“We are Rome,” he whispered, and turned to see thousands standing for him. In that moment, he understood what held Tubruk to loyalty and his father’s faith. He would turn his hand to the dream as better men had before him, and honor them with his life.

In the distance, cornicens sounded the long notes to break camp.

*                                                      *                                                      *

“Keep moving, my brothers,” Spartacus roared. It was the end, and somehow, there was no fear. His slaves had shown that the legions could be beaten, and he knew there would be a day when the cracks they had made would widen and Rome would fall. The legions behind them glittered in the morning sun, sending up a shout as Pompey’s thousands marched down to them, faster and faster like jaws to crush the slaves between them. Spartacus saw his ragged slaves would be engulfed. He drew his sword and pulled his iron helmet over his face.

“My gods, we gave them a run, though,” he said to himself as the air darkened with spears.

Epilogue

                  EPILOGUE                  

Pompey walked with Crassus between the rows of crosses. With Rome in sight, the line stretched for miles down the Via Appia behind them, six thousand men to serve as a warning and a proof of the victory. Forests had been felled to hold them, and when the legion carpenters ran out of nails, the slaves had simply been tied and speared, or left to die of thirst.

The two generals dismounted to walk the last mile into the city. Crassus would not be shamed, Pompey had promised him. Ending the rebellion erased the disasters that had gone before, and Pompey was willing to let him have his moment of glory. He had nothing to fear from Crassus and there was always his wealth to be considered. He would need wealthy men to finance his time as consul. Perhaps, he thought, it would be fruitful to urge Crassus to take the second consular post when the elections came. They could share the expenses then and Crassus would always be grateful.

In the distance, the generals could hear the tinny sounds of a cheering crowd, catching sight of them on the road. They smiled at each other, enjoying the moment.

“I wonder if we should ask for a Triumph?” Crassus said, breathing quickly at the thought. “There hasn’t been one since Marius.”

“I remember it,” Pompey said, thinking of the young man who had stood at Marius’s shoulder on the ride to the forum.

As if guessing his thoughts, Crassus glanced at him.

“It’s a shame Julius isn’t here to see this. He fought hard enough for us.”