“I am coming home, my love,” Gaius uttered to himself as he drew his sword, which was followed by the thousands of men who stood in formation behind him. And then, carried over the distant horizon, he and all the Sixth heard it, the final horn blow — the signal to attack.

“For Rome!” Gaius roared as he kicked his horse and raced across the desert — the whole of the Sixth charging behind him.

The cavalry charge was intense. Gaius had never been in one so large and this furious, as over five thousand, men collided with a thunderous clap of flesh and iron. The sounds of men and animals screaming as they were being chewed to pieces with deadly efficiency was overpowering, yet Gaius stayed poised as he rode through the first wave of riders who had charged headlong into his men. Now, the charge had ended and both Roman and Carthaginian were mixed together in a deadly duel — the victor would break the other’s lines and ride around to the main center, enveloping the army and claim victory. It was a simple tactic that was devoid of any trickery or surprises. The battle would be decided by the merit of the men, their equipment, training and experience.

Blood splashed across Gaius’ face. He couldn’t avoid a mouthful of the salty — coopery taste of his opponent’s gore going down his throat. He had learned a long time ago to ignore the strange unnatural taste as his sword cut across the face of one horseman who charged towards him. For the moment, he was with a group of a dozen or more Roman riders, but with each savage micro battle between the greater engagement, men fell or were pushed further into the melee.

For all the tactics and training he had received in his life none of it meant anything, not in the heat of battle. He could call out if he liked, but his words would easily be drowned out by the sounds of battle. So, Gaius worried about one opponent at a time as he moved, still on his horse through the Carthaginian ranks.

He had lost count how many men he had killed or wounded. He himself already sustained half dozen cuts upon his body, but thankfully, his superior armor protected him from anything too serious. Most men he shoved his sword into didn’t even see him. It was the nature of the conflict. With so much dust and chaos surrounding the battlefield, men just pushed and thrust into anything that moved either before them, or to the sides. It was becoming hard to distinguish friend from foe, and these were merely the early moments of the battle. It was only when the tip of his blade met resistance, and then the splatter of blood that Gaius knew he had actually killed someone. Soon, however, most of the riders on either side of the battle had dismounted, either because their horses were struck down, being as they were a bigger target than the man who rode them, or forced down.

Out from the dust and clamoring of bodies Gaius saw him, the only man among this enemy army he had been searching for, Calfax.

The former gladiator seemed to notice Gaius at the same time. They were both still on their horses, less than fifty paces from one another. For just a moment their eyes locked, and then Gaius roared as he encouraged his horse to charge.

Calfax soon did the same as the two men galloped through the fighting that was taking place all around them, and readied to face the other, picking up where they had left off.

As Gaius neared the man, he had faced only once before, that night, five years prior, just days after the battle of Cannae, he could see the horrors in his mind’s eye that Calfax had overseen in his camp — the murdered, and tortured Roman captives whom he had tried to save. Those images had forever stayed with him, haunting his nights, pushing him to the brink of insanity at times. He swore some nights, as he lay awake in his bed that he could still smell and taste the cooked human flesh of his countrymen. What Calfax had done was inhuman. His hatred for everything Roman boiled over into the rage that had sustained the old man for decades. When he was finally given the chance to break the bonds of his slavery, he did not seek freedom, but revenge for the injustice that his Roman captives had done to him for more years than Gaius had been alive.

He knew without a doubt Antony had died at Calfax hands — the man wore the medallion that had become the symbol of two boy’s brotherhood — a lifelong promise that they would always be there for one another, fight and defend the other from anything, man or monster. Gaius wanted that broken half of the medallion back more than anything, and he was just seconds away from rejoining the two pieces.

When he was within range, Gaius threw himself forward, off of his horse and right at Calfax, who had no time to react as the younger man’s body hit him with all the force and speed that Gaius had been traveling before his daring leap of faith.

The two men fell to the ground. Gaius hit hard, landing on his side and rolled several more feet before he finally stopped.

The hard earth beneath him did nothing to cushion his fall, but his armor had saved him from any serious injury beyond the gash to his head as his helmet was knocked free.

The old gladiator fell onto his back and rolled once before he stopped.

As Calfax stood to his feet, it was painfully clear that he had broken several ribs on his right side, but despite the pain, he stood his ground and reacted quickly as Gaius charged at him once he was back on his feet.

Gaius’ blows came savagely. Years of built-up rage poured out of him as he struck at the old gladiator time and time again. He forwent any form and any practiced training, and just attacked with all the force his younger body could bring.

Calfax, with decade’s worth of experience expertly dodged or blocked Gaius’ savage beating, but the younger Roman was, for the moment, too quick for him to counter against.

The two men covered several meters in a matter of seconds since the first blow had been struck. Both ignored the battle that was happening all around them. Neither man cared at this moment which side was winning the battle even though both knew what should happen if one faction should faultier and collapse.

The world was just them, which was just as Calfax wanted — this was his arena — man to man with one possible outcome.

Gaius charged again, swinging high, hoping that the tip of his finely crafted sword, the very sword that had once belonged to Valerius, would contact Calfax’s throat. However, the experienced warrior dodged the oncoming attack with ease, and then quickly struck low.

Gaius felt it; a fast and painful sensation as the tip of Calfax’s slightly longer sword sliced right across his lower thigh.

Instantly, he felt the weight on that leg gave way, but he forced himself to counter balance and remain standing. Calfax, however, had a clean shot if he took it. Gaius’ defenses were down for a fraction of a second, yet the old gladiator did not attack. He instead stood back and allowed Gaius to regain his footing and level his defense.

Calfax attacked this time. Gaius tried to hold his ground but the older man was surprisingly faster, stronger and now enraged with the memories of what Rome had done to him long ago.

Calfax cut into Gaius’ sword arm. The blade sliced deeply into his biceps, which splattered blood across the already soaked battlefield.

Gaius had no time to even scream before another savage attack hit him — this time Calfax’s blade cut across the side of his neck. He had only managed to turn just enough that the blade didn’t tear more than an inch into his flesh, but still, the damage was done.

“Rome made me the best — a better fighter than I ever was. And for that, I thank you. For it has given me the means to slaughter your kind for years now.”