Swords of Rome (51 page)

“It could be years. There is still much that needs to be done before we can be sure Rome is safe, no less actually winning this war. I’m afraid what might happen in that time, that I may not
-”

She placed her index finger over his lips, politely asking him to be still.

“What may come may come. We can’t dwell over what we cannot control.”

“But I could control it. I could ask to remain behind and help Rome in some other capacity. The Fifteen Legion will be left behind to protect the city. I could take
a post with them.”

Julia smiled as she shook her head.

“I love you more.”

Julia placed her hand over Gaius’ heart and stared up at him.

“Perhaps so, but we both know it isn’t the same. Out there, beyond our borders lies your destiny, and you need to see it through to the end. I will always be right here waiting for you to return.”

“But I may not return at all,” Gaius added as he lowered his head.

“Then, if we can’t be together in this life, then the next. It will change nothing.”

Julia buried her head into his chest, wrapping her arms around him as she held onto him tightly.

“Just never forget what you have to live for,” she whispered. “You will come back to me. I know it.”

Mago had been on a long journey since last he spoke with his brother. He had spent a short time in Italy just before Cannae where Hannibal had crushed the consular army of a hundred thousand men. It
was one of the proudest moments in Mago’s life seeing so many Roman’s dead. However, soon after, as Hannibal’s staff urged him to march on Rome and take the city, he had refused – failing to cease his great victory.

             
Hannibal then sent Mago back to Carthage to request more men, so that he may finish the war in Italy and bring Rome’s walls crashing down.

Mago had with him the rings and other markings of the Roman
Senate and elite – thousands of small pieces of gold that had been stripped from still warm corpses following Cannae. When he stepped foot in the Senate, for the first time in his life, Mago threw the rings onto the Senate floor for all the leaders of Carthage to see with their own eyes what Hannibal had accomplished.

He spoke passionately about what he witnessed – three consuls dead, hundreds of thousands of Roman soldiers
killed – whole settlements and communities destroyed, Italy was Hannibal’s.

Mago expected
, with his words the Senate to bow to Hannibal’s wishes and rally their swords. The only question would be: how many soldiers should they send? However, that question never came.

When Mago finished his speech, those within the
Senate, enemies of Hannibal, who had grown jealous of his success turned against him as they called him a warmonger – a tyrant and a traitor for instigating the conflict with Rome in the first place. It sickened Mago. These men were merchants and businessmen who cared only about money, and not the pride of their nation. And, before he knew, the whole Senate had rallied against Hannibal, calling his actions a crime as they turned their attention towards protecting Carthage’s interests from Rome, namely its territories in Spain.

Hannibal would not get any reinforcements as he hoped. Rome’s walls would remain strong and still standing, and he, as he began to lose support from his Gallic allies
, was trapped, as his opponents under the leadership of the Dictator Fabius Maximus refused to confront him in open battle.

It was an embarrassment! Mago left furious as he was refused the chance to return to his brother after he was ordered by the
Senate to take up command in Spain, and make ready for a new Roman offensive. And so he had been for the past five years, trapped, freezing his ass off, holding firm against the Scipio, a man unlike any Roman he had ever encountered – one that fought more like his brother.

Now, Mago returns to Italy with terrible news. He races to tell his brother in no short order t
hat Spain had fallen – New Carthage had been taken by Scipio, and that Hannibal was cut off from his only reliable source for reinforcements and supplies. However, Mago would not get the chance to deliver his terrible message through words - just symbolically as a small bag was thrown by a Roman horseman over the high walls that surrounded Hannibal’s camp.

The bag was found momentarily by a Carthaginian soldier who read the notation that it was a message meant for Hannibal. He raced as quickly as he could across the camp to his leader’s tent where he presented the bag to him.

As Hannibal unfurled the string that sealed the bag shut, the smell alone indicated to him what it was, just not who.

A moment later, Hannibal pulled the severed head of his brother, Mago out from the bag; his white eyes rolled into his skull; his neck dry of blood with only a note attached to the base, pinned into the flesh indicating the sender –
Scipio
.

Even Hannibal’s bravest men shuttered when they heard him scream in agony over the loss of his beloved brother.

If there were any doubt to the long-term outcome of the war, Hannibal’s army had lost all hope of claiming another smashing victory against their bitter rivals upon Mago’s arrival. Little did they know they would all be going home soon.      

“Julia,” Gaius whispered to himself as she began to fade from his dream, as if she had never existed.

Gaius opened his eyes as he heard his name being called by a familiar voice. Someone had walked into his tent and stood just beyond the sleeping area separated by a thin curtain. For a moment
as he lay, not moving, desperately hoping to recapture the exquisite image of his beloved, he wished the intruder would leave. However, his name was called with more urgency for a second time.

“It is time for you to wake, my friend. I know you can hear me, so there is no pretending otherwise.”

“I do hear you, though I wish I had not,” Gaius finally replied with a low mutter as he forced himself to rise from his cot, tossing his wolf pelt covers to the ground. 

“Just give me a moment.”

“As you wish. I’ll go outside and tell the war to wait for a couple more hours,” the man replied with a sarcastic yet friendly tone. Gaius actually managed a faint smile.

As he stepped out from his small sleeping area, he looked up at his officer, who smirked at him, as if he was in on a joke that Gaius had no knowledge of.

“What is so damn amusing?” he groaned at Maurus, who stood in full armor, admirably cleaned and polished - he might have been on parade.  

“You look like you were dragged under your horse,” Maurus joked.

“I’m fine. Do not give second thought of my appearance; just a rough night’s sleep. The damn sand fleas and such,” Gaius lied as he walked over to a large copper bowl in the corner that was filled with cool water.

He dipped his hands and splashed the water over his face, and rubbed his aching shoulders and neck. He repeated this for several minutes until he removed the foul smell of the forsaken country from his flesh, for the moment. 

“How are the men?” Gaius asked as he reached for a clean cloth and began to wipe down his naked body.

“They are fed, armed and marching out onto the field as we speak,” Maurus answered, as he walked over to the far side of the tent. A wooden mannequin stood, holding Gaius’ black leather armor.

“By the gods, Maurus, why did you let me sleep so long? You’re my chief centurion.”

“I felt that you needed rest, at least an extra hour. We need your mind clear this day, above all others. Besides, what good is being your chief centurion if I can’t attend to things on my own without you looking over my shoulder?” Maurus answered with a warm grin as he tossed Gaius his tunic and belt.

“Regardless, I should have been awakened.” Gaius sighed as he dressed. “Are they nervous, the men?” He then asked.

“More excited, I would have to say. It has been seven years of war, which I would rather forget. We’ve waited a long time to reach this point. I can hardly believe it myself. I wonder where the time has gone, if home is even like we remember it.”

“I’m sure it is the same as we left it.”

“I do wish one thing, though,” Maurus said as he walked over to where Gaius’ helmet lay, on a nearby table, as Gaius buckled his armor in place.

“What is that?”

“If this is to be my last day on earth, my only regret is that I couldn’t have died on my own soil,” Maurus answered, sounding uncharacteristically moody as he turned with the helmet in hand, and walked back to his commanding officer.

“The gods decide such things, my friend. However, I do believe you will get the chance to see home again after this battle is done.” Gaius’ words were encouraging, but he too seemed to have a slight hint of doubt in his voice.

“And what of you, do you think the gods favor you such that you will see our homeland?”

Gaius hesitated to answer at first as he considered Maurus’ words. He did not want to seem uncertain, as the two of them had survived so much that the prospect of dying now would have been aggravating.

“I believed the god of war will have plenty of blood this day. That much is certain. However, if he wants mine, he shall have to fight for it.” Gaius managed a wide smile as he slammed his palms down onto Maurus’ shoulders.

“Look to the heavens and praise the gods, my nervous friend. We still breathe and shall continue for a long time to come. I’m sure that both of us will live through this day. We will go home. We will marry beautiful women who will tend to our every need. We shall drink long into the night recalling tales of our victories, while our children grow together, bored stiff of those stories. Of this, my friend, I am
certain as I’m confident the dawn will bring a new day. However, when that day comes and death’s hand reaches down for us, far from now we will leave this world with honor and pride, and shall rejoin our fallen brothers as heroes of the Republic.”

“A wonderful paragon that would be,” Maurus smiled widened.

“Indeed it is – one worth living for.”

Maurus
walked over to Gaius, holding out a helmet that was capped off with a bright-red feather crest, which signified his rank. He carefully placed it onto his head and laced the straps in place, preparing himself for what lay beyond the folds of his tent.

“Enjoy this
day, Maurus for there will never be another like it in our lives. Today the sons of the Republic walk on the soil of our bitter enemy. We will avenge the losses we have sustained in this war. Carthage will finally know our pain, tenfold.” Gaius’ voice was firm as Maurus smiled, placing hands at the entry to the tent. The warmth of the morning sun entered, illuminating the interior. Already the organized chaos of the barracks filled Gaius’ ears.

“Then, Legate, sir, let us not waste a moment. We would not want to disappoint our enemies by being lat
e for the battle, now would we?”

Gaius rode into the main camp, which lie several miles to the east of his legion’s barracks. His destination was a series of large interconnecting tents that served as the headquarters for the army’s commander. Waiting outside were a dozen legionaries, who stood guard despite the intense heat, poised in their full armor and kit. One of those soldiers, a centurion with a scarred face, walked over to Gaius and grabbed the reins of his horse as he stopped a few yards from the tent.

“Sir, the legates are assembled and are awaiting you,” the centurion quickly spoke as Gaius leaped down.

“And what of Scipio, has he arrived?” Gaius quickly asked, fearing he may be delaying the assembly.

“No, sir.
He is still surveying the men, but is expected back at any time now.”

“Thank you, Centurion.”  

The inside of the tent was spacious and lit well, with oil lamp's burning. It was also surprisingly cooler than outside, which was a welcome relief as the African heat did not agree with him.

Everywhere Gaius noted the splendors of a proper Roman home that a nobleman couldn’t seem to leave home without. He found it amusing that many of the prefects, tribunes and legates he had served under would not begin a campaign until their creature comforts were attended to. Although he hadn’t dared say it beyond a few whispered jokes around the
campfire, he figured he was just too used to sleeping under the stars and living out of a pack to care much about these luxuries. A sharp sword, good armor, bread in his stomach and a sky to look up at was all he desired.    

His destination was back toward the rear, where a second section had been built into the main living quarters. This area was the war room where the officers were gathered, waiting for their commander to arrive.