Post by Nicole on Apr 6, 2011 22:43:51 GMT -5
Scipio
Legate Cornelius Scipio dreaded delivering the information in his hand.
When the despatch had arrived he'd had it decoded -- and once he'd read the contents, the vellum had been sent straight back to the Speculatores to decode again. Thricely, if necessary! Such information could not be left to error on the part of some Illyrian spymaster!
But it wasn't wrong. There was, Scipio mused to himself, no way it could have been wrong. Not after the first decoding. Perhaps his reaction was simply delaying the inevitable. Like how the Proconsul had delayed his return to Rome. Both he and Scipio knew of the inevitable. Knew what was coming.
And here it was, clutched in his hand. A senatus consultum ultimum. Demanding that Proconsul Lucius Verus of the Valerii Messalones turn over command of his legions to a duly appointed Senatorial representative and return post-haste to Rome in order to give account of his campaigns.
Scipio snorted at the thought. And Mercury will lose a footrace to Vulcan while we're at it.
"Proconsul," Scipio said boldly as he stepped into the Praetorium. Verus was already inside, surrounded by the varius Tribunes and Legati that assisted in command of his army. A quick salute and then, he held out the despatch, fist open.
"It's come."
Lucius
Verus stared at Scipio for a moment, and it was only the decade of continual military training and discipline that actually prevented him from doing it.
The crazy old bastards, they'd done it. By Jupiter Capitolinus' laurel-crowned bloody beard, they'd done it. Gone so far as to issue a final decree regarding his governorship -- when the current term of office wasn't set to expire for another year. Certainly, the final defeat of Mithridates marked an end to the pressing need for an army in Pontus but to recall him and all but force disgrace?
Reaching out to tentatively take the vellum, Verus unscrolled it and briefly scanned its contents. Senatus consultum de res publica defendenda videant consules ne res publica detrimenti capiat. The usual, bombastic decree - The final declaration of the Senate for defense of the Republic authorizes the Consuls to ensure the state should come to no harm.
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh out loud and spin around and shout and scream and snicker and snort. Those bastards. Those malignant, all-encompassing bastards were authorizing the Consulate to make war upon him should he not comply.
There was no time to dwell on their hubris except for a quick pledge that the patrician sybarites infesting the Curia would pay for it.
"Gentlemen," Verus said cooly, looking out at his assembled staff. There were three Legates -- Scipio, in command of the Seventh, and the brothers Rufus and Constans Julius Caelius, commanding the Third and Twelfth respectively. Also present were each legion's Tribuni, five each, for an additonal fifteen present. They all looked grave. "The Senate has decreed I am to resign my governorship a year in advance of schedule and return to Rome to answer charges. I say to them," pausing for effect, Verus turned and cast the vellum into the fire.
"I say to them, comitatenses, that there shall be no need to send the Consuls and their bloated, Italic legions across the Tyrhennian, though surely they would lose thousands in the crossing. There is no need for them to struggle across the hills of Makedon and across the Propontis. There is no need, my friends, because I would not spend years waiting for their incompetent commanders to rank up and begin marching."
That provoked a round of soft laughs. There was no question, III, VII, and XII Legio were amongst the elite.
Verus swallowed. He looked each man in the eye in turn.
"I'm going to Rome, old friends. Will anyone be coming with me?"
Scipio
There was no hesitation from the three Legati and if any of the fifteen Tribuni had misgivings, they were wise enough not to show it.
"We are with you, Sir," Scipio spoke for them all, voice thin and grave. "You've led us from one end of Anatolia to the other. When you first took command we said we'd follow you through the Cilician Gates if we had to. And I'd much prefer a stroll through the forum to peaks of the Taurus."
Verus nodded once. He was silent, and Scipio could see quite easily the weight of his mind.
"Proconsul," Scipio said, gesturing to the large map that dominated a table; it was a stylized mosaic of the entire theatre, with the peaks of Khorasan in the east and the edge of Italy in the west. "The last intelligence we received indicated only one legion in the vicinity of Rome -- the Second. If we're fast enough, we could get the drop on them before word trickles west that we're on the move."
Rufus Caelius broke in suddenly, shooting an erstwhile glance to his brother. "Scipio has a point, sir. But I believe that such a direct strike would be too dangerous. What if more legions have been moved into Italy? We certainly have three of the finest sections of the army but the Senate could easily rally six or eight legions in Italy if given the proper precautions."
His brother added duly, with a snicker, "They won't take the proper precautions. They expect you to roll over dead, Proconsul."
Scipio bit his lip, and affected a wolfish smile. "Perhaps, Proconsul?" he said calmly, as if struck by wild surmise, "We might bring some of those Armenian cataphractoi home with us?"
"Now that," Verus could be heard to mutter, "is an exceptional idea, Legate."
Legate Cornelius Scipio dreaded delivering the information in his hand.
When the despatch had arrived he'd had it decoded -- and once he'd read the contents, the vellum had been sent straight back to the Speculatores to decode again. Thricely, if necessary! Such information could not be left to error on the part of some Illyrian spymaster!
But it wasn't wrong. There was, Scipio mused to himself, no way it could have been wrong. Not after the first decoding. Perhaps his reaction was simply delaying the inevitable. Like how the Proconsul had delayed his return to Rome. Both he and Scipio knew of the inevitable. Knew what was coming.
And here it was, clutched in his hand. A senatus consultum ultimum. Demanding that Proconsul Lucius Verus of the Valerii Messalones turn over command of his legions to a duly appointed Senatorial representative and return post-haste to Rome in order to give account of his campaigns.
Scipio snorted at the thought. And Mercury will lose a footrace to Vulcan while we're at it.
"Proconsul," Scipio said boldly as he stepped into the Praetorium. Verus was already inside, surrounded by the varius Tribunes and Legati that assisted in command of his army. A quick salute and then, he held out the despatch, fist open.
"It's come."
Lucius
Verus stared at Scipio for a moment, and it was only the decade of continual military training and discipline that actually prevented him from doing it.
The crazy old bastards, they'd done it. By Jupiter Capitolinus' laurel-crowned bloody beard, they'd done it. Gone so far as to issue a final decree regarding his governorship -- when the current term of office wasn't set to expire for another year. Certainly, the final defeat of Mithridates marked an end to the pressing need for an army in Pontus but to recall him and all but force disgrace?
Reaching out to tentatively take the vellum, Verus unscrolled it and briefly scanned its contents. Senatus consultum de res publica defendenda videant consules ne res publica detrimenti capiat. The usual, bombastic decree - The final declaration of the Senate for defense of the Republic authorizes the Consuls to ensure the state should come to no harm.
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh out loud and spin around and shout and scream and snicker and snort. Those bastards. Those malignant, all-encompassing bastards were authorizing the Consulate to make war upon him should he not comply.
There was no time to dwell on their hubris except for a quick pledge that the patrician sybarites infesting the Curia would pay for it.
"Gentlemen," Verus said cooly, looking out at his assembled staff. There were three Legates -- Scipio, in command of the Seventh, and the brothers Rufus and Constans Julius Caelius, commanding the Third and Twelfth respectively. Also present were each legion's Tribuni, five each, for an additonal fifteen present. They all looked grave. "The Senate has decreed I am to resign my governorship a year in advance of schedule and return to Rome to answer charges. I say to them," pausing for effect, Verus turned and cast the vellum into the fire.
"I say to them, comitatenses, that there shall be no need to send the Consuls and their bloated, Italic legions across the Tyrhennian, though surely they would lose thousands in the crossing. There is no need for them to struggle across the hills of Makedon and across the Propontis. There is no need, my friends, because I would not spend years waiting for their incompetent commanders to rank up and begin marching."
That provoked a round of soft laughs. There was no question, III, VII, and XII Legio were amongst the elite.
Verus swallowed. He looked each man in the eye in turn.
"I'm going to Rome, old friends. Will anyone be coming with me?"
Scipio
There was no hesitation from the three Legati and if any of the fifteen Tribuni had misgivings, they were wise enough not to show it.
"We are with you, Sir," Scipio spoke for them all, voice thin and grave. "You've led us from one end of Anatolia to the other. When you first took command we said we'd follow you through the Cilician Gates if we had to. And I'd much prefer a stroll through the forum to peaks of the Taurus."
Verus nodded once. He was silent, and Scipio could see quite easily the weight of his mind.
"Proconsul," Scipio said, gesturing to the large map that dominated a table; it was a stylized mosaic of the entire theatre, with the peaks of Khorasan in the east and the edge of Italy in the west. "The last intelligence we received indicated only one legion in the vicinity of Rome -- the Second. If we're fast enough, we could get the drop on them before word trickles west that we're on the move."
Rufus Caelius broke in suddenly, shooting an erstwhile glance to his brother. "Scipio has a point, sir. But I believe that such a direct strike would be too dangerous. What if more legions have been moved into Italy? We certainly have three of the finest sections of the army but the Senate could easily rally six or eight legions in Italy if given the proper precautions."
His brother added duly, with a snicker, "They won't take the proper precautions. They expect you to roll over dead, Proconsul."
Scipio bit his lip, and affected a wolfish smile. "Perhaps, Proconsul?" he said calmly, as if struck by wild surmise, "We might bring some of those Armenian cataphractoi home with us?"
"Now that," Verus could be heard to mutter, "is an exceptional idea, Legate."
