Lucjan
10-14-2006, 16:51
The Reunion ((An IC personal report written by Lucjan (Servius), GeneralHankerchief (Marcellus), and DDW (Agreed to play Oppius). Thanks to both for participating!))
Servius thought deeply to himself, his eyes searching the sky. Vultures perched upon the city walls, their shrill cries a reminder that the battle that had taken place here only days before was still fresh in the minds of the gods, their carrion birds still searching for the feast they smelled on the winds. The most recent events involving Marcellus had reached his ears earlier that day and he was unsure of how to approach the situation.
"Marcellus, how am I to feel?" It was an event that Servius had always known would come, but he was unsure of the emotions he held in his heart. As his personal bodyguard began to gather at the gates he mounted his horse. Their meeting was inevitable. Two years ago he had resigned himself to the possibility that he may never leave this place, that the desert sands would mark his grave without a stone or column, that he would do his duty to Rome no matter the costs. Now, he sits at the gates of Cartago, held firm by Roman hands, captured by his legion, the great vanquisher of 2/3's of Carthage's military might with but a single Roman legion. The consul had been hailed in the academies and scriptorium as a military genius. But in doing what he must, he had lost everything that he had hoped to return to should he ever leave this place. The time for his departure, thanks to the grace of Mars, was drawing very, very near.
But he could not yet leave this place. No, he could not bear to return to Rome until he had once again confronted Marcellus. He had not seen his uncle in just over two years, having departed for Lepcis Magna right before the senatorial elections. He had planned the meeting out a thousand times over, but what would actually occur when he finally came face to face with him?
"I hope my trust with you is rightly placed Marcellus. It no longer matters if you do or don't trust me." His words were uttered aloud, but towards nobody in particular, a member of his bodyguard approached. "We are ready sir."
Servius looked to the open gates of Cartago and towards the deserts endless expanse. "Then we go." The trip to Marcellus's legion would be short and uneventful enough, it was what would transpire upon his arrival that had him concerned.
----------
Oppius Aemilius was not feeling well, his frail health further degraded by the hot African climate. He stood at parade rest, back straight and face carefully locked into a neutral expression. As the son of the legendary Lucius the Great it would not do to show any sign of weakness.
Often he cursed the legacy of his birth. How could he ever live up to such a father ? He was aware he overcompensated for his lack of achievement by being very stern with the men, but he knew that the troops laughed behind his back at his youth and instilling discipline was difficult for him. The men muttered he had something to prove as he dealt out severe punishments for minor infractions. Still, he knew he had impressed them by turning the tide of the last great battle by slaying the Cartheginian commander. The first step on the path to glory and the respect I am entitled to!
The men were right, of course, Oppius tought to himself, I do have something to prove. One day my fame will outshine even that of my glorious father. There is an oppertunity here, he mused, if I can set Servius and Marcellus against each other, I am one step closer to inheriting the seat of pater familius of the Aemili. Oppius glanced sideways to his brother Marcellus, who stood on the battlements surveying the approaching Roman army.
"There he comes, brother, the treacherous snake. I imagine he will boast mightily of his many successes on the battlefield and his brilliant leadership and clever strategy."
Marcellus said nothing, concentrating on the dust cloud on the horizon, seeing if he could make out the size of the approaching army.
"The glory he gained should have been yours, my brother, as you are well aware. Your nephew has sidelined you and I expect him to keep on sidelining you while he has command of the armies.
As for his strategy, how much of Africa do we control, eh ? He has lost all the ground we've gained and now we're holed up in Carthage. Brilliant strategy indeed." Oppius sneers, looking on with pleasure as Marcellus's mood darkens even more.
-----------
Marcellus Aemilius watched as his nephew's escort approached the fort. Already he could tell that the Consul had grown.
As Servius reached the fort, Marcellus just realized how much his nephew had grown. He was now tanned and muscular, with a hard look on his face. It was clear that the desert had shaped him like this.
Servius rode through the gates, dismounted, and looked around. He soon spotted Marcellus and Oppius coming his way. Here it came. The moment.
"Servius."
"Marcellus."
The two looked at each other for a second, and then Marcellus wrapped the Consul in a great bear hug. Servius was taken aback for a second, and then laughed. He then proceeded to great Oppius, who stood nearby with a disappointed look on his face, oddly enough.
"You two smell terrible."
Marcellus laughed. "Well, unlike some people we don't have a great city to waltz back to whenever we feel like it. I think my men would like to bathe sometime within the next three months."
Servius laughed. "I'll see what I can do."
The three Aemilii wined and dined, telling stories of what happened over the past two years. Marcellus noted that he and Oppius did a lot more listening, though. Finally, as the sun set, the serious conversation began.
"Servius, you've done great, but I have grievances. And I'm looking forward to some actual replies instead of that smarmy crap I get from your clerk back in Rome. Mainly, our little alliance. I can accept that you're long gone from it now. But was the charade really necessary? Why couldn't you have just told Verginius, Lucius, and myself that you agreed with eastward expansion?"
----------
Servius looked hard at Marcellus, turning the question over in his mind. The situation is what it is, what matter does it make now? Servius stopped whatever it was that he was doing and motioned to the tent's entrance.
"Follow me Marcellus." He said, guiding his uncle through the entranceway and out into the fort's street. The night was cold, and the skies were dark, but a fire flickered in the center of camp, attended by a few principes talking of the recent battle. One of them was weeping heavily, having lost his younger brother in the last battle. He held the hastati's helmet in his hands.
Servius pointed then to the fort's walls, where the men standing watch kept themselves awake and enetertained by firing stones at vultures with a funditores sling.
Then he bade Marcellus turn his attention to the fort's graveyard. The Roman men here would never leave this place. The only marker to remember these men by were the tiles around their pit and a simple vessel, into which their surviving companions had paid homage with gifts of food and drink, some of them, blood.
Walking his uncle out to the fort's ramparts he pointed out across the field where they had done battle, where the Carthaginian fallen now lay victim to the weather, scavenger beasts and carrion birds.
Looking then to Marcellus, and behind him to Oppius, who had followed them from the tent, intent on knowing where this conversation was going, Servius's cold demeanour spoke in an almost monotone retort. "How can any man agree to this? Anywhere?"
"Marcellus, I did not. I hope you understand that. But I also hope you can understand that I do not have the luxury of personal choice. I am the consul of Rome, I am obligated to do for the Republic everything I must to make good on my promises. And I have promised Rome safety, prosperity. I do not have the luxury of personal choice. I have only obligation. To do for my people what is necessary to secure for our posterity a greater life than we have led. To secure for our people the greatness in happiness and wealth that I have promised them."
Servius turned then to look back to his uncle, staring him straight in the eyes. "Do you really believe that this forsaken land alone could have saved Rome? I have endured this lands tortures since the beginning of my consulship, and what have I gained Marcellus?"
Servius's eyes were dead. He knew so, he felt it himself. He had killed and led men to their deaths more times than he cared to in this place, but the senate had mandated, it was necessary for Rome.
He looked back out onto the endless expanse of desert and waste. "Let me retain what is left of my soul."
----------
Still determined to cause conflict between Marcellus and Servius, Oppius jumped in before Marcellus could reply to the barrage of rhetorical questions.
"Yes, you should be wary of losing more of it. The friends you deceived are certainly wondering how much of it is left." Oppius said acidly.
As Servius turned around with a glare in his eye, Oppius swung his hand out in the other direction, where rich fields would look like a paradise, if the view was not spoiled by the many corpses lying around.
"The desert which lies to to south is worthless, I agree, but these coastal lands are some of the richest in the world. We need this land's riches now, more than ever. Yet for all your efforts, we still control very little of this land, while our armies are marching to the end of the world, capturing previously looted and worthless cities. I have the impression that your hunger for glory has caused this expedition to be severely delayed, if it not failed altogether. Oppius turns to Marcellus. Why could you not have sent him to Carthage before ? Was the need for glory too strong ? Together you might have accomplished so much more."
----------
There is a broken look to Servius at that moment, as he turns to look into Marcellus's eyes, seeking a reaction to the bitterness of Oppius's words. He had followed every promise in regards to Carthage to a T, their armies were decimated, the consular legions left on time, half of the promised territories would be in Roman control by the halfway mark of his consulship, but the great vanquisher's facade had cracked, and he stood before them an exhausted man. "Oppius, I have not the will right now to engage in a debate of military logistics with an adolescent who has never attended the academy and only a battle ago feared the frontline like a plague. I am asking you a question Marcellus. Answer me Marcellus, what have I gained?"
----------
At this latest exchange, Marcellus stared at Servius for a minute, then shook his head.
"Servius, you have lost more than you know with this expedition. I see a hollow, dead look in your eyes. I saw the same look in a triarii who survived the battle at Massilia ford. These battles have taken away your soul. At your age, that is the worst thing that could happen to you." He said.
"With this expedition, you seem to have taken the belief that your Consulship is a heavy burden, one that eats at your nature. I am greatly saddened at this, yet at the same time a little pleased. Back in the Senate, your clerk has turned you into something of a demigod, refusing to acknowledge any wrongdoings that you may have done. At least here, I now know the truth. You are full of regret." Marcellus stoped briefly with a solemn pause.
"I now realize why you turned on your alliance. While this desert may have sharpened your sense of duty, it has robbed you of any other emotion you may have. This desert has taken away your sense of connection to anyone aside from those who have been through what you have been through. Your sense of duty has alienated your family and friends. Lucius, our pater familius, no longer respects you. Oppius here openly despises you. I thought you were out to either humiliate or kill me until tonight. And that's just the Aemilii." Marcellus had a look of concern on his face.
"Servius, you're in your early twenties and a hollow man inside. Please, for all our sakes, get out of Afrika! Spend some time in the fields of Latium, back home, back where you grew up! Be around life again! I don't want my nephew to know only war."
Marcellus finished, with a little tear in his eye.
----------
Oppius, in spite of himself, is moved by the exhange between Marcellus and Servius, and relents from his previous hostilitude, against his better judgment.
"Servius, I apologize, your consulship has achieved great things. It is just not the future we all envisaged, which causes all this resentment. Yet you still have time to accomplish the goals we all desired, and perhaps much more. Perhaps you and father Lucius can even come to a better understanding. As a former consul he of all people is sympathetic to the pressures that office brings on men. I agree with Marcellus that it would be best for you to return to Rome and make peace with the senate. That pompous clerk you sent to speak for you is only inflaming the sparks of anger that your actions have caused into bonfires!"
----------
Servius says nothing as he sees the tear roll down Marcellus's face, and listens quietly to Oppius's hesitant support.
He says nothing to the two as he motions for one of his praetoria to approach. The emotion he had shown only moments ago now hidden behind the cold demeanour of a superior commander and a natural born leader, his orders are given quickly, dominantly. "Ready all Roman men of the legion for march to the coast, direct the alae command structure to follow the orders of Marcellus Aemilius. Threaten any man found looting in the potential confusion of the reorganisation with being strung up above the coastal cliffs for the birds. Oh, and one more thing, when you ready the men for march, tell them this is not a dream, we set sail for Rome."
"Yes sir!" The praetorian replied, beaming with excitement as he hastily went to carry out the consul's latest orders. To think that they were returning to Rome!
Only when the praetorian had gone did Servius turn to Marcellus and Oppius, but he was at a loss for words. He felt there was an understanding between the three of what had just occurred, and dared not spoil the moment. After a few seconds, he rested a hand on each of their shoulders, "Marcellus. Oppius.", then began to walk away. He stopped only once, a few feet away, to look back over his shoulder and mutter something just loud enough for both of them to hear. "Do not let this place take away your soul."----------
Marcellus and Oppius watched as Servius and the Praetoria took the road back to Carthage. He wasn't sure of what was going through Oppius' head, but he knew that he was feeling sorrow as well as confusion.
He turned to Oppius. "Strato back at the Scriptorium would have loved to get his hands on the Consul. He comes to Afrika, takes and holds a grand total of one city, kills thousands of enemy soldiers, and then leaves us to finish up."
Oppius nodded. Servius' behavior that night had definitely scared him into not taking a too militaristic lifestyle.
The two stood in silence for several minutes. Then, suddenly, Marcellus chuckled.
"What is it, Marcellus?"
"I wonder if this philosophical discussion we've had tonight was just an elaborate escape from my questions. I forgot to ask him about what happened to my churigeon. It would've helped in the last battle."
Oppius grinned. "Whatever you do, don't bring it up in the Senate. That clerk will just say that the motion called for them to be sent to you, but not anything about later on."
The two stood in silence for some more minutes, but there was less awkwardness in the air. Finally, Marcellus spoke again.
"Ok, I guess we should get to sleep."
As the soldiers in the army laid down for the night, Marcellus, smiling, sat and penned a letter to his nephew by candlelight. He would send a Praetorian to deliver it tomorrow. In it would be a simple request to move on Hadrumentum, as well as an inquiry about his chuirgeon, the kind that friends in the military write to each other about. Marcellus went to bed late at night, content that the fracture had been mended a little bit.
Servius thought deeply to himself, his eyes searching the sky. Vultures perched upon the city walls, their shrill cries a reminder that the battle that had taken place here only days before was still fresh in the minds of the gods, their carrion birds still searching for the feast they smelled on the winds. The most recent events involving Marcellus had reached his ears earlier that day and he was unsure of how to approach the situation.
"Marcellus, how am I to feel?" It was an event that Servius had always known would come, but he was unsure of the emotions he held in his heart. As his personal bodyguard began to gather at the gates he mounted his horse. Their meeting was inevitable. Two years ago he had resigned himself to the possibility that he may never leave this place, that the desert sands would mark his grave without a stone or column, that he would do his duty to Rome no matter the costs. Now, he sits at the gates of Cartago, held firm by Roman hands, captured by his legion, the great vanquisher of 2/3's of Carthage's military might with but a single Roman legion. The consul had been hailed in the academies and scriptorium as a military genius. But in doing what he must, he had lost everything that he had hoped to return to should he ever leave this place. The time for his departure, thanks to the grace of Mars, was drawing very, very near.
But he could not yet leave this place. No, he could not bear to return to Rome until he had once again confronted Marcellus. He had not seen his uncle in just over two years, having departed for Lepcis Magna right before the senatorial elections. He had planned the meeting out a thousand times over, but what would actually occur when he finally came face to face with him?
"I hope my trust with you is rightly placed Marcellus. It no longer matters if you do or don't trust me." His words were uttered aloud, but towards nobody in particular, a member of his bodyguard approached. "We are ready sir."
Servius looked to the open gates of Cartago and towards the deserts endless expanse. "Then we go." The trip to Marcellus's legion would be short and uneventful enough, it was what would transpire upon his arrival that had him concerned.
----------
Oppius Aemilius was not feeling well, his frail health further degraded by the hot African climate. He stood at parade rest, back straight and face carefully locked into a neutral expression. As the son of the legendary Lucius the Great it would not do to show any sign of weakness.
Often he cursed the legacy of his birth. How could he ever live up to such a father ? He was aware he overcompensated for his lack of achievement by being very stern with the men, but he knew that the troops laughed behind his back at his youth and instilling discipline was difficult for him. The men muttered he had something to prove as he dealt out severe punishments for minor infractions. Still, he knew he had impressed them by turning the tide of the last great battle by slaying the Cartheginian commander. The first step on the path to glory and the respect I am entitled to!
The men were right, of course, Oppius tought to himself, I do have something to prove. One day my fame will outshine even that of my glorious father. There is an oppertunity here, he mused, if I can set Servius and Marcellus against each other, I am one step closer to inheriting the seat of pater familius of the Aemili. Oppius glanced sideways to his brother Marcellus, who stood on the battlements surveying the approaching Roman army.
"There he comes, brother, the treacherous snake. I imagine he will boast mightily of his many successes on the battlefield and his brilliant leadership and clever strategy."
Marcellus said nothing, concentrating on the dust cloud on the horizon, seeing if he could make out the size of the approaching army.
"The glory he gained should have been yours, my brother, as you are well aware. Your nephew has sidelined you and I expect him to keep on sidelining you while he has command of the armies.
As for his strategy, how much of Africa do we control, eh ? He has lost all the ground we've gained and now we're holed up in Carthage. Brilliant strategy indeed." Oppius sneers, looking on with pleasure as Marcellus's mood darkens even more.
-----------
Marcellus Aemilius watched as his nephew's escort approached the fort. Already he could tell that the Consul had grown.
As Servius reached the fort, Marcellus just realized how much his nephew had grown. He was now tanned and muscular, with a hard look on his face. It was clear that the desert had shaped him like this.
Servius rode through the gates, dismounted, and looked around. He soon spotted Marcellus and Oppius coming his way. Here it came. The moment.
"Servius."
"Marcellus."
The two looked at each other for a second, and then Marcellus wrapped the Consul in a great bear hug. Servius was taken aback for a second, and then laughed. He then proceeded to great Oppius, who stood nearby with a disappointed look on his face, oddly enough.
"You two smell terrible."
Marcellus laughed. "Well, unlike some people we don't have a great city to waltz back to whenever we feel like it. I think my men would like to bathe sometime within the next three months."
Servius laughed. "I'll see what I can do."
The three Aemilii wined and dined, telling stories of what happened over the past two years. Marcellus noted that he and Oppius did a lot more listening, though. Finally, as the sun set, the serious conversation began.
"Servius, you've done great, but I have grievances. And I'm looking forward to some actual replies instead of that smarmy crap I get from your clerk back in Rome. Mainly, our little alliance. I can accept that you're long gone from it now. But was the charade really necessary? Why couldn't you have just told Verginius, Lucius, and myself that you agreed with eastward expansion?"
----------
Servius looked hard at Marcellus, turning the question over in his mind. The situation is what it is, what matter does it make now? Servius stopped whatever it was that he was doing and motioned to the tent's entrance.
"Follow me Marcellus." He said, guiding his uncle through the entranceway and out into the fort's street. The night was cold, and the skies were dark, but a fire flickered in the center of camp, attended by a few principes talking of the recent battle. One of them was weeping heavily, having lost his younger brother in the last battle. He held the hastati's helmet in his hands.
Servius pointed then to the fort's walls, where the men standing watch kept themselves awake and enetertained by firing stones at vultures with a funditores sling.
Then he bade Marcellus turn his attention to the fort's graveyard. The Roman men here would never leave this place. The only marker to remember these men by were the tiles around their pit and a simple vessel, into which their surviving companions had paid homage with gifts of food and drink, some of them, blood.
Walking his uncle out to the fort's ramparts he pointed out across the field where they had done battle, where the Carthaginian fallen now lay victim to the weather, scavenger beasts and carrion birds.
Looking then to Marcellus, and behind him to Oppius, who had followed them from the tent, intent on knowing where this conversation was going, Servius's cold demeanour spoke in an almost monotone retort. "How can any man agree to this? Anywhere?"
"Marcellus, I did not. I hope you understand that. But I also hope you can understand that I do not have the luxury of personal choice. I am the consul of Rome, I am obligated to do for the Republic everything I must to make good on my promises. And I have promised Rome safety, prosperity. I do not have the luxury of personal choice. I have only obligation. To do for my people what is necessary to secure for our posterity a greater life than we have led. To secure for our people the greatness in happiness and wealth that I have promised them."
Servius turned then to look back to his uncle, staring him straight in the eyes. "Do you really believe that this forsaken land alone could have saved Rome? I have endured this lands tortures since the beginning of my consulship, and what have I gained Marcellus?"
Servius's eyes were dead. He knew so, he felt it himself. He had killed and led men to their deaths more times than he cared to in this place, but the senate had mandated, it was necessary for Rome.
He looked back out onto the endless expanse of desert and waste. "Let me retain what is left of my soul."
----------
Still determined to cause conflict between Marcellus and Servius, Oppius jumped in before Marcellus could reply to the barrage of rhetorical questions.
"Yes, you should be wary of losing more of it. The friends you deceived are certainly wondering how much of it is left." Oppius said acidly.
As Servius turned around with a glare in his eye, Oppius swung his hand out in the other direction, where rich fields would look like a paradise, if the view was not spoiled by the many corpses lying around.
"The desert which lies to to south is worthless, I agree, but these coastal lands are some of the richest in the world. We need this land's riches now, more than ever. Yet for all your efforts, we still control very little of this land, while our armies are marching to the end of the world, capturing previously looted and worthless cities. I have the impression that your hunger for glory has caused this expedition to be severely delayed, if it not failed altogether. Oppius turns to Marcellus. Why could you not have sent him to Carthage before ? Was the need for glory too strong ? Together you might have accomplished so much more."
----------
There is a broken look to Servius at that moment, as he turns to look into Marcellus's eyes, seeking a reaction to the bitterness of Oppius's words. He had followed every promise in regards to Carthage to a T, their armies were decimated, the consular legions left on time, half of the promised territories would be in Roman control by the halfway mark of his consulship, but the great vanquisher's facade had cracked, and he stood before them an exhausted man. "Oppius, I have not the will right now to engage in a debate of military logistics with an adolescent who has never attended the academy and only a battle ago feared the frontline like a plague. I am asking you a question Marcellus. Answer me Marcellus, what have I gained?"
----------
At this latest exchange, Marcellus stared at Servius for a minute, then shook his head.
"Servius, you have lost more than you know with this expedition. I see a hollow, dead look in your eyes. I saw the same look in a triarii who survived the battle at Massilia ford. These battles have taken away your soul. At your age, that is the worst thing that could happen to you." He said.
"With this expedition, you seem to have taken the belief that your Consulship is a heavy burden, one that eats at your nature. I am greatly saddened at this, yet at the same time a little pleased. Back in the Senate, your clerk has turned you into something of a demigod, refusing to acknowledge any wrongdoings that you may have done. At least here, I now know the truth. You are full of regret." Marcellus stoped briefly with a solemn pause.
"I now realize why you turned on your alliance. While this desert may have sharpened your sense of duty, it has robbed you of any other emotion you may have. This desert has taken away your sense of connection to anyone aside from those who have been through what you have been through. Your sense of duty has alienated your family and friends. Lucius, our pater familius, no longer respects you. Oppius here openly despises you. I thought you were out to either humiliate or kill me until tonight. And that's just the Aemilii." Marcellus had a look of concern on his face.
"Servius, you're in your early twenties and a hollow man inside. Please, for all our sakes, get out of Afrika! Spend some time in the fields of Latium, back home, back where you grew up! Be around life again! I don't want my nephew to know only war."
Marcellus finished, with a little tear in his eye.
----------
Oppius, in spite of himself, is moved by the exhange between Marcellus and Servius, and relents from his previous hostilitude, against his better judgment.
"Servius, I apologize, your consulship has achieved great things. It is just not the future we all envisaged, which causes all this resentment. Yet you still have time to accomplish the goals we all desired, and perhaps much more. Perhaps you and father Lucius can even come to a better understanding. As a former consul he of all people is sympathetic to the pressures that office brings on men. I agree with Marcellus that it would be best for you to return to Rome and make peace with the senate. That pompous clerk you sent to speak for you is only inflaming the sparks of anger that your actions have caused into bonfires!"
----------
Servius says nothing as he sees the tear roll down Marcellus's face, and listens quietly to Oppius's hesitant support.
He says nothing to the two as he motions for one of his praetoria to approach. The emotion he had shown only moments ago now hidden behind the cold demeanour of a superior commander and a natural born leader, his orders are given quickly, dominantly. "Ready all Roman men of the legion for march to the coast, direct the alae command structure to follow the orders of Marcellus Aemilius. Threaten any man found looting in the potential confusion of the reorganisation with being strung up above the coastal cliffs for the birds. Oh, and one more thing, when you ready the men for march, tell them this is not a dream, we set sail for Rome."
"Yes sir!" The praetorian replied, beaming with excitement as he hastily went to carry out the consul's latest orders. To think that they were returning to Rome!
Only when the praetorian had gone did Servius turn to Marcellus and Oppius, but he was at a loss for words. He felt there was an understanding between the three of what had just occurred, and dared not spoil the moment. After a few seconds, he rested a hand on each of their shoulders, "Marcellus. Oppius.", then began to walk away. He stopped only once, a few feet away, to look back over his shoulder and mutter something just loud enough for both of them to hear. "Do not let this place take away your soul."----------
Marcellus and Oppius watched as Servius and the Praetoria took the road back to Carthage. He wasn't sure of what was going through Oppius' head, but he knew that he was feeling sorrow as well as confusion.
He turned to Oppius. "Strato back at the Scriptorium would have loved to get his hands on the Consul. He comes to Afrika, takes and holds a grand total of one city, kills thousands of enemy soldiers, and then leaves us to finish up."
Oppius nodded. Servius' behavior that night had definitely scared him into not taking a too militaristic lifestyle.
The two stood in silence for several minutes. Then, suddenly, Marcellus chuckled.
"What is it, Marcellus?"
"I wonder if this philosophical discussion we've had tonight was just an elaborate escape from my questions. I forgot to ask him about what happened to my churigeon. It would've helped in the last battle."
Oppius grinned. "Whatever you do, don't bring it up in the Senate. That clerk will just say that the motion called for them to be sent to you, but not anything about later on."
The two stood in silence for some more minutes, but there was less awkwardness in the air. Finally, Marcellus spoke again.
"Ok, I guess we should get to sleep."
As the soldiers in the army laid down for the night, Marcellus, smiling, sat and penned a letter to his nephew by candlelight. He would send a Praetorian to deliver it tomorrow. In it would be a simple request to move on Hadrumentum, as well as an inquiry about his chuirgeon, the kind that friends in the military write to each other about. Marcellus went to bed late at night, content that the fracture had been mended a little bit.