Early Morning, II.

Marcus looked over the sandy hill where his tent was established as he moved past his housecarl. Just a few hours ago, a small skirmish with the enemy resulted in a worse-than-ideal situation to his liking, but the intensity of the harassment they were receiving was yet another reason why he knew for sure that he was getting closer to the enemy’s central group. If only they were man enough to pitch a face-off on full strength, he thought; but these profligates were seemingly unusual in their engagement strategy. They were fast, and their cavalrymen’s vanguard had done armor down to their horses. Extraordinary as it may be, in Marcus’ mind, as long as his light infantry prevented his heavy and battle-hardened legionnaires from getting flanked or surrounded, there was no way for anything on this side of the world could overrun his forces. Seven full legions… Republic’s finest were with him, and no less than a full victory was necessary for him to maintain the power balance among the Triumvirate, as Julius’ beautification of Gaul was improving his hand immensely as Pompeii was gaining more and more popularity in regional senates.

Satisfied with how his legions were combat-ready for the upcoming push, he remained adamant in his decision to seek a confrontation by marching eastward as deep as necessary instead of breaking off for a detour from up north. Marcus was getting impatient to see his men march pronto once again, for victory; over the desolate-looking desert that spanned in front of them.

Late Afternoon, II.

Caressing his necklace thoroughly brought him back to his feelings but not his thoughts; and the only thing he was certain of was his uncertainty as to where he was. Nevertheless, a warm reassurance seemed to radiate from his necklace, though he could not remember its significance in full. Disfigured “T” shape of it made him feel better for a while as if things were going to turn out OK. But they were not OK now, for he was suffering greatly, even more so as sharp tinglings were now evolving into sharp pains and then, into pure agony. As he tried to raise his head up to have a better view of himself, his helmet fell off onto his right side. Unlike the saturated thud of hardened steel hitting the sand, a fleshy noise came out, followed by a clink of metal. As he turned his head around to see what it was, he noticed that it was not the sand but a decapitated head laying on its ear that his helmet came in contact with. It was then he began noticing the glistening crimson all around him, he noticed the blood-saturated he was laying on, sand that would take months to resemble anything close to its original yellow tone.