“You are the only senior officer to have returned. We’ve had trickles of men, here and there, but none as large a force as you’ve brought back. What happened — what went wrong?”

Valerius grumbled, not out of frustration by Gaius’ question, or fear of recalling what had happened, but more from anger.

“It was that damn fool, Flaminius. Precisely what happened at Trebia, Flaminius refused to listen to us, even though we feared Hannibal might be setting another trap. However, he just kept marching us towards that damn lake.”

Valerius rubbed his index finger between his temples before he started again. Gaius did not try to press him, even though he desperately wanted to know the details.

“Flaminius marched the whole army along the banks of Trasimene, hoping to cut Hannibal from retreating back into the woods, as he had done before. It seemed, for a time that the bastard had camped his forces around Tuoro, so we weren’t worried about being out-flanked since it would take too much time for Hannibal to march his army out to confront us, if he was indeed planning something. So, Flaminius set camp at the base of the lake, where we waited for morning.”

Valerius took a moment as his tired mind struggled to recall the events of that day.

“When morning came, a heavy fog drifted in over the lake and encircled us. We saw fires still burning on top of Tuoro, so we thought there was no cause for alarm. At the very least, Hannibal might have used the fog to make a run for it. Nevertheless, that wily bastard had set the perfect trap, which we walked right into.”

Valerius stood to his feet, throwing his arms out to his sides as he spoke with vigor, animating in detail what followed.

“By the time we realized that the fires we saw still burning were a ruse, Hannibal and his whole horde hit us from three sides. With our backs to the lake, we had nowhere to turn. Our formations were in tatters, and when the legion was on the verge of collapse, I saw hundreds of damn fools trying to swim across Trasimene, freezing, or drowning from the weight of their kit.”

“We had reports that Flaminius died during the battle,” Gaius pointed out one of the briefings he had read upon his return to Rome.

“I did not see it with my own eyes, but hope the bastard died shitting his pants. He led a lot of good men to their doom, just like that moron Sempronius had.”

“What did you do next?”

Valerius ran his fingers through his matted hair, before he rubbed his eyes, trying hard to stave off his exhaustion, before yawning.

“I gathered what men I could, and we pushed through Hannibal’s lines. I started with five cohorts, but lost most during the attempt — more still on the march back to Rome.”

“I should have been there,” Gaius spoke more to himself than to Valerius.

“You had your orders and you carried them out as I had instructed. Don’t dwell on matters that were beyond your control.”

Valerius lied down on Gaius’ bed. He tried to stay awake, but sleep quickly overtook him before he could utter another word.

Gaius looked at Valerius, who began to snore minutes after closing his eyes. He stood from his seat and careful walked to the old legate and pulled the wolf-skin blanket higher across Valerius’ shoulders, before stepping back.

Valerius looked ancient with his un-kept beard, now thick with grey. However, he didn’t feel so young himself anymore.

All Gaius knew was he would have to train his men hard if they hoped to survive Hannibal. He decided then, with drink still in their bellies and little hours of rest, that at first light he would rouse his men and drill them until the sun went down.

If the consuls believed strength through numbers was going to be enough, the Wolves would use knowledge gained through blood on the battlefield to their advantage. What may come, only the fates knew for certain.

The days had grown long and warmer as the summer sun rose higher into the sky, brining a welcome sense of calm and renewed hope as the distance between the year’s previous events grew further apart. And while fighting continued across the breath of the Republic, Rome was, at least safe, for the moment, as Hannibal’s army had been kept at bay.

Since the disastrous battles at Trebia and Trasimene, both Paullus and Varro, as co-consuls of Rome, rebuilt the shattered remains of the Senate's legions with new blood drawn from the ranks of Rome’s allies, and her own citizens. The numbers were staggering. To date, the consuls gathered, trained and armed a hundred thousand men. It was the single biggest force the Republic had ever gathered, and one of the largest the world had seen. With such facts, few in Rome felt the war with Hannibal could continue for more than a few more weeks, if that. When and if he decided to engage the Republic's legions, his small force of barbarian allies would be swept aside like pebbles against the waves.

Since Valerius' return weeks prior, Gaius had spent every day working his new recruits into a formable fighting force, which was comprised of survivors of both Trebia and Trasimene. No legion in the Republic's army was better prepared, which in of itself, worried both Valerius and Gaius. From what they learned, few of the new recruits in the other legion camps around Rome had been trained nearly as hard, or primed for battle. It seemed that their respective officers followed the consul’s thoughts that size mattered, and not the man. Regardless, the new Sixth Legion was shaping up to the equals of those that had already perished. That in of itself gave Gaius tremendous pride, giving he had a large part in making them battle-worthy.

Rome was sending its legions off with style as the two consuls were going to march their combined armies through the city in grand triumph to celebrate their impending victory. And with just an hour before the first column was to enter Rome, thousands of spectators had already gathered, filling the streets with anticipation.

Gaius took the opportunity as his men had already been readied, and wouldn’t be walking through the streets of Rome until the end — the famed and celebrated wolves of the Sixth Legion had a place of honor; he walked towards Julia’s home.

It had been several weeks since he had seen either her or Antony, at most in passing as Gaius attended some of Varro’ meetings in his home. He had few words for either during those occasions, but had no time to reflect with either about the day he returned to the city, shortly after Flaminius’ legions were massacred at Trasimene.

Then, unlike now, one would have thought the world was coming near its end. The city smelled of death: burnt businesses and homes lined every quarter of Rome, the bodies of hundreds of citizens stacked on overflowing carts — even the government brought to its knees. Now, life was as it had been. The city was alive with trade, business, entertainment and politics. Still, war loomed like a dark cloud. No one forgot that Hannibal was out there.

Gaius walked into Julia’s home. He did not see anyone, but he knew most of the house slaves would have been attending to their masters, who would be at the gathering near the forum. However, he knew Julia was still here. He had spoken to Antony the night before briefly during a late-night dinner with Varro and his officers, as he went over his expectations for the day’s event.

Without waiting to be seen, Gaius continued forward, walking toward Julia’s room, which was on the southern end of the large home, near the back, overlooking the garden outside. However, as he neared her room, he could hear another person speaking, a man’s voice which Gaius recognized as Paullus.

Easing himself into the next room, which was empty at the moment, Gaius listened carefully. He did not know why he was suddenly sneaking around. His visit was not unwelcome, and Paullus had full knowledge of him and Julia’s friendship. Gaius couldn’t stand the thought, at this moment, to be between the two of them.