Civil War Stories, The Will of the Senate

[Lucjan]

"Think we've hit a crossroads sir." Flavius responded, not wanting to be responsible for the actual decision making they faced.

Sextus nodded, understanding what Flavius had meant, and pondered their situation for a moment. Their were two clear options here, and the possibility of either one of them leading to the same ending were strong, but Sextus had never really been fond of a fifty fifty chance. The odds of failure were too high. "I'll send word to Servius that we've split and we're following two seperate leads. Flavius, I want you to get the senate speaker out of Rome tomorrow morning, keep him here until then, and keep him quiet. Who here has family in Rome?"

One of the men piped in. "I do." He was a tall, slender man, with a bird-like nose and piercing green eyes. But even for his unusual stature, he clearly had the muscular build of a centurion.

"Good, this will be an oppertunity for you as well." Sextus nodded in his direction. "Thoma, gather your family in the morning, and bring them here."
He looked then to Flavius and, retrieving something from his pocket, grabbed Flavius's hand and stuffed a small brown pouch into his palm. "Make that worthless wretch eat this when you're ready to go, it'll make him sleep for at least a couple hours, long enough for you to get a good distance out of Rome. Bind him up in the crate on the cart outside, travel with Thoma's family to avoid suspicion, this will let him get them out of the chaos here in Rome as well, and head towards Ariminum, Appius Egnatus is there, his aid will be useful. When you get there, have this thing spill the beans on every current senator that's old enough to bear an outdated seal like this, even if they're not active in the proceedings. An act like this deserves vengeance, and no stone left unturned. Take one more man too. Myself and the others will head back to Manius's villa and the surrounding area, it's a Servian supportive neighborhood, there's bound to be good Romans willing to spill the beans on the Senate centurions that passed through, and let us know what way they went. This Kaeso fellow, if he still has Manius's family, can't be lost now."

Sextus looked then one last time to the senate speaker. "As for tonight, everybody get some rest. But before you do, tend to his injuries. We can't afford to have him die on us. After that make sure he's bound tight, and put something over his mouth to keep him quiet."

[Braden]

Decius continued South East. He heard rumours that Servius was going to land near Rome soon, he didn’t know where exactly so he’d best keep his options open for now.

Actually…….did he know where he was going?

He stopped his horse and looked around the countryside considering his problem. Manius’s wife was dead, Manius himself was potentially already locked in battle with Senate forces, however, Manius’s children survived…..somewhere.

He hadn’t the time or the temper to have tried to get more out of Urgualla before he killed her so where now? He cursed under his breath but…….

….three children, travelling openly with people who are not their parents. It was a very long shot, but perhaps…..perhaps….someone had seen them, the barest lead he could follow. Even if he didn’t kill the children he had to be sure they weren’t somewhere where they could get word to Manius. Such a thing would surely destroy all that Decius had put in place.

He realised that he was potentially already going in completely the wrong direction but as he was already on the Southern road he may as well ask if someone had noticed anything. He turned his horse around to head back to Rome, there would definitely be answers there if he failed to pick up the trail on the main road.
____________________________________________________________

Soon he came back through a village, some distance between Rome and Capua, the villagers, mostly farmers of no import stood and some even waved as the old man passed them. He acknowledged their greetings in a good manner.

As he entered the village proper, he saw the land owners villa on his left. Much bigger and grander than the small homes of the labourers and farmers he’d passed earlier.

He wracked his brain to try and remember the name of the household here. He knew most families of standing in and around Rome but for the love of……he just couldn’t remember. He realised that he’d not slept for nearly two days. It had to be effecting him now and he needed to be alert now more than ever.

He rode past the house of Decmitius and towards a likely looking farmstead, as he approached the man of the house and a younger man, perhaps his son, moved forward to challenge him.

Decius stopped his horse and dismounted, then putting both his open hands up to show they were empty he addressed them both.

“Greetings citizens, sorry for the alarm. I am just a Senate messenger looking for food and shelter for the afternoon. Do you know where I can find such hospitality?”

The two men looked between themselves before the older one answered Decius.

“Well good sir, whilst we hold you and your station in good stead, we are but poor farmers and have little in the way of hospitality to offer one such as you.”

Decius knew it would almost immediately go this way, so he quickly produced his purse of coins. Making them openly shake in front of the men he continued to speak.

“I’m sure I can provide you with sufficient funds to purchase wine and bread for me good citizens.”

The two men nearly fell over themselves to please Decius.
__________________________________________________________

Decius fell into a fitful slumber. He’d given clear instructions to the farmer to wake him in 4 hours. He hated to sleep for long and particularly now, time was of the essence.

He also made it clear that he expected to eat when he was woken and had told them how much he was willing to part with for these two minor services.

The farmer and his son, were very well pleased with the amount, though less well pleased that Decius decided to pay them half now, and half when he left that evening. He also, “carelessly” allowed them to see the various daggers and the sword he owned whilst he took the saddle from his horse.

He would not be disturbed whilst he slept.

[econ21]

Ancrya, Summer 250

Numerius swayed unsteadily on his horse, facing towards the rear of the Senate battle line. Opposite him, some way off, but still clearly visible were another group of Praetoria – the escort of Manius Coruncanius – together with a larger body of Consular cavalry. Numerius felt the pain stab in his stomach and flinched. So this is how it ends? Bent double in agony, under a fierce eastern sun.

Marcus brought Numerius a drink of water.

“Hard pounding, this” the young Captain of the Praetoria drawled.

Numerius nodded. He had to admire Marcus’s insouciance. Few of his men could fail to have been dismayed by Manius’ rout of the two Senate cavalry divisions. This was not good, not good at all.

Behind him, Numerius could hear the clatter and calls of combat as the battle divisions of the two rival armies hacked and hewed at each other. He cast an anxious eye to the far right flank of the line. There, the Consular Reserve Division had enveloped the Senate principes detached from the reserve to hold the extreme right. Numerius had seen battle long enough to know that principes were men who would hold, even though ridiculously outnumbered; hold until they died.

By the gods, what an outcome! Manius had managed a double envelopment: his cavalry had smashed past the Senate left; his Reserve Division had flanked the Senate Right and were rolling it up. Numerius shot a glance at the exhausted Appius, who only a short time a go had torn up the grass racing for the safety of the triarii, riding as if the furies themselves were after him. Pah, furies! Only fools who lived sheltered lives were afraid of furies. The Consular cavalry who had pursued Appius were worse than any furies.

Numerius wanted to ride over and consult with Appius, but the stabbing pain in his stomach stopped him. No, let the man catch his breath. Appius was already deep in conversation with his staff. Numerius had delegated the control of the battle to Appius; he must abide by that decision. He could not distract the man when there was not a moment to lose. Numerius shot a nervous glance back towards his nemesis. He swore he could make out, in the distance, the figure of Manius himself, still and silent, a contrast to the busy and hurried form of Appius.

An inner calm descended on Numerius; his own destiny was not his to direct. It never had been. He was merely an instrument of the gods. He had put down his meteoric rise to destiny. Likewise, he had been fatalistic about his subsequent fall from grace in the Senate, and about the dip in his career after Manius had landed in the east. With Consul's illegal war on Iberia, Numerius had thought he had been summoned back into the favour of the gods. He had believed he had been summoned on a divine mission – a quest to save the Republic – for surely, the gods would favour such a noble cause? But there stood Manius, a man wronged and seeking retribution. A wise benevolent god would favour Numerius’s great cause – a god such as Numerius had heard was worshipped by the people of Judea. But the Roman gods, ahhh, they were not so lofty and impersonal. The Roman gods thrived on intrigue and on passion; they delighted in alternately favouring and tormenting their subjects. For such gods as these, Manius’s personal drama surely held greater appeal. Yes, the gods were fickle and as the sand blew past Numerius’s sallow cheek, he wondered if for him, the winds had changed for good.

[econ21]

The Eternal City

Jack gazed at the annotated map of Italy at the start of winter, 250 AD. It showed the Civil War heating up and about to reach boiling point. Jack turned to his computer screen. The Professor had wanted a short description of what the map showed for some magnum opus the old man was working on. Why couldn’t the man do his own leg work, Jack grumbled? Oh well, sooner I get this out of the way, the sooner I can get out. It’s Friday night and no self-respecting young man in the city would let himself be confined indoors on a Friday night.

The focus of interest had shifted away from the East, where the battle of Ancrya had decided the fate of the region at least until Rome had a unambiguous ruler. Numerius had extended the hand of friendship to Manius and an agreement had been reached. The survivors of the Consular army, based around Legio II, were paroled from the war - they would fight only against Rome’s external enemies, the Seleucids and the Ptolemies, under the command of Appius Barbatus. Other local commanders still loyal to the Consul - Manius the Mad and Titus Vatinus, had also agreed to help defend the east. But Numerius still took the long way home, crossing the straits at Byzantion, in order to avoid potential interference and delay. In his tow, Numerius brought Manius Coruncanius, no longer a combatant in the war but still a man of violence, driven by a desire to avenge those who had so egregiously wronged his family.

In Thrace, Lucius Aemilius, Galeris Vatinus and Secundus Salvidendus struggled to muster local forces loyal to the Senate. But like Numerius, there were perhaps too far from Italy to have a decisive influence on the outcome of the war. Likewise, Flavius Pacuvius stood, stranded at Carthage with 1700 men. And Qintus Libo laid siege to Alesia, enduring a fierce relief effort by the Iberians that cost him nearly one third of his army. As of Winter 250 BC, all these generals at the periphery were of secondary importance. What mattered was Rome and the armies that marched on her.

Servius had landed west of Arretium, a city Luca Mamillus had abandoned in haste to looters and rioters. Luca had planned to make a preemptive move against his son-in-law, Appius Egnatius, a Consular general in Arminium. But in the end, Luca had turned south to link up with Decius Laevinus. Together, the two had gathered what loyal Roman and Italian soldiers they could to create a force almost worthy of the designation Field Army III that Publius Laevinus had so mockingly used before. This army was deployed on the road just north of Rome, supported by a mass of Gauls; but after their poor showing at Ancrya, no Roman commander was likely to put them in the front line.

Two fleets from Africa were racing for Italy. Admiral Appius was bringing Marcellus Aemilius and would make landfall in the Spring. Admiral Cassisus was transporting Oppius Aemilius and would probably arrive a season later. Oppius’s trip was disturbed by its passage around Caralis - they could see the town in flames, having been seized by the Carthaginians. Evidently, Carthage was exploiting the divisions created by the Roman Civil War to reclaim some of its territories. Both Caralis and Melite had been seized and put to the sword in retribution for their prolonged and stubborn failure to resist the superior Carthaginian forces. A Consular sized Carthaginian army was marching on Aleria, under the command of a general Muttines of Cordoba.

To the north of Italy, Quintus Naevius was approaching Bononia. He seemed certain to win the race for the river Po with both Tiberius Corucanius and Cnaeus Caprarius, who were making unexpectedly slow progress in their advance on Rome.

The fate of Rome was in the balance. Servius and Luca were within striking distance of each other, but both could well prefer to await reinforcement. It was likely, however, that the end of Winter would bring a climactic struggle that would make the bloodbath at Ancrya look like a minor skirmish.

Right, thought Jack, job done. Time to get out of this dump and hit the streets.

[Mount Suribachi]

Even at this distance, the smoke stung Oppius's eyes. They had first spied the giant dark pall in the sky the previous morning. The fleets navigator had told Oppius they were a day or two's sailing from Sardinia, and the obvious conclusion filled Oppius with trepidation.

That night, he and his Admiral, Cassius, had boarded their fleets' lightest, fastest ship and made for the island, leaving the rest of the fleet away to the west, out of sight. Through the night the acrid smell of smoke had grown stronger and stronger, and the darkness had merely served to heighten their fearful thoughts of what might await them come the dawn.

Now, as the sun gained height in the early morning sky they could clearly see the source of the smoke. Caralis, capital of the Roman island of Sardinia had been burnt to the ground. Smoke was still rising from the city, but it seemed the worst ravages of the fire had done their business leaving the blackened, smouldering rump of what was once a thriving city.

"Ye gods, what has happened here?" asked Cassius aloud, voicing the question all those on deck were thinking.

Once more Oppius cursed being stuck at sea for months. What had happened here? He had no idea.

"Perhaps the city declared for the Senate, and this is how Servius chose to punish them. He is not a man to be wronged, as we all know. Or maybe Servius has been beaten already, maybe he fled here for sanctuary and this is how a vengeful senate extracts justice?"

He coughed, even at this distance the smoke was still thick enough to tickle ones throat. Oppius reached for the wineskin and tried to clear the irritation.

"Or maybe it was Carthage"

"Carthage?" snorted a surprise Cassius "but we left them on their knees"

"Aye, we did. But they had large armies stranded on Melite and Sardinia. For some reason they were reluctant to take the cities, content to live off the land instead. Maybe they got bored of the rural life?"

"We should send a landing party ashore to find out what has really happened"

Oppius paused.

"No, 2 of the 3 possible options are most unfavourable to us. I would hate to find a victorious, vengeful senate suddenly aware of our position. Its too dangerous. And it will cost us time. The men have been at sea for months, they long to get ashore. For good. No, we continue on the planned course."

Cassius gave the orders for their ship to return to the rest of the fleet whilst Oppius thought aloud to himself. "There is one more option of course. It could all be some terrible tragedy whereby the city has burnt to the ground by accident. But I don't believe in accidents. Not in this day and age."

[GeneralHankerchief]

Off the Italian Coast

It was almost time for landfall. The trip had been mind-numbingly slow one, even though Marcellus Aemilius knew that Admiral Appius was pushing his crew to the limit. Some time ago the crew had detected something coming from the west, in the direction of Caralis, but Marcellus ignored it. Only Italia mattered.

Marcellus stared out into the sea again, as he had done many times before. Thinking... thinking of the last time he had taken a sea voyage...

...it was the autumn of 253 BC, at the Aemilii estate just outside of Roma. It was time for the midterm elections. All the senators had dropped everything and made for the capital, but this time it was to do usual Senatorial business instead of desparately try to control the peninsula.

The mood was good at the Aemilius family reunion. Servius had just mended ties with the family, saw some relatives for the first time since his Consular election, and had just seconded some legislation that Marcellus had drawn up. All was good.

Pater Lucius was laughing and sharing a drink with his adopted son and friend, Valerius Pallus. Manius the Mad was entertaining several of the children with... erm... impersonations, while his son, also named Marcellus, buried his head in his hands. Oppius was chatting with several young women, none of them looking anything like an Aemilius, about his experiences with the now-famous Battle of the Fort.

The rolling grassy fields of the estate were abound with life that magical evening.

A young, beautiful woman was shown to where the games were being held by the Aemilii's manservant Cato. She looked around at the festivities, clearly oblivious to all the merriment going on all around her. Instead, her mind was still on the invitation to this event.

"Why would someone five years older than me, who I first met when he was in his last year at the Scriptorium tell me to come here?" she thought. She barely knew the guy and yet he was telling her to come to this. This was the Aemilii family reunion! Aemilii! You couldn't get much more patrician or Roman than that!

She looked around for a few more minutes before spotting the man who had invited her.

"Marcellus!" she called out and waved. "Over here!"

Marcellus, spotting her, came over and greeted her. "Ah, Eutropia," he said, "glad to see you again. Come on, have some fun! There's somebody that I want you to meet."

"Um, Marcellus," she said, "why did you invite me here tonight? You and I barely know each other."

"Shh," he replied. "This isn't about people who barely know each other. This is about people who don't know each other at all. Eutropia, this is my nephew and our Consul, Servius Aemilius."

She gasped. "Wait - THE Servius Aemilius? The one who won all those battles in Afrika? The one who proposed this grand strategy in the east? The one who beat you in the Consular election?"

"Charmed, my lady." Servius stepped in, greeting Eutropia. "Although my dear uncle here insists that a series of raids would still have been wiser."

Marcellus ignored the present conversation. "Eutropia is VERY interested in foreign cultures, Servius."

Servius' eyes lit up. "Ah! Indeed, I have a bit of fascination with other peoples myself - when I'm not too busy killing them, that is." At this, Eutropia laughed. Marcellus, satisfied, departed. Neither of the other two noticed.

An hour later, Marcellus and Oppius were watching the two, sharing a drink and in deep conversation. All of their attention was focused on the other.

"Looks like setting him up with Eutropia was a good idea," said Oppius, coughing. Despite this, he still grinned.

Marcellus nodded. "Maybe now this'll hide his military side a little bit."

The reunion continued long into the night, with the festivities and drinking running late. But Servius and Eutropia noticed none of it, still paying all of their attention to the other.

Back on the ship, Marcellus mused. "That was a great night. Why couldn't it have lasted? Now I have to defeat Servius, endure Eutropia's eternal anger, and I still don't know what to do about Oppius. I just hope they all one day understand. The man she married is dead..."

He continued to stare out into the sea until a soldier tapped him on the back.

"Sir, it's time!"

"Thank you, soldier." He ran into the cabin where his own wife, Magna, was giving birth.

After an arduous several minutes, Marcellus had delivered the couple's third child. It was a boy.

"What shall we name him, dear?"

"I think we'll call him Herius. It's a good, strong name."

"He's so beautiful," she crooned.

"That's what Manius and his wife said about Servius," he said to himself.

"What was that, dear?"

"Nothing."

Really, it all came down to family, didn't it? This Roman Civil War, already the cause of thousands of casualties, was just caused by one powerful, dysfunctional family. Marcellus reckoned that the next reunion would be a lot bloodier.

He stayed with Magna and Herius and waited for landfall.

[Lucjan]

"I can understand Sextus's plan up until the part where we march my family all the way to Ariminum." Thoma complained. Flavius ignored him, kneeling down to fill a jug with water at the side of a small stream. Thoma's family rested at the side of the wagon, the other man with them standing beside them, keeping an eye on the whimpering casket-like box.

Thoma took the hint, and looked back to the wagon. "Think we should tell him that we're not actually going to bury him alive?"

Flavius snickered. "And have him start spouting off all the way there rather than begging for his life?" He went quiet for a moment again. "As far as your family goes, there is no question in my mind that you'd rather them not be there when the day comes. You know what I'm talking about. Don't forget why we're on this journey to begin with. They'll be safer in Ariminum."

Thoma nodded then let out a sigh of begrudging acceptance. He knew full well what he meant. The Republic was tearing itself apart from within, and it was foolish to think that Roma itself would be spared when in all reality it seemed more likely that the city would suffer the worst horrors of the war.

Flavius looked up at the sky, trying to judge how much farther they could go before night would hit them. "Come on, it'd be best not to waste any more time."

--------------------------------------------------------

Drudging around in the ruins of Manius's estate would be a worthless endeavor, they'd found everything they could have there. Instead, Sextus wanted to question the neighbors. They woke early that morning, when people were getting ready to go out and take care of their daily business, and hastily made their way to the upper class neighborhood where Manius's estate once stood. There was a great deal of people milling about the street, many off in the direction of the forum, the baths, some to the scriptorium.

"Where to even start?" Sextus wondered aloud, it wouldn't be an easy task. People were on edge these days, particularly with factional loyalties sparking almost immediate altercations when mentioned in public. It was the cause of all the rioting the past few days, but with the approach of Marcellus's fleet, and Luca Mamillus outside the walls, the majority of the unrest had quieted down.

Sextus looked up and down the street, and decided they really didn't have much of a choice. "Let's go, house by house, but keep an eye out for the garrison, if you see them, run, and hide out wherever you can until nightfall, then meet up back at the house with anything you know. Go." He almost couldn't believe they'd been forced to resort to such a tactic, but they had nothing else to go by.

[GeneralHankerchief]

The Senate Command Tent, the night before the battle

Marcellus Aemilius, having just returned from the fateful meeting with his nephew, dismounted. He wasn’t quite sure why he had agreed to go through with that. Servius was a traitor, he should have brought some guards with him and arrested him right there! But no, he couldn’t. It was not his way. He knew, however, that by the end of the next day, he would regret it a thousand times over for each man killed, each good family shattered forever.

Decius Laevinius was waiting for him at the entrance of the tent. “How’d it go?” he asked.

Marcellus sighed miserably. Decius chuckled.

“That bad, eh?”

“Yeah, that bad. I’m pretty sure he knew about Carthage.”

“And his reasons for starting the war?”

“Power grab.”

Decius nodded and beckoned to Marcellus. Together the men entered the tent, where four other generals were waiting for them. The men present were not who Marcellus would handpick to fight this battle.

So we have Decius’ father, Publius. He was a fine Roman – twenty years ago. But then he lost that eagle at Massilia Ford and hasn’t seen any action in over a decade. My tribune Augustus Porcius is a fine man, but he’s just that – a tribune. The man simply doesn’t have enough talent or combat prowess to advance to legate. Vibius Domna was utterly useless as Governor of Roma, and has never fought a battle. Oh well, perhaps he might surprise us all. And then there was Luca Mamilius, the man who was in the spotlight once about 30 years ago for saving Verginius’ life, and ever since that he had been drinking and womanizing. Where’s Lucius or Coruncanius or even Numerius when I need them?

Marcellus, who was unaware of what happened for the past thirty minutes or so, spoke.

“All right, what do we have?”

Luca spoke up. “Marcellus, Servius’ army is coming from the north, reinforced by Quintus Naevius and the garrison of Ariminium. The deep woods to the north are shadowing their movement somewhat, but we believe that Servius is on the eastern flank and has the garrison in reserve.”

Marcellus nodded. “And our placement?”
Decius now took over. “You’re going to be facing Servius, with me in reserve. As we all know, Servius is the person we need to target so we’re concentrating on him. Besides, he’ll probably summon the Ariminium garrison commander (let’s see, what was his name? Appius Ignatius.), so you’ll need some help anyway.”

Decius’ razor-sharp mind had most likely gone through every possible scenario, calculating and inferring, until the optimal strategy would surface. Although he had never been in a battle before, this man was an excellent person to have around the night before one. The question was, would he lose face in the moment of truth?

The generals talked about strategy long through the night. Luca was arguing for wearing Servius down, Decius for shattering him with a massed cavalry attack. Both had merits. However, the main strategy, which none of them spoke of but all of them knew, was to bring down the man himself. Capture or kill Servius, and the war would be over. There would be no one else to take over. The people were loyal to him. He was the chain of command.

The tent soon had another occupant. The six generals stared. Was it an assassin who managed to get past the guards?

No, it was a young man dressed in battle-armor of a Roman patrician. The man’s handsome features could not hide his young age (sixteen) or the traits that so commonly identified his family. Kaeso Coruncanius, brother of Manius and loyal to the Senate, had joined the group.

Decius was the first to speak. “I thought Marcellus had ordered you south. Away from Roma.”

Kaeso scoffed. “I cannot, in good graces, stay away from this battle at the moment where every man counts. I have brought fifteen loyal Praetorians with me. We can, and want to fight. We want to redeem the Coruncanius honor.”

Augustus Porcius, mostly quiet, spoke up in a gentle tone. “Son, this is not the place for someone your age. Do you have a death wish?”

Marcellus chipped in. “Please, Kaeso. I do not any more Coruncanii dying needlessly. Go back to the Scriptorium. Live a good life. Teach future generations about what took place here, and why we are still a Republic.”

Kaeso, however, was adamant. “How can you say that? How will I be able to live with myself, teaching all those people about what happened? What will I say when they ask where I was? Marcellus, your brother Oppius was the same age when he was at that Battle of the Fort, and his intervention was decisive! Why can’t that be me here?”

Marcellus knew that the next argument would be futile but said it nevertheless. “That was different. Oppius was-“

“Oppius was my age! Don’t be a hypocrite, Marcellus. I saw through that letter that Servius sent to everyone but after this, I’m not so sure. I’m staying.”

Marcellus, beaten, sighed. “Okay, fine. If you must. Stay with Luca. He’ll need some help against Quintus.”

And so, the seven generals, ranging from sixteen to sixty in age, went to sleep. By the next night the war would either be won or lost. Dreams would be fulfilled, or careers shattered forever. But all thoughts of glory and the Republic soon turned to sleep. Night was upon them all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning

Before they marched, the soldiers looked at Marcellus expectantly. It seemed like they were expecting a speech; some encouraging words from their general to lead them to victory on this most critical of battles. Even Augustus Porcius, Marcellus’ tribune, was ready for one. But they would be denied.

“In order to win this battle I am going to have to exhibit a colossal disregard for human life,” Marcellus said to Augustus. “If I look too many of these men in the eye I am afraid that I will not have the guts to do what is needed. These men know me from Afrika. They know my style of fighting, and they know what is expected of them. That is all they need.”

Marcellus would establish his headquarters somewhat behind and to the left of his infantry reserves, leaving Augustus to command the critical Senate cavalry on the right. Reinforced with the Praetoria of Publius Laevinius and Vibius Domna, they would be an unstoppable blow to the Consular forces, smashing through the flank and rolling his army over. This would be the day where all doubts about Augustus Porcius would be proven wrong. This would be the day where he would become a major player in Roman politics, taking a leading role in the reconstruction of the Republic.

And it would be a glorious day for Publius Laevinius too, if Fortuna smiled upon the Senate that day. He had been a has-been, a relic ever since he was stripped of his titles and positions over ten years ago. This would be the day that he put that all behind him, and regained his honor, either by proving his worth on the battlefield or dying a glorious death.

Or both.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Forwarrrrrd… MARCH!”

The general plans were simple. Marcellus’ advance guard was to wait up for the rearguard, and then they were to engage and destroy Servius’ famed Iberian veterans (with some help from Decius). Then, Marcellus and Decius would turn to the west and finish off the last army loyal to the Consul, the one belonging to Quintus Naevius.

However, no general in the history of warfare ever had the battle go exactly as planned out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Late Morning

Augustus Porcius was getting worried. Sure, it was perhaps anxiety before his moment of glory but he had been in battles before. Something was wrong. The Numidian skirmishers expended their javelins to little effect, and Decius was taking too much time to bring his army up. The man was probably still thinking that he was in Corinth, drawing up the plans for the construction of a new building. By now, Servius’ lackey Appius Ignatius was probably up with his force. It was small, but still packed a punch, and if they came for him… Augustus shuddered. Better not to think about it. Publius Laevinius was a reliable commander who was probably anxious to prove himself after the disaster at Massilia. He would bring with him 60 fine Praetorians. That would be enough to overturn any flank.

Then he saw two things happening. First, to the left of him, Marcellus’ army was advancing at a slow pace.

“Why?” he thought to himself. “He knows the value of this flank. Shouldn’t he wait until Publius comes up?” And then, to the rear, he saw what he had been looking for. Publius’ Praetorians, as well as some Gallic alae, were moving to them. This was more than he had hoped for. He grinned. This battle would be over sooner than anyone had hoped.

…

Marcellus was watching it all, calmly. He was worried about the left flank, particularly if Quintus defeated Luca quickly and moved on to crush him, but said nothing. If all went well, Servius would have other problems.

He saw a rider coming in from the west. In the far distance, a few units of Italians were heading their way. This would either be a welcome blessing or terrible news. The rider came up to Marcellus and delivered his message, breathlessly:

“Sir! I am a runner for the Italians currently approaching the field! Luca Mamilius sends them, along with his compliments!”

Marcellus looked at the rider in wonder. “Then… he must be doing better than expected against Quintus! How goes the fight to the west?”

“What fight? The two haven’t engaged yet!”

Marcellus now took on an expression of puzzlement. “Then why would he send them…? No matter. We’ll put them to good use. Tell whoever is commanding them to flank those Roman troops to the left! As soon as they are pinned, flank!”

The rider took off with a “yes, sir!” leaving Marcellus to continue watching the armies move.

Across the green fields of Latium, the same fields that Marcellus and Servius had crossed to meet one final time the night before, the same fields that would soon be soaked with blood, over two Consular armies marched to destroy the other. Some men, those who were the most intelligent, wondered what the Republic had come to, when it sends Romans to destroy fellow Romans. Some looked upon the other side with utter distaste, convinced that their enemy had abandoned all thoughts toward ruler and country. And some, notably the Afrikan and Gallic mercenaries, were suddenly regretting their chosen line of work when they saw what lied ahead of them.

But they all marched forward, nonetheless. And then they came together, engulfed in the fiercest melee the known world had ever seen. For there were no Gallic or Thracian alae to muddy the waters. This was nothing but Romans against Romans. Italians against Italians. The one Afrikan phalanx unit engaged looked worlds out of place.

But on the right, things were not going as well as hoped. The entire Ariminium garrison had come bursting out of the woods, buoyed by support from Servius himself as well as Appius Ignatius’ escort. Augustus Porcius had no choice but to retire. Decius’ Gauls were coming up, but Publius Laevinius’ 60 Praetorians were not moving. This was bad. If they didn’t have those Praetorians and Servius attacked…

“You there! Numidian!” One Numidian javelinman looked up at Augustus.

“Have you got a good horse?” The man nodded. “Make for those Praetoria in the rear. Tell them that Servius is threatening to overturn the flank, assistance requested. Don’t stop pressuring him until he moves. Got it? GO!” The Numidian took off, leaving Augustus in a far larger state of worry than his commander.

…

Marcellus studied the situation. So far, all was pretty much going well, except for the situation on the right. But Publius would soon be up. He saw a rider going from Augustus to Publius’ Praetorians and now it looked like the man was conversing wildly with the elder general.

On the left, the result was unclear. The two Roman legions had fought each other to a standstill. Luca’s Italians looked to turn the tide, but a group of Servius’ Iberian mercenaries had come from nowhere and were now making progress against the Italians. In addition, a unit of Consular cavalry had come from the west and was threatening his missile units, but he had enough troops to bog them down long enough to charge in and hack them down himself.

In the middle, the Italians and Afrikan mercenaries were doing a fine job, but eventually Servius’ numbers showed and his men began to be flanked. Being attacked on two sides and about to break, the Italians were aided by Marcellus’ Second Senate Legion – the reserves. They charged in, counterflanking and routing Servius’ men after they put up a short but fierce resistance. The middle battle had been decided, with a huge hole in the center of Servius’ line and only ¾ of a victorious Second Senate Legion standing.

But on the right…

Augustus Porcius couldn’t believe it. This was not the way things were supposed to happen. A large body of Consular forces had charged, threatening to swarm around his men and destroy them all. Publius was nowhere in sight. He had seen the Numidian man reach Publius and talk with him with his own eyes, but apparently it was to little effect. The Gauls would not help much.

Another Praetorian looked at him. “Sir? Your orders?”

Augustus sighed. The Consular forces were getting dangerously close. “Damn it all. I’m going to kill Laevinius if we survive this. Charge! Break through those Italians and try to bring down Servius!” The horn blew, and soon some 150 horsemen, less Publius’ 60 Praetorians, were charging at the men bearing down on them.

The impact was horrendous. The sound of iron upon iron, men getting trampled, and horses screaming would have been too much for a normal man, but these were all battle-hardened veterans and knew their duty. So the terrible destruction continued. Within minutes every soldier’s uniform was stained with red from the blood of men and horses.

For a minute it looked like they were going to break through. The equites had been inflicting grievous damage on a unit of Italian Swordsmen, and only their commander was keeping them from breaking. Thinking quickly, Augustus turned and hacked the man down, bringing the weight of his depleted escort down on the already-beleaguered Italians. That was enough for them. They turned and fled, leaving… precious daylight. Augustus roared in triumph. They had done it.

But that daylight evaporated in an instant. Instead, Augustus’ men were now facing what seemed to be a mirror image. But there were two differences. First of all, these men were more numerous. And secondly, their uniforms were sparkling in the sunlight.

Servius had committed his own escort and Appius’ to stop this desperate charge.

Instantly, several other men that were breaking rallied around their Consul. Servius barked an order, and they swarmed in against what was left of the Senate cavalry. The effect was devastating.

“Come on, men! Charge! Bring him down! Bring him down! Rally to me! Forward, men!”

The remnants of the Senate cavalry pushed forward, desperately trying to break through once again. But this time there were simply too many enemies. Augustus watched as his brave men dropped. His dreams were slipping away. There would be no Consulship, no triumph. He would never see his wife, Julia, again. His world was ending.

He felt a sharp pain in his gut and tumbled off his horse, staring at the sky, blood seeping out of his stomach. Marcellus would recognize his corpse as just another body in the Senate in his dream. Augustus stared up at the burning sun as he passed.

The sun was blotted out, as the man who had killed him looked down. He stared into the face of Servius Aemilius, who gave him the briefest look of pity before moving on.

His last thoughts before his life trickled out were “Damn you, Laevinius.”

…

From a distance, Publius Laevinius witnessed the massacre that was taking place on the right. With his were his escort and Vibius Domna, who, along with the Numidian, had attempted to make him go forward for the past hour.

“You see, young Domna, this is why I chose to ignore all of you juniors when you pressured me to move in. We would have been along with them and died along with them. I may be old, son, but I am not stupid. Of course that attack would have failed. I have just saved all of our lives.”

Vibius Domna nodded. This Laevinius guy wasn’t that big of a disgrace after all. He would follow his orders without question from now on. Meanwhile, the Numidian rider that Augustus Porcius had sent to deliver the message looked on in frustration and despair. Those men would have made the difference and he was probably the only one that knew it. The battle would now drag on unnecessarily, costing many more lives.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Early Evening

Marcellus Aemilius had no time to visit the body of his tribune. His escort had just destroyed the Consular equites and now he was redirecting the Second Senate Legion, who had just finished off the Ariminium garrison (along with Decius’ Gauls and –finally- Publius’ Praetorians) to face the west.
Servius’ famous army, as well as Ariminium’s garrison, had been destroyed. Only the two enemy escorts had survived, and they escaped through the woods. However, it had nearly taken Marcellus’ army with it. All of his forces, including Luca’s Italians, had either perished or routed. Only his own escort and the Second Senate Legion were left standing, but Decius’ forces were now up. They had taken light casualties so far, but were of inferior quality.

Marcellus read Servius’ response to his surrender request one more time

I cannot flee from fate Marcellus, or the ghosts of what could have been would haunt me forever.

Promise me, when this day is over, Eutropia will be well cared for.

Servius

and crumpled it up. Servius had escaped and linked up with Quintus Naevius’ elite army, which was heading straight for him and Decius. There was more fighting to be done. And this would not be easy.

Maybe I should threaten him with her, he thought, and shook it off. He couldn’t do that. He was still a true Roman, and he would see this fight through. If Servius wanted to see his last army still loyal to him (he received word that Oppius had been ambushed in Sardinia, further inciting his hatred for his nephew) go down fighting, then they would go down fighting. But Servius wouldn’t live to see it.

Marcellus marshaled the Second Senate Legion and pointed at Quintus’ army, which was forming into a defensive semicircle and would soon be attacked on all sides. The men that were left listened to him eagerly. Finally, they would hear a speech.

“Okay men, this is it. This is the time that we right every wrong that has been done in the past year by that man over there! His last army is trapped, and we are going to be the hammer blow that destroys him forever.

”We're going to make an all-out push on the right flank. We are not alone in this. Decius' auxiliary Praetoria and his Gauls will be aiding us in this. We're going to overrun his flank and then turn and smash his center. Do not stop until the last man is either dead or waving the white flag! FOR THE REPUBLIC... CHARGE!!!”

The men cheered and charged in, but something was wrong. Marcellus buried his head in his hands when he saw what it was.

Publius Laevinius had refused orders again.

Servius had fallen back, and the flanking push was ineffective, as they only faced light troops. Marcellus called off the attack and led his men into the woods for the night. The day had been something of a success, but the original objective –win the war by nightfall- had not been met. Tomorrow would be it, for sure. It would be a fight to the death for Quintus Naevius’ army. They had no way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Night

The three generals met in Decius Laevinius’ tent. The mood was tense. All present felt that this meeting should have been a celebration, and not a strategy discussion. In any case, there was little to discuss. Decius gave his father Publius a good dressing-down and threatened his unit with decimation if he did not obey orders.

Luca proposed the idea of a unified assault at dawn. The other two acknowledged the idea’s merit, knowing that it was the only way to win. The number of generals present was less than half than that of the previous night. Publius Laevinius was dismissed from the meeting early, Augustus Porcius was dead, and Vibius Domna was not even invited. Kaeso Coruncanius, much to his protest, had been assigned to oversee the Consular prisoners captured.

The men left the tent talking of enjoying the next night in the comforts of Roma, drinking the drink of the victorious (Marcellus, a noted teetotaler, was even considering joining in, saying to himself that he would need it after this).

No chances, he thought to himself. We go in together, and crush Servius through sheer numbers. Gods, I hope that he is captured. He deserves to die a thousand deaths for what he did to Oppius alone. I no longer hold any empathy for him. Thank Fortuna that Oppius survived and that he’s out of the war, but Servius needs to stand trial and face the consequences.

When returning to his headquarters, Marcellus was also informed that his spies had intercepted a message from Servius bound for Oppius. Marcellus read it over and smirked.

Well, if all else fails this could be useful.

He slept, knowing that the day ahead could potentially be even bloodier than the one that had just ended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn

“Come on, men! Faster! Keep pushing!”

It was the start of what could be the last day of the war. The Second Senate Legion, backed by Decius’ Gauls and (possibly) Publius’ Praetorians, were crashing through the woods, aiming to come out and crack the Consular semicircle, hopefully destroying Servius himself.

“Move! Just a little further!”

The men could see daylight up ahead. Finally, they would be out of these woods. Finally, they would collapse on Servius’ semicircle, after being delayed in the previous evening. The soldiers closest to the action reached the edge of the woods, they burst into the open fields…

The first thing that they noticed was the smell. Having been in the woods for about twelve hours, they had been relatively immune to the after-battle reek that was permeating through the fields, as the trees blocked most of it. But now, the stench was so overpowering that many of the soldiers stopped in their tracks, doubled over.

This bought enough time for Servius to detach three units of hastati to fight off the Senate advance in the north. Marcellus, annoyed to the point where he was immune to the smell, frantically ordered his soldiers to push forward.

“Come on, men! They smell it too! Three hastati here means they’re not somewhere else! Keep pushing! Once we’re through these it’s victory!”

The remainder of Marcellus’ forces obeyed his orders, although for different reasons. The Second Legion desperately wanted everything to be over, and reluctantly started to surround their fellow Romans. Meanwhile, the Gauls were caught up in the fighting, and were howling in a battle frenzy. Marcellus was screaming at them to push forward and searching for any sign of Servius. The thoughts of Publius Laevinius, half a mile away and disobeying orders once again, were out of his mind. It was now completely taken over by his obsession of defeating his nephew forever.

All signs of organization were nonexistent. The battle had devolved into a brutal melee. Quintus’ army was being pressed on all sides. Marcellus could vaguely make out a cavalry engagement to the south. But none of that mattered. All that did was…

…kill…

Marcellus rode every which way on his horse, much to the aggravation of his escort. The man was shouting himself hoarse, yelling at soldiers that weren’t there. The rage had taken over.

As the Senate forces pushed on and the sun rose higher in the sky, more men continued to fall. Every soldier, inspired by either their general’s encouragement or hope that it would soon be over, operated with a ruthlessly cold manner. Mars demanded blood, and they would give it to him. And when they gave blood to him, they would find the nearest enemy soldier and offer him to the god of war, father to every Roman as well.

Marcellus continued screaming everywhere, in sharp contrast to Decius’ continued attempts at organization or Luca’s pulling himself together after barely surviving an engagement with Servius’ Praetorians.

“Forward, men! Keep up the fight! They’re almost broken! They’re almost broken! Just a little more, and you have won the day! Flank them! Crash through! Don’t let up! Don’t stop!”

One of Marcellus’ Praetorians leaped off his horse and tackled Marcellus to the ground. Marcellus snapped out of it and looked around. It was over. Quintus Naevius had surrendered.

Marcellus, quickly meeting with Decius and Luca, looked over at where Quintus and Appius Ignatius stood and looked over at his allies quizzically.

“Quintus surrendered? Did we bring down Servius?”

At this, Quintus spoke. “I did. He insisted on fighting to the death. I had to do something to save my men, so I killed him. His body lies over there.” He pointed to a fallen man that wore the Consul’s helmet but was most definitely not the Consul.

“He was a proxy for Servius. I have not seen Servius since several days ago. This man has been giving orders to us for the Consul’s safety.”

The Senate generals, but especially Marcellus, were disgusted. Servius had escaped, and they had no cavalry to pursue him. The hunt would begin immediately, but for all purposes, the Battle for Rome and the war was over.

Thousands of bodies littered the fields of Latium. The terrible casualties taken at Ancyra less than a year ago looked like a skirmish compared to this massacre. The fields of Northern Latium, especially to the east where the first terrible engagement had taken place, had turned a dark red. The civil war had ended with a decisive Senate victory, but not a completely crushing one. Servius was still at large.

That night, back in Roma when the three Senate generals (including Marcellus) shared drinks to celebrate, there was a hollow feeling in all of them. They had won the greatest battle since the time of Alexander, but the experience had changed them forever. Each general, as well as each soldier, would be infinitely hardened by the experience.

But they had won.