Caesar

Julius climbed the hill to address the men he had fought with for nine years in Gaul.
He knew hundreds by name,
and as he reached the crest and steadied himself against the base of the watchtower,
he saw familiar faces waiting for him to speak.
Did they know how weary he was?
He had shared the privations of the march and the battles across Gaul.
They had seen him push himself further than any of them,
going without sleep for days at a time until there was nothing left in him
but an iron will that kept him on his feet.

"I will not ask you to fight for Rome!" he roared out to them.
"What does Rome know of us here?
What does the Senate understand of what we are?
The merchants in their houses, the slaves, the builders,
and the whores have not been with us in our battles.
When i think of Rome, i cannot think of them, so far away.
My brothers are those i see before me."

The words came out easily in front of the legions.
He knew them all and a thin cheer began as they gazed up at the scarlet-cloaked figure.
He could not have explained the bond to a stanger,
but that had never been necessary.
They knew him for what he was.
They had seen him injured with them and exhanusted after a march.
Each man there had a memory of when he had spoken to them
that they treasured more than the silver coins they were paid.

"I will not ask you to fight this last time for Rome.
I will ask it for me," he said,
and they lifted their heads higher to hear him,
the cheering swelling in the ranks.

"Who dares to call themselves Rome while we live?
The city is just stone and marble without us.
We are is blood and its life.
We are its purpose."

"When our hearts and arms are tired, we go on," Julius roared at them.
"When our stomachs are emtpy and our mouths dry, we go on."
He paused again and smiled down at them.
"Now, gentlemen, we are professionals.
Shall we cut these bastard amatuers to pieces?"

They clashed their swords and shields together
and every throat bellowed their approval.

Conn Iggulden
Emperor