In the Curia, Caivs Avrelivs sat silently through the speeches, did not join in with the cheers or shouts aimed at the Senators. He simply sat, twidling the folds of his toga between his fingers, lost in his own melencholy.

Avlvs Aemilivs, among others, still fought for his right to lead me to war. But he no longer felt up to the arguing, the constant toing and froing of the Senators around him. He hated this hall, the constant debates and acusations. Politics, he was realising, was simply not his game anymore. He wasn't up to it.

He had been away from the Legion for less than three weeks, but he already craved it's companionship once more. He couldn't stand the city, the high rise blocks and crowded streets, the backstabbings in the dark and the calls for his resignation. They doubted his loyalty, did they? Well, let them. He'd had enough. He wanted nothing more than to return to his legion, his companions in arms, his brothers. He was a soldier through and through, a soldier playing at politics. For that was the truth of it; one could only be a soldier for so long before he was cast into the nest of vipers that was Roma. The Legion was not like that. A man made his own way through the marches, the battles, and the losses. He'd seen many good men die under his command, but many more lived on, in a safer and happier society. Life was simple on campaign: you followed your orders, defended your mates, and killed the enemy. That was it, that was all that was needed. Not like in Roma.

It wasn't as if he was unprepared for it; the days and nights Caivs Avrelivs had spent hiding during the tutoring lessons in Capua had taught him of politics, and the patronage of some of the older Senators had helped him through the first few years. But experience had taught him naught but one thing: he was not built for politics.

Caivs Avrleivs knew that, if he lost the Second, he would be finished. There was nothing left for him after that. A comfy retirement at best, maybe a few formal speeches at gatherings. But there would be no more fire, no more will to be the best that he could be. And he knew he was the best that he could be. The loyalty and devotion of the men under his command showed that. But that was never enough.

Caivs Avrelivs took a swig from a water skin-he never drank wine-and continued to count down the hours until the votings began.