Screams filled the air. The raging destruction of fire shone through the walls of the tent. The sound of metal striking metal—striking flesh surrounded them. A woman curled her body around her only child of barely a year. The tent flaps flew open, revealing a man dressed in crimson, a blade at his side, blood dripping from it. She screamed, backing herself as far into a corner as she could, the baby still tucked against her. He approached, speaking at her in a language she could not understand. As he reached for her, she swung out at him, striking his arm with a small knife, the only defense she had. Enraged, he attacked
As the fires died down and the surviving tribals were corralled to determine their fate, the feint cry of a baby met the ears of the Malpais Legate. He walked away from the profligates, leaving the executions to Caesar who only glanced at him, before beheading an elder of the tribe. The cheers of legionnaires floated behind him as he walked through the wreckage of the village until he came upon a collapsed tent, the crying growing louder. Upon lifting the tattered remains out of the way, he was met with the source of the cries. A small baby, soaked in blood, screaming at the top of its lungs laid before him. He reached for it, unsure as to what he would do, but unable to leave it. A hand shot out from under the remaining wreckage, circling around his arm weakly. He pulled back, the arm falling limp over the baby, leaving blood streaked over his already tainted skin. He pulled the tent back further to reveal a woman, her body draped over a dead recruit with a knife in his chest. She looked up at him, shallow breaths barely quaking her form, her lips moving. The Legate knelled down, studying her for a moment as she tried to speak before lowering his ear to her, too curious for his own good. It was not entirely clear, but it was a language he had heard when he was still a Follower. Among the repetition, he could only make out "Not girl. Not slave." The rest lost among the crying. He sat back, staring down at the determination in her eyes. With speed he did not anticipate, she pulled the knife out of the recruit and brought it down upon the baby. The blade glanced off of his bracer as he blocked it, causing it to only score the upper arm of the infant. Ripping the blade out of her hand, he moved to bring it down on her, only to stop mid strike. She was no longer breathing, her eyes vacant, the determination and life no longer present. He dropped the knife and picked up the child before standing. As soon as he cradled it against his chest, the crying stopped. With a wipe of his thumb, he cleared the blood from around the cut to see that it was only superficial and would not require care. He unwound the blood soaked swaddle that still wrapped around its lower body. It was a girl. He looked around him, making sure there were no witnesses before tearing a strip of fabric from his tunic and wrapping it around her.
He returned to Caesar. The executions had been complete, the broken people tied in a line, ready to march with the remaining livestock. Only a single child, no older than three stood among the survivors—or rather, at Caesar's side. He raised his eyebrow at Caesar, aware that he looked equally perplexing holding an infant.
I feel it's time I had a son. My wife has bore me nothing and my concubine has given me only girls. What am I to do with a gaggle of priestesses?" Caesar said with a smile. "This one, here" he started, ruffling the unruly black locks of the boy's hair "was quite elusive. He hid among the animals, not fighting, but not running away when I found him." The boy looked up at the Legate, his unsettling blue eyes locking with his. "Am I to assume you've done the same?" Caesar questioned, a smile still gracing his face as he looked at the bundle in his arms. The Legate stared down at the baby cradled in the crook of his elbow, only then realizing how natural it felt to hold her. Her eyes were closed, as she slept quietly in his arms.
"Yes," he found himself saying. "I believe Mars himself has blessed me with finding what I myself cannot have. A child born from blood and victory", he said loud enough for the masses to hear, to hopefully justify his decision among their lies. "I will call him Maximus."