Luca Mamillus




“What?!” Callimachus stepped back, alarmed at my furious expression.


“Servius will be able to land within the season, Luca. There is nothing we can do about it.” I had heard him the first time. I just needed to digest it. I had thought it would take him at least two more seasons to reach Italy. Apparently some of the admirals had been torn from the rightful path also.




“We must make haste for Rome so.” I said after a few seconds' contemplation. Callimachus came closer. “Think about it.” he said. “I know you want to be the first man in Rome, but with your force, Servius will trap you like a mosquito and will still have enough force to rampage through Italy while keeping you under siege.”


I kept silent. He was right. But without Rome, what were we fighting for? The Republic cannot be governed from Carthage or Massilia. It must be Rome or nothing.


“Besides, even if you somehow manage to kill Servius, do you think this will be the end of this? At the beginning everyone thought it would be the Consul and his veterans only that would need to be defeated, but as he gathered supporters, this was becoming more and more complex. Even with the consul dead, the rest of his followers would not hand themselves over. They would need to be fought.”


He was right again. But would he understand? “What do you suggest?” I couldn't recognise my own voice.


“I suggest you take the north while you can, so you get the chance of fighting Servius within the year. He will waste soldiers on the walls of Rome while we build up a force.”


“Leave, Callimachus. I need to think.” I said. The greek looked at me again for what seemed like an eternity and then left the tent. I sat on my own. My eyes went from the ray of light passing through the entrance and falling on the table full of maps and rationing reports, to the small altar in the corner, with the statues of Mars and Ceres – a man needs a sword and a full pot – and I thought about the gamble. Servius' men were the best of Rome, and the gauls I had recruited along the way couldn't even hold a proper formation. I could not beat him head on. How could I beat him?


I could not. Callimachus was right. If I am dead, even holding Rome, Servius will get it anyway, over the dead bodies of a few hundred gauls and my own, that is the only difference.


I reached over for the bottle of Thracian wine beside the table. Three long sips.


I could delay him. I scrambled to the table. Map of italy. There were several chokepoints. I wrote down a plan. Both for Servius as for those arriving from the North. Another few sips of the sweet thracian. A few letters for the commanders further south. Another visit to the bottle.


Finally I felt too drunk to write. I sealed the documents and let myself fall on my bed. The bottle was empty. “Sentry!” I called. The soldier stuck his head into the tent. “Send for my centurions.”


It was Callimachus who entered a few minutes later to tell me that the centurions were waiting outside. I swayed my way to the entrance. I could barely stand. I looked at them all, trying to focus.


I moved my lips. “We make for Bononia.” I managed. “Pack your men.” I managed to sway back into the tent before I tripped and fell. Callimachus helped me up.


“A roman must be drunk to make a rational decision.”