And we gave him a good funeral, thought the new paterfamilias of the Brutii. Just as he deserved. The images of the Brutii family consuls had been paraded through the streets of Rome. Speeches had been made. Games and races had been held, as well, though Sextus wondered why anyone found horses running in circles to be exciting. At least it had offered a chance to familiarize himself with his father's papers, and talk to his secretary. Alexander had been full of useful information about all sorts of things.

I've inherited a heavy task, Sextus thought. But I was born for this moment. I will not fail you, father. I cannot fail you.

He opened his mouth to speak, and everyone turned to look at him.

"My family, welcome. Today is a day of mourning, for today we bury my father. For many years he guided the Brutii ably and well, as did his father before him. I know I am but twenty, but my father raised me to lead, and swear to you I shall lead this family as well as he has."

He nodded to Alexander, who brought forth a stack of papers.

"We have, then, much to discuss. I regret that some of our most important members could not be here."

Well, we'll miss Amulius anyway. But he's better off where he is, hunting Dacians. I hope we'll see him once again in Rome before the end, but I fear it may never be so. Cassius, well, he's been rotting in Epirus for years, and that's where he'll stay if I have anything to do with it. And Titus, he's too shrewd to give up Rhodes for anything save the elections. He knows I want him gone.

To the family, he continued with, "Marcus. I want you to go to Syracuse. Take charge of the city. I'll be counting on you."

He's even younger than I am, of course. But he's got a good head on his shoulders when he chooses to use it. And Syracuse ought to suit his Epicurean ways.

The young man of sixteen nodded, and said "I'll be on the next ship there, paterfamilias."

"Good," Sextus replied. "Now then. Atia, my sister. The Macrinii have asked me this day for your hand in marriage to Herius. They're a good senatorial family, and I've a mind to accept. I'll not be announcing it for some time, but I wanted you to know."

And of course we could use the allies in the Senate. The Macrinii are only backbenchers, but if we're to get ourselves heard over the Scipii, we'll need support.

His sister nodded, but said nothing. Sextus turned to Decius Propertius. "Decius, you're to take an army to Crete. Secure the island, then move into Asia. Don't anger the Seleucids just yet, but take Halicarnassus and Pergamum if you can."

He's not exactly a great general, Decius, but with a little seasoning he should be all right. And he'll be a useful counterweight to Titus in Rhodes. Gods but that man needs watching.

Decius, in turn, nodded silently. Knowing him, he'd have an army onboard ship by the morning.

Far into the night, Sextus gave orders, and when he was done and the Brutii walked to their homes in the moonlight, none doubted that Sextus would make his mark as paterfamilias. But, they wondered, what kind of mark would it be?

"They're Romans, Atheas." Dicomes had never liked the Romans. That was probably why they were still alive. His friend had always been paranoid that the Romans were going to come kill them. "Haven't I been saying ever since the Romans came that we were doomed? They always make a show of protecting our shrines, but then the next thing you know there's a temple to some Roman god in its place. Happened to the Greeks." Dicomes had talked to a few Greeks once upon a time. "And let me tell you..."

"Quiet!" Atheas pulled his friend down lower. "Romans! Coming this way"

The pair tried to hide, but it was no use. The Romans had dogs. Very shortly thereafter, the sacred circle of Bendis was filled only by Romans.

The lucky ones waited just inside the Porta Triumphalis. The first thing they heard was the sound of hundreds of marching feet. And then the gates opened.

It was Amulius Brutus Victor himself who came first, riding the triumphal chariot. He wore a splendid purple toga, embroidered in gold with scenes of his conquests. His face was painted red, and above his head a slave held a wreath of laurel. Behind the chariot marched the twelve lictors Amulius was allowed by his consulship, and on their shoulders they each bore the fasces, the sign of his authority and power.

Behind the lictors marched the victorious troops of Amulius' army, likewise wreathed in laurel. And the Romans were much amazed at this first spectacle, for Amulius' army contained soldiers from all over the world. First came the velites, then the hastati. Then came the Illyrians, garbed as peltasts in the Greek fashion. Then came the Sarmatians, clad head to toe in chainmail and riding great horses. Then came the ferocious-looking Bastarnae, almost naked but waving wicked curved swords. And when the army of Amulius had passed them by the citizens of Rome wondered what more there could possibly be.

Then came the floats. Ahead of them all were the battle decorations of Amulius: His golden phalerae from Greece, and no less than five golden crowns for the enemies he had killed. Armor sat in stands all atop the float, both Amulius' own Roman armor and that he had taken from Illyria, Greece, and Dacia. Too, there were weapons, Roman, Greek, and Dacian.

And when that float had passed, there came more. One held nothing but piles of silver, and another gold. Still another held Greek statues. Yet another held wolf pelts from Dacia. And after these came more floats, depicting Amulius' many battles: The storming of Apollonia. The carnage of Sparta. A dozen victories were displayed one after the other, describing for the people of Rome the greatness of their general.

When the floats had passed, the parade of slaves began. Greek hoplites came, dressed not in armor but in simple tunics. Dacians came too, wild and hairy. And behind them all marched Dnestr, the Dacian king, dressed in all the finery of his position.

And when it had all passed by, and when Dnestr the Dacian had been taken to the Tullianum beneath the Capitoline hill and killed, and when Amulius Brutus Victor had gone into the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus to offer his respects to the god, when all these things came to pass, all of Rome settled down to feast in appreciation of Amulius' victories. In the forums there were set great tables, heaped with food. Musicians played, and poets recited the greatness of Amulius.

On the Capitoline, Amulius and the Senate sat down to their own feast. And when it was over, a very pleased Amulius Brutus Victor was led away by his nephew the paterfamilias, surrounded by the younger members of the Brutii family.

"An excellent triumph, Uncle!" declared Sextus, pleased to be able to see his warrior uncle once more.

"Indeed," replied Amulius, "though I'd rather be in the field. I've been away from Rome too long to enjoy it much anymore."

Sextus snorted with laughter. "So says the Consul of the year. Best not let the Senate hear you say that, Uncle!"

Amulius grinned. "Best not let the Senate hear anything, or they get too many ideas. Speaking of which, how goes the seige at Iuvavum?"

Unseen in the darkness, Sextus paled for a moment. Iuvavum had been bad. "A hard battle, but we took the town. Marcellus had to fight his way in the gate, and it turned out all the Gauls in the town were some chieftain's band. Fought like demons. Marcellus never made it past the gate, and there were barely a cohort's worth of troops at the end of things. But we took the place, and the Conscript Fathers of the Senate are happy again, for the moment. Bah! And of course there are Gauls roaming all over Pannonia now. Appius Crassus is chasing them down. He can do it if anyone can."

Amulius nodded. "And what of the East? Didn't you say Decius was supposed to have taken Crete?"

"That's what I sent him to do, but scant word thus far. I also sent him to watch Titus, but I've heard more from Titus than from Decius. Went and got himself elected Aedile. Why the people would want Titus of all people to take care of their city is beyond me!" Sextus laughed. "Better they elect young Marcus over in Syracuse. He knows how to take care of a city, or at least his collection of philosophers does."

"Philosophers?"

"Philosophers. Young Marcus has started an Academy in Syracuse, and apparently it's collected the best minds since Plato. Chrysippus the Stoic, Ctesibius the inventor, Gnaeus Naevius the playwright, they're all there, and a few more besides. Though why an Epicure like Marcus consorts with the Stoics is, like many things, beyond me."

With that, they arrived at the door to Sextus' house, and so the day of the triumph ended.

It is my pleasure to inform you that you hereby given the command of the Northern Legions. Your work in subduing the barbarians in Pannonia has not gone without notice in Rome, and I wish to commend you for a job well done.

It is my misfortune, however, to inform you of the passing of your old commander, Amulius Brutus. As you know, my uncle recently returned to Rome to participate in his triumph. Sadly, it appears that the events of the day were too much for Amulius, and he never woke the next morning. As you can imagine, the household is in shock. I myself spoke to him returning from the triumphal feast, and he was as full of life and energy as ever. His is a great loss to us all.

Please return to Rome as soon as you are able. The family has much to discuss.

---Sextus Brutus

He had chosen the day of the inauguration of the consuls. Unusual to speak of important subjects on the first day, but it was a thing best done early.

It was Titus, newly elected praetor, who had risen to speak. "Senators!" he had cried, "I must bring to your ears a matter of grave importance!"

"What could be so important that we must listen to it this minute? We've a feast to get to!" That was be Lucius Scipio, one of the new aediles. He always had had a weakness for food.

"News of war, Conscript Fathers! Of war, and piracy, and betrayal!" cried Titus, overpowering the grumbling voices of a few senators. "I have evidence that King Borus of Macedon has been financing pirate raids on our merchants trading with the East!"

That had quieted them all down. Silence reigned in the Curia for a long moment until Marcus Maxentius the consul had recovered himself enough to ask "What is this evidence you speak of?"

"As you know," began Titus, "I have been governor of Rhodes for years now. Lately, many ships of Macedonian design have entered the harbor at Rhodes, laden with rich goods to trade. I found this slightly suspicious. After all, hasn't Macedon been at war with Thrace for years now? And have they ever gained any ground? Of course not. So where could these baubles be coming from, I wondered." He paused. "But the answer to that, Senators, is not mine to tell. For that, I call upon Decius Propertius to address the Senate."

And then Decius had risen and spoke. "Senators! You know me. I have been long in the East, in Crete and in Asia. Halicarnassus and Pergamum have fallen by my hand. And what kept me in Asia so long were the pirates. In cove after cove in Asia I was forced to stop and clean out pirate den after pirate den. And do you know what I found all these dens of pirates? Macedonian gold!" And here he had held up a piece of it. Macedonian gold, and Macedonians themselves!" And they might even have been Macedonian. All Greeks sounded alike to Sextus.

Titus began again. "So, senators! You have heard the evidence! Will we punish Macedon for their perfidy, or will we cower beneath them like dogs?"

The vote, of course, was overwhelmingly in favor of punishment. And it was Titus Brutus the praetor who was given command of the armies, as Sextus had forseen.

"...and I wish to name as my legates Decius Propertius, Appius Crassus, and Herius Macrinus. And as quaestor for the army, I wish Marcus Brutus." That too had been according to the plans Sextus had made. Titus would never set foot on a battlefield. He wanted to get back to his comfortable governorship of Rhodes, leaving the battles to men Sextus trusted.

And Sextus smiled. These would be great days to be a Brutii.

"Haven't these fools learned anything from the Greeks?" he sighed. "How Amulius Brutus used to lure them in and smash their flanks with cavalry?" He thumped his saddle, and waved his hands in despair. "And here we are, twenty odd years later, and here come five centuries of unsupported phalanxes!" Herius shook his head. "If the whole country's like this, we wont be here a year!"

There was much for Herius to be contemptuous of. In addition to attacking with unsupported phalanxes, the Macedonian commander had let Herius choose the ground for the battle. Being no fool, he arrayed his forces on a hill, allowing his archers and ballista great range. At the foot of the hill sat his infantry, while the cavalry waited in the wings.

It played out just as Herius believed it would. The Macedonian commander marched his column of hoplites straight up the middle of the Roman formation. Arrows rained down, and ballista bolts skewered through two and three men at a time. The survivors of that found themselves on the receiving end of a hundred pila. And when those few survivors had scattered, Herius charged.

Not a Macedonian survived the field. And Herius found the commander of the Macedonian army dead on the field, stripped him of his armor, and continued the march.

And so the Romans came to Macedon.

"General! General!" That was his primus pilus, Publius. "General! It's the Macedonians! They've amassed a huge army, and they're marching in from the northeast! And the gates of the city have opened, and Philotas and his army march out to meet us!"

Herius could hardly believe his ears. Where had Macedon gathered all those men? His spies hadn't informed him of any Macedonian armies. His mind awhirl, he leaped to his feet and reached for his armor. "Publius, rally the troops. Get them ready and in battle order."

The grizzled centurion saluted and left the tent.

Herius could hear similar exclamations all up and down the Roman line. He had to agree that they were certainly outnumbered. He sighed and prepared to give his battle speech. Maybe these Macedonians would have some fight left in them after all.

"Soldiers of Rome! Hear me! There is the Macedonian army! There are many of them, it is true, but they are no match for true Romans such as ourselves! Look at them! All they have is their outdated hoplites, and we have killed those before, many times! We'll do as we always have, and shower them with arrows, and it'll all be over, and we'll sack Thessalonica! Brave Romans, prepare to defend yourselves!"

And had the Macedonians only had their hoplites, and perhaps if Herius had not sent his cavalry off to scout, the day would have gone like he had planned. But it was not to be.

"Cavalry! Cavalry to the rear!"

And then they were upon his men, crashing into the archers, hacking and rending them, piercing them with lances. His few remaining cavalry tried to hold them off, and their frenzied charge came close to succeeding, but then the phalanx arrived, and it was over. And when the day was through, Herius and the fifty or so survivors of Thessalonica found themselves hiding in the hills, fleeing the persuing Macedonian lancers.

Macedon had put up a fight at last.

Before him, the Pannonian Legions were drawn up in battle formation. A square, today, to protect the archers. His spies inside the walls said that Clisthenes was going to attempt a cavalry raid.

And, as it turned out, they were correct. The gates crashed open, and a flood of Macedonian cavalry flooded out.

He didn't have that much cavalry before, thought Appius. But that would have to wait.

"Archers!" he cried, and his archers, Roman and Cretan both, began launching arrows at the onrushing cavalry. Men slumped in their saddles, and horses fell, launching their riders into the mud, but still the Macedonians came.

"Pila!" shouted Appius, and his infantrymen, both old-style hastati and the new Marian-style cohorts, threw their deadly javelins. Still more Macedonians fell from the saddle, and here and there a few groups of decimated horsemen were running, but most of them kept coming.

He means to trample us into the ground! thought Appius in amazement. He had heard of cavalry doing that in the East, in far off Mesopotamia, but Macedonian lancers? Impossible!

With a thunderous crash, the mass of horsemen slammed full speed into the waiting Romans. The air was filled with the sounds of clashing steel and the cries of men and horses, and Appius could see that the Macedonian charge had failed. Lone riders still fought, here and there, and a few Roman bodies were strewn in front of the lines, but they still held, and as he watched, the last few Macedonians were dispatched. Of Clisthenes, there was no sign.

"General, look! To the southwest!"

Appius turned to look where his tribune pointed, and had to fight not to gape in awe. Coming over the hill towards the Roman lines was the largest phalanx he had ever seen. It filled his field of vision. And in the center was the standard of...

"It's Adymos of Gela!" he shouted. "And the whole Macedonian army!" His voice was thick with excitement, now. "Infantry, move forward! Archers, prepare to fire! If we win here, men, we'll have emptied all Macedon of men!"

The phalanx marched steadily onwards. In a few spots along the line, men fell, pierced by Roman arrows, but even that soon stopped. He turned to inquire, and saw nothing but empty quivers. All through the ranks of the archers, men were unstringing their bows, and drawing swords, knives, whatever they had.

And then the Macedonians came. A forest of spear points thrust into the Roman lines, and the Roman gladius was powerless to stop them. His men were being slaughtered, and there was little he could do.

It was then that he noticed Adymos and his bodyguard standing alone, watching the battle. Appius spurred his horse forward, and rushed to meet the enemy.

Afterwards, all who were present, Roman and Macedonian, agreed that it had been the most amazing duel they had ever witnessed. While Romans died on Macedonian pikes, the cavalry swirled and weaved an intricate dance behind them. None could say how many Appius slew, but all agreed that somewhere in that desperate fight, he met Adymos of Gela, the man who had defeated two Roman armies, and was slain by the Macedonian general.

And when the last few defeated Romans huddled, dejected and demoralized in their camp after the battle, they were surprised to see a wagon roll up under a flag of truce. Inside was the body of Appius. The Macedonians had cleaned it and wrapped it in fine linen clothes, and as a mark of honor, a laurel wreath adorned his head.

Appius Crassus, all agreed, had been a true Roman.

The newly elected praetor was elated as he strode out the door of his Palatine home headed for the Forum. Today would be the day he would expose the Brutii for what they were: a pack of corrupt, unscrupulous petty monarchs lording it over Rome and the Senate. They were more Greek than Roman, these days, never mind how news of their martial victories was trumpeted in the streets on a daily basis.

The magistrate turned and hurried down a small side road. It would have to be the shortcut today. He was running late.

Rotten, the lot of them. If you wanted proof of it, look no further than the war vote on Macedon. That so-called evidence would never have stood up in any court in Rome, yet the Senate passed it wholeheartedly! And look at Secundus Brutus, newly elected quaestor at sixteen! Sixteen, when the proper age for it was thirty! Everyone knew that Sextus Brutus ran the Senate these days, and it would be up to Gaius Hortensius to rally the opposition. The Brutii must be...

There was another man in the street, a Greek by the looks of him. More and more of them, these days, what with the Brutii. Just one more thing to blame them for, in his opinion. He turned to let the man by, and was shocked to feel a sharp pain in his belly. Gaius looked down in shock to find the front of his tunic stained with blood. The man stood above him for a second, gazing cooly at him, and then he was gone, and Gaius was on the street. It was so very cold...

It had been all too easy. A few Macedonians had assaulted the Roman siege camp. Cavalry, mostly. Herius had heard that most of the hoplites were still in Bylazora, under siege by Gnaeus Floarianus. In any case, the cavalry had been slaughtered with ease. They had charged out under the banner of King Borus, run straight into the waiting Romans, and died without hardly putting up a fight.

"General! General, come quickly!" It was a centurion from one of the legionary cohorts. A good man, if Herius remembered the man correctly. He rode up to the man.

"What news, centurion?"

"General, we've found out why the city seems to be deserted. But you'll need to see for yourself." He led Herius into a small house. There, on a bed that looked as if it had been attacked by pigs, lay a man. He was covered in vomit, and his skin was an angry reddish color. As Herius watched, he thrashed his arms weakly and tried to shout something in Greek. Herius went pale. He knew what this meant.

"Get out of here." he ordered the centurion. "Get everybody out of the city. Quickly!"

Plague! he thought. They have the plague!

But in nine years, the Romans had never come.

He sighed, and looked at his son. "We will take the Roman offer. I have decided."

Dnestr gaped. "But father! All your life you have fought the Romans! You have raised me to fight the Romans! I..."

"Look around you!" shouted Palacus, drawing the attention of a few warriors who saw who it was and suddenly decided they had better things to be doing. "Look! We have fought the Romans, yes! But what do we have? Nothing! Once, Dacia was a mighty kingdom, feared and respected in the world. Our people were rich and happy. But how long has it been since we have seen Dacia, seen the hall of my fathers in Porrolissum?"

"Fifteen years," answered his son, sullenly.

"Fifteen years!" Palacus shook his fist. "Since Amulius Brutus entered our lives, out world has been nothing but dark. But now I have a way at long last to lead us from that darkness. I never thought the Romans would bring us light, but they have. And we must take hold of it."

With new purpose in his step, he turned and entered a solitary tent to one side of the camp. A man in a toga sat, writing something. Writing! Oh, the Romans were endlessly clever. He must have things like this. He must! When the man turned to greet him, the King of Dacia spoke.

"I have listened to your words and the words of your master, and I find them agreeable. I and all my warriors will fight for Rome."

But they would be the last in Bylzora so honored, for the city was struck with the wrathful arrows of Apollo, and plague wracked the city for five long years. Thousands were struck down, and Romans no less than Greeks. The House of Brutii lost many of it's finest to the sickness. Gnaeus Floarianus who took the city died in the first year, and Secundus Brutus who was brother to Sextus fell in the second. In the fourth year, Servius Brutus the son of Titus Brutus the Pontifex Maximus died of it, and in the last year of the plague fell Manius Crassus son of the great general Appius Crassus.

And at the end of the fifth year, the five hundred thirtieth of the city of Rome, when all of the Brutii generals who took the city were dead, Apollo relented, and Macedon knew health and peace once more.

Whatever the case, we will never know for certain, for Palacus perished somewhere in the northlands, and Dnestr, and Comosikus, and none of the other barbarians in the employ of the Brutii never spoke of it again, though they went on to fight with great honor and courage in the realms of men, in Germany and in Gaul...

I have received your letter about the death of Uncle Titus. Cousin Sextus will be well pleased of it, I am sure. He never did like the old man. Always accused him of being more corrupt than a Roman ought. As if Cousin Sextus was one to speak! Our paterfamilias is a wily old devil, to be sure, and his control over the Senate is absolute. Always has the tribunes in his pocket, and of course a Brutus has held some important magistracy every year for a decade, and of course old Titus was Pontifex Maximus until he died, and cousin Marcus will have inherited if I know the priests.

Oh, but Fabius, we Brutii have lost our soul! Look at us, strutting around like the Greeks we purport to rule, in our silks and our jewels! When's the last time you've seen a true Roman of the old style amongst us? Decius Propertius, perhaps, but even he's gone soft now that he's governor of Macedon. And Sextus! What to say of Sextus? His corruption, how he sells offices and governorships to the highest bidder? His gluttony? I hear his feasts are becoming a legend in Rome, both for the food and for who winds up dead after them. The paterfamilias is a bloodthirsty killer, Fabius. I know he has his enemies assassinated. I know what he does to his slaves. And it makes me weep for the future of the family, Fabius. It makes me weep.

I can only hope that the war with Numidia will bring back some of the old steel. I myself have taken Thapsus, and our esteemed consul Cousin Publius, and Valerius Annaeus may well prove to be worth something as well. Neither of them is another Amulius Brutus Victor, but there's hope. Not so for Luca Cossus, though. Fool got himself ambushed in Libya. Lost a whole legion dead. I just hope we don't lost Cyrenaica for it.

Burn this letter, Fabius. I have no wish to be on Cousin Sextus' proscription list.

But probably not, thought Marcus, or we'd already be dead. Smart as the Seleucids are, they're probably all back in Sardis enjoying a nice fire. Wish I could. Shaking the thought off, he leaned on his centurion's rod and kept hobbling towards Halicarnassus and safety.

The expedition to Sardis hadn't exactly started auspiciously. Oh, the orders from old Sextus Brutus had been clear enough. But with the orders had come Galerius, and he had been very bad. Marcus had never been sure which Brutus had put him in charge of the thing. Some of the rumors said it was Numerius, some said Spurius, and one man had even suggested Decius Propertius before being laughed into silence. Everyone knew that Decius Propertius was the best soldier alive, which Galerius was decidedly not, all the centurions in the legion agreed.

The arcani hadn't helped, either. They were enough to scare even the most battle-hardened centurion. All that black armor, and the gaze they gave you behind those masks they wore. Deadly proficient with their twin blades, too. Marcus had seen an arcani fight one of the best swordsmen in his cohort. It had been like the arcani had barely moved, and the legionary was clutching a cut on his face. That was unnerving. And so were those chants to Mars they kept doing. He worshipped Mars as much as the next soldier, but... The worst thing, though, was that the arcani were spies for Sextus Brutus, and everyone knew it. And a man could only watch himself so long before he broke, because everyone had something to hide, they always did, and you didn't want a man like Sextus Brutus knowing your secrets.

But there were no arcani on this march. They had all died to the last man back at Sardis, protecting that idiot Galerius as he wet himself and tried to run as the Seleucids closed in.

It had not, Marcus mused, been a good fight for Rome. He had known it was coming back in Halicarnassus when nobody could give them a proper figure for how many Seleucids there actually were, but there was nothing to do about it, really. Not with the arcani there.

That was why the Roman army had found itself ambushed in the hills outside Sardis, which was hard enough in itself because there weren't a lot of places to hide an army there, but the Seleucids had managed it. They had come with the cavalry first, and while the Romans had been focused on chasing down the flood of horsemen, the Seleucid hoplites had marched up, a whole wall of them, and between them and the horses there wasn't much the Romans could do but stand and die, the whole legion.

Except Marcus. He and a few others had been lucky, managed to escape the carnage. And now it was back to Halicarnassus to report the loss.

Sextus Brutus would not be pleased.

But that was a problem for a different time. At the moment, the problem was the pair of rams the Numidians were bringing up to the walls. They would break through - the walls were only a wooden palisade, and the only thing Publius could do was to set his cohorts where the breach would be, and wait.

He didn't have long to wait. The weak timbers of the walls splintered and cracked and finally shattered, and robed and veiled Numidian spearmen lept through the gap, screaming something in their barbarous language.

We'll hold, Publius thought. There's not enough of them.

Then screams from the gate caused him to turn, just in time to see it crash open and the Numidian cavalry rush through into the spears of the small unit of auxilia he had left as a guard.

"To the gate!" he cried, drawing his sword. With a huge crash, his heavy Roman horses slammed into the lighter Numidians, and for a minute or two Publius' world narrowed to a dance of horses and steel and blood, and suddenly the Numidians were gone. Quickly, he took stock. Many of the auxilia were dead, and a few of his bodyguard, but not many.

The breach looks bad, though, thought Publius. I can't see any of our men. Where did all those Numidians come from?

Rallying his men, Publius charged once more, and once more he was overcome by the chaos of battle. Right and left he slashed and hacked with his sword, almost unable to move for the sheer amount of men packed into the breach. Pulling his sword from the body of a Numidian, it dawned on Publius that he was almost alone, except for the bodies of the dead and a good twenty Numidian spearmen bearing down on him.

Publius spurred his horse, crashing through the Numidian mob, killing two of them as he passed. He ran his horse through the dusty streets, searching in vain for his men. Hopefully they would be in the square before his house. That was the rallying point.

And they were all there, the surviving defenders. But very few of them. Less than ten of the auxilia were left, and a pair of his bodyguard. Stopping in front of them, he rested for a moment, then spoke.

"Ok, men. There are probably forty Numidians following me, and they'll be here any moment. This is it. If we fight like the Romans we are, we can break these barbarians. Good luck!"

And with that, the Numidians arrived, and Publius and his men charged.

In Rome there stands a small temple to Mars Ultor, the Avenger, near the Forum of Titus. Inside there is a statue of the god, made of African sandstone. On his armor he wears a full set of nine gold phalerae, and in his hand he clutches a crudely made spear. And around the dome of the temple, done in the finest mosaic, are seven names. This is the temple that Publius Brutus the Consul erected after his victory.

Valerius sighed and leaned back a little more in his bath. Yes, Numidia had a few things in it worth having, and the best part was that they couldn't even defend them adequately. Not that you could do much to defend yourself against elephants. Valerius heartily approved of elephants. Especially when they were his elephants. He even approved of his enemies marching out from behind their thick stone walls to be trampled into jelly by his elephants. It certainly beat chasing them around the desert for years on end.

Yes, Valerius Annaeus decided, sighing contentedly, he definitely needed to acquire some more elephants.

"Quaestor, paterfamilias," said Titus Brutus, the man who would become paterfamilias of the Brutii when, gods willing, the present one departed this life.

Sextus Brutus favored his younger relative with an icy glare. "And how, pray tell, did I come to be elected to an office for men your age when I am fifty years old? When I did not even put myself in the running?"

Titus swallowed heavily. The paterfamilias was angry again. This was very bad. He had to managed very carefully when he was angry. "We think it was the Julii, paterfamilias. Somehow they bribed enough of the voters to get you elected."

He knew almost immediately that that had been the wrong thing to say. Sextus snarled, pounded his chair, and launched into what even a frightened Titus had to admit was a rather inventive diatribe against the Julii.

Not that Titus could blame him much. After all, the Julii made everyone nervous these days. After waiting for the Brutii to entangle themselves in Africa and Asia, the Julii had managed to wrangle themselves a mandate in the Senate to war on Gaul, which they did with rather frightening efficiency, until Gaul was destroyed inside of five years. Now the Julii legions marched on Germania and Britannia, and some said they had designs on other places, closer to home.

All of that meant that the Senate was a dangerous place these days, split between Julii partisans and Brutii partisans. The Scipii were supposedly the third great family in Rome, but they controlled only Sicily and the city of Carthage, and whored themselves to the other two families for money and favors.

"...and we will crush them! Crush them!"

Titus snapped back into awareness as his older cousin stopped his ranting. Those last words were...disturbing. "What did you just say?" he asked. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

He didn't. "I said we will crush them!" Sextus roared. "The arcani will hunt the Julii down and kill them, and our armies will march into Rome and root out the ones who survive. And then we will be rid of their plague. And I will have my revenge. How dare they do this to me? How dare they?"

"But it is treason to bring an army into Rome!" said Titus, aghast.

Sextus snorted, and turned his malevolent gaze upon his protégé. "It is not treason if we win. The Senate are weaklings! They couldn't muster a competent defense if they tried!" He chuckled. "Galerius Minucius and the Fifth Legion are still in Apulia, yes? And Flavius Cossus and the Eighth? And Decius Propertius has the Sixth and Eleventh in Noricum? And there are, what, three under strength legions of outdated troops in all of Italy? We will crush them, Titus! Crush them!"

Titus' mind raced. This was madness! Madness! There had to be something he could stop this. His eyes cast about, looking for anything he could use to bludgeon Sextus with. He could make it an accident. An accident.

His eyes caught a glint of steel, and he suddenly stopped, and an aura of unnatural calm came over him. No, Titus decided, it would have to be done. There was no way.

The arcani watched and listened, even here.

Sextus had been saying the same thing off and on for hours, and Titus was getting tired of it. More and more and he thought that maybe bludgeoning Sextus to death in Tarentum would have been a good idea. But not now. Galerius was here, and the arcani were everywhere now. Everywhere.

He sighed, and turned from the window. The streets were a mess. Nobody was safe from the proscriptions. Nobody. If your name was on the list, you died, and someone brought your head in for a reward. If you looked like someone who's name was on the list, you died too. The only way to be safe these days was with an arcani or two at your side, and maybe not even then. Better to stay indoors and out of sight.

"Have we caught the last of the Scipii yet?" asked Sextus, breaking the silence.

"No, paterfamilias. We think they've escaped the city. Our agents saw someone who looked like Decius Macro riding in a carriage to Ostia. Presumably he's escaped to Carthage."

The look on Sextus' face was terrible to behold. "I want that carriage driver, Titus. Question him. Torture him until he gives up everything he knows. I want the Scipii exterminated! Exterminated!"

Titus nodded mutely, and Sextus continued on in a calmer tone of voice. "No such luck with the Julii, I suppose. Just a few minor members of the family who didn't escape in time. Augustus Julius is still in Gaul somewhere, I assume?"

Titus nodded again, and Sextus continued. "And what of the north? Have we taken Patavium yet?"

"Yes, paterfamilias. The Sixth Legion took it two days ago. And Decius Propertius and the Eleventh march on Arretium as we speak. The Fifteenth is sieging Mediolanum. Flavius Cossus and the Eighth are in Capua. They need fresh men before they can march on Ariminum."

Sextus smiled. "Good. See that Flavius gets his men. He did a good job at Capua. Galerius, how are things with the Fifth?"

Galerius was one of those men who were born to command. Even at nineteen, he was one of the best generals Titus had ever seen. Maybe even better than Valerius Annaeus.

"We need time, paterfamilias. We did not lose too many men to the Senate's legion, but we need time to control the rioting in the city. Too much violence, what with the proscriptions." That was brave on his part, talking about the proscriptions like that, but Galerius could get away with it. He had Sextus' favor for the moment.

The paterfamilias of the Brutii nodded and smiled again. "Take what time you need, get a watch organized for Rome. Then I want you on the road. Take Segestica, and get us through the Alps."

Galerius nodded. "It will be as you say, paterfamilias." He saluted, turned on his heel, and left.

Screams punctuated the silence that followed.

It is my honor to report to you the fall of Carthage. Our troops scaled the walls and in bloody hand to hand fighting overcame the defenders. I am glad to report that the soldiers of the Sixteenth Legion fought with the valor common to true Romans, and that Decius Macro and all the remaining Scipii heirs fell in battle.

Your legions are victorious in battle, Dictator, though there remains much to be done. Even as I write, Oppius Hortensius and the Twentieth Legion march on the old Numidian town of Siwa, and both Valerius Annaeus and Titus Brutus hunt down the last of the desert rebels. Sicily is long since ours.

In short then, Dictator, I and the Sixteenth request reassignment from Africa. If I may humbly suggest Julii-held Sardinia? Our fleet and legions await your order.

---Manius Metellus, Commander of the Sixteenth Legion

He's losing his mind, thought Titus. If he ever had it in the first place.

The truth of that was apparent everywhere in Rome. Even nine years after the triumphant march of Galerius Minucius into the city, the proscriptions still continued, and the streets still ran with blood. Less blood now, true, but far too many still found themselves turned in as Julii spies to the arcani.

That will change when I take power, thought Titus. For the good of Rome, I must break the power of the arcani. If only I can survive this. The old man is almost sixty now. He's had the plague. If only I can survive until he dies.

The heir to the Brutii leadership sighed, and turned as he heard a soft scraping from the door. He half drew his blade, then relaxed as he recognized the man who had entered. The man he had come to see.

"Flavius," he nodded. "Welcome back to Rome. If welcome is the right word for these times."

The commander of the Eighth Legion sighed and nodded. "These are hard times, cousin. And a hard war. But we're through."

"Through?" Titus was puzzled.

"Through the Alps, finally. All up and down the line. We've taken Massilia, and when I left the front three days ago the Sixth was preparing to assault Narbo Martius. They'll have taken it by now."

Titus breathed a sigh of relief. That was good news.

"And the north?" he asked.

"Aulus Hortensius and the Fourteenth are sieging Mogontiacum when last I heard. Our German allies have of course done nothing to help relieve their own people." Flavius snorted derisively. "Our Dacian auxilia, on the other hand, have proven most useful. Dodonis of Albis and his cavalry have Trier encircled, and Dnestr is marching through Belgica even now. Samarobriva should be under siege by the end of the year." He paused for a second, continued. "So we're through. The Julii are on the run everywhere. Soon enough we'll find old Augustus Julius, kill him, and bring this whole madness to an end. Soon."

The room lapsed into silence for a moment, and Flavius looked away, looked back at Titus with pain in his eyes. "Galerius is dead."

Titus reeled. Dead? That was very bad. The best general in Gaul? And one of the few sane ones left? Titus had been counting on Galerius, come the day. "How?" he asked aloud.

"Massilia," Flavius laughed humorlessly. "One of those strange twists of Fortune. It was during the last fighting, only a few Julii left, and Galerius of course was in the thick of it. Horse stepped in a hole in the cobbles, and Galerius broke his neck." He shrugged. "So, I'm in charge in Gaul now. I left the Fifth to garrison Massilia. I thought I'd put either Quintis Brutus or Sextus Pupienus in charge when the Nineteenth arrives from Liguria."

Titus thought it over for a second. "Quintis, I think. He's more loyal than Sextus is. But are they truly the only choices we have? There are no other generals?"

"No," replied Flavius. "None at all. Lucius Minucius has the Sixteenth, and my brother Placus has the Fifteenth. Everyone else is dead, fighting the Julii at Massilia."

"Everyone?" Titus replied. "What of Herius Cocceianus? Cornelius Annaeus?"

"Dead, both of them. Both killed defending the river crossings from Julii legions. Crushed them, but both dead in the fighting."

Titus nodded sadly. "The ranks of the good men dwindle, Flavius. We grow few. Measures will need to be taken to safeguard the remaining ones. We cannot afford the losses." He sighed. "But we will have to talk more of it later. The Dictator anxiously awaits your arrival." He gestured to the door. "You first. It is best we are not seen together. He has eyes everywhere."

Flavius Cossus nodded, grasped Titus' hand for a moment, and then was gone.

For Sextus Brutus would never be content with Rome. He wanted the whole world.

But that is a tale for another time.

The Lands of the Brutii, AUC 545

The Lands of the Brutii, AUC 551

The Lands of the Brutii, AUC 556