“I swear it — I swear it with all my heart that I will come back for you, and we’ll never be parted again.”

“But you’ll forget me.”

Gaius hugged Julia tightly as she again wrapped her arms around him.

“No. I could never forget you, Julia.”

“I love you, Gaius,” she whispered, only loud enough for him to hear.

“I love you too.”

Antony stood next to his sister, removing the clay medallion of the She-Wolf Lupus. Carefully, he snapped the token in two halves before handing the top piece to Gaius, for him to take.

“Here, so you shall remember me. We will always be brothers, as long as each of us has a piece of the medallion. Don’t forget that, okay.”

“I won’t forget,” Gaius answered as he placed the broken medallion around his neck, letting the top half of Lupus’ head rest on his chest where he vowed never to take off.

Antony took his sister’s hand and guided her back to where they had been resting. The body slave took the still crying Julia into her arms, wrapping a shawl around the girl while she comforted her.

“I’m proud of you, Gaius. Today you have taken your first step to becoming a man. Never forget those that we leave behind, for they are the ones you’ll fight for when the time comes,” Julius said as he knelt down before Gaius, speaking to him with a clear, proud voice.

“I won’t forget, father. I promise.”

Gaius hugged his father for the last time before Julius forced himself to let go.

“You train him well, Valerius.”

“I will old friend. I will see you in the next life,” Valerius said as he extended his hand for Julius to take.

“Take your time getting there.” Julius grabbed his oldest friend and embraced him, before the two men parted quickly, not wanting to prolong their separation any longer.

“Come lad, we have a lot of road to cover before we reach the legion barracks,” Valerius said as he escorted Gaius over to his horse, helping him up onto the back of the smaller mare, before he leaped onto his own.

As the two of them turned and started down the dirt road, heading south, Julia ran behind Gaius for several paces crying out, “Don’t forget me, Gaius! Don’t forget your promise! I will be waiting for you; I promise! I love you, Gaius!”

He smiled down at her, watching her until she disappeared over the horizon as the falling sun soon crossed under the western sky, ending the last day of his old life.

The Senate of Carthage

North Africa

Two large gold-plated doors that led into the Carthaginian Senate swung open once the visitors from Rome were announced to the gathering of politicians, foreign delegates and the nobility of Carthage. The glare of the sun, blistering hot, filled the chamber that seated over three hundred representatives, who had gathered to meet emissaries from Rome. These men waited eagerly; most, if not all, with apprehension and contempt that filled their hearts. The last time representatives from Rome stepped foot in the Carthaginian Senate, was to accept their surrender to Rome. Now, as the collective audience took a deep breath, they looked on as five men, each dressed in pristine white togas, stepped through the open doors and walked without breaking stride toward the gathering of men who would hear what Rome demanded of them.

Each senator waited in silence, in anticipation. Only the rhythmic tapping of the representatives of Rome, shoes could be heard as they crossed the marble floor to see the leader of the Carthaginian Senate.

Finally, the leader of the group, a tall, well-built man, clearly the equestrian class, with short close-cut black hair, dark eyes and a stern glare nodded his head to the leader of the Carthaginian Senate. His name was Quintus Fabius. He was a former tribune in the Roman army and now appointed chief envoy by his Senate to deliver a message to Carthage, in hopes of preventing another war.

Each of his four aides stood poised behind Quintus — each soldiers purposefully big and intimidating, as if they carried the might of the Roman army on their shoulders.

“Senators,” Quintus began, not waiting to be formally introduced or spoken to. His voice carried high, easily heard from all corners of the Senate chambers, as all who listened, paid attention to him and his words with great and worrisome interest.

“I have come to you with great urgency. It would appear that this house has allowed one of its generals to run astray.” Quintus’ opening statement was designed to sound purposely mocking. More than a few of the Carthaginian senators snorted their contempt at his acquisition.

“Three months ago, a general by the name of Hannibal Barca, birthed out of New Carthage in Hispania, raised an army and laid siege to the settlement of Saguntum, a Roman ally.” His voice rose higher on that last statement as Quintus directed his gaze around the room.

“Three weeks ago Saguntum fell to Hannibal’s forces, and now Rome has learned that the rogue Hannibal has unified a number of barbarian tribes within Gaul, and is planning his march across the Alps even as I speak, with the clear intentions of invading Italy.”

A number of Carthaginian senators began to voice their belay in the accusations that Quintus was making.

“Where is your proof?! Yelled one man, but Quintus ignored him and all others that demanded the same.

“Rome,” Quintus’ voice rose even higher, “will not tolerate this act of open aggression against our allies and our people. If this Senate does not act now and forcefully remove the renegade Hannibal of his command, and present him to the Roman Senate, so he may face punishment, his actions, and the unwillingness of this Senate will be considered an act of war.”

Quintus stretched out his words, putting an extra pause on the word war, so that his warnings would resonate deeply with the men who had gathered to hear his demands.

Quintus lowered both of his hands down to his sides and filled them with the folds of his toga, before raising it higher, as if he was offering the cloth to the senators. He paused for a moment longer, allowing his confusing gesture to be seen by all in the chambers before he continued.

“In my folds, Rome brings you either peace or war. Which do you choose?”

The Carthaginians seemed puzzled as a chorus of voices rose up, most of them outraged by the proposal and the seemly theatrical gesture by Quintus.

The leader of the Senate rose from to his feet, fixing his dark gaze on Quintus as he gave his reply. Like many of his fellow representatives, he donned a thick curled black beard that made him distinctly alien to the five trimmed Romans who stood before him.

He raised his right hand; palm held out, and urged his members to be silent for a moment as he gave his answer.

“Which do you prefer?” the senator seemed like he was going to say more, but before he could; Quintus dropped his folds and tilted his head in a respectful manner.

“Then we choose war. This, the Senate, the People and Rome accept,” and afterwards, Quintus and his four burly bodyguards turned abruptly, walking with haste out of the Carthaginian Senate even though a number of the senators, including their leader urged them to return so that negotiations could continue. Other senators, however, accepted Rome’s statement and rallied for war as the chambers erupted into frenzy.

Quintus glanced back one last time as the senators and other Carthaginians present at the brief assembly were at each other’s throats. Some accepting Rome’s offer for war, while others demanded that they sue for peace, at any cost. This told Quintus all he needed to know. Carthage was not ready for a prolonged conflict, and more than likely would not send aid to Hannibal. The rouge would be alone and easily dealt with when and if he crossed the Alps. And at the very least, he would be bogged down for a number of years, perhaps even a decade without help from home before he could actually threaten Rome directly. No matter, Quintus knew Rome would be back here, in these chambers, with Hannibal’s head on a pike. With him, Carthage would kneel before Rome and her legions.