For Rome


Breakfast was impossible. Hard bread was never the most appetising of meals, but that morning I just could not find the courage to force it down. The sun was so hot and the bread so dry, my lips so chapped and my stomach so tight.

This unease had been building in me for weeks. At first I thought it was just seasickness, but we had reached land days ago and yet still it remained. I knew what was causing it, but I had so far refused to admit to such un-Roman weakness . Now, however, it had grown so strong that I could no longer ignore it; it was so much bigger than me.

I sat down on a dune and looked out over the bay. Despite the sickness of my mind, I tried to see things as I ought to.

So many ships. Such might. So many men. No city can withstand such a magnificent army. We are the Roman legion, the fear of all nations. The enemy shall flee in terror at our sheer number. They will see the folly of fighting such a force. And if they don’t, the Gods will. Our cause is just, righteous. I have been a good Roman. The Gods will not allow me to perish. I shall live on beyond this day!

Such great thoughts reassured me.

But only for a moment.





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