Chapter 2:
5:56 AM, July 25th, Just outside of Rome, General Servius Galba's War Council Meeting.

Light had not yet presented itself this morning leaving a chilling coldness in the air. The ground was soft and wet, and an odour of morning dew and campfire smoke filled the air. Thunderous vibrations of 50,000 Rebels shook the very ground with every step. Random leaves and branches from nearby trees would occasionally fall, leaving the soldiers among the camp silent with fear. Tension and alarm surrounded Galba’s captains, and Rome was in panic. A new enemy was approaching, and the General of this army was said to be uniquely skilful in the arts of war. But who was this feared General? Any scout dispatched to discover this information failed to return. Nothing was known, not even his name. Caesar Nero was afraid of this man, and instructed the Senate to convince the people that he was a tyrant in pursuit of Rome and its woman. Living in fear, they unwillingly accepted this as truth, barricaded their homes, and armed themselves with various short swords and axes.

“Captains, how many men has he brought against us?” Asked General Galba who was known by his last name. Giving his men the privilege of using his first name was unacceptable, an insult if you will. They were beneath him, and in his opinion, expendable.

“Sir, our estimates indicate a force of 50,000 approaches.” Replied Lucentius, commander of the Praetorian Legions.

General Galba was surprised and laughed with overconfidence. He was a man of ignorance, and impatience. Even if this enemy frightened him, he would never admit it.

“50,000? He dares march on Rome with such a pathetic force? Lucentius, how long until he arrives?”

Lucentius and the other Captains were puzzled, for they were not confident. Rome had dispatched over half of its armies on the campaign against the Barbarian’s many moths before. Lucaius’s army were there only reinforcements ordered to return. Rome as well, had underestimated this new foe.

“Sir, our towers have reported the sight of torches in the night. They estimate the enemy is a days walk away, maybe two sir.”

“And what of Lucaius?” Demanded Galba while gripping his sword. The Captains sensed Galba’s feelings toward Lucaius were not pure.

“Sir, General Lucaius’s army is within hours of our position. His scouts inform us they have approximately 6000 men.” Quickly replied Lucentius. The Captains were comforted by Lucaius’s reinforcements as a feeling of honour and brotherhood overcame their tension. Why he was not Rome’s leading General was always questioned; silently of course.

“Hardly needed,. . . but they will do.” Uttered Galba with a smirk. “We’ll put General Lucaius on the front line.”

Again the Captains were baffled. What an idiot they thought, and if the moment ever arose, they would gladly slit Galba’s throat for the greater purpose of Rome’s safety. He was Incompetent, disrespectful, and dishonourable. Secretly, they questioned themselves; was he mad? Or was he as evil as the Barbarian’s himself? Surely they knew this battle was already lost. 26,000 Roman soldiers were no match for this rebellion; moral was low.

As the war council were concluding their discussion, General Galba began appointing his orders.

“Captains, I have made my decision. Lucentius, your legions will reinforce General Lucaius’s front line, Gaius, form your archers behind Lucentius, Quintus, your cavalry must protect the left flank, and Servius, your cavalry will hold the right flank. As for the rest of you, position your Cohorts and Legionnaires behind the cavalry. Everyone hold your positions until I say otherwise.”

Galba’s strategic formation was hardly strategic at all as his overconfidence prompted this decision. He truly believed that the Roman Empire was above God himself, and that no army was capable of sacking Rome. Only his Captains and their loyal troops would pay the lesson of stupidity while General Galba and his guard would be far behind watching.

“YES SIR!” Replied the Captains simultaneously.
“Dismiss! Prepare your men at once.” Ordered General Galba. The men nodded, backed up and left the tent.

* * *

8:13 AM, July 25th, Caesar Nero’s Palace.

As beautiful as heaven itself, or so many thought, Caesar Nero’s Palace was built using the most exquisite marble and stone. The most luxurious artists painted the floors and walls, which were smooth as a freshly forged blade. Aromas from flowers and herbs intoxicated the rooms, and more food than most people have seen was set for Caesar Nero. He was a young man, and more interested in the games and woman than the safety of his people. It was believed by most that he was responsible for Caesar Claudius’s death, and that he did so to gain the role of Caesar. But be warned, for any that accused Nero of these crimes would immediately be put to death. A torturous death.

From his balcony, Caesar looked upon all of Rome as his servants waited just behind for any request he might give. He gleamed at Galba’s army preparing for defence. Thousands of men at his disposal, yet such little time. The places he could conquer he thought as he grew a little grin, and gripped his sword.

“My lord, should we prepare your escort?” Asked Nero’s main servant Plius.

“No Plius, that wont be necessary.” Calmly replied Nero. Although, Nero was far from calm.

“But my lord, if the Rebels should make it in to the cit. . .

Before Plius could finish his sentence, he found himself staring at his own reflection on Nero’s sword, impaled through his chest. Blood failed to seep out, as Nero had not yet twisted the blade. Flashes of Plius’s family rushed through his brain as Nero grabbed his throat.

“Plius, when I want your advice, Ill ask for it.” Threatened Nero as tears began to slowly run down Plius’s cheek. Nero then pulled Plius’s face towards his, and began to whisper while gritting his teeth.

“And know this, soon your wife and daughter will join you in the afterlife. But don’t worry Plius, Ill make sure my guards have some fun first.”

Before Plius could scream with terror and revenge, Nero quickly twisted his blade and pulled it out with the outmost force. Plius cried and moaned in distress as his life began slipping away. Lying motionless, Plius glanced up at Nero who was smiling like a little kid. His face was covered with blood, and his sword was dripping steadily. This new rebellion was causing him too much stress, yet he felt better already. Plius tried to say a few words to his murderer, but was unable to speak. Devastated by this act, and completely in shock, Plius would not give up. His love for his family kept him alive and gave him the strength to grab Nero’s ankle. Plius knew this would not hurt Nero, but it would make him furious, and deprive Nero of any pleasure for this kill. Quickly and powerfully, Nero stomped his foot on Plius’s face, ensuring his death.

Hope you liked chapter 2. again, any advice or feedback is welcomed. Or if you have any suggestions!