Note from Kanuro5: I planned to had this chapter come out a week ago, but...not going to lie, I procrastinated...I need to get better at that lol. But in all seriousness, I enjoyed writing this chapter and especially the back and forth banter that you'll see the characters exchange with one another. At the time of this chapter, it is the holiday season! So Happy Holidays to everyone reading to all over the world!

XXXVIII

Quid Pro Quo

Romulus was bucking against his restraints with fierce neighing. The horse was tied to a spear outside Samarobriva, and a fatally wounded Briton crawled towards the horse and fiercely grabbed its leg, trying with all of his failing might to mount the horse. The Briton began begging the horse to take him away, but the man was squeezing too hard on the ankle, working Romulus into a panicked frenzy. The stallion reared on its hind legs, shaking the dying man's grip off of him. The Briton said a few words and died from his wounds. Romulus continued to buck as if filled with a spirit of madness.

But the stallion suddenly began to calm. It took notice of him approaching. A gentle left hand brushed against Romulus' side, the deep scar on the palm of the hand provided a sense of security for the stallion.

"See, Romulus? I told you I would come back for you." Romulus snorted gently, bringing his head to his master's face.

Vitus undid the reins he had tied to the spear and lead Romulus into the settlement on foot.

Without urgency and chaos flowing around them, he believed it would be more comfortable for Romulus to venture into the corpse-riddled village. Vitus pulled his horse through an opening of the village walls where the numbers of corpses were thin. With each clomp of a hoof, Romulus was awkwardly moving on top of stiffened cadavers of barbarians and Romans. To the side of them, Vitus nodded at Romans and Thracians who were picking up and separating the wounded from the dead. The dead Romans were aligned neatly in rows of ten, whilst the dead barbarians were left where they were.

Romulus was whinnying softly. Vitus stroked his mount's head as he walked past the dead from the Chosen Swordsmen assault, "I know, Romulus. I know. I'm glad you missed this butchery." Vitus' eyes fell on a decapitated Swordsman head, whose eyes were rolled in the back of his skull; only exposing snow white eyes from the sockets with his mouth agape.

Vitus had reached the top of the incline at the center of Samarobriva which provided a vantage point of Samarobriva and its surroundings. His eyes followed the details of the dead that surrounded the village. The only colors that diluted the pure white snow within the settlement were the colors of red, purple, blue, green, and black. Red, for the Julii soldiers who died, their scattered equipment, and the blood from all the men who perished which dyed the whiteness of the snow. Purple, for the Senatorial soldiers and their equipment that fell in battle. Blue, for the painted Britons who littered the settlement. Green, for the Gauls covering the entrance of the settlement who were decimated by the Senatorial legionaries. And black, for the huts and trees that once covered Samarobriva but were now burned to cinders and were emitting white smoke into the gray sky. This…was what we were fighting for?

"It still baffles the mind that this shithole was what we had fought so dearly for, isn't it?"

Vitus recognized his brother's voice as he tied Romulus to a fence post. "A quote that history has ushered many times I'm sure, Proculus."

Proculus came behind his brother and examined the settlement from the high vantage point as well. Vitus noticed the black grime and blood that coated his face and armor from the battle; Vitus only assumed that he as well was coated by the marks of war as Proculus was. His own hands were slicked with sweat and blood, as he made a fist, the fluids stuck to his flesh.

"I'm glad you came to our aid, Proculus. Every single man counted in this fight."

"I'm glad I survived, brother...when others could not." His eyes trailed to the roaming legionaries of the Twenty-Eighth moving throughout the village fetching their wounded comrades. "62…"

"All of those men, just for this," he whispered, picking up the soft snow on the ground.

"Vitus, I'm glad I was able to arrive when I could to aid you."

Vitus turned around, "If not for you, those chariots would have destroyed us."

"That was nothing…but Vitus, he was over by the chariots and onagers. I saw him."

"You did?"

"Indeed. I fought him, and I had wounded him gravely. I'm sure of it."

"But you did not kill him?"

Proculus sneered, "The snake escaped."

"…Fuck…"

"A sentiment most shared." With his blood-dried fingers, Proculus felt the wounds on his face that his traitorous bodyguard gave him. "I swore that I would hunt him down to the ends of the world."

Vitus looked towards the white hills that surrounded Samarobriva, "Where do you believe he fled to?"

"I cannot say, but I shall find him…I shall."

And I hope once you find him, you make him suffer, Proculus…

"So this is where you two are."

Marcus Maxentius. Vitus turned around and the first thing he noticed of the Praetor was his wavy blond hair that somehow stood out with the white surroundings of snow that painted the settlement. He had wiped his face clean from the blood and grime of battle. He wore large bags under his eyes, the whites of his eyeballs were bloodshot from insurmountable levels of stress he must have succumbed to during this siege. Actually, now that Vitus thought about it, he looked like he aged ten years since last he remembered Marcus.

It had been three years since the brothers last saw Marcus. The day of Proculus' wedding to Marcus' cousin, Appia Maxentius. The wedding itself took place in Rome on the Palatine Hill, the center of Rome. Marcus was there, still claiming the position of Praetor; and so was Caius Maxentius—Appia's father and future Consul. Among the guests were the Heads and Heirs of the Scipii and Brutii clans, various senators and patricians from all corners of the Republic. After Proculus and Appia exchanged their vows and were attended to by their guests, Marcus made his way towards the bride and hugged her fiercely, wishing her the happiest and fruitfulness of marriages. Was it that long ago that the world had seemed so right?

"What is it, Marcus?"

"Proculus, Vitus. I…allow me to extend condolences upon your father. He was a True Roman, a titan of might that stood above all. A force of nature that trumped all obstacles. His premature exiting of this world, was non-deserving."

"Indeed it wasn't, but gratitude for your words, Marcus."

Vitus asked, "How did you hear of his death?"

"I spoke to your Primus Pilus, he informed me of your…perilous journey to this damn settlement."

Proculus chuckled darkly with a roll of his eyes, "A thrilling tale that the youths of Rome shall echo for all eternity…" His chuckling ceased, he spat on the ground. "And here we stand on the ground that over 50,000 men have died for. And the result? Well…hammered shit looks more appealing than this forsaken heap."

The eyes of Vitus were shut partly between his eyelids; all wonder had died away as he looked at the Praetor, "Marcus, just what happened here?"

Marcus hands uncorked the cap from his pouch of wine, and drank. He sighed as he placed the pouch away, his eyes were despondent as his mind raced backwards in time, "Everything. Everything had happened…

"Proculus, Vitus, this campaign was made on a…delicate matter. The Senate chose to seek who could lead such an undertaking of capturing a barbarian stronghold; and with Sulla fighting Mithridates, my uncle Caius advocated for me to take charge. After my victories against brigands, pirates and a Germanic warband that numbered 5,000 warriors, I was a qualified candidate. Everyone cheered for me, and I accepted, I pledged to them that I shall return with a settlement in hand. For Rome."

Vitus grunted, Proculus sighed. The brothers both thought, For Rome? Or for the Senate?

Marcus walked towards the edge of the incline where the Twenty-Eighth fought the Chosen Swordsmen and sat on a stool, the brothers followed him. Marcus stared out into the white wasteland of the north, the red, blue, and green cladded-bodies that littered the pristine white snow outside the settlement. Then his eyes wandered to the sky, as if trying to peer into the heavens for the truth. He continued:

"And so they gave me all five legions of the Senate. Five! I was a Praetor and I commanded five legions! Such was a glorious day it seemed." Marcus shook his head; his voice was suddenly soft, "Such a glorious day, the people of Rome cheered for us as we left the city. And so we marched. For weeks, for months; we marched. Each day I felt the weight of the Senate upon my shoulders, their expectations, the name of the House of the Maxentii would hang in prestigious light or shameful shade if I succeeded or failed.

"And so we crossed the Roman-Gallic border, it was the middle of summer when we crossed and the beginning of autumn as we reached Samarobriva. My men only made sporadic skirmishes with the Gauls no larger than 20 men occasionally, but no sizeable force. That was until we reached the city, and behold unto the number of 12,000 Gauls standing up in arms inside this very village."

The brothers looked around this desolate settlement, their eyes widen at the revelation of a true army inhabiting this place. Marcus tracked their eyes and laughed, "I'm aware, hard to fathom that 12,000 men could reside here, but sure enough they were all here. We set up a siege, and for a year we sat here." The smile ran away from the Praetor's face, "For a year we sat, our greatest enemy was the winter…and boredom.

"It would take us a full year to make the proper siege weapons to bring these walls down. Hmm…oh yes, these weak flimsy walls you see before you were once strong and formidable. Not stone but solid palisades of oak that could stop a charging elephant. Yes, these walls were strong once, as were we. The winter was hard, about 120 men perished in the frost; yet we persevered into the spring and we were waiting for our siege crafts to finish. Upon completion, we attacked."

A shake. Vitus picked up Marcus' hand shaking. It seemed that Marcus was unware, his focus was out in the horizon. The hand continued to shake as he spoke, "So many…so many bodies…I believe that entire front gate was drenched in blood. The battle was… ruthless, but we won. As I stood in the square, realizing we captured the last Gallic settlement, I felt like…a king! I felt true greatness. I felt like I conquered the sun…and then storm clouds came and eclipsed the warming light…

"Moments after we defeated Segovax, the king somehow slinked out of the settlement and the armies of Germanians and Britons immediately surrounded us. I shudder to ponder what would occur if we delayed the assault, we would have been caught in the middle of three armies, and most certainly destroyed. We fought to escape out of the city, but the barbarians beat us back, slaying a great many of us. And thus…began our imprisonment within our own objective."

"What of the Gauls that resided in this village?" Vitus questioned, "There were dozens of huts here before they burned. What of the Gallic civilians?"

"Oh, we enslaved them upon our victory. As we were besieged, the women, children, and elderly of Samarobriva were besieged with us as well with no chance of escape. I gave the women to my men to keep morale high, I had the elderly tend to our food and care, and the children as amusement of all sorts. If we were to be trapped, than we would be trapped with entertainment. I believed such an idea clever, but such would prove a most costly folly…

"After the first month of being besieged, the Germanians launched an attack on us, but we fought them back, they tore down a wall but we held them around the gate. We inflicted a good number of casualties, and received moderate numbers on our own. As is custom, we burn the dead. But there existed so little wood for all the bodies to burn, if we had cut down all the wood in this settlement, it would not have been enough. So we buried the bodies that we could deep below the earth, b-but I guess we weren't quick enough. Though it was cold, disease began to spread from the corpses and the first ones that were targeted were the Gallic citizens. It took fast and killed quicker. After three weeks, I lost 2,000 legionaries to disease…j-just to disease…" Marcus took a giant swig of wine before continuing, "After that, none of us would go near the citizens, we quarantined the infected into the huts and set the huts aflame with them aside. It worked, but not without consequences.

"Their screams were haunting, th-the babies were squalling, the mothers' screeches were deafening, some were pushing their children through openings of the hut just to escape the flame—pleading for us to take the children from such a fiery fate. Our archers shot arrows into the children's bodies. Those citizens who were not infected, those fucking savages, they all threw rocks at us and glared with the menaces of the Gorgon. We already knew they hated us for taking their home and their people, but now they were absolutely mutinous.

"We killed those who threw stones at us, even the children; all to set an example. But it only increased their resolve. Soldiers who forced themselves on the Gallic women were found the next morning with their throats slit. Several elderly Gauls were caught poisoning our food rations. It ultimately culminated into the Bloody Ides."

Vitus repeated softly, "You said, 'The Bloody Ides'?"

"Yes. It was late one night on the 13th day of the month, we kept an armory for the weapons of our dead comrades. The armory was guarded, but somehow several Gallic citizens slit the guardsmen's throats in the night and stole most of the cache. I would not find out into the morning that on that night, several citizens with farming tools began sabotaging our palisade walls. They dug the dirt out from the inside of the settlement and made a small tunnel for a band of Gallic infiltrators to pass through our walls in the night. Around a hundred of them. And these Gauls are known as Night Raiders…there name speaks for themselves. With the Night Raiders in Samarobriva without us knowing and with the Gallic citizens armed with our weapons, they moved quietly in the night, dodging and killing patrols and slicing the throats of the men on guard duty. When a legionary went to investigate the absent guards or a moving shadow, they were silently killed by the Raiders who hid within the shadows."

Marcus spat up some phlegm, "Fucking savages. It was fucking…" Marcus threw his pouch to the snow and stood to his feet, "Those fuckers…they kept going until the break of dawn, when one legionary managed to spot them and alert us. We fought all of them until noon. We lost about 200 men in one night. Two hundred! How the fuck is that even possible?! They were so silent, and we were so tired and succumbed to complacent routine, they were able to kill two hundred legionaries from night to noon. But we killed them, and the citizens who armed themselves. After the insurrectionists were killed, only 115 Gallic citizens remained in this village. Only those barbarian shits survived."

Vitus looked around the village, not a soul of a villager to hear. He turned to the Praetor, his voice was gruff, yet a twinge of sullenness could be heard. "And you exterminated them?"

"Man, woman, and child."

The brothers said nothing. Marcus continued without a bat of an eye, "We were furious for what occurred. Every last one of them were killed. And we strung their bodies up on the palisades so the barbarians would know what happens. It was so quiet after…so quiet."

"By the Gods…what a tale," Vitus couldn't help say.

"Wait. You're by the channel, you can see the Isle of the Britons from here…" the wheels of Proculus' mind began to turn. "If you were this close to the sea, why couldn't you summon a ship to escape?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow and leered at the young man, "How do you suppose my messenger came to Rome if we surrounded?"

"I…don't understand."

"Before I left Rome, the Senate allowed me to depart with some of the treasury in order to purchase stock or mercenaries. Once we captured Samarobriva and were immediately besieged, I had an emissary scour the coast lands for mercenary sails. Yet no bands of mercenaries were available to hire, but the emissary did find sailors of…ill repute. Such was when I hired…Cilicians…"

"Cilicians?!" Vitus couldn't help but exclaim, his eyes growing wide at the very thought of Cilicians and Romans working together.

Proculus looked to the sky and unearthed a dark laughter, "You mean to tell me that the Senate allied with pirates?"

"We are not allied with them!" Marcus snapped, his face a foot away from Proculus'. Proculus' laughter slowly died away.

Vitus was still in shock from the news, "But the Cilician pirates plague the Mediterranean, why are they so far north?"

"The pirates smuggle, raid, and kidnap across all bodies of water, and even have plagued the Roman ports of Gallia once your father had conquered the land. As vast as the ocean is, the pirates are a scourge. For these pirates that I hired, the Mediterranean is so concentrated with other pirates and the Roman navy that they couldn't carry out their illegal activity, so they sailed north.

"I told the pirate leader I needed him to return with enough ships to be able to carry at least 7,000 legionaries immediately out of Samarobriva if we had to evacuate. The pirate laughed, but upon seeing the chest of gold from the treasury of Rome, he complied. I gave him a third of the chest and promised the sum upon his return with the ships with the inclusion of a formal pardon for his pirating. I wrote the message to the Senate and sent my messenger on board, telling the pirate to sail him to close as Rome as possible. He vowed to return with more ships. Since pirates cannot dock anywhere near Italia, I told him to smuggle the messenger to a port city away from the peninsula and have the messenger ride to Rome. The rest…well, seeing as you are here means the pirate held up his end of the bargain."

"How long did he say he will return?"

"He gave estimate of two to three months. Today marks the third month."

"Truly? Does that mean he may…"

"I do not know…the months have passed and I hope he comes around today. Stranger things have occurred on this campaign. If the gods are truly watching over us, then he shall arrive soon."

"And I hope he didn't sail off with your denarii," Vitus stated with a crossing of the arms.

Marcus looked back at him, "I am of the same accord. Know that such an act was made out of desperation."

"We understand, but…what is honor to the dishonest?" Proculus said as he took a drink from his wine pouch.

Vitus noticed the Praetor giving Proculus a sideways stare, "Such can be said of many a man."

"But for what purpose did you choose to remain here in this village? You could've sailed with the pirates back to Rome."

"And leave my men here? I think not, Vitus. I shall not live in relief as my men die in distress. I am a better man than that."

Such an answer brought a proud smile to Vitus. For all his faults, he does care for his men and does not dishonor them.

"Also…" Proculus added on as he looked at Marcus, "It would be too much of a risk, correct? Even if you had some men to escort you, a Roman Praetor sailing on a ship surrounded by a pirate fleet? A valuable hostage to be sure."

Marcus slowly nodded, not taking his sight off the elder brother. "That was a factor as well. It would not look…appropriate for a Praetor to solely be on a pirate ship.."

"You spoke of the Senate assigning this mission for, 'delicate matters', to what do they pertain?"

"I cannot answer that."

"For what purpose?"

"It is of the Senate to know, it's not your concern, Proculus."

Proculus jumped in front of Maxentius, his face was scrunched and his white teeth showed, "What?! It is our concern, Marcus! Our Father died venturing out here, our Legion was practically wiped out just to rescue you! We have suffered loss of the highest number, and we deserve to know truth behind this expedition of yours!"

Marcus' face snarled in aggression, "You lost 6,000 men; while I lost 25,000 men. Do not dare lecture me about losses."

"And we lost our father."

"And such sacrifice is appreciated but still—"

" 'Appreciated' you say? The correct term should be revered, damn it! What the Twenty-Eighth have accomplished should be revered all throughout the Republic. With fewer men than your legions, we have accomplished more than you have. You should have left barbarian slaying to the Roman clan that knows such an occupation best!"

This is turning ugly…Vitus thought. He got in between the two and asked the Praetor,"Instead of sending a message straight to Rome, you should have sent it to us in Alesia. Actually, you avoided Alesia in your march to the North altogether…why? Why did you march around Alesia instead of going through us and receiving help from our Father?"

Marcus sipped on his wine and kept his eyes to the ground.

Proculus' mouth opened slowly, forming a wicked half-smile. "Ohhhh, that is the reason." He turned to his brother, "Because this mission was 'delicate', Vitus. Father spoke of this, how the Three Families are growing more popular with the plebeians, as the Senate's popularity…dwindles. So you believe this would earn their favor back, showing you are just as great as the Three Families? And when you needed aid, you went for your own instead of seeking our Father's help who was closer. You needed to prove the Senate was just as strong as the Three Families. And look where such arrogance got you…"

Marcus walked closer to him; his voice was sharp as steel, "I do not appreciate that tone, Proculus…"

Proculus moved closer, "No, I imagine you don't, Marcus."

"You tread dangerously with that Julii pride of yours. I am a Praetor of Rome and you shall address me with respect."

"So you deny it?"

"I shall not be interrogated by the likes of you on the manners of the Senate!"

"That must be the reason, right? So tell me, "Praetor", how much danger have you treaded on for the sole basis of your Senate pride?"

"Back. Away. From me. Now."

"…Uh, Generals, is this a bad time?"

Vitus was relieved to hear the voice of Cossutius. Proculus' and Marcus' scowls faded as the Primus Pilus announced himself, yet their dark eyes did not stray away from each other.

"What is it, Cossutius?"

"Generals…I have news of the Tribune."

"How is Antonius?"

"…He's…he died from his wounds."

The brothers' eyes trailed to the ground, the air in their lungs escaped them.

Cossutius continued, "Would you desire to see him?"

Proculus raised his head; his voice trembled, "Yes."

With heavy feet, they followed the Primus Pilus to the body of Gnaeus Antonius. He had been laid on a crimson cape which emphasized a more dignified death than he succumbed to. His olive skin was drained of its color and he laid a pasty husk of his former self. The contours of the axe wound in his chest were drenched with blood, as if they were lips covered in red lipstick. His bushy blackened beard highlighted the smallness of his pursed lips that were coated with blood.

Strangely, he looked at peace. With his eyes closed, he looked as if he was only napping at the moment, ready to awake at a moment's notice to fulfil his duties. Yet his duties had been finalized, Vitus figured, he had advised the brothers to the best of his abilities and died on the battlefield with honor.

The first to speak was Vitus, his mind flashing back to their training throughout the Governor's Palace in Alesia. His voice was fragile, "You are with our father now, Antonius. We have lived because you trained us to live. I shall never forget what you have done for me, Antonius. May you find peace and joy in the afterlife. Gratitude…for all that you gave us."

Vitus could see his brother's clenched fist shaking.

"I…I had always hated him, Vitus. H-He always told me that I would never amount to anything. I hated him for that…because he spoke the truth...if I had continued—" Proculus could still hear the Tribune's words from last night, "I'm proud of the man you've become." "He saw the talent I squandered, and he continually jabbed at me to fix these egregious errors of mine with that sharp tongue of his…" I'm proud of the man you've become. Proculus could not control his quaking, "For years I desired such blistering tongue to cool, only to long for it to scorch my ear once more…" I'm proud of the man you've become. Proculus could feel a tear streaming down his cheek. "Antonius…I—"

Ligadis appeared from behind them, "Vitus…Proculus…"

The brothers turned, Vitus spoke, "What is it, Ligadis?"

"Apologies to interrupt the mourning for Antonius…but it is Oroles…come with me, he requests you both."

Vitus' face lighted up, he stuttered in disbelief, "Such was quick…is he recovering…?"

"No…he's worsen, he yet clings to this world by a thread…the medicus believes it may happen…any moment now. Please, come with me now."

Weak.

He was so weak.

The whites of his eyes were strained red, and dried blood had caked his mouth. His crimson hair and beard were the only shades of cover on his face; his flesh had been stricken with paleness. He gave off a wheeze with each labored breath he took. The beige blanket that was used to keep Oroles warm was now dyed in a blackish-red hue from the wound in his chest. Vitus kneeled by his side, Proculus was standing over him. The remaining Thracians circled around their expiring leader.

Oroles' head listed lazily over to the brothers. A smile rose on the Thracian's mouth, "You two yet live…wonderf—" a strong fit of coughing hit him, followed by a wheeze, "—wonderful."

Vitus sucked his teeth. "Do not speak! You'll—"

Oroles' smile was still intact, " 'Die?' Too late for that." Oroles coughed harder.

Vitus could feel himself tremble, "Oroles…I…words cannot even form…I don't—"

"Vitus…do not shed your tears. That shall not save me." He turned to his kinsman, "Ligadis…h-how many of our men survived."

"We…only ten of us, Oroles."

The answer brought an anguished pain to the dying man; it seemed that a tear was welling up in the corner of his eyes. "I see…the dead are f-finally with their loved ones, that is th-their measure of peace…"

"And you shall find yours by their side, Oroles."

Don't say that! Oroles is going to…he's going…Vitus was fighting back sobs, …he's going to die…

Vitus bowed his head, "Oroles, I can only say…gratitude…for everything you did for me…I…I…"

"I'm proud of what you have become, Vitus. In this long…journey of ours, you've been as a son to me…you've shed the shell over my heart, I once harbored nothing but bitterness to Rome…b-but you, you changed me. G-Gratitude." Oroles' eyes lazily moved over to Proculus standing over him. "And you…Proculus, I've spent too much effort shaping you…into a man of proper worth…do not slack in your training…when I've passed. Watch over your brother as you always have…family is your duty."

"I…understand," Proculus said lowly.

His eyes left the brothers, focusing on the sky above him, "Indeed. Family is…your duty. Lessons I have longed ignored, and have reaped such consequences… But now I shall finally hear my name called by my loving sister, my brother, my father and mother. I shall finally return to them…I shall finally…return home."

Oroles' left hand was shaking, Vitus gripped it and held it dearly. Once again, Oroles' eyes fell onto the brothers, blood slowly poured down the side of his mouth. "V-Vitus…P-Proculus, do you two r-recall my words…about r-regret?"

"I r-recall," Vitus said with a trembling voice, fighting back tears, "You said, 'Make sure not one regret stays in your mind'."

"Indeed…un-unfortunately, I st-still holding many regrets…but on the day I told you of my p-p-past…I mentioned I freed myself of a single regret…"

"And what was that regret, Oroles?"

The strength in Oroles grip was fading, his voice grew softer, and the light in his eyes began to dim. His mouth opened and an air of words exited, "Th-That I shall die without bettering you two…"

The brothers witnessed the corner of his mouth lift into a fragile smirk. He gave two hard coughs, followed by two softer coughs. His eyes tracked the shifting clouds in the sky. His trembling ceased. The Getae Prince had breathed his last.

Vitus buried his face into Oroles' armor; his muffled weeping could be heard. Proculus felt his jaw quivering. He feel wetness in his eyes, but he steeled himself; gripping the hilt of his sheathed sword to fight back this outpour of emotions. He placed a soft, comforting hand on his brother's shoulder.

Ligadis knelt beside his most fallen captain and spoke in his native tongue to the corpse. To Proculus, it sounded as if it were parting words from one friend to another, and a prayer at the end. Ligadis leaned over and kissed Oroles' forehead.

"You shall never be forgotten, Oroles."

"Never…" mumbled Vitus through bitter tears.

"Apologies…Proculus…"

The elder Julius turned around at the beckoning of Marcus, "What is it, Marcus?"

"My medicus informs me that Lugotorix's condition has been stabilized. If you and your brother are…finished, let us speak to this barbarian king."

Proculus looked down at the grieving form of Vitus and said to the Praetor, "Give us moment. We shall join you shortly."

The three Roman aristocrats made their way to the last intact hut in Samarobriva. The hut itself was actually a Meeting Hall where the chief of the village would stay with his family, it was large enough to fit the family's living quarters and a wooden table where the warriors could sit with one another and converse with their leader. And it was in this Hall that the only sole occupant was King Lugotorix.

Lugotorix was sitting by a support column near the edge of the Hall, bounded by rope to the column. His hands were bound behind his back, as was his waist, his legs were bound together out in front of him. Though about 30 minutes had passed after his army's defeat, his wounds had already been treated by fire. Not wanting to waste medical supplies for the legionaries, the legionaries simply cauterized his chest wound and his stomach wound with a flaming poker; yet did not bother to have it properly cleaned. Lugotorix grumbled that he may succumb to infection if not properly cleaned, the legionaries present promptly punched him his stomach wound.

The brothers and the Praetor approached the defeated king and marveled at the pathetic sight. This once proud man of the most mysterious people in the known world, the people that scored a devastating victory against Rome, was now slumped over in the corner of a hut, covered in filth and moaning in pain. His wounds were aggravating him from the improper treatment and he was groaning through his teeth. His golden hair that was once known as the most beautiful set of hair in his youth was now a shaggy, disheveled, mud-coated mess that now resembled that of a mop. The king looked up at the three Romans, his eyes were bloodshot and the low light in the hut only served to highlight his yellow teeth that most barbarians had. The king softly lifted his head with a semblance of pride, his jaw creaked open and his words entered the air in Latin.

"Have you ever wondered what a prey is thinking the moment the predator is killing them? Do you ponder such thoughts? Ever envision what a prey imagines when the jaws of the predator is around it's throat…where exactly it went wrong?"

The Romans did not answer, their stares lingered on Lugotorix.

The Briton sighed and spoke softly in his native language, "Segovax needed us to return immediately and we never hunted your men down in the quarry once they routed, Biua failed to kill you two, Talorc never reported back that you survived, no even before all of this, Cunovindus did not listen to me at Praxus…was that when it all fell apart…?"

Proculus stood before him, remembering his Father's lesson about height demonstrating authority, he looked down on the king, "What are you saying to yourself?"

"That I was close," he spoke again in Latin. "I had you all. If only…well, history is always remembered with, "What If" and "If Only"…and history would say I lost this second stage of the battle." Lugotorix sucked his teeth, "You must have collected survivors, how many of my men survived?"

The brothers glanced at Marcus, who gave them a nod. Vitus answered, "Too few to matter."

"I see…what of Ermanar?"

The young Roman's eyes narrowed, "Who?"

"Apologies…you do not know his name. He was Captain of my army, a moon-scar on his face. He attacked with those Swordsmen of his…if you bypassed them, than that means—"

"He's dead." Proculus stated.

Lugotorix sighed hard and closed his eyes, silently nodding for a moment. As he opened his eyes again, he could not look into the Romans' faces. "I figured he was…there would be no explanation how he would submit to capture…he…he would bite his tongue before falling captive. Who killed him? Did you two?"

Vitus shook his head, "No, it was our Primus Pilus, our senior centurion of the legion."

"I see. What was his name?"

"Caeso Cossutius."

"Hmm, 'Caeso Cossutius'…I shall remember that name. I would desire to meet him if you would allow it. To be able to kill Ermanar…"

Proculus' eyes softened, "You hold this Ermanar in high regard."

Lugotorix nodded, his voice was softer, "I do. He was a man of many talents. Ermanar…h-he was a strong man, loyal in everything, and above all; competent. I gave him an order and he would complete it. This man…was truly invaluable…there shall never be another of his caliber. He was a good friend. He serves the goddess Andrasta now."

"He killed our Father, he killed our Tribune," Proculus added. He didn't know why he did so, maybe because his Father's killer was a cruel manipulator who was being heralded as a "good friend".

Lugotorix finally looked back into the Roman's face. "Such is truth, yet that does not diminish the character of the man." He sighed again, "Anyway, so tell me, what of Segovax, the king of the Gauls?"

"We threw him in the pig trough."

A baritone, guttural chuckle suddenly erupted from Lugotorix who only stopped after wincing from his wounded stomach. He exhaled in delight, "So that shit resides in his own nature, I admit Roman, I give you respect for doing such a deed."

Marcus thundered, "Keep it."

Lugotorix exhaled an air of annoyance, "Seeing as I shall accompany you three a little longer, I had hope we would become more familiar with one another."

"How about no?" Proculus said. "As if the Wolf can become familiar with the Fawn."

"I am a Stag of the North."

Marcus leaned on a support column with his arms crossed, chuckling, "You consider yourself graceful stag, but a snake by nature favors maneuvering upon its belly as you do."

"Apologies, I would stand upright if I was not bound to this column."

"You hold a sharp wit and a quicker tongue," Vitus stated, "How do you know the language of Rome?"

"Why should I answer?"

Proculus made an irritated grunt, "For you are our prisoner, now speak."

"A 'prisoner'? What should that entail? That I answer and confess everything because I hold status as prisoner? I can silence my tongue no matter what forms of torture you inflict upon me. Yet, I hold a solution; you desire information from me, as I desire information from you. You answer my questions, and I shall answer yours, after all we have the time for such an exchange, correct? And what do you stand to lose if you play along? Quid Pro Quo, as you Romans say."

The three Romans exchanged looks with one another, judging if this was the proper course to take. They still had plenty of questions, and this barbarian was the only one who knew Latin. And despite his manipulative nature and apparent silver tongue, he did seem ready to answer their inquiries.

Marcus nodded firmly, "Fine. We shall play your game, Lugotorix. But speak truth or see that tongue parted from your mouth."

Lugotorix smirked faintly, "Excellent…now what can I answer?"

"My original question," Vitus said, "How have you come by Roman tongue?"

"A Roman taught me when I was yet a boy." Lugotorix smirked at the faces of disbelief that painted the Romans' faces. "I speak truth, from what I recall…he was a son of a senator. My people take to ships for fishing and also pirating on rare occasions, we often sail past Gallia and Hispania to accumulate variety. The Roman was on a ship, my people attacked and he was captured. He was brought back to our Isle and forced to educate us in the Roman language."

"Such falsehoods you spew!" Marcus scoffed, "A true Roman rather court death before falling a slave to barbarians such as you."

"My father's insistence to geld him like a mule made him comply. He taught my family and friends of my family. And when he died and I was crowned king, I repeated my father's actions. I had my men scour the Mediterranean for Roman ships to capture, and bring them back to teach the new generation of my people the language of Rome."

"That is your answer?" Marcus' face contorted in anger, "Enslaving Romans?!"

"I'm telling you, such is how I've learned and how my people have learned. My turn?" Lugotorix said through his teeth, with a peculiar hint of politeness. "You brothers, how did you survive the Cherusci?"

Vitus spat out, "We fought and we won. Our turn for a question."

The king glared at the boy, but ultimately relented with a slight chuckle, "Fair enough, boy."

Proculus screamed, "Tell us of Cassius! Where is he heading to?"

The king's eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"Cassius! The man who spied on us!"

"Oh." A smile crept on the king's lips. "It is him of who you speak. He fled? Hmm, that explains why our reserve didn't come into the city." His brow then furrowed as he mumbled softly in his native tongue. "I knew his martial prowess was lacking, but he had a thousand men, how could he—, well, he was a better spy than a warchief…"

"Enough of the damn mumbling, Lugotorix!" Proculus seized him by the collar, Lugotorix's wounds throbbed. "Where is he heading?!"

"Damn you, boy! Release me!" he grunted, the wound in his chest felt as if he was being mauled by an animal. "I do not know where he fled! I was in the village the entire battle."

Vitus pressed a firm hand on Proculus' shoulder, the elder brother released the Briton. The king exhaled in relief. Vitus moved closer to him, "Tell me, Lugotorix. What is Cassius' true name?"

" 'True name?' The man holds no 'true name'. His name is whatever I bestow upon him. If he is in Rome, he is Cassius the huntsman. If he is in Greece, he is Damasos the blacksmith. If he is in Parthia, he is Vardanes the mercenary. Wherever he ventures, he is whatever I command him to be. That is your 'Cassius', a man who embodies deception, bears a tongue of silver and infinite identities. And if he has fled, then my guess is that you shall never see him again."

Proculus clenched his fists, his teeth were beginning to gnash. There would be no possibility of Cassius escaping. He would make sure of that. If he had to jump into the pits of Tartarus to find Cassius, he would. That bastard would never escape his fury.

"My next question is for the brothers yet again. You must have destroyed my men at the fort, it's the only way you could have come along this path. I ordered them to report back immediately once they located any sizable Roman force, not one came back. How did you evaded them? How did you destroy them?"

Vitus couldn't help but smile, "I figured as much. We knew there would be some Britons near the quarry checking to see if the Legion fled. So we took to the forest, not one of us would travel upon the roads until we were sure there wouldn't be a single barbarian. We hid in the forest, covered our tracks in the snow, we kept noise and light to an absolute minimum, we didn't even bother setting up proper defenses in our camp in fear of alerting the barbarians. We sent scouts to locate where your men were, we found them. In the darkness of night, we made a raid on the fort and killed them all. And then we returned to the main road and ventured north."

Judging by the nodding of his head, Vitus figured Lugotorix was satisfied by the answer. "What you lack in size you compensate with cunning, young Vitus."

Marcus stood tall, his eyes glared down on the king, "My turn for a question. What of this entire scheme to entrap my legions in this village and destroy us? From whose fevered brain did the scheme originate? Was it the Gaul, Segovax?"

"Ha!" Lugotorix spat blood on the floor of the hut, "It pains me that you believe that fool can devise a stratagem of that delicate nature. No, it was I. I formed this tethered-alliance."

"Why should we believe that?" Proculus asked.

"Because why are you speaking to me first instead of Segovax? Why am I in a hut while he is in a trough?"

The Romans didn't have an answer.

Lugotorix nodded with pride. "Exactly. Because you know it was me. Because you know I am the most dangerous. The fact that I'm the last king standing was no accident. How else do you explain how we Britons have survived this long in this war of ours? The ambush of the Twenty-Eighth, Cassius, you brothers meeting Ermanar at the Cherusci village, the Cherusci themselves; all were crafted from Briton intellect. The Germanians are bloodthirsty, the Gauls are proud, but we Britons are cunning. My plan was simple. I would simply hold the nail, while my son brings the hammer. But unfortunately, the other two kings had other ideas which ruined this grand stratagem of mine."

Vitus asked, "So, for the first time in a hundred years, you finally come back to the mainland. In an alliance with the same tribes that exiled you? Why? For what reason?"

Vitus saw something he had never known existed within a barbarian king, compassion. The smugness that Lugotorix portrayed throughout the entire conversation had faded away completely. His eyes had softened considerably, no sarcasm was in his mannerism, and he stood as straight as his wounds allowed him to. With only two words, he spoke to the brothers in a tone that shook them to their core.

"Our home."

"This land, is your home?"

"This land was once ours. It was. We ruled most of the northern coast for hundreds of years. And yes the Isles are where our culture originated and blossomed, but the northern coast held hundreds upon hundreds of our kin. You see Romans, this…this was once our home. My father told me stories from what his father told him. It held vegetation that does not grow on our island, it holds lands that we can walk endlessly on for all eternity. We were connected directly to the civilization of this known world. It holds an endless beauty one has when they walk upon the soft brown shore of the beach, to stare into the beauty of the violet shade of the night sky. How the sun kisses the ocean during the sundown and sunrise. The fertility of the lands that inspires the passion of our souls. And upon returning here, I have found…serenity with this land. I felt…a glorious affinity to my ancestors when my bare feet touched the delicate green blades of grass. This is our home. After what happened to my father and his father, the sacrifices they made for my people's future, I did this to uphold their legacy of once returning to our land. All that I am ever fighting for, is to come back to our homeland."

Proculus blinked in utter disbelief. Vitus combed his hair with his fingers at the end of such a tale. The brothers exhaled in unison after Lugotorix finished, as if they snapped out of a trance-filled wonder. Both of them heard the bizarre truth in Lugotorix's words, he had spoken from the depths of his heart.

"Cut the shit, Lugotorix!" Marcus sneered, spitting on the king's face. "You are just petty mindless savages who seek to take land that you do not deserve!"

The gentleness that was once on Lugotorix's face withered into nothingness, leaving only bitterness to paint the emotion on his face. The Briton gave a dark, malicious snarl, "Oh the hypocrisy you spew…"

Lugotorix sighed and eyed the brothers, "I believe it's my turn for another question. You two, why did you continue this journey of yours after your father's defeat? Your legion nearly destroyed, demoralized, freezing, and your father died in battle? And yet you two continued on with a mere skeleton of your army…why?"

"For the same reason that you seek to return to your lands," Proculus said with a sagely tone, his gaze was locked with the king, "To uphold our Father's legacy." Lugotorix's eyes grew large, as if a curtain had been lifted.

Vitus stepped in, "After the quarry…that was the breaking point for most us. Many legionaries were threatening to desert back to Alesia. But we couldn't. We wouldn't. Our Father's mission had to still be completed. Our Father's mission was simple, rescue the Praetor at all cost. We would not go back one step without something of the Praetor to bring back, we would not return emptyhanded filled with shame.

"The Twenty-Eighth had never failed a mission, and we would not start now. Our Father was renowned across the Republic for being reliable in the face of the enemy, his spirit was indomitable, and his fortitude rivaled the Gods. How could we call ourselves his sons if we fled without anything to show for our efforts? So yes…we marched on, to death if the Gods willed it. But the Gods showed us reward for keeping our Father's conviction. Marcus is alive, we captured Samarobriva, and we have you and Segovax as prisoners. And that is why we continued on."

"I would applaud such conviction if my hands were not bound. Is there anything more, I can answer?"

Vitus nodded. "After leaving Praxus Hill, we saw the Germanian king, Cunovindus the Butcher, crucified upside down to a tree with a bloody message below. That morose handiwork, was it—"

"We did that. Cunovindus was an arrogant fool who believed numbers could triumph over strategy. He ignored my counsel at every turn. If he listened, then we would have utterly destroyed your legion. My plan was to use his men to stall your advance, and then our two armies, Briton and Germanian, to ambush you and completely obliterate the last trace of the Twenty-Eighth. But he remained the fool, and upon surviving the battle, I killed him and his men. And that message I gave, 'Death to all Fools' was for every man who stumbled upon Cunovindus, especially you Romans. Now it is my turn for a question. How did you brothers survive that blizzard?"

Proculus answered, "When the ambush occurred, our Legion had not fully disassembled camp yet and our father apparently instructed all men to drop their supplies and everything that was not related to combat, inside the camp. So after the…defeat, the legionaries returned to a camp still standing. And with our…abundant losses, there were plenty of blankets, tarps, and tents to share among the men. Vitus and I, we were in the midst of the winter storm trying to recover our Father's body, but we found a cave which shield us until the blizzard died away in the morning."

"You two were stuck in a blizzard and found a cave to survive? The Gods truly keep you close to their hearts."

Vitus' brow furrowed, "Now tell us, what happened to our father's head?"

"Oh? I sent a messenger to deliver the head to Alesia?"

Proculus kicked Lugotorix's chest wound. The king shrieked and coughed up drops of blood.

"Don't fuck with us, Lugotorix!" Proculus roared.

Blood was trickling from his mouth, Lugotorix looked up in anger, but held his rage through his teeth, "Look unto my eyes and witness truth behind them! I did. I sent it back to Alesia!"

"I do not believe you!" Vitus groaned.

"I speak truth!"

"Lies!"

"If you do not believe me, go speak to Segovax. He believes I gave him Lucius' head, but in fact, I gave him the head of an ordinary legionary. The bastard didn't deserve the head of Lucius. All he did was stay at Samarobriva the entire time, but he felt he was entitled to your father's head. I remember your father's face, his hair was a thinning black with grey splotches in it, he had no beard, a very strong jaw and heavy wrinkles above his brow. The head I gave Segovax had blond hair, short but not thinning, he had a protruding, disgusting scar that ran down his nose and past his thick blond beard."

The brothers looked at one another, was such a thing possible? Was this man speaking truth?

"Go on, I shall wait. Segovax is a proud man, he'll admit he has Lucius' head just to spite you two. Ask him." The king said.

"Fine. We shall."

Outside the hut, Ardunas kneeled next to a dead man and removed a pouch of coin that held four gold bits inside. He placed the coins in his own trousers and moved to a decapitated barbarian, his cold fingers rummaged through the man's pants. Ardunas found nothing but lint. He moved on to the next barbarian, a Gaul with a broken spear shaft shoved through his skull. The dead Gaul had a wineskin pouch strapped to his waist. Ardunas smiled as he found it was still filled with wine. He took a long swig and exhaled contently, his eyes falling on his remaining men looting the bodies of the dead barbarians.

The brothers walked up to him from behind and Vitus spoke with urgency. "Ardunas, cease with the scavenging and come with us!"

"What is it?"

"We are to speak to Segovax, and we need you to translate."

"Okay, just so you know, translations shall cost extra," he smiled.

For the first time, Ardunas was taken back by the demonic glares the brothers gave him.

"Apologies, I shall translate what you say."

"Damn right you will."

They did not have to walk far to reach the pig trough where the king resided. Or what could pass for a king. His hands were bound behind his back and his feet were bound at the ankles. His clothes were damped from rolling around in the snow, his armor was caked with dirt from the dried mud, his long black hair was a soppy mess of dirt and blood that one would assumed belonged on a gored animal. His ears, nose, and lips had gone numb with redness from being exposed to the cold. His eyes were shrunken, and bags had creased the corners of his eyes, and his mouth sagged as if he was an old man.

"Get him on his knees," Proculus commanded Ardunas.

The archer seized the Gaul by his shoulders and placed up on his knees. Segovax's eyes were closed shut as a beam of sunlight hit him in the face. He spat out in discontent, his eyes finally falling on the Romans before him. Disgust twisted his expression as he noticed Marcus Maxentius standing in the middle. He slurred a fury of words that held the emotion of hopelessness, anger, and pain. He spoke and acted as if he was drunk, but he wasn't, Vitus figured the only thing he was truly drunk on was despair. He was the last of his people, the last king of the Gauls. He had failed his people, his ancestors, and most importantly, himself.

"What nonsense does he spout?" the Praetor asked Ardunas without leaving eye contact with Segovax.

Ardunas sighs, "He's saying 'You…You. You. You. The bane of my life! Why do you wear the face of the forlorn? Why? You have won! You should be fucking elated upon your victory! You officially destroyed Gallia! You have destroyed…my people! Is that not what excites you Romans, destroying the complete history of others, conquering this world until you are the only ones alive? Why have you come to me? Oh…I know, go ahead and taunt me! Go ahead, hurl your insults upon me, I do not care…I don't! I don't give a fuck anymore…I just don't care anymore…I don't…'"

Such was the second time Vitus witnessed a Gallic leader accepting his inevitable fate, but this time, he felt no sympathy towards him. The old Vitus may have been moved by this defeated Gaul, but not now, not when this man holds the head of his Father.

Marcus laughed at the pathetic man, "Tell him there will be time to taunt him upon the streets of Rome, but now, we have an inquiry for him. Ask him where the head of Lucius Julius is."

Ardunas' eyes shot open at the request, he looked over at the brothers, and they nodded. Ardunas translated, the despair on Segovax's face evaporated into a cruel smile that could cut stone. He eyed the brothers and he spoke with a haunted snigger, " 'Oh, so you are his sons? Yes, I have his head, provided by Lugotorix who destroyed him at the quarry, I truly hope that he fucking suffered, I heard he was weeping as he was killed.' " The brothers were clenching their fist, Segovax smiled harder at this sign.

" 'I threw the head past the main gate, towards the trees that ran parallel with the gate itself. The tree was far enough away from the fighting where it couldn't be lost in the battle. There you shall find your fucking father!' "

The brothers scowled at the impudent bastard who smiled with utter smugness. Proculus turned to a Twenty-Eighth legionary and told him to fetch the head at the specified location, all while keeping his stare at the Gallic king. The legionary departed and within two minutes, returned with the head. The legionary presented it. The brothers, Marcus, and even Ardunas looked at the head with a queer confusion.

Segovax guffawed like a madman, " 'You fucking Roman boys! Look into the eyes of your father, look at him! He was a butcher of my people and he was finally butchered himself! Look at his head! Look at him and know that he never held the opportunity in destroying me! Gallia may be gone, but I shall part this world knowing I could laugh in his fucking face! That is Lucius Julius! Behold your heathen father!' "

The brothers did not usher a single word. They looked at the head of "Lucius" and stared into the defiant face of Segovax who was now cackling. The brothers left the head and headed back to the hut with Marcus right behind them, the wild laughter of Segovax echoing through the village.

As the three reentered, Lugotorix greeted them with calmness in his voice.

"And, did I speak truth?" Lugotorix smiled at them.

Vitus was first to speak, "You…You did. That's not his head. It was blond…a huge scar…bearded…It looked exactly how you described it."

"Indeed it did." Proculus snarled, "But that does not mean you sent it to Alesia. You could have sent it back to the Isle of the Britons for all we know."

"Believe me, I was surely tempted. But I did not."

"Why?"

"Because your father won my respect." The brothers blinked in confusion. "Why so shocked, you believe that barbarians possess no honor? We honor only the strong and the cunning. And your father was both. Many of my men grumbled behind my back and to my face in sending his head back to his family. But as I looked into his lifeless eyes, he did not deserve to decay like the rest of those legionaries. Nor did his skull deserve to be mantled on top of my hearth. He deserved to be buried with honors amongst his family. I would not take his head as a trophy; this war is not about such pettiness. This war that exist between Britannia and Rome? This is not personal."

" 'Not personal', my ass!" Proculus growled. "What happened to our father by that coward Cassius was fucking personal!"

"And I can ensure you it was not," Lugotorix explained calmly, "I have used deception to gain victories, as had your father. My ancestors used deception to gain victories, as had your Roman ancestors. Deception and warfare are one. Your father knew that, and if he still drew breath, then I believe he and I would be of the same thought. It only feels personal because your father was killed, yet in the grand scheme of this entire war, his death was not personal in the slightest. Everything I've done against Rome was for my people fighting for their homeland."

A scowl formed on Vitus' brow, "Interesting, but I know that's not the full reason you sent the head to Alesia."

Once again, the king smirked, "You're a sharp little thing. It's not the full reason. I did respect your father, but sending his head back to your lands was also a message. To those who do not know us. We are the Britons and we have conquered 'The Conqueror of the North and West'. Now Rome shall know of us, now your Senate shall fear us."

Vitus walked up to the king, "What shall they fear when you're brought to them in chains?"

Lugotorix smiled in his face, "Of the days to come. A new dawn has risen, boy; the Age of the Britons is upon you. And my family shall lead it. "

A muffled buzz emanated from outside the hut. It sounded to be the sound of a war horn. The buzzing of the horn blew again, but this time a second horn blew, followed by a third horn. Then all three horns blew at once, and then stopped.

The three Romans looked to the walls of the hut, trying to perceive what the noise truly was.

Cossutius had busted through the door of the hut, covered in a cold sweat and panting out of control. He barely managed to form his message.

"Generals, Praetor, come quick! You need to witness this!"

"What? Witness what?"

"A strong host is marching down the hill of Samarobriva!"

"What? Speak sense!"

"An army in the thousands! They're approaching Samarobriva! They bear the banner of the White Stag!"

The brothers' eyes snapped to the grinning form of Lugotorix, who even with his hands bound, made a shrug of innocence, yet still wielding that smug smile of his. The Briton king had never seen faster running Romans.

Exiting the hut, the three patricians followed the Primus Pilus past the town square, kicking up the snow as they darted through the center of the village. They spotted a crowd of legionaries were watching the outskirts of the valley from the vantage point of the incline next to the town square. The three men made their way to the front of the crowd and discovered what every man was gawking at.

It was as Cossutius described.

Barbarians in the thousands, highlighted in blue, were marching over the crest of the southern hill, and down the slope. The numbers had to be in the thousand, maybe two thousand, three thousand…and then four thousand. Then more and more. And the sheer size of the marching army increased until the entire South hill that towered Samarobriva was covered with moving men that resembled ants descending an anthill. On both flanks of the army descended the cavalry, who gracefully and proudly trotted down the hill in uniformity. A thousand horsemen were each on the right and left flank. A bright blue banner was moving down the hill in the distance, yet the sigil of the White Stag could be seen by the men occupying Samarobriva.

The numbers of these marching menaces continued to grow and grow. The war horn of the barbarians blew several more times. From inside Samarobriva, the Romans could hear the barbarians crying for blood. Their blood. The legionaries made their fear palpable.

"H-How many?"

"I-I-I stopped counting over 5,000. And there's still more!"

"And they're marching towards us…" a legionary quivered from the back ranks.

"At the pace they are moving, they shall reach the front gate within ten minutes!"

"Why is this happening? Why?"

"Gods no! It never ends…it never fucking ends!"

Aelianus turned to Vitus, the color was fading from the legionary's face, "General, what are your orders?"

The boy General said nothing.

"General!"

Again he said nothing. The scar on his palm began to ache, and the arrow wound in his chest began to burn. The taste of fear was on his tongue, and his panting became hoarser. Beads of sweat fell down his forehead; the only thought that came to his mind was the image of his mother, uncle, and sister-in-law weeping for his death.

A senatorial legionary turned to Marcus and asked him the same question, "What are we to do, Praetor? They are approaching!"

"I…I do not know…we've been trapped by barbarians…again…"

Proculus' head was shaking from side-to-side. This was a nightmare, this was a nightmare and he couldn't wake up. "No…" Proculus wanted to puke; "No!" he wanted to tear his hair out. "Fuck…" this day was not over. "FUCK!" the gods had not saved him yet. "FUCK!" they were all going to die, yet again.

Out of his peripheral, he saw a crimson flash rushing backwards. He turned to witness the cape of his younger brother that flowed in the wind as the young man sped back to the center of the town. Proculus knew where he was going and ran after him. Marcus saw it as well and followed the brothers.

Vitus kicked in the door to the hut and ran to Lugotorix, who was waiting with a smiling the entire time.

"Quite a surprise, no?" Lugotorix said with a pursed smirk.

Proculus and Marcus arrived in time to see Vitus pulling a dagger on the king. Vitus pressed the blade to his throat but Lugotorix's expression did not change. "You knew of this the entire time, Lugotorix?!"

"Do you truly believe that a man such as I would not have a contingency plan?" his deep voice reverberated through the hut as he chuckled. "You thought this battle won? No, we Britons won the moment you Romans chose to attack the settlement closest to our lands. Did I not tell you that we Britons are the most cunning? I was simply holding the nail, while my son brought the hammer. And why are you wasting time on me? Shouldn't you be preparing to mount your futile last stand right now?"

Vitus gritted his teeth and pressed the edge of the knife deeper into his throat, drawing blood from the king. But the Briton's face remained the same.

"How many men does this army have?!" Marcus virtually howled.

"Hmm, if what he wrote in his letter is correct, then I say around 8,000 warriors."

Vitus' eyes widened, "You say, 'he'? Who is 'he'? That army outside our gates, who commands it? Who?!"

"The Prince of the Britons, my son, Lugo. What did you believe I meant when I said 'I was simply holding the nail, while my son brought the hammer'? I was holding you Romans in place, until my son arrived with precious reinforcements to crush you all. 8,000 fresh warriors of the Iceni have come to deliver the hammering blow to the nail which shall seal your fates."

Another annoyance for anyone who played a Total War Game: THE AI REINFORCEMENTS. After a long hard battle or siege in which you won and your army is considerably weaker, the AI sets another large army to attack you IMMEDIATELY after the battle or the following turn. This is ESPECIALLY true if you play on harder difficulties.

*Sigh* And with this chapter, the end is near for "Invictus", we probably have about five to six more chapters left before the story concludes. I can see a light at the end of this tunnel, it has been a great time righting this story and thank you for everyone who has read up to this point.

I would like to thank everyone who is continually reading this fic. I want you all to note that it is keeping me committed to the story. Truly, thank you all!

-Kanuro5