Res Publica: A Quest of Ancient Rome

[Revan Skirata]

The people on discord told me to post this here in order to try and get Telamon's attention so that he might continue this quest, so sorry about the necro.

Spoiler: To Be Roman

The Battle of Maeander, 84 B.C. ​

You crash to the ground, head throbbing in pain as you fall to your hands and knees. Above you stands a Greek, as large as Herakleo and nearly as strong, tossing aside the axe handle he had broken over your helmet. You had been mid-lunge when the blow connected, which is why the wooden shaft had broken over your head and the iron blade didn't go through it.

"Atellus!" You see Cassianus at the edge of your vision, charging toward you with a handful of legionnaires at his side, "Get up!"

You already know he won't make it in time, with the Greek already drawing his sword.

'I can't do it,' You sigh, eyes closing in acceptance, 'It's too hard. He's just too strong.'

Cingulatus Estate, 89 B.C.​

"Get up Quintus," Your father commanded, "Again."

Lucius Cingulatus Atellus, former legate of the Legio X Hispania Invicta, stood over his son, wooden training sword outstretched.

"I can't fight you Father," You groaned, "It's not fair. You're too strong for me."

It is not a far fight by any comparison. Your father was the primus pilus of the Tenth, the best soldier of a legion that was so formidable as to be named "Unconquerable". You are a fourteen year old boy, untested in any combat and still a child by any standard.

You hear your father sigh as he walks over to squat next to you.

"You are a Roman Quintus," He said, "We have always fought foes too strong for us."

That got your attention, "But Rome is master of the world, conqueror of a hundred kingdoms and destroyer of dozens more. There are none stronger than us."

"There are none stronger than us now, my son," He chastised, "But that was not always the case."

Lucius stood back up and started pacing, something he often did when giving a lecture.

"The Sabines were more established, and the Latins more numerous. Etruria was greater and the Samnites were more stubborn. The Celts of Hispania and Gaul were more ferocious, and the Greeks ruled the mightiest kingdoms in the world. Under Hannibal, Carthage ran circles around Rome in Italia, our own backyard, destroying armies and humiliating the greatest statesmen and generals Rome could produce. Rome has always faced enemies who were mightier, but none who were better than us."

Seeing his son still pouting on the ground, Lucius decided to change tactics.

"Do you know how it is that our ancestor, the first Atellus, came to be Romulus' bodyguard?"

You shake your head, having never heard the story.

"Answer me with your words Quintus, it is unbecoming of a future Roman statesman to respond in such a way."

"No Father."

"I would have figured your mother would have told you, she always did love telling you and your sister the family history," He sighed, his gaze shifting far away for just a moment before refocusing, "Centuries ago, when Rome was just a handful of men following Romulus and Remus across Italia, Atellus was just the son of a merchant, who had chosen to follow the brothers in hopes of furthering his lot in life.

"When the brothers first split when choosing the hill to build their city, he chose to follow Romulus, the more charismatic and martial of the two brothers. When the brothers came into dispute, and Romulus struck down Remus, most of his followers fled for fear of repercussions from the dead man's followers. All except Atellus, who stood with Romulus.

"Atellus was no warrior, and had never been in a fight in his life, but he was not about to forsake the man he had sworn his loyalty to. Together, the two of them stood against Remus' men, and they fought long enough for those who fled to be overcome by shame, and so they returned, and Romulus won the first battle in Rome's history. For his loyalty, Romulus chose to have Atellus at his side at all times, and so he became Romulus' bodyguard.

"The Cingulatii have always fought on in the face of overwhelming odds. We do not fear death, for we know that to dishonor our ancestors and the trust Romulus put into them, would be far worse."

"But why must we still fight Father?" You ask, curiosity and grouchiness getting the better of you, "Have we not already won? Who else is there in the Mediterranean that can match us?"

"That is not the point Quintus," Your father continued, exasperation clear in his voice as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of how to explain further.

"My friend, Quintus Sertorius, who I served with in Hispania and whom you are named for, once told me something that I believe explains it rather nicely," Your father said as he finished pacing and turned to look at you, "He said that 'To be Roman is to fight, so to not fight is to not be Roman.' It is our lot in life Quintus. When the gods gave mankind their gifts, they all chose cities in Greece or Etruria to give them to. All except for mighty Mars, who saw our little town and gave it the mightiest yet most unassuming gift of all.

"The will to fight on. A will so powerful that even after defeat, we can still stand up, dust ourselves off, and then prepare for the next fight, and the fight after that, and the fight after that. If we do not fight, then how can we be Romans? And if we are not Romans, then what is the point of anything we do."

Once again, your father stands up and moves across from you, holding the training sword up again.

"Now," He orders, "Get up Quintus."

The Battle of Maeander, 84 B.C.​

Your eyes fly open as a memory of your father rushes to the forefront of your mind, and you grit your teeth. You pick up a legionnaire's fallen gladius next to you, and rising to one knee, thrust it forward with all of your strength as the Greek's blade begins to descend.

The blade drives straight through the man's knee, and he falls with a roar of anger and pain as his sword falls from his hands. Acting quickly, you grab your own sword that had fallen next to you, and sink it into his side before pulling it out and gripping his head.

"I am Quintus Cingulatus Atellus, Tribune of the Sixth Legion, Blessed by Mars," You hiss at him in Greek, lining your blade up with his throat, "Remember that, and when they ask you in the Underworld who sent you, tell them that name."

You slide your sword into his neck, and stare him in the eyes, "And tell them to expect many more from me."

The basic idea around this is that we don't know a lot about Atellus' dad, so I tried to write him as I imagine him. I made up the story about how the first Atellus became Romulus' bodyguard obviously, and Atellus being named after Sertorious is just my headcanon.

 

[Panory]

Prophecies Are Helpful​

"Okay, so I think we've narrowed it down as much as possible." You say, pacing your room slowly. Rufus sits with a wad of papers on a small stool, watching you decidedly nonplussed.

"You think?" he replies sarcastically. "So far 'Africa's heir' could be referring to Marius or Sulla, who both earned their names in Africa."

"And given the nature of prophecies," you interject. "it would not be impossible for the prophecy to refer to both at once, just to mess with us and be right whichever way the die falls."

"Precisely, it could also refer to literally any descendant of Scipio Africanus, the most relevant being Asiaticus…"

"I would struggle to call him relevant after the public execution Marius delivered."

"…and Cassianus."

"I find it unlikely to be him. He's adopted, and we seem to have hit it off recently. Still…" you trail off.

"We cannot rule out any possibility." says Rufus, finishing the sentence that had been oft repeated during the process of deciphering the Crone's prophecy. He locks eyes with you as he continues down the list and deadpans. "Then there is myself, of course."

"Even less likely than Cassianus in my opinion, but you did conquer Africa's culture by virtue of studying it, meaning you could pass on their legacy by teaching others. If that's not an heir, what is?" you question, defending the passing idea that needed to be added to the list. You could not rule out any possibility.

"Ptolemy."

"A generous reading of a map would place Egypt in Africa, and he is certainly the most heir-like we've encountered." Rufus nods his agreement.

"Lastly, and most specifically, we have literally anybody born in Africa." The last part of the sentence contains all of Rufus' frustration.

"Prophecy often hinges on the little things. We cannot only consider the great men of our era, but the insignificant ones who, by virtue of doing whatever they do in the prophecy, become great men."

"Well, that settles it. I think I know what the prophecy means."

"Really?" Excitement creeps into your query. Leave it to Rufus to deduce something first. That brain of his always was his strongest attribute.

"Yes, I've deduced that this entire thing is a waste of time." Rants Rufus. "It's so vague as to be worthless! We can't even figure out the one person who isn't us referred to directly by an epithet."

"A thought occurs." You pause in dread. "The prophecy does not say 'beware of Africa's heir', merely 'beware Africa's heir'. It may not be a message for us to beware of Africa's heir, but a more general warning that Africa's heir should beware."

"Oh, simply wonderful! We have no clue who this thrice damned prophecy refers to, and now we don't even know what it means in respect to the person we can't identify! I feel like we've made negative progress!"

Rufus airing his grievances is cut short by a knock on the door. Your friend resigns to fuming silently as you open it for the courier, who hands you several packets of documents.

"Rufus, I suspected we two men, unversed in verse, might turn up nothing. To that end, I sent several letters when we first heard the prophecy, consulting the those who might know more of how the future is read."

Understanding dawns on Rufus' face. "You've written to Scaevola! Wonderful! If anyone can decipher this nonsense, it'll be the Pontifex Maximus."

You flick the letter open and dramatically clear your throat. "It pleases me to know that my pupils has done so well for himself…" you trail off, skimming the letter for the reference to the prophecy. You'll read the rest later. "Ah, here we go. The first verse refers to you, my pupils. Until you have earned a new name, you must be wary of Africa's heir, an obvious reference to Marius, who earned his name in the land. However, given the context of the prophecy at large, it is apparent that Marius is not only a threat to you, but to the Republic of Rome itself."

"Does he mention that he wouldn't need a prophecy to tell us that much?" asks Rufus, enjoying his patron's words, even conveyed in written form.

"He does, of course." You laugh. Clearing your throat, you continue. "The she referred to in the rest of the prophecy is primarily Rome, specifically the institutions of the Republic. The second verse addresses the corruption and inefficiency that has been present since the fall of Carthage, brought to the forefront by Marius and his ilk. It further predicts the eventual fall of Rome one thousand and thirty years after it's founding, or three hundred and sixty years from this one."

"A hard date." Says Rufus, awed by how easily Scaevola has made sense of the rhyming stanzas that have perplexed the two of you on and off for months.

"However, this refers not to Rome itself, but the institutions of the Republic and democracy itself. Rome itself will continue on as a shell of its former self, more successful than ever on the outside, but hollow of the ideals and traditions that define it. While the prophecy places the fall of the Republic lifetimes from now, the events are set in motion in today's age. Marius must be stopped if the Republic is to survive. Rome needs Sulla."

"What of the last two verses?" asks Rufus. "We never got past the first, but those ones always seemed the most confusing."

"The last two verses are repetitious. This Crone would make a poor orator." The two of you chuckle at the joke injecting some levity to the dire predictions in the rest of the letter. "It purports that Rome appealed to the an unnamed goddess, likely Cybele given the source of this prophecy, for aid in defeating Carthage. Apparently, the cost for this aid was never paid by Rome, and the fall of the Republic may be averted should we balance the books of this ancient debt. I will inquire as to any offering to Cybele during that time frame, though I suspect the records lost by now."

You drop out of the (absolutely dreadful) Scaevola impression you hadn't recognized that you'd slipped into as you conclude. "He goes on to wish us the best of luck in our endeavors, go Sulla, screw Marius and the like."

Rufus pauses at that last part. "Atellus, it occurs to me that while Scaevola is the most religious man in all of Rome, he is still a man. Is it not possible that his biases cloud his interpretation of the prophecy?"

You smile at Rufus' concern and hold up the second letter. "Unlike you, my dear Rufus, I anticipated such an event when I first sent the letter. Which is why I sent a copy of the prophecy not only to our patron, but to that young priest of Jupiter."

"The one from the Triumph?"

"Exactly. As it turns out, he's Marius' nephew or some such. Regardless of the exact relation, he's decidedly pro-Marius, and we can count on his interpretation to lean in support of Marius. If we put his and Scaevola's together, we should find the truth where they agree and somewhere in the middle of where they differ."

"Should I write to Cicero and tell him to be jealous?" jabs Rufus.

"Hysterical." You deadpan. "Now onto the letter. Dear Atellus, you and I are destined for greatness. Why don't you return to Rome. My sister is attractive and dtf right now."

"Well that sounds like a brilliant idea!" says Rufus as your face contorts in confusion. "Wouldn't you agree, Atellus? Atellus? Atellus?"

XXX
​

"Atellus? For gods' sake man, wake up!" You groan awake to the sound of Rufus.

"Wha happun?" It's hardly intelligible as human speech, but Rufus gets the drift.

"What happened is you and Cassianus drunk yourselves into a stupor last night. I should write Cicero and tell him to be jealous the way you two have been getting along." You chuckle at real Rufus echoing what you are slowly realizing to have been drunken dream Rufus. The act of laughing drives a spear through your skull.

"Ow."

"Honestly, this is pathetic." chides Rufus. "You're obviously in no condition to do anything today, and I suspect Cassianus is no better. I'll keep the legion from falling apart for today. I'll say you two are… devising strategies or some such and don't wish to be disturbed. But you owe me for this."

Your eyelids flutter shut again, but you manage to murmur one last sentiment. "You da bes, Rufus." Then the sweet, sweet void of unconsciousness takes you.


A/N: Rufus is indeed the best. I totally didn't retcon this into a dream sequence because I have no idea what Caesar would write. No sir, not at all.
Bonus:

Spoiler: Scaevola's Fever Dream Letter

TL;DR lol Go Team Sulla! Fight fight fight! Fuck Marius btw

 

[Thyreus]

On Roads to Bovianum

"That must be the sixth broken axle just this week," the stern voice of Tercerus said, "We've been lucky that it's only been six on roads this shit."

Overseeing the road and the supply train that had been forced to take a break on its way to Bovianum, Atellus, Rufus and the old servant Tercerus sat atop horseback on a small hill.

"It's a good thing then that we ordered the carts to take replacement wheels and axles with them," Rufus replied, long having accustumed to the less than flowery way of te talk of the soldiery, "but it costs time everytime, that remains true. Perhaps we should consider rebuilding the path from Beneventum to Bovianum."

"I've given it some thought, but I judge it too risky an endeavour," the third in their midst replied as he studied his men routinely repair the precious cart, laden with grain, "a cohort tasked with repairing roads is a cohort not primed for battle."

Tercerus, quick to understand what his dominus was alluding to, drove his horse forward and came to a halt next to Atellus.

"We can't afford Gemino with a price like that, especially not after he had already made a fool of us when we first came here," Atellus flinched barely noticeably, but the old soldier continued, "least damned thing we need is for more Pentri and other Samnites to foolhardily get ideas that resistance means anything less than burnt cities and either enslavement or shallow graves."

Hearing that Rufus stroked his name appropriate red beard which had started to spread across his face in contemplation, before driving his horse forward, mirroring Tercerus' earlier movement.

"A cohort lost here would be a great loss to us. Not only would the legate be wroth, but he would likely recall us from this assignement. After all, Gemino is but a thorn in his side, whereas Nola is the true price."

Atellus and Tercerus turned their heads to their companion, appreciating the man. The redhaired lawyer might find himself more at home on the battlefields of the courts than of the cohorts, but he showed a willingless to learn, unlike the rest of the tribunes, who brought shame on their office.

"Still, if a cohort working on these roads is vulnerable, why not put up a shield to protect them? With the bandit groups slowly exterminated like the vermin they are, the Gauls have little else to do but to fight Gemino."

"That thought crossed my mind as well, but Gemino and his men are shrewd. They have shown they know these hills better than we do," Atellus sighed as a smile spread across Rufus' face," and we have dead scouts to prove it. I could only sleep soundly if another cohort would watch the first, but-"

"But with all the work we have to do we can't have a cohort worth of men sit on their asses and do nothing but watch their fellows sweat in the sun," the grizzly old men finished the thought for his dominus who nodded.

"At the very least it would not be amiss to ask the architectai what they think how long and how costly it would be to repair the roads, or at least the ones from and to Bovianum for after we pacified these lands."

At hearing of Atellus' idea surprise showed on Rufus' face and even Tercerus raised an eyebrow, but it was the lawyer turned soldier who asked.

"You would ask for help for the Samnites even after they are brought to heel and we leave?"

Now Atellus turned his head, raising an amused eyebrow as he imagined hearing the same slightly cruel and pragmatic streak Rufus had shown in their initial scheming on what to do with Bovianum and the Pentri.

"We came here to bring peace to Italia and bring part of it back into the fold. What good is it to have a burnt husk barely able to pay its taxes and to provide men for war?" he asked, before adding without missing a beat, "Of course we also want them to think fondly of Sertorius and of us. Soon enough the same men who currently chafe under us will be voting in Rome."

"Oho, so enlightened self-interest is guiding your hand. How devious", Rufus added, chuckling at his friend's plans. The friend in question only gave out a quick laugh himself.

"What is good for the Samnites can be good for the country, and of course be good for us."

"Ah, I see that you took Scaevola's few lessons on the administration of a province to heart more than I ever did. I admit, I was always more fond of his judical instructions", he added before shifting his eyes back on to the road below them where the supply train began moving again.

"And you should rejoice that fate willed it so that this campaign takes advantage of your skills in the courtroom," Atellus joked, before growing a bit sterner, "this assignement just shows how much more there is to war than cold steel and warm blood."

"Lucius would always say that roads were the lifelines of the empire," Tercerus added, "in times of war they lead the legions to the battlefields and sieges and in times of peace men cart their goods on them from one market to another."

"Lucius... your father then? Lucius Cingulatus Atellus?" Rufus asked.

Atellus nodded, "My father had built many roads in Hispania where he served his years. Under him the Tenth Legion, Hispania Invicta, and their supplies would travel from one native city to the next on roads they built, and after they conquered those same roads would carry gold and silver, olive oil and settlers to their destinations. In his last days he would always say that what would be left of him would be his name and the roads he built."

Rufus said approvingly, "Every good Roman seeks to leave his mark on this world," at which Atellus felt a bit of mirth welling up.

"Exactly."


----

At some point I should leave the Samnite War, even if the episode at Bovianum has for now been my favourite part of this quest. By the way, I started reading Mike Duncan's "Storm before the Storm" and am listening to his podcast again and I realise that I did Tiberius Gracchus in some ways dirty, in others I held him up on a pedastal a bit. Turns out that history is as always a bit more complicated than that, but that's what makes it fascinating.

On to some real talk, some of you might wonder why I'm not writing something specifically modelled to boost our military exp, with us so close to a huge mechanical bonus. The answer is simple, I don't want to exploit the system. I imagine Telamon is big boy enough to put his foot down when he feels like we are doing so and to limit our exp gains when he feels like we are growing too fast, but it still feels just a little bit dirty to do that. Besides, I kinda just want to write what comes to my mind. Believe it or not, when I wrote the Sullan Meeting and the Fiery Hate I didn't have a skill or stat in mind which I wanted to boost. Even for the first omake I wrote I mostly chose the setting because I thought it would be fun when I mostly just wanted Atellus and Mercator talk about the Sword and Hand speech.

 

[HastyGaming]

I'm not entirely happy with this. But if I don't post it I'll just edit it, and edit it and eventually delete it.

An Omake set in a possible future, one where Atellus realises Pompey might require him to put certain contingencies in place... Just in case.

A Blade Poised​

The view from Crassus' Villa in Capri was perhaps more beautiful, but to you it could never quite measure up to the sight before you now. When, at the conclusion of the war, you had decided it was time to finally purchase a home within Rome itself Sulla's proscriptions – and your service to him – had made it relatively straightforward. And so, alongside your other investments, you had spared no expense on what would come to be your home and secured for yourself a rather impressive property upon the Palatine Hill.

You had spent quite a bit of time selecting the property that would be your home, and amongst the list of requirements one had stood clearly at the top... A great balcony from which you could overlook Rome and the great beauty it held, for your first meeting with Scaevola had long stayed with you.

And so now as you looked over the great expanse of Rome, from its winding and imperfect streets to the Forum to the Temples, from the homes of the lowliest slums to the villas of the great and powerful it instilled in you a great sense that you were home.

Unfortunately, there was one who would see all that you have taken from you.

"Pompey still speaks openly against me?"

Your voice was quiet and measured, musing rather than conversational. Indeed, if anyone else was present they would simply assume you were speaking to yourself.

Proserpina was excellent at her job.

"Yes dominus, you were wise to ask your patron not to bring any pressure to bear on him."

"Indeed," you said with a smile. "I yet know little of intrigue, but it is clear to me that if you give men the freedom to speak against you then they will do so. But force them into silence and they will simply take their conversations to hidden places where those of a like mind dwell and conspiracies are born."

Proserpina stilled for a moment before responding. "You must yet be careful dominus. As I have reported, there are still conversations held behind closed doors."

"There are," you admit. "But they are fewer than they would otherwise be."

You pause briefly, enjoying the wine and the view. "His conversations with the Dictator will not grant him my death, not after all I did, not while I have the backing of Scaevola. And the others… the others are heard by you."

"Do not worry Proserpina." You turn to smile at her. "Continue to do as you have done. As long as his private conversations still make his way to you I am safe."

"Yes dominus."

"Now," you say. "How many of my distant cousins have you found? And will any be of use?"

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

The war against Mithridates had changed and shaped Quintus in ways he could never have imagined. They had also revealed things within the legion that he had never expected. Fate was odd like that.

One of those things was Lucius Domitius, son of Prandus. Prandus, who had fought in Spain in Legio X Hispania Invicta… First alongside, then later under the command of one Lucius Cingulatus Atellus.

And Prandus Domitius had been a fortunate man, with five sons all of whom survived to adulthood. Too many sons for his small farm. And so, some had been forced to seek their fortunes elsewhere, like his third son, Lucius.

Lucius had made his way to Italia where he enlisted in the legions, fighting under Sulla in the Social War before promptly finding himself, and his legion, on garrison duty when their beloved General departed for Greece.

And in time there came new recruits, a new commander, and a new tribune. Quintus Cingulatus, son of Lucius Cingulatus. Atellus, son of Atellus.

Atellus who had given his father glory, riches and a farm to raise his sons on. Atellus who had now given him glory and riches.

Now he stood in the dim light of the legion Barracks and watched as his Tribune, his hero, sat before him, jaw clenched in annoyance.

"It seems he won't stop Lucius, not until I am driven from Rome… or dead."

"I am yours to command, Tribune," you say.

Atellus stilled for a moment before turning to him with a smile. "I know you are Lucius, and I thank you for it."

"I still remember our first meeting Lucius," Atellus said, reminiscing. "I promoted you on the advice of Carcellus, did you know?"

"No Tribune, though I knew it had to be on the advice of another." And it was not a surprise to you, you had never had the honour of meeting the Tribune before your promotion.

Atellus chuckled briefly, "You can speak freely Lucius. I don't need unflinching obedience here."

You relax at the Tribunes words, relaxing and letting your posture settle.

"It caused me trouble I'm sure you know. The legion was split then and I hadn't realised that all the candidates recommended to me were Plebians. It was worth it though, we persevered, came together and you have all proved your worth." Atellus paused for a second, looking back to Lucius. "You above all."

"Thank you, Sir" you said, ignoring his look at your form of address. From him, that meant more to you than most people would ever understand. "The politics, the schemes of the Nobilis… I don't understand them. I'm just a Centurion, a soldier. When I have enemies, I just kill them."

Seated across the room Atellus frowned then took a deep breath before speaking. "I was the same once, I understood nothing of the game – as they think of it – but I have been forced to learn quickly. And as for your suggestion Pompey is well protected, unfortunately, and the blame would fall on me regardless." He slowed towards the end, trailing off.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable and the weight of his gaze more so. His thoughts were inscrutable to you and though the Tribune had said to be at ease in this moment you felt measured like you never had before. Whatever standard he was seeking in you, you refused to fall short.

"Unless… Unless it came from within. Within his own legion."

You still, immediately understanding what he is implying. Another man would stay silent and let the unspoken request pass and let the conversation continue. A less loyal man would weigh the benefits, the possibilities of future rewards against the burden this would be, the cost if you were to fail.

But you are his man, and this needs to be done.

"I could enlist in his legion."

Atellus took a deep breath as he seemed to consider the offer and you relax as you realise you have not misread him.

"You would need to hide your wounds," he said cautiously. "Enlist in the ranks, it would be no small thing to even manage. Much less to get close enough to him that a sword could reach its mark."

"And yet it would be no hardship Tribune, not for you." You answer firmly. "Besides, Hispania is a rough country, the natives are still restless, so my scars will be easily ignored. And my promotion came from ability, I will manage again."

You had just committed yourself to reliving years of struggle you had only just overcome. Reduced pay, and the strict discipline a newly enlisted man faced… And you regretted it not at all.

If you were honest, you had never felt prouder. To be trusted with such a thing was more than you ever imagined.

You looked across to the Tribune and saw sadness in his eyes. A strange thing, you thought, for a man just offered a solution to such a threat. But it did not surprise you that you did not understand. Great men were not easily understood.

"I will never forget this Lucius."

He didn't offer a reward, and you were glad for it. You felt it would have lessened him and you would never wish to see that.

"If I had a legion of men in your image… What place, what army could hope to stop it?"

"Thank you, Tribune."

You were wrong. You could be prouder.

Click to shrink...

Word Count (if it matters) ~1364

 

[Skippy]

Personally, I think we passed into the Doomed Timeline when we decided not to go with Sertorius to Spain and help him, and this is why the Gods have abandoned us.

 

[HastyGaming]

Wisdom in War​

Immersed as you are in your study it is only when the cup of wine is placed before you that you realise Rufus has even entered your quarters. The amused quirk of a smile on his face makes it clear he's quite aware of this.

"It's not like you to be so unaware of your surroundings." Rufus chuckles as he lounges in the seat before you. "What has captured your attention so?"

You lean back in your chair, regarding Rufus for a moment. He is much changed from when you first marched against on Samnium, when the laxness of the scholar held tightly to his frame, and by the end of the campaign he was a changed man. But the pace Marius has set in this conflict with Mithridates has been a step further still, and Rufus has begun to truly hold the appearance of a soldier.

"On our brief return to Rome I perused the writings of Gaius Cornelius Cethegus on the Second Punic War. He was Consul a mere four years after the conflict came to an end and travelled with Scipio Africanus and Marcus Minucius Rufus to mediate the peace between Masinissa and Carthage and seems to have gleaned some insight from Scipio during the journey."

Rufus takes another draught of his wine, perhaps attempting to hide his smile.

He fails. And his raised eyebrows are equally noticeable.

"During our return to Rome, was it?" He smiles. "You're certain this wasn't a more recent interest Atellus? Perhaps brought on by our new friend Cassianus?"

"I am now doing this," you continue – gesturing to the parchment before you – as though he had not spoken. "Because prior to our campaign in Samnium I had been studying the writings of Polybius on the rise of Rome as the preeminent power in the Mediterranean."

"And many would say the Second Punic War was perhaps the single defining moment in the Republics rise," Rufus interjects.

"Yes, exactly."

"And in studying the tactics and strategies of Hannibal and Scipio have you gained the insight you sought?"

"No," you say bluntly.

"No?"

You take a moment to enjoy Rufus' look of puzzlement. You had become well acquainted with it in the early months of your friendship, but it was becoming an increasingly rare expression.

"The tactics and strategies of Hannibal and Scipio are well recorded and studied. Indeed, even I have studied them, my father made sure of it. It is the actions of Fabius that interests me."

"Fabius the delayer?" Rufus questions. "Why would you want to read about his contributions? They're rather self-explanatory, aren't they? He didn't wish to be defeated and so cravenly avoided battle…"

You chuckle. Fabius' reputation had been badly damaged by his actions in the war, although the consequences that had later come from ignoring his strategy had seen him redeemed in the eyes of many.

Rufus it appears was not one such person.

"Quintus Fabius Maximus Verrucosus. Consul, Dictator and I believe a saviour of Rome."

"That," says Rufus. "Is quite an accolade to lay upon one such as he. One that many would not agree with."

You nod in acceptance. He's right of course, there are many people who do not fully appreciate what Fabius achieved, you were among them until quite recently.

"Let me put forward the case for Fabius then."

Rufus grins. "Am I, then, to be the prosecution?"

"By the end of this I hope not. If I cannot even convince you of this then I have erred greatly."

Taking a sip of wine, you allow yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. After all, this is a realisation you've only just grasped; and perhaps still not fully.

"Let me set the stage; Hannibal has marched on Italia, the Battle of Ticius has been lost and the Gauls south of the Alps have gone over to him bolstering his forces substantially.

Sempronius Longus, a Consul of the year, has been recalled from planning his invasion of Africa and sent to dispatch Hannibal, but his eyes are on the coming elections. And so, desperate for swift glory he has been drawn to perhaps the worst possible location for battle and foolishly he has taken it. He may have survived, but of the near 40,000 he led into battle only 10,000 escaped. The rest dead or captured.

Rome is in a panic, with many terrified that Hannibal will suddenly appear before the very walls. The Battle of Trebia is a disaster."

Rufus interrupts you, and you are glad for it as the wine is rather good and now you can enjoy it for a moment.

"Your Oratorical ability continues to serve you well Atellus, even in this."

"History is but a story with dates attached," you retort. "Why should it not be told as compellingly as fiction?"

Ruffus merely hums in agreement, gesturing for you to continue.

"At any rate, Hannibal did not march on Rome instead choosing to rest his men for the winter. And with the new year came new Consuls, who raised new armies and set out to engage and destroy him. The greater of these Consuls – and in saying that I mean only that he was the more popular and influential, not that he had any particular merit – was Gaius Flaminius and he would lead his legions to what would be, for a short time, the greatest military failure of the Roman Republic."

"The Battle of Lake Trasimene." Rufus grimaces.

"Indeed. Although quite fortunately for him," you joke. "It was only the worst failing in the history of the Republic for six months or so until Cannae."

A raised eyebrow is the only reply. Not, it seems, a funny joke. Perhaps not then.

"I'm sure you've studied the battle to some extent. Needless to say Hannibal continued as he had been, by luring yet another Consul and yet another army into the worst possible location for them to give battle."

You pause for a moment. Not for the wine this time, but rather to ensure what came next had the proper impact.

"An entire army," you say. "Killed or captured. Their Consul, whatever little he was worth, falling with them."

This time your pause is for the wine.

It is Rufus this time who breaks the silence, clearly keen to reach the crux of your assertion. In truth you are as well because only in giving voice to it, in defending it, will you be able to confirm you are not mistaken.

"And so we come to Fabius, who you call a saviour of Rome, simply because he avoided defeat. Even against Hannibal, is that such an accomplishment?"

"A touch unfair don't you think Rufus?" You ask lightly.

There's a small smile of amusement in place as he replies. You think he might be starting to enjoy this, but then as much as he has improved as a soldier Rufus is still at heart a scholar.

"You've yet to convince me of that."

"I'd best get to it then," you retort.

"As you say, militarily Fabius undertook a strategy of 'avoiding battle', or rather avoiding battle unless he could determine the time and place of battle. He choose instead to skirmish with his outriders and strike Hannibal's supply lines. This matters because it was now quite clear – or should have been – that Hannibal was exceptionally skilled at goading his enemy into taking a battle at a disadvantageous location."

"That's true," admits Rufus slowly.

"And so Fabius denied him this until he finally trapped him in Campania."

"And let him escape."

You chuckle quietly at the interruption. Rufus is being drawn into this little discussion; you can almost see him sobering before your eyes as he becomes more engaged.

"Yes, he did," you start. "But here we reach the crux of the matter. The state of Rome before Fabius was that of sheer terror and panic, hence his appointment as Dictator, and we know what happened next don't we?"

Rufus looks slightly quizzical, many things happened next and he's clearly trying to decide what exactly you're referring too. In the end you let the silence stretch, giving Rufus time to think.

Eventually, though, you take pity on him and give him a prompt.

"The election."

"Ah!" He exclaims, jumping slightly in his seat. "Varro then, not the elevation of Minucius?"

"Exactly Rufus. While the elevation of Minucius to co-dictator and his immediate defeat in battle does serve as an interesting point – and beyond that is a constitutional curiosity – it is the following years' election that is important.

Rome went, over the course of a year, from feeling that the time of Rome was over to electing a populist demagogue who advocated an aggressive strategy utilising overwhelming force against an enemy who had destroyed one army after another. That is the key."

This is what you have come to realise. Fabius' strategy wasn't just one to counter Hannibal militarily and deny him the pitched battle he sought, but also a strategy to counter him politically! Although admittedly, the election of Varro was surely not his intent.

Before you, you can see Rufus' mind whirling, now perched on the edge of his chair rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"The mob is… volatile Atellus, this has always been true," Rufus murmurs. "Varro seized on Fabius' inaction and whipped them into a frenzy to gain power in the election. What more is there to it?"

"The fact that he could Rufus!" You enthuse. "The legions are the strength of Rome, the best-trained fighting force in all the world. But even the greatest soldier cannot win a battle if he walks into it expecting to lose!"

A quick swig of wine soothes your parched throat before you continue quickly.

"The Fabian strategy was not simply to deny Hannibal battle, and thus victory, but also to rebuild the morale and confidence of all of Rome," you begin excitedly. "You must remember Rufus, Rome had received one blow after another and like a gladiator who had taken strike after strike to the head, it was dazed and confused. The soldiers in the legions and the people of Rome had come to expect defeat!"

Immediately Rufus understood, though he didn't quite look convinced.

"That is not…. Unreasonable," he admits.

"Defeat, defeat, defeat… and then suddenly 'this territory has been recovered', 'such and such a town has been retaken' and on and on. That each place had only just been subjugated by Hannibal a month or so before was not reported. That Fabius was, in essence, following Hannibal around Italia and liberating what he had just conquered once he moved on was not reported. For a year all the people of Rome knew was that they had an army in the field that Hannibal had not destroyed and that while Dictator was avoiding battle – cravenly in their view – he had made one small gain after another."

"Fabius," you conclude with a flourish, "undertook the difficult and yet absolutely necessary task of rebuilding the confidence and self-belief of Rome. And even though in doing so he made Rome confident enough to elect Varro, and his foolishness at Cannae almost ended Rome itself, if he had not done this then Hannibal may very well have triumphed."

Silence reigns in your room with both of you content to be alone – together – with your thoughts.

This was something you had begun to grasp in Samnium, that a strategy in war might require a political victory to enable a military victory. But you hadn't considered that the political component might be aimed at your own people, or even your own legion. That you might have to convince them the victory you sought was even possible before you could pursue it!

It was almost anathema to you as a Roman, that victory might not be possible.

Victory was not just a possibility in all situations, it was expected! Even here, in a foreign land with your people at home divided, and under a commander who might prefer you be dead due to your connections you had no doubt Rome would emerge victorious in this conflict.

Rome was victorious. Always.

Fabius might not have saved Rome by destroying its enemy. But he was the reason that Rome was in a position to be saved in the manner most people would view 'saving'.

"Atellus, forever doing your duty."

You quirk an eyebrow at Rufus in question.

"To guide and educate your fellow Tribune of course!"

Letting out a bark of laughter you slump back in your chair and smile, basking in the simple joy of a having convinced another through the power of your argument. Even here, where you were not challenged, it is a pleasant feeling.

War you are beginning to see, requires a broader gaze than you imagined. And greater wisdom than knowing what to do when battle is joined.

Well you've always been the thoughtful sort.

Wisdom in war it is.

Click to shrink...

Word Count ~2148

I was doing some reading on the Second Punic War at the time and it inspired this I wrote this (and a second omake I'll post in a minute). I didn't want to necro the thread since it had been inactive for so long so I PMd it to Telamon in the hopes it might inspire an update... no such luck, unfortunately. But I'm happy to post it now and I hope at least a few of you enjoy it.