It had been a long day, Lucius Decimus reflected, as he rested upon his horse, his gaze travelling the vast expanse before him. As general of the Emperor’s personal army, he had been ordered to expand upon Tiberius’s plans for military conquest, and spread the Roman Empire’s power to the far reaches of the world.

And what a fabulous idea that had been, Lucius thought wryly. For all of Tiberius’s ambition and sway with the Senate, he had really no grasp on reality. With the rest of the army away on other missions, he had chosen his best general and his men. However, Lucius’s men were exhausted already from a long campaign in Germania, and now, having travelled thousands of miles through forest, desert and swamps, they now found themselves in an unknown land, surrounded by what had looked like a primitive race.

How wrong his assumption had been. The inhabitants of this land had cut a swath through the regiment, almost as easily as a knife cuts through freshly churned butter. Their weapons, far more effective than they had initially appeared, struck with deadly force. Lucius estimated that a quarter of his men were dead or wounded before they had known what had hit them.

Almost as destructive as the defenders, was the climate. Clad in heavy armour of leather and bronze, the Romans were encumbered in the humid, sticky heat, which gave way to a torrential downpour, the likes of which Lucius had never seen. Struggling through the monsoon, they were subdued easily by the combined might of the storm and the indigenous peoples of this unknown land.

Lucius had beaten a hasty retreat with the remainder of his men, rallying them to head back towards home. Embarrassed, tired and bloodied, his troops struggled through, and eventually made camp in a clearing, in the hopes that the storm would pass over soon.

The general was interrupted by his reverie with the appearance of his executive officer, Galus. The man looked understandably angry, though, it appeared, not with Lucius. ‘For Mithras’s sake, sir. I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but…’

‘Speak, old friend. We’ve lost a lot of men today, and those we have left…I will not disrespect our fallen friends by ignoring the ones we have left.’

Galus sighed. ‘We’ve been relied upon for many months now, to carry out our Emperor’s orders. And now, we have been humbled…by wild men??’

Lucius laughed, despite himself. ‘Perhaps this is a message to the Empire, that not all of Caesar’s ambitions can be fulfilled.’

Galus snarled savagely. ‘Perhaps not all of them should!’ he paced up and down furiously, gazing up at his mounted commander. ‘I know it seems like treason, but he needs to know that this campaign isn’t working. That he cannot sacrifice good lives on a whim, simply because he wants-’

‘A new land as a toy to play with? More slaves? Unfortunately, our Emperor’s word is law, and the Senate has, for the moment, given him their support.’

‘All of the Senators? Surely not Senator Meridius, and his friends?’ Meridius was popular, and outspoken against Tiberius. Lucius considered Galus’s words then.

‘No, not him, or his circle. What you are suggesting, friend, definitely is treason.’

Galus looked at the ground for a moment, then up at Lucius once more. ‘I’m saying, we need to persuade the Emperor to see sense, that this campaign is madness. I’m not saying we overthrow him!’

But I am, Lucius murmured in his thoughts, Galus’s words igniting a fire within him. For too long, had he played the part of lapdog to Tiberius and his ambitions. He did not care for power for himself, but rather, the idea of a more democratic society. He despised how he had been beaten into submission in carrying out a dictator’s orders. He was himself popular with the Senate; perhaps with support, he could ensure that the people decided the future of the Empire, rather than an idiot with his head in the clouds.

Tomorrow, Lucius would set a path for Rome, and he would ensure the recuperation of his men. Tomorrow, perhaps, he would also start on a path to rebellion.