Chapter IV
Praetor Maximus
Scaevola felt the wind through his hair as he rode down the road that lead to the Quirinal gate, and into Rome. He had not seen his home city in more than nine years, and now, declared Dictator of Rome and Praetor Maximus he was ready to tackle the tough field of battle that made up the Roman politics. Greece was conquered, and Cotta's forces in Spain had been diminished and slaughtered, the eastern half of the peninsula occupied with the newly appointed Military Tribune Gnaeus Calpurnius Calvus letting the more than 50.000 loyalist forces under his direct command there advance ever forward. General Gnaeus Atilius Rufus was, at the same time, marching with an army of 33.000 men to challenge Cotta in Pergamon and Gaius Marius Lentulus had an army of 26.000 besieging the greek city state and former Roman ally of Massilia.
The empire was celebrating, the people was celebrating, the soldiers was celebrating. Scaevola too would have been, if it was not for one petty detail that still troubled his mind. Marius was not there, there had been thorough searching in all provinces taken over by Scaevola's forces, and Cotta was busy claiming that he was holding both Sulla and Marius hostage in Pergamon. Scaevola knew Cotta, he was not the kind of man who lied about these kind of things. Sulla and Marius both truly were held captive by the traitor proconsul. The senate had voted, and Cotta was considered an outlaw, as were all who followed him, and Scaevola had been awarded with a huge pile of honourary titles.
Quintus Mucius Scaevola was 68 years old, a veteran from commanding over 50 battles, elected consul twice and now... He was the mightiest man in the entire empire, the Dictator. None could oppose him now. He had won the war, and the senate and people of Rome had awarded him the greatest of all prizes. He would bear the honour well the last few years of his life, he knew this. He was healthy and virile for his age, but it was only a matter of time until he would collapse, just like all old men do. During the last year he had been feeling increasingly tired and spent, and even though his mind remained young and healthy, his body did not show all the same positive symptoms.
But Scaevola knew he could not rest quite yet. There were four other people in the world which he cared for more than he cared for himself, these were his wife, the beautiful Livia, his children, seven-year-old Titus and Mucia, and finally his daughter Mucia's husband, Gaius Marius. He knew that when he passed away, Titus would be the Scaevola family head and therefore, he did not want to die before Titus had atleast finished his basic education and was ready for such great a task. Neither did he want to die before he had saved, or atleast ensured that he had done all he could to save Marius from Cotta's claws. Livia was still young, a mere 31 years of age only six years divided her and Mucia, who was his daughter together with a Licinia Crassa, who had been his wife until the start of the Civil War, when she picked her fathers side and joined Sulla. Scaevola had loved her, and from all he knew she was still alive, working as a governor for one of the provinces in western Spain. Also she had re-married, but her husband, the Centurion of the 6th Greek, Quintus Caecilius Metellus, had died trying to fight off Legio Magna in the Battle of Athenae.
He laughed at his sorrowful thoughts and waved to the people lining up on the streets around him. How could he be despairing a day like this?
He was home now!
He rode up the stairs of the Curia building, and turned around looking out over Forum Romanum. He remembered how Marius had done the same thing almost ten years ago, at the very same place and wondered if the people also remembered the two great, charismatic leadesrs who had threwn them into this horrible Civil War at first for so many years ago.
"My people! Beloved citizens, freemen and slaves of Rome! You; who are the backbone of our great empire, and the bulwark of civilization wherever in the world I turn. I have returned to you, after nine long, dreadful years of constant fighting against the illoyalist scum who have infested our glorious republic for so long. These men I am talking about, have been defeated!" A great shout arosed as the entire Forum Romanum roared Scaevolas name with one voice. "Even if we have won this war, this the greatest conflict in the history of our ancient realm, it will take long to recover from the wounds caused by the illoyalists who have been trying to overthrow our glorious republic into anarchy. The senate has awarded me with the title of Praetor Maximus, and as such, I have taken it on as my duty to cleanse out from the empire all that remains of the evil anarchist rabble.
But this I say to all of you; we must and will remember these thousands of men and women who have died protecting their families and their honour, no matter what side, these men have given their lives to Rome, and for a pointless Civil War that was not theirs to fight."
"Fallen in war, they belong to history. Fallen in war, they sleep 6 feet below. Hearts of the brave, we cannot bring them back to life. Fallen in war. Still brothers in arms."
Praetor Maximus
Scaevola felt the wind through his hair as he rode down the road that lead to the Quirinal gate, and into Rome. He had not seen his home city in more than nine years, and now, declared Dictator of Rome and Praetor Maximus he was ready to tackle the tough field of battle that made up the Roman politics. Greece was conquered, and Cotta's forces in Spain had been diminished and slaughtered, the eastern half of the peninsula occupied with the newly appointed Military Tribune Gnaeus Calpurnius Calvus letting the more than 50.000 loyalist forces under his direct command there advance ever forward. General Gnaeus Atilius Rufus was, at the same time, marching with an army of 33.000 men to challenge Cotta in Pergamon and Gaius Marius Lentulus had an army of 26.000 besieging the greek city state and former Roman ally of Massilia.
The empire was celebrating, the people was celebrating, the soldiers was celebrating. Scaevola too would have been, if it was not for one petty detail that still troubled his mind. Marius was not there, there had been thorough searching in all provinces taken over by Scaevola's forces, and Cotta was busy claiming that he was holding both Sulla and Marius hostage in Pergamon. Scaevola knew Cotta, he was not the kind of man who lied about these kind of things. Sulla and Marius both truly were held captive by the traitor proconsul. The senate had voted, and Cotta was considered an outlaw, as were all who followed him, and Scaevola had been awarded with a huge pile of honourary titles.
Quintus Mucius Scaevola was 68 years old, a veteran from commanding over 50 battles, elected consul twice and now... He was the mightiest man in the entire empire, the Dictator. None could oppose him now. He had won the war, and the senate and people of Rome had awarded him the greatest of all prizes. He would bear the honour well the last few years of his life, he knew this. He was healthy and virile for his age, but it was only a matter of time until he would collapse, just like all old men do. During the last year he had been feeling increasingly tired and spent, and even though his mind remained young and healthy, his body did not show all the same positive symptoms.
But Scaevola knew he could not rest quite yet. There were four other people in the world which he cared for more than he cared for himself, these were his wife, the beautiful Livia, his children, seven-year-old Titus and Mucia, and finally his daughter Mucia's husband, Gaius Marius. He knew that when he passed away, Titus would be the Scaevola family head and therefore, he did not want to die before Titus had atleast finished his basic education and was ready for such great a task. Neither did he want to die before he had saved, or atleast ensured that he had done all he could to save Marius from Cotta's claws. Livia was still young, a mere 31 years of age only six years divided her and Mucia, who was his daughter together with a Licinia Crassa, who had been his wife until the start of the Civil War, when she picked her fathers side and joined Sulla. Scaevola had loved her, and from all he knew she was still alive, working as a governor for one of the provinces in western Spain. Also she had re-married, but her husband, the Centurion of the 6th Greek, Quintus Caecilius Metellus, had died trying to fight off Legio Magna in the Battle of Athenae.
He laughed at his sorrowful thoughts and waved to the people lining up on the streets around him. How could he be despairing a day like this?
He was home now!
He rode up the stairs of the Curia building, and turned around looking out over Forum Romanum. He remembered how Marius had done the same thing almost ten years ago, at the very same place and wondered if the people also remembered the two great, charismatic leadesrs who had threwn them into this horrible Civil War at first for so many years ago.
"My people! Beloved citizens, freemen and slaves of Rome! You; who are the backbone of our great empire, and the bulwark of civilization wherever in the world I turn. I have returned to you, after nine long, dreadful years of constant fighting against the illoyalist scum who have infested our glorious republic for so long. These men I am talking about, have been defeated!" A great shout arosed as the entire Forum Romanum roared Scaevolas name with one voice. "Even if we have won this war, this the greatest conflict in the history of our ancient realm, it will take long to recover from the wounds caused by the illoyalists who have been trying to overthrow our glorious republic into anarchy. The senate has awarded me with the title of Praetor Maximus, and as such, I have taken it on as my duty to cleanse out from the empire all that remains of the evil anarchist rabble.
But this I say to all of you; we must and will remember these thousands of men and women who have died protecting their families and their honour, no matter what side, these men have given their lives to Rome, and for a pointless Civil War that was not theirs to fight."
"Fallen in war, they belong to history. Fallen in war, they sleep 6 feet below. Hearts of the brave, we cannot bring them back to life. Fallen in war. Still brothers in arms."