Civil War Stories, The Will of the Senate

[Tamur]

Appius looked out over the plain. Night fires had just begun to burn in the distance, lighting up the darkening sky with their number. He had come out of his tent to survey the night’s fortifications before addressing his officers, but had stopped at the sight of the enemy’s camp.

The guard named Hortensius stood at his left shoulder, and other milled about finishing the guard tower to their right. Appius nodded in the direction of the fires. “Looks like they’re helping us out by roasting all their pigs for us to eat tomorrow.” He spoke loudly so everyone could here. There were a few appreciative chuckles, but mostly silence.

Hortensius only nodded, and spoke softly. “Each of these men fights a brother tomorrow. I would not make the usual jokes.”

Appius sighed. He knew this, and felt the spirit of the camp as a weight on his breast that would not be removed until they were all dead or all victorious. Or until he ran.

Running was not Roman. It was not noble, not brave, not something to tell one’s children about when old age permanently sat one in a chair by the fire. On the other hand, if one ran, one could be fairly sure of being old. Especially if one had planned it as well as...

“Senator Barbatus,” a voice broke into his reverie. “Numerius sends a message, and wishes you to be at his tent at second watch.”

Appius nodded, and sent the man off to reply that he would be there. Then he turned back to survey the fires in the now dark landscape before him.

It was sick, this Roman way of considering everyone wrong except onesself. Appius had sided with Numerius and the rest of the Senators who did not support Servius, not because of his Roman blood (of which he had little, being adopted), nor because of his love of the Roman constitution. He had done it instead as a payment of gratitude to all those who had given him everything he had.

He owed the Coruncanii for nearly everything in Rome: his wife, his house, his position in the Senate. He owed Numerius greatly for the trust he had shown and for the men who now stayed under his command, even at this most critical time. He even owed Numerius a debt of gratitude for the armour he wore on his back, a gift after the sacking of Appolonia.

As he wandered back to his tent, head down, he wondered. Why was he here? Why had he not gone with his wife and children to enjoy a long and slow life on the shores of the Pontus Euxinus? The Senate forces would surely win, Numerius would be given the Consulship, and with a lion like Cnaeus in the wings, surely the Senate would be safe without his help.

His answer came easily: because he owed it to Numerius, and to the Coruncanii. He had to keep up a pretense of Romanness, of honour and virtue, as long as his debt remained.

But he felt that his debt to Rome was nearly paid. One last action of loyalty awaited, and then... then he would see.