For the Glory of Rome

Dawn entered the camp from beyond the horizon. Slowly the soldiers began to stir, and as they rose Marcus felt excitement, as well as terror, but most of all he felt pity. He knew more than most about what this day would bring, though he didn't let on. The camp was a standard field camp; small tents fitting ten men each, arranged in straight rows to form a grid. To the west lay the horses, early risers and already keen to march. To the north was the bulk of the army, with centuries posted at regular intervals around the perimeter. The ground was bare and muddy from a heavy rain and the men trampling it. No grass lay within the camp, and the only smell was the smell of cooked and rotting meat that was already several days old. The men were starting to rise, and Marcus was amused at the conversation he overheard, and the men telling jokes. They were all in high spirits and conversed amongst one another cheerfully as they prepared for the day ahead. The talk abruptly stopped though, when their commander, Septimius Severus, passed their tents. They stood with a silent awe, and a deep respect for the man, as they all fought for him, and they marvelled at such a man. His magnificent helmet of plated gold was topped with a large horsehair plume, red, and never dirty. His armour shone brilliantly in the dawn light and the men were humbled when they could see their faces reflected back. He had large broad shoulders, and although he was not overly muscular, the proportions of his body made up for the lack. An accurate height could never be attained, for the plume on top of his head added a good 12 inches, and the soles of his sandals were thick and strong. Perhaps his shield was the single most spectacular item of his attire, it was carefully crafted with many strong layers of wood and steel, with a gold plated outer layer, and a strong ox hide for the inner most layer. On the front was depicted an image of the Trojan War, so delicately designed it was as if Vulcan himself had crafted it. No man dared look Severus in the eye as he passed, but all rose and gallantly stood in praise of the glory of such a man. He passed them slowly, carefully inspecting the tents and the occupants. He made sure they were all clean, with adequate food, and a tent in good condition. He looked after his soldiers, because he wanted them to love him. And they did. Marcus admired they respect each gave him as he passed, and not one spoke a word. He admired their respect because he had none. He glorified no such man, for no one with such stature was ever an honest or reliable man. Severus relied on the dedication of his men, and rarely fought himself. The men respected him because he would, as Marcus well knew, one day be Emperor, and they wanted a favourable status in the assembly or even the senate. He did treat them well, however, but Marcus felt sure this was only to ensure their respect. He was using them. Oh how Marcus longed to kill him, and take his place. He longed to be the greatest leader Rome had ever known. He knew how to fight, he knew how to lead, but he had come from a peasant family, and could never gain any position higher than he already had. A soldier in the army of Rome was his only road to even remote glory. But the dream was still there. The dream would last for generations after he was dead...
The thought of death shocked Marcus back to reality. He had been caught up in anger. But now he solemnly remembered the gravity of the situation he was in. It was quite possible today would be the last day he ever saw the sky, or smelt the fresh scent of sap on trees, or felt the moist dew on the small exposed area of his armour on the back of his neck when he brushed against damp shrubs. You see, he knew well where he was and what was going to happen to him. He almost welcomed it. But what saddened him was the thoughts of his family. He thought of his beautiful wife; strong blue eyes with just a slight sparkle when the light hit them the right way, deep black hair as long as his forearm, and most of all her lips of cherry red hiding the white bricks so perfectly laid that no craftsman could fault them. He thought of his three children. His strong son, already proving himself an able warrior making his father proud. And also his two daughters, looking much like their mother, but with an added innocence he had never known. He thought of them all, and sat down in the dark mud and hugged his knees. Then a single tear rolled down his cheek, and slid off into nothingness. He mourned because he knew the family he pictured so well, was the family he had dreamed about every single day for the six long years he had been in this pit of despair he called life in armour. The family he dreamed of would forever remain in his mind, and his heart, but never in his eyes, for fate had chosen his destined family, and Marcus clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as he remembered them. He knew his family well. His family was the army of the great Roman general, Septimius Severus, and was the only family he would ever truly know.

Contents

- Maori Myths & Legends

- For the Glory of Rome
- The Sanity of Professor R.J. Basil Part One, Two, Three
- The Trials of Archibald Henderson of Windsor

- Convergere

- Other