sword back. A vision of the old gladiator's surprise as Octavian handed him the restored blade came into his mind.

“I thought it couldn't be done!” he imagined Tubruk saying as he examined the new edge. Octavian thought he might not say anything then, but simply assume a humble expression until Tubruk ruffled his hair, the incident forgotten.

The daydream was interrupted by Tubruk's return, and Octavian dropped the sword in fear as he saw the old gladiator had a heavy leather strap in one hand.

“No! I said I was sorry! I'll fix the sword, I promise,” Octavian bawled, but Tubruk kept a fierce silence as he dragged him out of the stables into the sunlight. The little boy struggled hopelessly as he was pulled across the courtyard, but the hand that held him was rigid with an adult strength he couldn't break, for all the growing he'd done.

Tubruk heaved open the main gate with the hand that held the strap, grunting with the effort.

“I should have done this a long time ago. There's the road back to the city. I suggest you take it and make sure I don't lay eyes on you again. If you stay here, I am going to beat your backside until you know better. What's the word? Leave or stay?”

“I don't want to go, Tubruk,” the boy cried, sobbing in terror and confusion. Tubruk firmed his mouth, deaf to his pleas.

“Right then,” he said grimly, and took hold of Octavian by his tunic, bringing the strap down on his bottom with a snap that echoed around the yard. Octavian pulled madly to get away and yelled incoherently in a wail, but Tubruk ignored him, raising the strap again.

“Tubruk! Stop that!” Cornelia said. She had come out into the yard to see the source of so much noise and now faced the pair of them, her eyes blazing. Octavian used the moment to yank his tunic from Tubruk's grasp and ran to her, wrapping his arms around her and hiding his head in her dress.

“What are you doing to the boy, Tubruk?” Cornelia snapped.

The estate manager didn't reply, stepping close to her to grab hold of Octavian once again. Even with his head pressed deep in the cloth of her dress, Octavian sensed him coming and skittered out of the way behind her. Cornelia used her hands to hold Tubruk at bay in a frantic surge of energy that made him take a step back, his chest heaving.

“You will stop this at once. He's terrified, can't you see?” Cornelia demanded.

Tubruk shook his head slowly, his eyes flickering up to hers. “It'll do him no good when he's grown if you let him hide behind you now. I want him to remember this and I want it to come back to him the next time he thinks of stealing something.”

Cornelia bent down and took Octavian's hands in hers. “What did you take this time?” she said.

“I only borrowed his sword. I meant to put it back, but it went blunt and before I could sharpen it, Tubruk came back,” Octavian wailed wretchedly, watching Tubruk out of the corners of his eyes in case he made another attempt to lay hands on him.

Cornelia shook her head. “You damaged his sword? Oh, Octavian. That's too much. I have to give you back to Tubruk. I'm sorry.”

Octavian screamed as she detached his fingers from her dress with firm strength and Tubruk took hold of his tunic again. Cornelia chewed her bottom lip unhappily as Tubruk brought the strap down four more times, then let Octavian run away into the soothing darkness of the stables.

“He's terrified of you,” Cornelia said, looking after the boy as he ran.

“Perhaps, but it was called for. I've let him get away with things I never would have stood from Julius or Brutus when they were boys. He spends half his time in a dream world, that one. It won't have done him any harm to have his bottom warmed. Maybe next time he looks to steal, it will slow his hands a little.”

“Is the sword ruined?” Cornelia asked, still unsure of herself around this man who had known Julius when he was as young as Octavian.

Tubruk shrugged. “Probably. But the boy won't be, which is more than I could say if he'd gone his happy way in the city for much longer. Leave him in the stables for a while. He'll have a good cry and then come in to eat, as if nothing had happened, if I know him.”

Octavian did not turn up for the evening meal and Clodia brought out a bowl of food as darkness fell. She couldn't find him in the stables and a search of the estate brought no sign of the little boy. He and the gladius had gone.