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.