Civil War Stories, The Will of the Senate

[Braden]

The streets of Rome bustled as if all was normal as the young man barged his way through the city streets, he jostled many and knocked more than a few over. They threw him angry glances but upon seeing his garbs of rank, they paid him no more heed and busied themselves to just get out of the fuming youths way.

All but one person.

“Hold there my boy! Hold!”

Manius kept moving, tears burnt in his eyes and he fought them down with every ounce of courage and will he could bring to bare upon them. He would not win, would not see him cry again.

Through all this effort he had stumbled and slowed….a rough hand grabbed him at the shoulder and spun him about.

Manius put up his hand to strike his attacker but another hand grabbed him at his raised wrist.

Before him stood Decius Curtius, his eyes blazed with an inner fire and vigour well beyond his advancing years would seem to allow, and those fearsome eye bore into Manius’s very soul, seemed to drain him of fury and fight…..Manius let out a long breath.

“Look at me boy…look…at…ME!”

Manius complied, how could he refuse?

“What outburst was that boy!? What possible difference do you think you could have made in there?”

Manius tried to tear his face away from Decius but his hold was too great.

“You would leave me behind boy? After all I have done for you, arranged for you, suffered for you these past years! I MADE YOU! Don’t you DARE to do that again!”

The hand came from nowhere. Had Decius actually let his grip go from Manius’s shoulder and wrist?? He didn’t think so, but there it was a slap! A firm and reprimanding slap to Manius’s cheek!?!? Manius was dazed, confused and felt more alone than he’d ever done before.

Decius moved Manius to one side in the street, people were beginning to stare.

“Listen boy, you must leave for your Legion now. It is not safe in Rome for anyone who would call the Consul ‘Friend’ is that understood?”

He grabbed Manius’s jaw and yanked the younger mans face towards his own and with more firmness…

“Do you Understand…..boy?”

Manius meekly tried to nod. It was apparently all the confirmation Decius wanted and he released Manius.

“Take a ship from Tarentum strait to Asia-Minor and re-join your army”

“….bu…but…..what of my wife and family?” stuttered Manius

“Don’t worry about them young master…” Decius was full of honey in his tone now, soothing and compliant, the perfect servant again.

“….I’ll make sure they are looked after don’t you worry. Now go, and don’t look back I shan’t be here.”

With that Manius stumbled onwards, he did look back, but true to his word, Decius was nowhere to be seen. Manius was openly crying when he reached the stables and mounted his horse. He composed himself just long enough to order his Pratorians where they were headed too, and they rode off as fast as they dared.

Decius watched from the shadows.

“..oh, yes, don’t you worry my boy….your ‘family’ will be looked after very well indeed.”

He looked at the dagger in his hand then swiftly stashed it in his sleeve. It would be easy, Manius’s wife knew Decius well as Manius’s tutor and long-time friend. Obviously he was much more than that, and it would be easy to slip the stiletto into her soft, yielding throat. As for the Children, perhaps he would consider not calling until nightfall, even he found killing children abhorrent.

If they knew about it that is…….

[econ21]

Somewhere west of Arsinoe, Asia Minor

As the dust kicked up on the dry road to Pessimus, Numerius reviewed what was left of Legio V. It was a bedraggled column of less than 400 men. Numerius smiled bitterly. He was expected to lead an uprising against the Consul - not just a Consul, but possibly the most fiendishly brilliant Consul in Roman history - with less than 400 men!

What had happened between the second impeachment vote and the present was like a blur to Numerius. He could not even remember how the votes were cast or what angry words were said after. All he knew was that Rome was at war. Not with yet another alien power, but with a vastly more formiddable and lethal foe - itself.

Marcus, Numerius's "heroic saviour" and captain of his Praetoria rode up to him.

"It's good to be back in the saddle isn't it, sir?"

Numerius smiled bemusedly at the young nobleman.

"Good?!? Good, to be preparing to kill my fellow countrymen?"

Still, Numerius knew what Marcus had meant. It did seem to be a long time since he had taken to the field. Numerius had enjoyed a meteoric early career as a young tribune, leading commands and fighting battles far above what would be normal for someone of his years. He had restlessly pushed forward under Consul Lucius Aemilius. He had scored coups such as eliminating the Macedonian dynasty and capturing Byzantion.

But these glories had been at the cost of the enmity of much of the Senate - their scorn and bitterness temporarily driving Numerius out of politics and allowing the young viper Servius Aemilius to slip into the post of First Consul. Yes, Numerius had had his share of glories. He had been there, with Praetor Coruncanius, in the crucible when the successor states briefly threatened to over-run Europe. Together, under the Servius's inspired direction, they had fought a brief but spectacular campaign, decisively breaking the Seleucid invaders.

But soon after that Numerius's military career had all seemed to falter. It stalled abruptly, just as he had achieved his most sought after goal - killing the hated Seleucid General Molon, the butcher of Co-Consul Publius Pansa.

A new, younger man man had arrived in the east - Manius Coruncanius - and brought with him a powerful new Consular army. Manius had approached Numerius warmly and welcomed him as a friend. Numerius had dared to hope that some of the Consular army would be used to reinforce his own depleted Legio V, so that he could continue to fight the successor kingdoms. But it soon dawned on Numerius that he had been sidelined by the Consul and that Manius, with his Consular army, would do all the fighting in the east from that time onwards.

Yes, Numerius knew what Marcus meant: after being denied active duty for several years, he was now finally back in the saddle and he could not complain about a lack of enemies to fight.

" 'Good to be back in the saddle'?!? Marcus, you really are a numb-skulled dilettante! Does it mean nothing to you that we have to seek out and kill our fellow Romans? Kill our own brothers"

Marcus shrugged and looked at the ragged column passing by. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Sir. Reckon it will Manius and his Consular army that will be doing all the seeking out and killing, not us."

Numerius spluttered with involuntary laughter, then scolded: "It's not funny, you oafish dilettante! He has, what, around a thousand men. And we have, what...?"

"Somewhat fewer than that, Sir." Marcus said smiling.

"And this is a source of amusement to you?" Numerius demanded.

"Well, for a great coup leader, you've set yourself up in a pretty piss poor position, haven't you, sir?"

Numerius belted Marcus over the head, knocking his helmet over his eyes.

Marcus feigned indignation, then said in a leisurely voice: "Oh, I forgot to tell you, sir. Manius is here to see you."

"WHAT?!?" Numerius looked around in panic, instinctively reaching for his spatha.

Then Marcus said calmingly: "No, no, no. Not THAT Manius. Manius Aemilius, you know, the governor of Pergamon, Manius the Mad."

Not for the first time that day, Numerius thought he could kill his infuriating captain of the Praetoria.

[econ21]

The Eternal City

Jack sat down and examined the print-out on his lap. The sound of the Fiat cars beeping their horns reverberated around the bus. God, he loved this city. The raven-haired women with their flashing eyes, the bravado of the young men in their leathers and scooters, the architectural reminders everywhere of a gloriious past. But most of all, Jack loved his work.

Professor Muscatelli had given Jack the photocopies and told him to knock something up by the end of the week. Jack had devoured the replicas of the dusty scrolls. Admired the fine script of the long dead scribe, marvelled at the attention to detail of the Senate librarian. Even while Rome burned, this man had stayed at his post - diligently documenting the events around him for the benefit of posterity.

But this reverie was not going to get his assignment done, Jack thought. And so he set too. He transcribed the names of Rome's generals and the strength of their forces in Summer 250 BCE, entering all the data into his computer. Let's sort this by army strength, though Jack. Then add some colourful graphics. How about some avatars from that geeky website? Yeah, they'd do. Christ, that guy's ugly - look at those eyebrows! Let's use him for Numerius. Yeah, that will annoy the Professor. He always spoke admiringly of Numerius. Heaven knows why, the guy was a stiff. Servius was the cool one.

OK, OK, enough goofing around. Now what did Muscatelli want me to do exactly? Ah, that's it - try to figure out the loyalties of the key generals at the start of hostilities. I don't have much time right now, so I'll just mark them in rough first. Those on the side of the Consul can have a big purple "C" next to them; those on the side of the Senate can have a "S" but what colour? Red and blue are too close to purple - let's go with green.

So, how does it look? Pretty damn even. Too close to call, I'd say. Christ, this is my stop. Gotta get off.

[Lucjan]

The Final Night at Narbo

Servius was down on one knee. It was a sight that she knew she should have never seen, and something she knew she would never see again. She knew he was in prayer, as nothing short of a god could bring him down on one knee, but she couldn't help herself. He was leaving soon. Watching him in secret through the folds of the crimson drapes she fought back a weep of sorrow. He had told her last night by this time today he would already gone, but she knew him better than that. She knew him better than anyone. She knew his goals were good, his heart true to his words, but even for all the nobleness of his intentions, she knew also that there was always that flicker in his midst. For that, she prayed for his soul.

Stories were often passed around at night, from the mouths of servants and soldiers, tales of the long campaign in Carthage, of the blistering heat and sand that ate the skin of men in blinding storms, accounts of eavesdropping guards during Servius's meeting with Marcellus and Oppius. The whole campaign had made him somewhat of a legend amongst his own men, these soldiers would follow him to the ends of the world, and so would she, but their reasons were so very, very different.

It was hard for her to look at her husband in such a light. She knew him as the kind, loving, gentle man that he had always been to her, generous to all in his wealth and ever in good nature. She smiled at thoughts of their meeting in Rome prior to his campaign in Carthage, and their startling reunion upon his return, but as her thoughts trailed to their wedding day, she found it almost unbearable not to sob. She couldn't stand to see him leave this way. A man of principle she knew her husband may be, but until the senate starting talk of expansion further east and negligence of Marcellus as the next consul, she had never thought that it would ever come to this.

No longer able to watch her husband in his final prayers to Mars before his departure, she tried to quietly slip away from the curtains and return to bed, but the moment she moved he spoke. "Eutropia."

"Yes?" She responded after a pause, a feeling of guilt passing over her as she was caught.

"Thank you for saying goodbye. I love you." He didn't turn, he only stared forward, eyes locked on the bust of Mars, glaring intently into its marble face.

"I love you too." She said, then stepped away from the curtains and headed back to their room, wiping a tear from her eye. She would need a good sleep before returning to Palma the next day.

Servius stood then, and closed his eyes. He knew she was no longer there, but he continued to speak regardless. "Do not pray for me." He had spoken his final words to Mars that day, and he had a good idea of what events his actions may bring, but he was prepared to face his judgement no matter the cost, if it meant the salvation of Rome. "Any god who would aid Roman men in the killing of Roman men is already forsaken in my eyes. I have already told Mars I do not need his help in these coming days. My sins will be my own to bear, I have no choice but to make the greatness of the ends justify the errors in my means."

He shivered, and there was that flicker in him again. That one that had disturbed Marcellus to the point of fear, that one his men had seen in their battles in Carthage and relished for the victories it brought. It was that cold, quiet, calculating, emotionless and intense stare. It had brought the egregious slaughter of the Seleucid and Carthaginian foes, and prompted even his greatest opponents to acknowledge him as a political viper and a tactical genius. This time, for the betterment of Rome's future, it would be unleashed upon her living past.