//AN: Thank you so much for reading, it means the world to me. I hope you enjoy the story :)
No sooner than our column cleared the southern gates of the city, a series of messengers arrive all bearing similar information: the road to Rome is blocked by 31 cohorts of legionaries still wet behind the ears under the leadership of Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus (Red-Beard) in Corfinium. The city they hold was, in Caesar's youth, the common capital of rebellious tribes, once allies for centuries. Formidable are the walls, but being the focus of Rome's ire would do damage to the city that no amount of masons could repair.
Our path takes us along the coast, with the cerulean expanse dividing me from my homeland. I strain every morning to see over the mortuary shrines lining the road, towards the east in search for any sign of a familiar coast. And every morning Subsolanus hides the Dalmatian shores under a curtain of white. Bereft of visuals, I retreat into my mind. I focus my will on memories from childhood; on the golden beams shining across near-ripe fields of crops, as I beg my father to let me accompany him to the town and on this day he assents. I remember seeing the gates choked with carts of goods and beasts of burden, all struggling to get to the market. I remember how boring waiting for my father to return from selling to the grain dole was; baking under the late summer sun for less than what slave farms make in a week.
With much sadness, I follow Caesar's lead inland. Neptune bids us farewell to the tune of crashing waves, fading to silence before the eye loses the shore. Surrounded by brown, dead earth, clouds form in my heart, conjuring thoughts of the sad days back home: the day my brother marched to war and never returned; the day that my mother died after getting ambushed by pirates in the Adriaticum; and the day that I marched off to war, leaving behind my widowed father and younger sister. The clouds darken and unleash a torrent of rain as I assess that, yes, I too will not return home. Life on the farm isn't for me anymore; those fond memories, coated in a golden glow, feel as real to me as my dreams. But at least nightmares don't plague me in the waking hours.
Three days following the Kalends of Februarius, we set up camp within sight of Domitius the red-bearded's camp. Camp? Why leave the walls and the city undefended? Even Sulla declined to attack Corfinium. Maybe he anticipates our horde to be large enough to negate the advantage of walls. Regardless of the size of the enemy gathering on the horizon, I would order my men to defend our post unto death.
Dawn broke over the horizon on the fourth day after the Kalends, blanketing the Apennine ridges in a warm orange glow. I stifle a yawn. Excitement builds in my heart as I stow my roll, for it has been short two and a half years since last my gladius were painted by blood. Though, something mumurs in the depths of my soul; the men I am to face are fellow Roman citizens. All the enemies I've fought were clearly enemies. But these men carry Aquilae, just as we do. Can a nation be saved over the blood of one's countrymen? Nevertheless, I slide the mail armor on, following it with a billowing red cloak. I gave my word to Caesar, so on Caesar's word I shall die.
As I emerge from our tent, concerned voices carrying messages of anxiety and fear reach my ears.
"-but they outnumber us three to one! We'll be torn asunder for sure!" One of the new recruits laments.
"You needn't worry! The fear you feel now is certainly shared by all the men just up the hill from here, for they have bore the Aquila for shorter than you two!" Marcus reassures.
"Truthfully so." I add, sitting on the ground near Marcus, "Our first battle was against the Nervii in Belgica. I remember as vividly as if I stand on the field that we were nearly overrun at several points in that battle... and we were at the baggage train!" These words only seem to draw more fear into their eyes, "But, just like Marcus said, you needn't worry; we have Caesar on our side and they don't! It was Caesar's quick thinking that saved us then and it is this that will save us before this battle even begins!"
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Legio XIII Gemina: The Rubicon
Historical FictionThe Rubicon, a river whose name eludes most of the men standing in formation, is not one with much significance to the locals, nor is it one that is crucial to the surrounding terrain. But, this river is one that divides land where Julius Caesar can...
