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.

When the last man had left, Octavian turned and drew his sword in a smooth motion, stalking across the sandy ground to one of the fighting circles. Brutus watched him for weakness, reminded that he too had won silver armor in Julius's tournament. He was fast and young, but Brutus drew his own gladius as if it were a part of his arm. He had searched for it amongst Egyptian dead, before the scavengers could bear it away. He had trained through pain to recover the skill for exactly this moment.

Brutus took position opposite Octavian and raised his sword into first position.

"I remember you threatening to have my arm rebroken," he murmured, beginning to circle. "Would you like to try it now?"

Octavian ignored him, reversing step so quickly that it almost caught Brutus by surprise. The first blow was a test of his strength, with Octavian's weight behind it. Brutus took it easily, with a clang of metal.

"You mustn't tense your hip like that, boy. It restricts your movement," Brutus said.

For a few moments, they fought in silence as Octavian tried a combination of cuts that ended with a lunge at his knee. Brutus batted the blade aside.

"Better," he said. "Though I see Domitius has been working with you. He loves that little lunge."

He saw that Octavian was circling too closely and darted at him. His sword was countered, but Brutus managed to hammer a punch into Octavian's cheek before they broke apart. Octavian touched his face and held up the palm to show there was no blood.

"Are you thinking this is just to be the first cut, boy?" Brutus said. "You're as naive as Julius. Perhaps that's why he likes you."

As he spoke he began a series of strikes that built in speed. Both men crashed together, and Octavian used his elbow to knock Brutus's head back.

"You're getting old," Octavian said as they circled once more.

Brutus glared at him, feeling the truth of the words. He had lost the blinding speed of his youth, but he had experience enough to humble one more young dog, he was sure of it. "I wonder if Julius shared his plans with you for when he returns?" he said. Both men were sweating by then. Brutus saw Octavian's eyes narrow and he went on, watching for an attack. "This city is to become the second capital of his empire, did he tell you that? I doubt he bothered. You were always first in line to kiss his feet. What does it matter if you kneel to a general or an emperor?"

The response was fast and the clash of swords went on and on until the breath came hard from Brutus's lungs. There was no weakness in his defense and Octavian could batter all day before he found a way through. The younger man sensed his confidence and backed to the edge of the circle.

"You're a bag of old wind," Octavian said. "A liar, a traitor, a coward."

His eyes glittered as he waited for the attack, but Brutus only laughed, confusing him.

"Ask him when he returns, then, boy. Ask him what he thinks about your beloved Republic. He told me…" They met again and Brutus cut a stripe down Octavian's leg. The blood ran like water and he continued cheerfully, knowing weakness would follow. "He told me the Senate's day was over, but perhaps he will lie to you, to spare your tender pride."

They circled more slowly and Brutus did not force the pace.

"What did you think, that we were fighting for the Republic?" Brutus asked mockingly. "Maybe once, when we were all young, but he has a queen now and she carries his son."

"You liar!" Octavian roared, leaping in.

His leg felt like it was on fire, but even through the pain he knew that Brutus was letting him tire himself. A poor stroke let Brutus gash his left hand before he could jerk it back. He clenched the fist in reflex and blood dripped between his knuckles.

"I wonder if I wasn't on the right side at Pharsalus, after all," Brutus said, switching gaits and leaving Octavian to stumble. He looked dazed, though whether it was the words or the wounds, Brutus did not know.

"Don't pretend to be dying, boy. I've seen that trick a few times before," he jeered.

Octavian straightened subtly and his sword lashed out in a perfect lunge that Brutus missed. It jolted against his shoulder plate, snapping the leather ties. Brutus swore, before yanking it loose with his free hand and tossing it away.

"That beautiful girl is carrying a son. Now, why would that make you angry?" Brutus paused, breaking the rhythm. "It can't be that you expected to inherit? Mind you, why not? He's bald and ancient compared to you. Why would you not look forward to sitting in his place one day? Gods, it must eat at you to know it won't happen. When his son is born, how much time do you think he'll find for a distant relative?"

His laughter was cruel, and against the cry of his instinct Octavian was stung again into an attack. Brutus swayed out of its path and crashed another blow into the same cheek, splitting it.

"You look a proper butcher's shop, did you know?" Brutus said. "You're getting slower every moment."

They were both panting by then and yet as they met they struck to kill. Brutus kneed upwards into Octavian's groin as they came together, but a lucky blow opened a gash on his leg, making him cry out.

"Hurts, does it?" Octavian snarled at him.

"Stings a little, yes," Brutus replied, coming in fast.

The swords blurred as they cracked and rang against each other, both men straining with all their strength. Blows landed and cut without being felt in the heat of the struggle. The silver armor dented and then Octavian grunted as Brutus's sword punctured through the metal into his side. He raised a hand to it, gasping. The light in the yard seemed too bright and his legs were wet with blood. He slipped to his knees, expecting the bite of a sword at his throat.

Brutus kicked his gladius away onto the sand and stood looking down at him.

"Nothing that can't be stitched, boy," he said, resting his hands on his knees. "I wonder if I should break your arm?"

The oval gash in his thigh ached terribly, but he ignored it. He'd lived through worse.

Octavian looked up. "If he wants an empire, I'll give it to him," he said.

Brutus sighed as he brought back his fist and knocked him onto his back, unconscious. "You really are a fool," he told the supine figure.