Gaius Fabius Pontio

        Character: typical Roman.  Stoic, religious, tries to be calm and
logical, ignore pain & hardship, loyal to family and patria unto death, etc.
A good leader, is disappointed and disgusted at the foolishness of some of 
the appointed consuls.

Character History

        Born in 239 BC as the second son of a Roman family of the equites
(wealthy merchants) class, Gaius saw the rise of the Roman republic from 
controlling a portion of Italy, to defeating Carthage in the first Punic War,
gaining trading freedom on the Mediterranean, and to the expulsion of the 
Gauls from Italy.
        But after the defeat of the Gauls in northern Italy, things began to
go wrong for the Romans.  Hannibal, the Carthaginian general who oversaw their
allies in Spain, decided that the anger the Romans had stirred up among the
Gallic tribes would allow him to bring an army from Spain, through Gallic
lands, and across the Alps to invade Italy from the north.
        Due to excellent generalship, innovative tactics, scouting, and 
strategy, Hannibal never lost a major battle in Italy, though he spent 16 years
on the peninsula, and though several of his allies were defeated in his
absence.

        In the Roman republic, any candidate for public office had to have 
served at least ten years with the army, so many of the equites class, trying
to gain a foothold in politics, sent their sons to the army.  Most were able
to buy them an officer position, although it was understood that the 
centurions underneath them were actually the ones running things.
        Gaius was no different, and his father saw, in the military conquests
of the time, a way for an effective officer to parlay military accomplishment
into fame, recognition, and a move for his family into the patrician class.
        Being in the army since the age of eighteen, Gaius first was part of
a successful campaign, the end of that which thrust the Gauls back across the
Alps.  Nothing there prepared him for the series and succession of defeats and
retreats the Roman armies endured after the coming of Hannibal.  During the
time, their best general earned the nickname of 'The Delayer', for doing his
best to avoid serious contact with Hannibal's superior generalship.
        But the Roman people grew tired of Fabius's delaying tactics, and had
him replaced with a more aggressive consul.  Surely, things would be getting
better, now that the numerically superior Romans finally had a general willing
to use that superiority by bringing the treacherous Carthaginians, Spaniards,
and their Gallic and Italian allies to bay.
        Under the command of Varro, the Roman army, numbering some 86,000, 
met with Hannibal's forces, in number about 45,000, on a broad plain in Attica,
near Cannae.
        Gaius ordered his maniple, situated in the second line and facing the
opening between two other maniples in the first line, to dress ranks, as they
approached the foe.  This would be an easy battle, and finally the myth of 
Hannibal as invincible would be laid to rest.  The enemy was outnumbered more
than two to one, and it was said that half his forces were Gauls and Italian
allies, who would turn tail and flee as soon as they took some casualties.
        And more, the word from the front was that Hannibal had been foolish
enough to commit them to the center of his line, as if he believed they could
hold a charge from a Roman legion.  The center of his armies would be broken,
and his wings would be separated and defeated individually, whoever could not
flee in time.  Of course, they had more cavalry, so perhaps some would get
away, but the army would be crushed.
        Something here did not make sense, Gaius thought as he marched forward.
I'm no general, yet even I can immediately see a problem here.  Would such a 
general as Hannibal make a mistake like this?  A faint uneasyness began to 
ride his shoulders, in contrast to the light levity exhibited by the soldiers
around him.  But the time for thinking was over, as the probes by the leading
forces were over, and the front lines were about to engage the enemy.
        Sure enough, after a brief and one-sided battle, the center of
Hannibal's forces collapsed and began to retreat, followed closely and 
gleefully by the charging Romans.  Gaius had more than enough to worry about,
trying to have his maniple keep formation, ready to charge between the two
front maniples, or to move sideways to reinforce against an enemy breakthrough.
Things couldn't be going any better, in spite of his worries.
        But soon afterwards, a puzzling problem became apparent.  Instead of
maintaining their distance, the maniples on both sides of his had closed in,
and from the positions of the standards, it seemed as if the whole army was
trying to squeeze into the gap between Hannibal's two wings.  And, added 
pressure from behind heralded that somehow Hannibal had gotten troops behind
the Roman forces to miraculously encircle them.  Unable to maneuver their
maniples, the loose formation that the Romans employed became a handicap, as
they were unused to fighting in set ranks, with no line shifting and movement.
        The maniples in front of his had become pushed together, but the line
of contact had widened enough that his maniple now was against enemy forces.
At first the combat went easy enough, facing second-string, lightly armored
troops.  But then the near wing, where Hannibal had stationed his veterans, 
pushed its way through their retreating allies, and engaged the cramped Romans.
Without enough room to maneuver their large shields, Gaius and his soldiers
were well protected against missile, but at a great disadvantage against hand
held weapons.  After a few minutes of fighting, a spear he never saw came in
over the edged of his shield, biting into his left shoulder.
        The shield immediately dropped despite his best efforts, and the 
Roman gladius is not a good parrying weapon: it is meant to be used with a 
shield.  Unable to lift the shield high enough to protect against a high-line
attack, Gaius just managed to parry a thrust from a sword, when another spear,
or maybe the same one, came in high, and stabbed into his throat.
There was surprisingly little pain, with his body all excited from combat, but
an uncomfortable sensation caused him to bend over and try to cough.  When
nothing but blood came out, he was puzzled for a second... and more puzzled
immediately afterwards, as the sun dimmed, the roar of battle grew distant, 
and without falling, somehow the ground came up to meet him...

        The Romans, encircled by Hannibal's cavalry, and unable to maneuver,
were slaughtered.  Cannae set military tactics, especially the center-retreat
maneuver to create an enclosure, for the next thousand years.  Hardly any 
Romans survived, although many were captured.  The Senate refused to ransom
them, and most were sold as slaves back in Carthage, or to the Gallic and
Italian tribes.  Although his victory left the way open to Rome, Hannibal
felt he did not have enough people to complete a siege of Rome, and did not
advance.  He never had such a good opportunity again.



	It is said that forty-five thousand five hundred foot and two 
thousand seven hundred horse were slain, in an almost equal proportion 
of citizens and allies...The prisoners taken in this battle are said to have 
numbered three thousand foot-soldiers and fifteen hundred horsemen.
	Such was the battle of Cannae, a calamity as memorable as that 
suffered at the Allia, and though less grave in its results- because the 
enemy failed to follow up his victory- yet for the slaughter of the army 
even more grievous and disgraceful.......
.....
   .....
	The morning after, as soon as it was light, they pressed forward 
to collect the spoils and to gaze on a carnage that was ghastly even to 
enemies. There lay those thousands upon thousands of Romans, foot 
and horse indiscriminately mingled, as chance had brought them 
together in the battle or the rout. Here and there amidst the slain there 
started up a gory figure whose wounds had begun to throb with the chill 
of dawn, and was cut down by his enemies; some were discovered lying 
there alive, with thighs and tendons slashed, baring their necks and 
throats and bidding their conquerors drain the remnant of their blood. 
Others were found with their heads buried in holes dug in the ground. 
They had apparently made these pits for themselves, and heaping the 
dirt over their faces shut off their breath. But what most drew the 
attention of all beholders was a Numidian who was dragged out alive 
from under a dead Roman, but with mutilated nose and ears; for the 
Roman, unable to hold a weapon in his hands, had expired in a frenzy of 
rage, while rending the other with his teeth.
	After spending a good part of the day in gathering spoils, 
Hannibal proceeded to attack the smaller camp....

		-Livy, Book XXII

...................................................................................................................

August 3, 216 B.C.

Cannae, Attica


The battlefield is clear of any mist in the pre-dawn light. The outcome 
was clear to you even before a spear through the throat removed you 
from the conflict. Your maniple had already been overwhelmed by an 
opposing force of heavy infantry, Hannibal's Iberian allies. You were 
probably one of the last in your legion to fall. Amazing as it seemed, 
Hannibal's superior tactics brought about the defeat of a Roman force 
that outnumbered the Carthaginian army almost two to one. The Roman 
Senate had wanted a more dynamic leader, and they got one in Consul 
Varro. Unfortunately, "dynamic" did not mean "wiser" or "better".

"Vae victus"...."Woe to the defeated." According to legend, those were 
the words of Brennus, the leader of the Gauls who sacked Rome almost 
two hundred years ago. Now it may be that Hannibal will be able to say 
the same. Roman bodies litter the field, as far as you can see....does 
any army stand between here and Rome? What will prevent the 
Carthaginians and their allies from marching on Rome now, that her 
greatest army has been shattered?

Yet of more immediate concern to you is how you are still alive. You 
were wounded in the shoulder, then pierced through the throat. Dying 
was a very distinct sensation...you know it happened. It was no mere 
flesh wound you took; you saw the spearpoint plunge beneath your 
angle of vision as it thrust through your throat, and almost to the haft.

Now, however, you are able to rise to your feet, a little unsteadily. 
There's blood on your breastplate, but it might not be your own; there 
are bodies piled all around you, their blood soaking plentifully into the 
earth. A few Iberians and Celts, but mostly Romans. The ground is 
drenched in blood, enough to pool over the absorbant soil in places. It is 
carnage, complete and total defeat. Someone groans nearby, and a 
horse screams as it tries to rise, but its back is broken and arrows 
protrude from its flanks, and it snorts jets of bloody foam as it struggles 
in its death throes, before one of the Carthaginians scouring the 
battlefield finally puts it out of its misery with a spear thrust.

Two of those Carthaginians spot you, and approach immediately with 
swords drawn. Behind them come trotting a trio of horsemen, Numidians 
by the looks of them, bare-legged, unarmored, with dark skin and curly 
black hair, clutching long spears much like the one that....should have 
killed you.

"Throw down your sword, Roman," says one of the Carthaginians, in 
decent Latin. "Your army is defeated. Surrender and you will join the 
other prisoners healthy enough to be ransomed. There is no point in 
fighting." The two men seem quite unconcerned about whether you 
choose to fight or not, though they are looking at you with frank 
curiousity....doubtless wondering, as you are, how you come to be still 
standing after such a terrible battle, alive and apparently unwounded.

<><><><><>

"The Romans were most to be feared when they stood in real danger..."  
- Polybius, Histories.
---
[gaius]
Aug 3, 216 BC

	His mind still in a state of shock and disbelief, Gaius only blinks 
slowly at the Carthaginian's statement.
	***alive??? but no one could have survived a spear thrust 
through the neck.  no one.  I remember it clearly.... yet it clearly can't 
have happened.****
	As he mulls his situation over, the meaning of the demand 
registered in his mind, and more puzzlement is occasioned.  **sword??  
oh!**.  The gladius, apparently held in a deathgrip, and unconsciously 
held as he rose, becomes the object of some short period of thought.  
But the small odds of taking any of the enemy with him, especially dazed 
as he is from what must have been a serious blow to the head, decide 
him to drop the blade and step forward.
	"I will surrender myself."  The hated word would burn in his 
throat, yet little emotion accompanies it.  The puzzle of how he is still 
alive and in his situation is too captivating, even more so than the 
Carthaginians.  After all, a serious head blow could cause false 
memories... but if that was the case, how is he standing so easily, and 
why is there no feeling of pain in his head?  Although curiosity was not a 
trait greatly encouraged in his upbringing, still such a puzzle, without a 
reasonable explanation, nags at his deep-rooted sensibilities.
	Looking around him, he can well believe that many other 
legionnaires were captured.  The formations of the dead are well-packed 
and sharply defined, indicating that most of the army was trapped and 
held trapped as its members were killed.  So the surviving losers were 
unable to quit the field... losses would have been horrendous... no, 
actually were horrendous, he corrected himself.  Perhaps some of the 
army may have managed a breakout, but most of it remained trapped.  
So there would be a large group of prisoners waiting to be ransomed, 
and if the Senate was willing and able to come up with the money, the 
core of another army to oppose Hannibal might yet be salvaged.

<><><><><>

[GM]

One of the Carthaginians takes up your sword after you cast it down, but 
they make no effort to divest you of your other equipment. There are 
more Roman arms lying about the field than Hannibal's entire army can 
likely carry, after all. The victors are already moving about to take their 
pick of the spoils.

The enemy soldiers escort you at spearpoint across the field, giving you 
time to survey the scene and gain some understanding of how things 
must have played out. Hannibal lured the Roman army into a trap, 
retreating the center of his forces so that the tightly packed legion would 
pursue, only to be caught between the flanks and hemmed in. Slipping 
some of his cavalry to the rear was a brilliant move, and a catastrophic 
one for the Romans, turning a situation that was already reversing itself 
on you into a completely untenable one. Your numerical superiority 
became a body count as Hannibal's more maneuverable forces hacked 
their way through the pinned bodies of Roman Legionnaires. The 
Numidian cavalry, despised by your countrymen as much for the 
difficulty in meeting them on their own terms as for their barbarous ways, 
harried the outlying infantry, that which wasn't caught in Hannibal's vice. 
Now Cannae is littered with corpses beyond counting, and for every 
dead Carthaginian or Celt or Numidian, you see ten Romans.

"You do not seem to be wounded," the Carthaginian behind you 
comments, almost conversationally. Yet in your ears it sounds more like 
an accusation.

Ahead, you see an encampment, patrolled on the perimeter by 
swaggering Iberian swordsmen, and surrounded by several companies 
of archers. Within, a large and growing mass of dejected, defeated 
Romans stands or sits on the cold ground, avoiding their victors' gazes. 
The cost for ransoming all these prisoners will be high, added to an 
already terrible price Rome has paid for this day.

Most of your countrymen bear wounds; some of them are unlikely to live 
another day, though most of those so severely wounded have already 
been dispatched. And for you, an Optio, to have failed to collect even a 
scratch in the wake of such a defeat, will not look well in the eyes of your 
fellow soldiers.

<><><><><>

August 3rd, 216 BC, Cannae.
[gaius]

	As he walks along, he mulls over what could have occured, to 
knock him unconscious without giving him any lasting effects.  
Obviously, the spear thrust he remembers was merely an artifact of 
whatever blow knocked him out... but that doesn't begin to explain what 
had happened.  While looking around, he takes off his helmet, 
inspecting it for any large new dents, but replaces it even more puzzled 
than before.
	The Carthaginian's comment is noted, but the opinion of an 
enemy hardly counts... certainly it is infinitesmal when compared to that 
of his countrymen, which itself pales in comparison to the regard of his 
family and parents.
	As he approaches the group of Roman prisoners, he looks for 
any large concentration of officer's plumes, and once released into the 
group, begins to make his way towards any such concentration that he 
sees.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Such plumes as you can see are worn, blackened and disheveled, but 
the surviving officers wear them as proudly as they can. A crowd of them 
huddles together amidst the milling Legionnaires, eying their enemies 
with loathing, trying to remain defiant in their captivity.

A Centurion with a brightly enameled breastplate seems to be the 
highest-ranking man in this group. He has an arrow wound in his 
shoulder but otherwise seems all right. An older man, who you'd guess 
to be of a higher rank, but currently unconscious, lying on a crude pallet 
made of the officers' cloaks, with bandages swatching his face and 
chest, lies beside them. Someone is discussing the fate of Consul Varro; 
it seems no one is quite sure whether or not he survived the battle, 
though prevailing opinion is that he did not.

They pause in their conversation as you approach. The Centurion raises 
a hand wearily in greeting. "Ave, Optio. I am Quintus Maccius Maro. Are 
you wounded? I'm afraid we have no medical supplies, I doubt the 
Carthaginian swine plan to give us any."

"What Legion?" another Optio asks eagerly. "Do you know aught of the 
VIth? We were cut down almost to a man, it seems. I have not found any 
of my comrades alive yet."

Across the field, you see that the battle is not entirely over. Hannibal's 
forces have surrounded and are engaged in a one-sided contest against 
the reserve force Consul Varro left to guard the baggage train. While in 
a good defensive formation, it's clearly just a question of how many 
casualties that commander will accept before he decides it's no disgrace 
to surrender to the inevitable.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
August 3, Cannae

	Approaching the group, he salutes the centurion.  "Ave, 
Centurion.  I am Gaius Fabius Pontio.  I don't think I'm wounded, though 
my memories seem a little addled.  But since I'm not bleeding, I won't 
need any supplies... which is good, seeing that I agree with you about 
the plans of those scum."
	When the other optio breaks in, he turns to him, "No, I was with 
the IIIrd, in the 2nd maniple.  But from what I saw of the field of battle as 
I was brought in, I doubt much of the VIth survived.  Actually, I don't 
think many from the front four legions made it at all... I've never seen 
such horrendous slaughter."
	Turning to the distant battle, Gaius pauses for a grimace, and 
comments, "I wonder if we looked as desperate as they do now.  Consul 
Varro led us into a slaughter... but we all thought it was going to be of 
Hannibal's forces.  Curse the day he was born! "

<><><><><>

[GM]

Nobody asks if you are cursing Hannibal or Varro.

The pitched battle goes on for another hour, before the Roman 
encampment is breached, and the Carthaginians sweep in and shatter 
the last of their resistance. Many of them are killed; some surrender.

With the battle well and truly over, all the prisoners are herded together. 
The Carthaginians finish collecting spoils from the battlefield, and 
assemble their own forces back into orderly encampments, with a 
sizeable detachment assigned to guard you. They ignore you until late 
afternoon, when they bring you rations of bread and water.

This gives the Romans time to take an accounting of themselves. A few 
Tribunes are the highest ranking surviving officers. You are surprised 
and dismayed to realize that among these pitiful remnants, you have 
become one of the senior staff. There is still no certain word of Consul 
Varro's fate; no one can say for certain they saw his body, and there are 
rumors he managed to escape; a few Romans, mostly equitas, managed 
to slip out of Hannibal's trap and escape the slaughter.

Before sundown, a Carthaginian detachment approaches, slowly and 
ponderously. This is a delegation of dignitaries, by the trappings on their 
retinue and the fine chariot in which the leader rides. As it rumbles 
closer, a murmur goes through the Roman camp. The man standing 
upright in the chariot is unremarkable in appearance, but his bearing is 
that of a born commander, and his gaze sweeps his enemies with frank, 
unflinching appraisal, revealing neither respect nor contempt, merely a 
cold assessment of the defeated men arrayed before him. Clean-
shaven, with a scar across his chin, he leans forward casually on the rail 
of his chariot, and clears his throat as the dust settles and silence falls 
over the camp. The Roman wait silently, sullenly, as they are addressed 
by their most hated, most formidable enemy; Hannibal.

"It is not my desire to utterly destroy Rome," he says in a loud, clear 
voice. His Latin is excellent, not surprising for a well-educated man of 
Carthage. "You Romans started this war. Now I've brought it home to 
you. Perhaps with your army vanquished, your Senate will show wisdom 
and admit defeat."

Outraged cries and boos escape from many of your fellows. Hannibal 
simply smiles grimly and waits until they subside. "Or perhaps not," he 
finishes lightly. "In any event, I could simply have all of you executed. 
Many of my senior officers advise me to do just that. But frankly, I think 
the money your ransom could bring is more useful to Carthage than a 
few more Roman corpses. So, whoever is your leader, come forward, so 
we can discuss the price of your ransom."

There's a tense pause, then your group parts and the most senior 
Tribune limps forward, glowering, head held high.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
[ooc: By this time in the war, Hannibal had suffered through an eye 
infection, and had lost the use of one of his eyes... thereafter, he wore 
an eye patch over one eye.]

	I assume no response is necessary.  Gaius watches the cursed 
whoreson with the respect of a soldier for a successful general, and with 
the hate of a Roman for Rome's greatest bane.

<><><><><>

[GM]

While the Tribune confers with Hannibal, you continue piecing together 
the events that took place while you were apparently unconcious.

You note also that you are one of the most healthy men here; nearly 
*everyone* else is wounded, most rather seriously. There is mention of 
an earlier mass escape, as the majority of able-bodied men burst out of 
the camp before the Carthaginians had a chance to surround it and 
disarm all the prisoners; they were simply herding those who 
surrendered into one area while continuing their annihilation of the rest 
of the army. You curse the fact that it took you so long to regain your 
senses, or you'd surely have fled with the earlier group, and be with 
what little remains of the Consular army now. And though no one has yet 
directly accused you, you see suspicious looks and hear mutterings now 
and then, and can imagine what is going through the minds of your 
comrades...what is he doing here, hale and able-bodied? You keep 
remembering the sharp, searing pain of the spear through your throat, 
and choking on your own blood before collapsing.

The Tribune limps back into the camp shortly.

"Hannibal has set the price of our ransom at 500 denarii for each 
cavalryman, 300 denarii for each infantryman, and 100 for each slave."

"He said 300 denarii each for cavalry when we surrendered!" someone 
protests. The Tribune stares at the equites with a weary, condescending 
look. "Well, citizen," he drawls, "that competely slipped my mind. Why 
don't you trot right over and remind Hannibal? I'm sure he'll immediately 
revise the figure."

The young cavalry officer closes his mouth and stays silent. No one else 
offers any complaint, so the Tribune continues.

"We are to select ten men from amongst ourselves, to travel back to 
Rome, in the company of one of the Carthaginians, who will serve as 
their interlocutor. Those ten will deliver Hannibal's ransom demands, 
and then bring the payment back to him. Hannibal has agreed to release 
our chosen delegates with only a vow, on our honor as Romans, to 
return forthwith, whether or not the Senate actually produces the 
ransom."

"Well then," says one eager young Centurion, "let's elect our delegate 
and let them be off!"

<><><><><>

[gaius]
Cannae

	Listening to the Tribune pass along Hannibal's demands, Gaius' 
face grows grim.  **300 dinars... I will be surprised indeed if the 
consulate can come up with that kind of money soon.  And if they delay, 
we will most likely have been sold as slaves.**
	His curses upon whatever fate had kept him unconscious 
redouble, as he ponders his likely fate... either the shame of being 
ransomed from enemy hands, or more likely, and even worse, being sold 
into slavery.  And it appears that there are not enough able-bodied 
compatriots remaining to try to break out with... although that may work 
to his advantage, if it means that the prisoners will be more lightly 
guarded.

<><><><><>

[GM]

As the officers confer and go about proposing men to serve as delegates 
to take Hannibal's message to Rome, you find yourself being put forward 
as a candidate. You are, after all, still healthy and unwounded, which will 
make the trip easier for you. And you come from a good family. Most of 
the others selected to make the trip are either more senior officers, or 
wealthier men from much more prestigious families than you. However, 
finally the Tribune Cennus Augustus Ferro asks you directly, "Do you 
wish to be one of the men to go to Rome? Are you willing to swear to 
return? You hold the fate of Rome in your hands, not to mention the fate 
of all your comrades you leave behind."

<><><><><>

[gaius]

	While his name is mentioned, he sits down, still thinking about 
his memories of the battle, and why they don't accord with his lack of 
wounds.  He almost misses the sound of his name, but a small part of 
his mind alerts the rest, and he looks up.
	Gaius stands as the tribune nears, and listens quietly. 
	"Personally, I would liefer remain, to try to make my escape 
unbound by any vows.  But with the battles, there will probably be many 
groups of brigands and thieves, formed from our uncertain allies.  Since 
I seem to somehow be the halest officer left, it is my duty to go with the 
others, to try to protect them from lawbreakers, and to help them make 
the trip."
	"Certainly, I am willing to swear.  If it is my duty to go with them 
to Rome, I must do what is necessary to carry out my duty.  Even giving 
up a chance at escape, or at an honorable death trying to escape."  He 
frowns, and continues, "Besides, belike there will be opportunities in the 
future... or the consulate may even be able to come up with the money.  
Certes, they'll need experienced soldiers to form the core of another 
army."
	After giving his agreement to the tribune, Gaius will walk around 
the encampment, trying to memorize the names of anyone who 
approaches him and asks him to take back news to their family.  But 
while he does this, the puzzle remains at the back of his mind.  And he is 
remembering a Greek physician in Rome, who may be able to explain 
what happened to him.  All the while, ruthlessly suppressing a small 
corner of his mind, that whispers that not all is explainable by the 
healing arts.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The ten are chosen, including you. You are the third highest in rank; a 
Centurion and a Tribune lead the party, and your status is among the 
lowest; despite your good birth, most of these men are of much more 
prestigious families. You, however, are the most hale of the officers. The 
Tribune lost an eye and his face will be horribly scarred for the rest of 
his life, and you're glad for him that he'll soon be in Rome and at least 
have a chance to seek medical treatment, else infection would surely rot 
his face away and kill him. The Centurion will have to ride because he 
cannot walk, with a leg impaled through with an arrow. It will heal, but for 
now he walks only with help from another, or with a crutch, which is even 
more humiliating.

Escorted outside the camp, you once more find yourself face to face with 
Hannibal, this time at even closer range. Oh, to have a sword....but he is 
flanked by his brother Hasdrubal and his cavalry commander, Maharbal, 
and surrounded by Carthaginian officers. And besides, you have already 
pledged to your good behavior.

Hannibal's gaze sweeps over the lot of you from his one good eye.

"Years ago, before I was born, Rome forced Carthage to yield by virtue 
of your valor in battle, superior to our own. It was a lesson Carthage took 
to heart, and since the day I was born, I have been brought up to fight 
and defeat Rome. Yesterday I succeeded in forcing Rome to yield on the 
battlefield. I fight this war to show Rome the honor and valor of 
Carthaginian soldiers. Rome will not forget Hannibal of Carthage. How 
many of your generals can say that their name will be remembered by 
future generations? I have defeated every army that Rome has sent 
against me, and I will not stop until Rome yields. Take that message to 
your Senate."

He waves his hand, and a well-dressed Carthaginian steps forward. 
"This is Carthalo, son of Harpabal. He is slated to join our own Senate 
when he returns to Carthage, and is given the authority to speak for 
Carthage. He will accompany you to Rome. If the Roman Senate should 
be amendable to making a treaty, then Carthalo will bring their terms 
back to us."

Carthalo looks at you impassively, arms folded across his chest.

Hannibal sneezes, then wipes his nose. "Swear now on your honor as 
Romans, and to the gods you worship, that you agree to the terms of 
your parole, that you will bear our message to Rome and convey it 
faithfully, that Carthalo will be shown respect by you and treated as 
befits a diplomatic envoy, and that with or without the ransom, you will 
return promptly with the Senate's decision, to abide by the 
consequences thereof."

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	While the Roman messengers are assembled, Gaius fades to 
the back.  A quiet sadness grips his thoughts, while he tries to avoid 
remembering how rarely before were defeated Romans sent back to 
their families, to explain their defeat.  And to carry word of the other 
prisoners, and Hannibal's price for ransoming them, is almost more than 
he can bear thinking about, imagining what he will have to say to his 
father.  At least he will probably be spared having to address the 
Senate, being of a lowly family, but the litany of shame that he will have 
to bear is still large enough to turn his mind to other thoughts.
	This Hannibal is indeed a great general, and likely his name will 
be known for all time, but it appears he does not know his enemy well 
enough if he believes that Rome will give up as long as any warriors 
remain to defend it.  
	Gaius joins the others in responding, "Juro" (I so swear) when 
Hannibal requests it, with his head bowed in shame.  But, he vows, he 
and Rome will expunge this shame by defeating this arrogant whoreson, 
who is already convinced his name should be ranked with Alexander 
and Xenophon.
	Thinking defiant thoughts occupy some of Gaius' time, but then 
it is time to help the Centurion up onto the nag that was provided to 
them, and his defiance fades away, before the portrait of a Roman army 
defeated.  Who knows, perhaps this Hannibal is the one to do what has 
never been done before... bring Rome to its knees.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Your woeful delegation sets off. There is little to speak of, except for 
speculations on the state of Rome and what you shall say to the Senate. 
Your conversation is somewhat inhibited by the presence of the 
Carthaginian, Carthalo.

It is decided that the Centurion, Silenus Antius, will speak for you. 
Though not the highest ranking member of the group (that is the 
Tribune, Pontus Titus Fabio), he is the most eloquent speaker, a learned 
man who studied the Greek philosophers and was tutored by some of 
Rome's finest contemporary orators; after the campaign against 
Hannibal, he had expected to return triumphantly to begin a career in the 
Senate, not unlike yourself. Now, he hopes only that he will be able to 
stay a free Roman.

Shortly after noon, one of the party, a Decurion from Neapolis, rather 
than a native of Rome itself (but still a full Roman citizen), begins 
swearing.

"I had a bundle of messages given to me by some of my fellow 
Neopolitans," he says, looking very chagrined. "I promised I would bring 
them with me and see that they were sent by messenger to our city as 
soon as we reached Rome. I..." he sighs. "I am an idiot, I seem to have 
left back in the camp. Carthalo, Pontus Fabio, I beg your leave to speed 
back and collect the messages, then rejoin you. I swear I shall meet 
back with you on the road by nightfall."

Pontus breathes heavily, and Carthalo glances at him and shrugs. "I 
suppose," the Tribune replies. "Do make sure you don't forget anything 
else." The Decurion flushes and bows his head.

He rides off with one of the horses. Carthalo comments dryly, "I take it 
no one else has any pressing reason to take a sidetrip? It will be most 
embarrassing if we arrive in Rome with fewer men that we started."

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	Being the most hale, Gaius is walking his horse, having received 
an old, tired nag good for little besides the glue pot.   During the trip, he 
stays close behind the Carthaginian... not that there seems much reason 
for it, but keeping waryness and suspicion alive in his mind is keeping 
him from sinking into the apathy that seems warranted, giving their 
defeat and shame.
	As the Neapolitan rides off, Gaius looks after him with a frown,  
*** he's not a Roman... can we be sure he will not break his word, and 
dishonor us further?...but, perhaps the Tribune or someone else here 
knows him well enough, hopefully that's why no one put up an 
argument...***
	But Carthalo's remarks strike up sparks from the ready fuel of 
his dislike and suspicion.  "Embarrassing?  Let me see... I'm a surviving 
member of the worst defeat of a Roman army ever.  I've been sent back 
to Rome to deliver Hannibal's request for surrender, and his ransom 
demands for the other captives.  And when that's done, I'm sworn to 
return to the captives.  I doubt I could get more embarrassed... and 
frankly, I don't think any of us care whether you are spared 
embarrassment, or not."
	A slight snort follows this, and then Gaius' gaze wanders away 
from the Carthaginian, to emphasize the lack of regard he has for this 
contemptible worm that is travelling with them.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Carthalo shrugs and smiles. "Well, that's hardly my fault, is it?"

If not for your vow, you'd give anything to wipe the smug smile off his 
face. Bitter loathing churns in your stomach, and you proceed for the 
next league in silence.

Shortly before nightfall, you hear hoofs pounding the road behind you, 
and turn somewhat warily to see the Neopolitan Decurian overtaking 
you. He rejoins your group, nodding and saluting Pontus Fabio.

You sleep in a country estate, hosted by a grim-faced landowner who is 
making preparations to leave, before the Carthaginian army follows after 
you. He is none too pleased to put up a troupe of defeated Roman 
soldiers and a representative of the enemy, but does so as it is his duty.

The next day, you turn onto the Latin Highway and meet the first of the 
riders sent out from the city to look for any survivors from Cannae. When 
the young equestrian realizes who you are, he quickly gallops off to 
Rome ahead of you.

Rome itself comes into view, and if not for the sad conditions of your 
return, it would be a welcome sight indeed. Now, it seems to be a city full 
of friends and countrymen waiting to condemn you, and it takes more 
courage to continue onwards than it ever did to march into battle.

A group of horsemen are coming from Rome to meet you. At the head of 
the group is a lictor, bearing a scroll with the dictator's seal. He draws to 
a halt before your party, and favors Carthalo with an ominous and 
contemptuous scowl.

"We are here-" Carthalo begins, but the lictor cuts him off. "I know why 
you're here." He unrolls his scroll and clears his throat. "By order of the 
Senate and under authority of Marcus Junius, Dictator, you- that is, 
Carthalo of Carthage, are ordered to depart Roman territory by nightfall."

Carthalo leans back in his saddle. "I am Carthage's emissary; I am here 
to speak for Hannibal and offer terms to end the war."

"IF we choose to, we will send our own messengers to Hannibal. You 
are not welcome in Rome."

Carthalo sneers. "As you wish. At this rate, Rome will soon be 
Carthaginian territory. I suggest you heed the words of your delegates 
and decide quickly as to their disposition and that of the men they 
represent." He wheels his horse about and trots off the way you all 
came, displaying no great hurry.

The lictor looks down at the ten of you. "If you will follow me," he says, 
"the Senate is expecting you." And without another word, nor any 
betrayal of emotion on his face, the official leads you into the City.

<><><><><>

[gaius]

	A brief moment of amusement passes, and Gaius snickers to 
himself as Carthalo is rougly given the boot.  But the somber occasion 
quickly dampens his mood, and he trudges behind the Tribune with the 
others, a somber face masking his thoughts from the watching crowds 
lining the streets.
	But the lack of expression does not indicate a similar lack of 
mental activity, as the greeting, such as it was, seemed to send a 
message to the messengers.  With the lack of welcome given Hannibal's 
representative, it seems certain that the Senate would have decided to 
defy Hannibal in all ways.  Which was, of course, good and proper, and 
Gaius fully agreed with them.  But the lack of welcome given to the 
messengers, and indeed the whole emotion of the city, did not bode well 
for those Romans captured at Cannae.  The crowds looked at them as if 
at ones who are already dead, simply waiting to see what message they 
had to give, before turning away and getting on with their lives.
	A flash of amusement lightens his mind, as he thinks that he 
may actually find use for the fanciful plans of escape that he had 
contrived to occupy his mind during the trip.
	But while his mind keeps itself active on other subjects to avoid 
facing the fact that he, a defeated Roman, is now walking through the 
streets filled with the citizens that he failed to defend, his body has 
followed the rest.  And now the meeting with the Senate is but minutes 
away.  Gaius takes a couple of deep breaths, calming himself, to be able 
to act in all ways as a proper Fabio when facing the Senators, and 
whomever else may be on hand.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The entire Senate is gathered, and the chambers are filled to 
overflowing with spectators trying to crowd in and hear the proceedings. 
The patricians sit in the seats reserved for senators; the plebeian 
tribunes are assembled in the lower seats, from which they customarily 
give their own input, or call out vetos. And at the central dias is the 
elected Dictator himself, Marcus Junius.

The buzz of the multitude diminishes to sea of murmurs, as you and your 
companions move to the podium.

Pontus Titus Fabio reports on what transpired after the battle, and how 
you come to be here. Other men speak up, asking him questions and 
shouting demands. Here you learn of the men who broke out of the 
Roman camp during the night following the battle, rallied by a Tribune by 
the name of Publius Sempronius Tuditanus who exhorted his less 
determined comrades to assault the enemy lines and fight their way to 
freedom. Those 600 men eventually made their way to Canusium, to join 
another 4,000 fugitives from the larger camp.

The greatest shock is the revelation that Consul Varro did indeed 
survive the battle of Cannae, and not only that but escaped the 
aftermath; making his way first to Venusia, and then joining the other 
group of fugitives in Canusium. Varro is now camped at Canusium with 
about 10,000 men; a small remnant of the once-proud Roman Army, far 
too small and in no condition to hold off Hannibal's army for long, but 
better than nothing.

The Senate and the masses groan when they hear the price Hannibal 
has set for the ransom of his hostages. Some men shout that there is no 
choice, Rome's only hope is to salvage what men they can. Women 
weep and plead for their husbands and sons to be returned to them, 
before they are silenced. But a harsher chord through the crowd argues 
that the price is too steep, that men who surrendered do not deserve to 
be ransomed.

And so, your representative, Silenus Antius, a mere Centurion as far as 
the Roman Army is concerned, but the son of a noble family with much 
influence, speaks....

=======================================================
=========

[from "The History of Rome from its Foundation", Book XXII, by Titus 
Livius]

   "Marcus Junius and gentlemen of the Senate, we all know that no 
country in the world has held its own prisoners of war in greater 
contempt than ours. Nevertheless - if I may say so without incurring the 
charge of undo egotism - no prisoners have ever fallen into an enemy's 
hands who less deserve your neglect than we do. It was not fear which 
drove us to surrender: on the contrary, we continued the struggle almost 
to nightfall, standing over the heaped bodies of our dead comrades, and 
only then withdrew to our camp. For the rest of that day and throughout 
the following night, despite exhaustion and wounds, we defended the 
rampart; next morning enemy troops were all around us; we were cut off 
from access to the river; there was no longer a hope of breaking through 
the dense lines of the besiegers. In such circumstances we thought it no 
crime that a handful of Roman soldiers should survive Cannae, when 
fifty thousand had been killed. So then it was, and only then, that we 
agreed upon terms for our ransom and surrendered our now useless 
swords.
   History, moreover, had told us that Romans once bought their freedom 
from the Gauls with gold; and your own fathers, for all their unrelenting 
temper in negotiating a peace, yet sent a delegation to Tarentum to 
arrange for the prisoners' ransom. Yet - note this! - in both those battles, 
at the Allia with the Gauls, at Heraclea against Pyrrhus, what made 
defeat shameful was not our losses but the panic-stricken flight of our 
troops. How different was Cannae! The dead lie in heaps on the field; 
we ourselves survive only because the weary enemy had no longer steel 
or strength to cut us down. Some of us moreover did not even seek to 
save themselves during the actual battle: they were left to guard the 
camp and were taken when it was surrendered. I, for my part, do not 
envy any Roman or fellow-soldier his luck, or what his luck has brought 
him: I should never wish to exalt myself by denigrating another; yet let 
me say that not even the men who left their swords on the field and fled 
without stopping till they reached Venusia or Canusium, can justly claim 
to be better soldiers than we are or to boast that our country can better 
look to them for protection than to us - unless, indeed, there is some 
special prize reserved for running races and speed of foot. None the 
less you will find those men good and brave soldiers; and you will find 
us even more zealous in our country's cause, in that your generosity will 
have secured our ransom and restored us to our homes.
   "You are enlisting for service men of all ages and all conditions. Eight 
thousand slaves, I hear, are being armed. We prisoners are no fewer, 
and we could be ransomed for a sum less than the purchase-money of 
the slaves: but I should be insulting the Roman name if I compared 
ourselves with *them*.
   "Gentlemen of the Senate, in deciding this question there is a further 
point for you to consider, should you be inclined to the harsher view, 
little though we deserve that you should do so: to what sort of an enemy 
do you propose to abandon us? Is it, for instance, to a Pyrrhus, who 
treated our prisoners like guests - or is it to a barbarian, a Carthaginian, 
in whom rapacity and savagery struggle for pre-eminence? Could you 
but see your countrymen lying in their chains and hideous squalor, the 
sight would surely move you no less than the spectacle of your legions 
lying dead on the field of Cannae. One thing at least is before your eyes 
- the anxiety, the tears, of our kinsmen out there in the vestibule, waiting 
for your answer. If they suffer that agony of suspense for us and for the 
other prisoners who are far away, how do you think *we* feel, whose life 
and liberty are in the balance? If Hannibal - God help us - were to deny 
his own nature and be kind to us, would our lives be worth living? No, 
not when, in your eyes, we were not worth a ransom. Time was when 
Pyrrhus let Roman prisoners return home before a penny was paid: they 
came with ambassadors, distinguished citizens entrusted with the task of 
fixing the ransom. And shall I come home as a citizen not valued at three 
hundred coins? A man has his feelings, gentlemen. I know my body- 
indeed my life - to be in peril; but I care more for the threat to my good 
name, should it be that we must leave here disowned and condemned. 
For assuredly no one will suppose you found the price too high to pay."

=======================================================
=========

Applause and cheers fill the house, and there is much weeping both 
among the senators and among the throng that is spilling through the 
doors and filling the aisles. Even the Dictator seems moved. Women 
have forced their way into the house and mingled with the rest of the 
audience, against custom, and their weeping and pleading is the most 
heartfelt, as they stretch their arms out to the Senate and beg for the 
restoration of their kinsfolk. But they are not alone.

You and your fellow delegates look at one another, trying to maintain a 
stoic demeanor, but hope- a sentiment that seemed lost to you at times- 
is kindled in your comrades' eyes.

Silenus Antius is good, very good, and looking out at the sea of anxious, 
sympathetic faces, you know you are fortunate indeed to have him 
speaking for you.

But not all the faces are sympathetic, and not all the responses to his 
speech are positive. Many of the senators scowl, while others scratch 
their chins and whisper to one another, weighing the value of Silenus' 
sentiments against the weight of 300 gold coins, multiplied by ten 
thousand. His entreaty is not well-received by those of the old school, 
those who served their twenty years in an army that never knew defeat, 
and were taught that a Roman soldier should never return home without 
his shield- either carrying it, or carried on it.

And as voices grow in number and volume, until the clamor threatens to 
overwhelm the proceedings, a bolt of lightning seems to strike your 
spine and rivet you in place.

A foreboding unlike anything you've ever felt before forces the roar of 
the crowd to a distant second place in your awareness. Somewhere out 
there, something powerful enough to attract your attention with senses 
you've never possessed before is watching. It's a portent the likes of 
which you've never experienced, nor heard anyone speak of before, but 
for a moment you forget even where you are and why you're here, as 
you search the crowd for the source of your apprehension.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	With the other messengers, he stands looking out at the crowd.  
Although he would like to speak, to argue for the ransoming of the 
prisoners both from cold logic and from the emotions that rejecting the 
demands would raise, he knows that he will likely not get the chance.  A 
decent public speaker he was, but not with such experience that he 
would be listened to, nor such family as to be able to take center stage.
	But from the first words of Silenus, he knows that he is better off 
entrusting his fate, and that of the survivors of his century, to the 
nobleman.  For Silenus speaks merely the points that he himself would 
have raised, and even perhaps ignores some telling arguments... but it 
is clear that he speaks with a voice, with an attitude, with eloquence, 
that will be remembered forever.  His ability to calmly and logically speak 
of emotion, in a society that denies pain and suffering and weakness, 
and show the honorable aspects of it, is nothing less than masterful.
	But even as his heart is uplifted by the speech, whose 
eloquence has quieted the crowded chamber, his briefly raised hopes 
flutter again.  For it is clear that many who will make the decision remain 
unmoved, regardless of what the powerless masses may feel.  Perhaps 
it is time to speak, or at least to point out to Silenus, that ruinous as the 
price may seem, it will be less ruinous than not making the necessary 
expenditures, to keep Hannibal from besieging Rome.  For in a war of 
survival, any price short of defeat is acceptable... and it seems that the 
Senate does not yet realize that this war is being fought not for profit 
now, but for survival.
	Even as he shifts his weight, looking for a path through the 
others to where Silenus is watching the results of his speech, a feeling 
like he had never heard of before comes over him.  Something there is 
in the corner of the night, something that is wrong, and not right.  
Senseless it may be, but the little childhood rhyme is all that can run 
through his head.  And as soon as he manages to throw off the feeling 
and regain his mental balance, he begins looking for the source of his 
apprehension, forgetting that he had something to mention to Silenus.  
His height and upright stature among the injured help him somewhat, in 
scanning the crowd, the chamber, and even the very walls.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The foreboding persists, the certainty that Someone is out there. But at 
first, it's nonspecific, nondirectional, just a maddening feeling.

And then you see him, a tall Patrician standing in one of the highest 
balconies, his hands on the rail as he leans forward- staring at you. You 
can tell by the color of his toga, and the leaves woven in his jet black 
hair, that he's a man of very high rank, though you don't recognize him.

Some instinct tells you that he is the source of your apprehension....and 
that he senses you as surely as you sense him.

His gaze crosses the distance of the senate chambers and your eyes 
lock...then he retreats, back into the shadows of the balcony. You can 
still sense him up there, watching and waiting, but he keeps himself out 
of sight.

Meanwhile, your opportunity to speak to Silenus is gone. Another man 
has come to the podium....a senator whom you do recognize. Your heart 
sinks; his name is Titus Manlius Torquatus, and he is known for his 
severity and adherence to traditional values.

=======================================================

[From "A History of Rome from its Foundation", Book XXII, by Titus 
Livius.]

   "If the prisoners' representatives had confined themselves to a request 
for ransoming those of our troops who are in enemy hands, I could have 
given them a short answer. I would have had no need to waste words in 
invective. I should simply have advised you to follow the ancient custom 
of our country, a precedent indispensible for military discipline. But as it 
is, they have made their surrender almost a cause for self-
congratulation; they have claimed to be better men than their comrades 
who were taken prisoner during the battle, better than those who 
reached Venusia and Canusium, and even than the Consul Varro 
himself. Now, gentlemen, I will not suffer you to be ignorant of any detail 
of what happened on this occasion; and I can only wish that what I am 
about to say could be said in the presence of our troops in Canusium, 
who are the best witnesses of the courage or cowardice of their fellow-
soldiers. I wish at least that Sempronius were here, if no one else - 
Sempronius, by following whose gallant leadership these so-called 
soldiers might today have been soldiers indeed, in a Roman camp, not 
prisoners in the hands of the enemy. But, when most of Hannibal's 
forces had withdrawn, unopposed, into their camp, and all of them were 
weary with fighting and joyfully celebrating their victory, these men of 
ours, though they could have used the darkness to aid their escape and 
were numerous enough - 7,000 strong - to force their way through an 
enemy line however dense, yet made no attempt on their own initiative 
to do so, nor had the will to follow another's lead. Sempronius spent 
almost the whole night trying to bolster up their courage, urging them to 
follow him, while the enemy forces around the camp were still few, while 
all was hushed and silent and darkness might still conceal their design, 
and telling them that before dawn broke they would be safe in some 
friendly town. Remember Publius Decimus, the military tribune in 
Samnium some two generations ago- remember Calpurnius Flamma, in 
our own youth during the last war with Carthage, and how he said to the 
three hundred volunteers he was about to lead to the capture of a hill in 
the enemy's lines: "Men, let us die, and save by our death the 
surrounded legions!" If Sempronius had spoken like that, and not one of 
you had offered to share with him in so great an act of courage, he 
would have thought you neither soldiers nor Romans. The way he 
showed you led not to glory only but to safety; he was giving you the 
chance to return home to your parents, to your wives and children. 
Haven't you the courage even to save your lives? What would you do, 
then, if you had to die for your country? On that day 50,000 of your 
fellow-citizens and allies lay dead around you; if so many examples of 
valour cannot move you, nothing ever will. What will make you hold life 
cheap if losses on such a terrible scale have not already done so?
   "While you are safe and free - that is the time to long to see your 
country again: nay rather, while she *is* your country and you her sons. 
Now it is too late: disgraced, disfranchised, made slaves of Carthage, 
you long in vain. Do you think to buy yourselves back to the place you 
lost by cowardice and crime? You turned a deaf ear to your fellow-
countryman Sempronius when he bade you take arms and follow him; 
but you listened soon after, when Hannibal called for the betrayal of the 
camp and the surrender of your swords.
   "But why should I accuse these fellows of cowardice, when I might 
accuse them of villainy? For they not only refused to follow Sempronius, 
good though his counsel was: they tried to obstruct him and hold him 
back - and might have succeeded, had not some brave men drawn their 
swords and cleared the wretches out of the way. Sempronius, 
gentlemen, had first to fight his way through a line of *Roman* soldiers, 
before ever he got to the enemy. Is that the sort of citizen our country 
would miss? If all had been like them, Rome would not now possess a 
single citizen out of all who fought at Cannae. Of seven thousand 
soldiers six hundred were found with the courage to escape, and to 
return free men, sword in hand, to their country; and forty thousand 
enemies did not stop them. Don't you think the passage would have 
been safer for nearly two legions? Then you would have had today 
twenty thousand men in arms at Canusium, brave and loyal soldiers. But 
it was not to be; how can these men be called good and loyal soldiers 
(for not even they themselves claim courage) unless anyone can 
suppose that they were trying to help their comrades to break out when 
in fact they stopped the escape: or suppose that they do not envy their 
comrades their safety and the honour their courage won them, knowing 
as they do that timidity and cowardice led, in their own case, to 
ignominious servitude? They might have escaped while all was dark and 
silent, but they chose to skulk in their tents and wait for the enemy to 
come with the dawn. No doubt one would like to say that though they 
lacked the courage to make their escape, they did, at least, 
courageously defend the camp. Surrounded as they were, for several 
days and nights they defended the rampart with their swords and 
themselves with the rampart; then at last, having reached the end of 
their tether, with nothing to support life left, when weakened by hunger 
they had not strength any longer to bear the weight of their weapons, 
they admitted defeat - rather by the pressure of human need than the 
strength of enemy arms. But how different is the truth! At dawn the 
enemy moved up; less than an hour later, without any attempt at 
resistance, they laid down their arms and surrendered.
   "Just let me remind you again of their two days' campaigning: they fled 
to the camp when it was their duty to stand firm and fight; when honour 
called for the defence of the rampart, they surrendered. What service 
did they do either in the field or afterwards in the camp? None whatever.
   "So you want me to ransom you! When duty demands that you force 
your way to freedom, you do not budge an inch; when military necessity 
calls for you to stay firm and defend your camp by force of arms, you 
surrender - everything, your camp, your swords, and yourselves!
   "In my opinion, gentlemen of the Senate, these fellows no more 
deserve to be ransomed than their brave comrades, who fought their 
way through the enemy and by their own courage restored themselves 
to their country's service, deserve to be handed over to Hannibal."

=======================================================

The mood following Titus Torquatus's words is considerably grimmer 
than after Silenus spoke; his severe judgment lays heavily on you all, 
and though many still remain moved by your comrade's appeal to 
compassion, dignity, and pragmatism, you can sense the tide of opinion 
shifting against you.

Marcus Junius speaks up. The Dictator's voice stills the buzzing of a 
hundred conversations and the shouting matches that are beginning to 
fill the house.

"We have heard arguments for and against ransoming our prisoners 
from Hannibal, both sides expressed quite eloquently. While our 
decision is not yet made, it is my opinion that, whether or not we elect to 
ransom these men, we can at the very least allow the delegates sent 
here to spend one night with their families, and convey what messages 
their comrades back at Cannae may have given them to deliver. The 
debate will continue, tonight and probably tomorrow by the looks of 
things, but there are entirely too many people in here. I order the house 
to be cleared of all but the senate and the plebian body, and I give the 
delegates leave to return to their homes tonight. You will return here by 
mid-morning tomorrow; a decision should have been reached by then."

The honor guard assigned to the senate moves out from their positions 
by the walls, enforcing the Dictator's command by ushering, in some 
cases shoving, people down the aisles and out the doors.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	Gaius stands and looks at the patrician with narrowed eyes.  
Why was he drawn to look at him?  Was there a link between them, or 
just a figment of his tired imagination?  But he certainly felt something 
unusual.  The patrician is a memorable figure, and Gaius fixes his face 
in memory, while trying to remember if he had ever seen him before.
	But then the patrician fades back, and Gaius' attention is drawn 
by the beginning of Titus' speech.  At first, a hot flush of anger courses 
through him at the denunciations heaped upon him and his fellows by 
Titus, but he soon calms down.  After all, Titus is speaking of several 
thousand... and while it is unfair to use the actions of several of those 
thousand to condemn all, Gaius begins to wonder what really happened 
that night.  For all he knows, Titus is correct, and the other prisoners had 
a fair chance at escape, but didn't take it.  And while he <Titus> may be 
wrong, Gaius certainly could not give him the lie.
	While in the camp and on the road, his memories of the battle 
worried at him, and preoccupied him so that he did not pay the proper 
attention to the speech of the others around him.  But now that he is 
home, it is past time to find out from some who were there, what really 
happened.  It would be rude to speak during Titus' speech, and there is 
little opportunity before Marcus Junius clears the room, but in the bustle, 
he turns to the nearest other delegate, and asks,
	"Pardon me.  I was unconscious in the field that night.  Are Titus' 
accusations based on the truth, or merely a device to sway the crowd to 
his side?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

The man you ask, another Centurion named Julius, sighs.

"It is easy to say what should-have-been, *after* the battle," he says. "I 
wasn't there in the section of the camp where Sempronius made his bid 
for freedom. His proposed break-out was hotly debated, I know that. 
Maybe some men did try to prevent him from initiating what they 
believed was a foolhardy attempt to fight his way through an army."

"The part about our having had a chance to escape if we'd only had the 
courage-" Julius clenches his teeth angrily. "We know NOW, with 
perfect hindsight, that Sempronius' attempt was successful, and no 
doubt more men would have followed them if they'd known it would be 
so. But we did not know at the time that Hannibal's forces had mostly 
withdrawn into their own camp. There were still hordes of enemy infantry 
and cavalry surrounding us in all directions, and we were expecting a 
massed assault to finish us off that night, not the next morning. In the 
darkness and the confusion, we couldn't tell that they were pulling back."

"The next morning it was too late. Titus Torquatus is safely retired here 
in Rome, and he can pontificate about how we should have thrown our 
lives away to make a brave gesture that would have made *him* proud. 
But what would have been the point? If we could have gained anything 
at all by fighting to the last man, I know my legion would have done so. 
But we were surrounded and outnumbered and most of us wounded, 
and fighting would have accomplished nothing but to make sure there 
were NO Roman survivors of Cannae, except those who had already 
gotten away." Julius sounds almost as if he's trying to justify the decision 
in his own mind- what he says makes sense, but still pricks at traditional 
Roman sensibilities.

"We made the pragmatic choice," he says stiffly.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	"My thanks.  I was not accusing you... certes I could not, being 
in the same situation.  I just wanted to know how much truth was 
contained in his slippery speech.  See you on the morrow... and try to 
enjoy seeing your family, I doubt me that we will be getting that 
opportunity soon again."
	Taking his leave of Julius, Gaius continues out of the building.  
He enters the crowds, looking for a glimpse of his older brother, 
Diocletian.  His father, being much shorter, could more easily be found 
by finding 'Cletes first.  While looking, he slowly makes his way in the 
direction of his family's house... his mother would be as worried, and at 
least he knew where she would be.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The crowd swirls around you, and you find the reaction of the average 
Roman citizen towards you, one of their defeated soldiers, is as mixed 
as that of the Senate. Some look at you with sympathy, some with scorn. 
But many press close to you pleading for information about their 
relatives....

"...do you know aught of Marcellios Scipo, he was in the 4th Legion-"

"...my son, in command of one of Varro's centuries, I don't remember the 
number- "

"...my brother Julius, surely you'd have recognized him, tall with a wide 
nose and a little scar beneath his left ear- did any of his cavalry cohort 
survive?"

You can't answer any of them, you have no idea even of the fate of most 
of your own comrades. You press on, grim-faced and tight-lipped.

Away from the Senate building, you are finally overtaken from behind by 
Diocletian. He catches your elbow. "Gaius!" he gasps, having run 
through the crowd upon finally spotting you.

"Father told me to find you, while he returns home to tell mother that 
you're one of the delegates, and you'll be coming home, for tonight."

It feels very good to be back home, though the mood is hardly joyous. 
Your mother embraces you and sheds the tears that none of the males 
of the family are permitted. Your father asks you a few brief questions 
about the battle, and your role in it. Your tale of being knocked 
senseless and waking up the next morning is puzzling, but he and 
Diocletian accept it, relieved that you return home, if not covered in 
glory, with at least enough extenuating circumstances surrounding your 
surrender that you (and thus your family) will not be disgraced.

Your mother voices hopeful speculation that the Senate will ransom you. 
"Even if they refuse to pay the ransoms out of public monies, surely they 
will allow individual soldiers the opportunity to come up with their own 
ransom. If we cancel the extension we planned to add to our home, and 
sell of some of our servants- I know, it would be a hardship, but really! 
We can raise the money...."

You and your father and brother say little to disillusion her, but none of 
you feel as optimistic. If the Senate follows the advice of  Titus Manlius 
Torquatus, you will not be ransomed, only sent back to Hannibal, to 
become Carthaginian slaves, out of the sight of proud Roman eyes who 
don't want living reminders of their defeat.

From here the conversation turns to speculation about what Hannibal 
will do next. He certainly has the opportunity to march on Rome, though 
oddly, has not begun mobilizing in this direction yet. 'Clete advocates 
sending your mother and youngest sister (unmarried) north, to a town on 
the coast. Your father frowns, and makes a comment about rats 
scurrying from a ship. No Pontio will abandon Rome.

Your old household servant Zorba enters, and whispers to your father, 
"Sir....there is a slave messenger at the gate. He bears an invitation to 
Gaius Pontio, from Persius Romulus Solus!"

A strange name. You don't recognize it, but your father seems to. He 
looks startled.

"What does he want with Gaius?" He looks at you, puzzled.

<><><><><>

[gaius]

	"Persius Romulus Solus?  While we were listening to Titus' 
speech, I saw a tall patrician looking at me from his box.  We made eye 
contact, and he faded back into the shadows.  I guess he's looking for 
one of the delegates to give him some information, perhaps about the 
situation of the prisoners, or about Hannibal's camp.  And since I was 
looking at him, he may have decided upon me.  Or he may be inviting 
every delegate... who knows?"
	"But I'm going to go see him.  Hopefully I'll be able to come back 
early enough to discuss our situation, but the chance to get some 
information about the Senate's deliberations from somebody who was 
there is simply too good to miss.  I assume he is placed highly enough 
that he would know.  Or am I wrong in this assumption?"
	While he speaks, a nagging doubt in his heart twitches, as he 
neglects to mention the feeling that caused him to look up and meet the 
patrician's gaze.  But while he would never lie to his father, neither does 
he consider it his duty to relate every little thought and fancy that strikes 
him... no matter how powerful, or how strange.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Persius Romulus Solus is a very rich and powerful man, but no one 
knows by what means he came to be so rich and powerful. There is no 
'Romulus' clan, so his taking on the name of Rome's founder is 
obviously a self-important affectation. He is not a senator, but he always 
sits in on senate sessions. I suspect he is a powerful but hidden voice 
there."

Your father looks at you. "Be very careful, son. I have no idea what he 
wants from you, but I suspect it's more than simply hearing a first-hand 
account of the battle. And he does not seem the sort who'd invite all of 
you to his residence for a party."

You follow Solus' taciturn servant out of your modest dwelling, and are 
led to the most exclusive part of the city. Legionnaires, hired to patrol 
this exclusive district off-duty, stop you three times, and each time the 
servant gets you both waved onward.


You finally reach a grand mansion, one that you'd easily have believed 
belongs to the Dictator himself, or some other august Roman citizen, not 
a man you've never even heard of. But then, you don't know all the 
richest Patricians by name, you simply aspire to join their ranks 
someday. Or aspired to.

Looking at the wide structure, a rather old one if you're not mistaken, 
with immaculate lawns, you suddenly feel that eerie foreboding again, a 
tingle up your spine.

Somewhere within, Persius Romulus Solus is waiting.

<><><><><>

[gaius]

	Upon entering the mansion's grounds, Gauis pauses, causing 
the servant perforce to wait for him.  He looks around the area, 
pondering his father's words.  Why does a person, obviously possessed 
of great influence, need to call upon him?  He could certainly find out 
whatever he wanted from others, or from battle reports.  Proper channels 
would not stop somebody who had this kind of influence, however subtly 
wielded.
	Was it possible that the patrician felt what Gaius himself had 
felt?  And if so, would he not be as curious about the feeling as Gaius 
was?  If he was not, then that would be because he knew more about it 
than Gaius.  Perhaps this was something to fear... but, still, only a fool 
turned away from a source of knowledge.  And there was no knowledge 
to be gained standing here, wondering why, and what, and wherefore.
	With his decision made, Gaius strides forward quickly, causing 
the servant to hurry his steps to stay ahead.  Although impressed with 
the surroundings, and with trepidation deep within his heart, he was a 
Pontio... and would be crucified before he would show his feelings 
before a stranger.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The home of Persius Romulus Solus shows even more evidence of 
wealth within than without. Everything from the floor tiles to the columns 
are made of highly polished marble, and the ceilings have been painted 
by master artists. You see a collection of fine artworks decorating the 
front hall, arranged with deceptively casual placement. More artwork fills 
the mansion as you proceed inside, led by a house-servant dressed in a 
tunic finer than yours. Ancient statues and urns and portraits and 
weapons and metalwork....Roman, Greek, Parthian, Egyptian...you can 
recognize the origins of some works, but others come from lands you 
could not begin to guess at. Solus is obviously an avid collector of 
antiquities.

The buzz in your head becomes stronger and stronger, until finally you 
come face to face with the man, in his feast and meeting hall. He sits at 
a long, polished wooden table, but stands as you enter, to look you over 
as you do the same to him.

He is taller than you, and somewhat older, but his hair is still black as 
coal, not a grey or silver hair to be seen. His face shows the mark of 
pure Patrician breeding, the prominent, knife-edged nose, the thick, dark 
brows, lips and chin handsome and seemingly carved from flesh-colored 
stone. His eyes are the most intense you have ever seen; his aura is 
tremendous, even without the persistent tingle radiating in your spine 
and inside your skull. You find it hard to imagine how a man with such a 
commanding presence could be so relatively anonymous. You would 
have expected such a man to be a general of great distinction, or a 
leading senator. But you had never heard of him, and your father only 
vaguely. He must be one of those who likes to keep his influence 
invisible to all but the very highest echelons.

"Greetings, Gaius Fabius Pontio. Welcome to my home." His richly 
timbrous voice reverberates with the same presence that marks his 
features, a voice of command. He gestures to a carved wooden chair 
that probably cost more than you make in a year to import from the 
north. "Please, sit. Will you take wine?" A servant- an attractive dark-
eyed girl- is already bringing out a tray with a pitcher and a selection of 
cheeses and succulent fruit.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	Gaius passes through the house, impressed in spite of himself 
at the combination of value and taste.  Although not as strictly as in his 
father's time, excess and extravagance is still greatly despised, yet 
Persius seems to make it all work together.  After all, everything here 
would be displayed somewhere... better in the home of someone who 
appreciates its value, than in that of one who merely wants it up to look 
impressive.  But the works of the house pale beside the presence of its 
owner.  After a few long seconds spent scrutinizing Persius, he responds 
to the greeting.  
	"Greetings, Persius Romulus Solo.  It will be my honor and 
pleasure to partake of wine with you."  He sits down in the chair, noting 
that in spite of its decorativeness, it is also comfortable.  Strange, this 
custom of sitting down in a chair to eat and drink, but it is possible that 
Persius has travelled widely in acquiring his collection, and picked up 
strange foreign habits of dining.  Unusual, but certainly it is more politic 
to follow his host's lead, than to imply that he would be more comfortable 
lying down on a couch when eating... though that would be nothing but 
the truth.
	After waiting a polite period of time after being served, and 
complimenting his host on the quality of the refreshment, Gaius 
considers that the serving servant (<g>) is now out of earshot, or else 
trusted enough to listen in... or else, not his problem.  And despite the 
fact that politeness would make small talk and wait for Persius to 
mention why he invited Gaius, his family is waiting back home, and this 
night will probably the last time he sees them for quite a while... 
important this visit may be, but he will not let it last longer than need be, 
merely to be polite.
	"Well, mine host.  Being that we wait for no others from the 
delegation to join us, it seems to me that I was the only one invited.  
Excuse my presumption, please, but I have left my family at home in 
coming here now, and if it will not bother you unduly, I would like to find 
out now why you have extended this night's invitation to me."
	After saying this, he leans back in his chair, pretending he is 
merely sitting on a very tall couch, and brings his watered wine up to his 
face, for a sip, and to give him something else to concentrate on, to 
mitigate the glare of his host's presence.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Persius drinks, and eats, at leisure, refusing to be hurried. After pushing 
your patience to the limit, he replies, "I would like to know more about 
the battle at Cannae."

"Specifically, how did you come to die there? Or was it in some other 
event, before or after the battle?"

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	Gaius frowns as that subject is brought up again.  Never 
properly resolved in his mind, it had at least been pushed to relative 
insignificance by the worry about the Senate's decision, and  his future.
	"Die ?"  He pauses a second for Persius to realize just how 
stupid that sounds, then continues... "I am in front of you, and breathing.  
This would be a trifle difficult to manage, if I had died sometime earlier, 
or am I mistaken <sardonically>"  
	"I do have an unusually clear memory of a spear being thrust in 
my throat during the battle, and falling unconscious.  Yet that cannot 
have happened, for I woke up in the morning with my throat undamaged.  
I figure that I was hit in the head, perhaps below my helmet, and 
constructed shamefully wild dreams of fancy while unconscious.  But, 
certainly, your question was either a joke, or a test of some kind.  Please 
pardon my rudeness, but I really thought there was a good reason for 
leaving my family tonight, not to laugh at jokes or respond to tests, no 
matter how amusing or interesting."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Persius looks at you, his mouth remaining an expressionless line. His 
eyes do not show either mockery or amusement. After another pause, he 
says "Your memory is clearer than you think."

"You do not wish to waste time; very well, I can understand that, though 
you have more time than you think." Here Persius does smile slightly, at 
some private joke. "But you must listen to what I say with an open mind."

The dark-eyed girl clears his dishes away, then bring Persius a towel 
and a knife, which he lays on the table in front of him. He whispers to 
her, and she nods and leaves the room.

He picks up the knife. "A demonstration will make the point more quickly, 
I think. Please do not alarm yourself, and remember what I said about 
keeping an open mind. I assure you, I am neither a madman nor a 
deviant."

So saying, he presses the point of the knife against his palm, and 
then...with a grimace, thrusts it through his hand. You see the point 
emerge through the back of his hand, glistening with blood.

The blood flows freely, and drips onto the towel. He pulls the knife back 
out, provoking another gush of blood. Then, fastidiously, he wipes the 
knife clean first, and then wipes his hand on the towel, slowly. All the 
while watching you, to gauge your reaction.

"There are things beyond the understanding of mortal philosophers, 
Gaius Fabius Pontio. And this is one of them."

He holds up his hand again, and turns it slowly, so you can see both 
sides. There is not a mark on it.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	At first listening to Persius' reply, confusion begins to arise in 
Gaius' mind.  After all, why would his memory be better, just because he 
clearly remembers something that makes no sense, rather than poorly 
remembering something that makes a little sense?  But the warning to 
keep his mind open causes him to push back his wonderings, and weird 
ideas, and concentrate on what is to be shown.
	Gaius has been doing the same for quite a while now, not 
forcing the issue with some ideas that seem strange, but rather waiting 
for events to make things more clear, or to at least make it clear that he 
will never be able to make sense of what happened.  A few more 
minutes is hardly much to ask for, now, although he cannot repress a 
slight start, and a shudder, as Persius pushes the knife through his 
palm.
	The first thought he has, is less about Persius' mental state, but 
rather that any Roman would admire the coolness with which he 
performs his strange deed.  Certainly such a well-controlled person is 
eminently sane (clearly Gaius has not yet met fanatics), and so his 
exhibit must have some reasonable purpose.  Gaius racks his brains for 
a couple of seconds, trying to imagine what this reasonable purpose 
could be, until he realises that he will not guess, and waits to see what 
comes next.
	What comes next is indeed a shock, but compared to some of 
the wild flights of fancy he had, not entirely beyond the bounds of belief.  
At first, a thought rises, that perhaps the gods do take mortal form, and 
that this Persius is one of them, or a descendant.  Has he then been 
singled out for divine attention?  Did he really die, and was brought back 
to life by a god for some reason?  A deep frown creases his forehead as 
he tries to figure out what is the meaning of that display.
	But clearly, he can make guesses until the morning, and never 
know if he is correct... or he can ask, and see if his host will give him a 
straight answer.  Perhaps the demonstration was not meant as a puzzle 
or trick, but merely to make him more ready to listen to a fantastic 
explanation.  Which he certainly is, now.
	"A very... fantastic demonstration, Persius Solo.  I am fascinated 
beyond my ability to convey with words.  You imply there is no 
explanation for this that will satisfy the philosophers, and yet that there is 
one that satisfies you.  Would you be willing to share that information 
with me, and see if my mind is more open than that of one of those 
hypothetical unbelieving philosophers ?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Persius actually laughs. "So careful with your words....you know, much 
as I am proud of our stoic society, there was a time when it was not 
necessary to use so many circumlocutions to get to the point. I think in 
many ways Roman culture is becoming a bit calcified. In that respect, 
this war with Carthage may actually be a good thing. We have become 
entirely too arrogant, too complacent. A society needs to be stirred up a 
bit now and then, or it inevitably decays and collapses under its own 
traditions."

"The explanation is very simple, Gaius Fabius, though no less fantastic 
for it."

"You and I are both of a race of immortals. There are very few of us in 
the world, but one seems to be born every generation or so. We rarely 
discover our true nature until such time as we are dealt a mortal wound, 
as you were, and then our divine regenerative powers manifest for the 
first time. And forever after. We can sense one another by the ominous 
buzzing that the presence of another of our kind causes. Yes, I feel it 
right now just as you do. That's how I knew, when I saw you in the 
Senate chambers. I did a little checking on your history, your family, and 
learned you had lived a very normal life before marching off to war, and 
that your birth here in Rome, 23 years ago, was reasonably verifiable. 
Plus the fact that though I have never met you before, I am sure that at 
some point in the last 23 years, we must have passed close enough to 
one another somewhere in the city that I would have sensed you, had 
you been already awakened to your immortality, that is, older than you 
appear."

"So I deduced that you must have been 'killed' at Cannae, and risen as 
an immortal on the battlefield."

He lays his knife on the table, and pushes it, so it slides across the 
wooden surface towards you.

"I take it you have not been wounded since you got up from that spear 
thrust at Cannae? Else my demonstration would not have been such a 
surprise to you. Verify what I say....cut yourself, and watch what 
happens."

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	He listens to Persius' explanation in a comfortable position, not 
moving a muscle until Persius is finished.  The explanation, of course, is 
fantastic... but at this point, it has become apparent that any explanation 
that covers all the facts would be fantastic.  And this one covers many 
points, which would not be necessary to one trying to spin a fable.
	It explains why Persius keeps such a low profile... he would not 
want his immortality apparent.  It explains how he managed to furnish 
the house with such a collection of ancient items.  It explains why his 
breastplate was soaked in blood, yet he had no scar.  In short, it fits into 
a coherent whole... he had not even hoped for one that so completely fit 
the facts, even facts that he had not known were relevant while waiting 
for it.
	There is no reason now, not to take the knife and cut himself.  
Clearly the explanation will be wrong if the cut fails to heal, and 
considering how good the explanation is, nothing less will suffice.  And if 
Persius told the truth, as appears almost certain, there will only be a 
brief pain, and not even a scar.
	So after a couple of seconds unmoving while he thinks this 
through, Gaius stands upright.  He picks up the knife, and also reaches 
over to pick up the cloth that Persius used to clean the knife **no reason 
to bring back bloodstained clothes to the house**, and makes a shallow 
cut along the back of his left forearm. The cloth is placed over the cut to 
absorb the blood, and Gaius places the knife on the table and leans 
back in his chair, catching Persius' gaze.  He smiles in sudden 
amusement, and pulls the cloth back, wiping the blood off his arm as he 
does so.

<><><><><>

[GM]

There is a brief pain as you draw the knife across your forearm. Blood 
wells up, as expected. But the oozing of blood stops very quickly, and as 
you watch, your skin begins to mend. In less than a minute, the shallow 
cut has disappeared.

"It is unfortunate that I will have little opportunity to teach you the other 
secrets of our kind right away," Persius says. "I am quite certain that the 
Senate is going to vote against ransoming you. Public sentiment is 
against it, and frankly, Rome cannot afford it."

"You will have to endure whatever fate is decided for you and your fellow 
prisoners. At least unlike them, you can be secure in the knowledge that 
you *will* be returning to Rome someday. Assuming Hannibal does not 
press his advantage. If he does, we face a grave threat. We still have 
considerable reserves, but in a pitched battle between the last of Rome's 
legions and Hannibal's army, the outcome is far from certain."

"This Hannibal is one of the greatest threats Rome has ever faced. I 
have speculated more than once that he might be an immortal himself. 
Did you ever come close enough to the man to have sensed what you 
sense now, from me?"

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	Responding to Persius' question about Hannibal, "I believe his 
birth is a matter of record.  It's well known he's Hamilcar's get.  So while 
he may be immortal, it would not be necessary.  Unlikely, actually.... He 
did come close to give a speech before we left his camp, and I noticed 
nothing like this feeling."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Persius nods slightly at your words.

"It is not surprising...as descendants of the gods, no mortal is our equal 
at the art of war. But, occasionally a remarkable mortal comes along who 
displays a martial prowess unmatched even by immortals with a hundred 
times his experience. I thought Hannibal might be one of us, but it is 
unwise for our kind to take positions of such prominence. So Hannibal 
will join the ranks of Darius of Persia, and Alexander, and others...mere 
mortals whose names will live forever even if they do not."

"I was aware of his official history, of course. But some of us are very 
good at creating highly convincing birth records, sometimes with the 
complicity of a trusted mortal. I could not rule the possibility out."

Persius smiles at you grimly. "You can take some small comfort in the 
fact that you will still be alive centuries after Hannibal is dust. But, your 
immediate future will not be so glorious, I'm afraid."

"It is the tradition of our kind that when one discovers a newly awakened 
immortal, we take the fledgling under our wing and teach him the ways 
of immortality. There are, unfortunately, less honorable ones who will 
take advantage of childer like you. So normally, I would now become 
your patron, not only in the conventional sense of the word, but as an 
immortal tutor."

"However, as I said, I am certain that you are going to be sent back to 
Hannibal without a ransom. I assume you have no intention of violating 
your parole. So, you will have to suffer the indignity of whatever 
disposition the Carthaginians mete out to you. Endure it like a Roman, 
with the knowledge you can outlast them all. When the time comes for 
you to return to Rome....I will be here, waiting."

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	"You are correct, I have not the slightest intention of violating my 
parade and dishonoring my family and city.  I wish I could say the same 
for all the rest of us, but I will not malign anyone lest I be mistaken."
	Gaius stands up and gives a deep nod to Persius.  "I think you 
have told me enough to carry me for a while.  I thank you for your offer 
of patronage, and I'm saddened that circumstances don't currently allow 
me to take it.  But as I understand, there will be plenty of time in the 
future, if Hannibal does not sack Rome, to accept it.  I have one 
question, though.   It seems safer for immortals to kill other, new 
immortals, to prevent the mortal men around them from finding out that 
there are such things.  And a new immortal may well make a mistake 
leading to that.  So, should I be watching out for other, non-Roman 
immortals, that might wish to kill me, if they discover me, or do immortals 
not kill each other?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Persius gives you another grim smile.

"No, we do indeed kill each other. It is not so much to conceal our 
existence from mortals, though that is a concern. One of the many things 
I haven't the time to explain to you in full is the concept of the 
Quickening. Every immortal, you see, has something of the divine in 
him. It is that divine essence which many of our kind seek. If one 
immortal slays another, he receives a measure of his victim's essence, 
increasing his own power. For this reason, we must always be on guard 
against others of our kind."

"I did not kill you, first because you are a fellow Roman, and it is a good 
thing that there should be more Roman immortals, to ensure that Roman 
civilization endures. Secondly, those of us who are honorable believe 
that it is not honorable to slay a fledgling immortal. You are too new to 
your immortality, and have not had time to master the art of combat- you 
would not stand a chance against me, or anyone else close to my age. 
There is also a pragmatic reason; being so young, your Quickening is 
very weak....slaying a new immortal really does not benefit the slayer 
much."

"But, there are less scrupulous immortals, most of them barbarians, who 
would not hesitate to kill you while you are still such easy prey. So you 
will have to be wary, and if at all possible, hone your sword skills. For 
the one way in which we can be slain is to lose our head. You will 
recover from any other wound, but if your head is cut off, that will truly 
be the end of you."

Persius sighs. "During the last Punic War, I personally fought a 
Carthaginian immortal, and killed him. He was not very old. But, he had 
been taught by someone. I think there may be a more ancient immortal 
in Carthage itself. It would be best if you are able to avoid being taken to 
North Africa. In Greece, you will *probably* be safe....I know of a couple 
of Greek immortals who were still alive sixty years ago, but they are 
decent enough, for Greeks. If you run across them, they aren't likely to 
slay you out of hand. Mention my name."

"If you're sold into slavery with one of the Gallic tribes, or the Iberians, 
that would be worse. There are several barbarian immortals I have met 
over the years, and they were all as savage and untrustworthy as you 
might expect."

He spreads his hands. "I wish I could protect you now, but I must stay in 
Rome...my mentor made me swear never to leave the city uninhabited 
by one of us, so that the glory of Rome will always be preserved for all 
time. I had another protege who I was able to leave here while I traveled, 
until twenty years ago....then he was killed, by a barbarian whom I have 
not yet had an opportunity to hunt down. I have not left Rome since. It 
will be good when you return, so I can teach you, and then leave you to 
watch the city for a time while I go out to see the world once more....and 
avenge the slaying of Scipio."

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	He responds to Persius' smile with one of his own.  
	"I should have known things could not be that peaceful and 
honorable.  I'll take your advice, and be certain that I don't make it to 
Africa."
	"Do you have any more advice for me, or is this all the useful 
information that we have time for tonight?"
	
<If Persius indicates that this is all>:  Gaius stands, and raises his hand 
to wave farewell to Persius.  "I will see you as soon as circumstances 
permit.  My undying thanks for your information and advice."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Persius shakes his head. "There are a thousand other things I would tell 
you, but not nearly enough time. Only survive, and learn all you can, and 
come back to Rome as soon as the gods allow."

His servant shows you to the door, and you are alone on the street, with 
one more night to spend with your family, if Persius' prediction is correct.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	**sigh.  too much to consider now.  perhaps it's better if I don't.**
	Absorbed in his thoughts, Gaius walks home with a hesitant 
pace.  There are many questions that will need to be answered.  Of 
course, most will be answered by the future, and can wait.  But one that 
is imminent, is the question of disclosure towards his family.  Persius 
has clearly intimated that he keeps his immortality a secret.  There can 
be many reasons for this.  Also, Persius never said that he keeps his 
secret from all the normal-lived folk.  Perhaps confiding in his family 
would not be a mistake.
	But, confiding would mean revealing Persius' secret, also.  His 
family has a right to know.  He himself has a right to keep his secrets.  
But Persius is the one whom disclosure would affect the most.  The 
family should know, but only to keep their minds comforted while he is 
gone.  Against his family's comfort, is balanced the fact that telling the 
secret could well destroy Persius' current life in the city.  And Persius 
had been nothing if not honorable towards him.
	Well, then.  He would make his decision so as to benefit the one 
whom that decision would have the greatest impact on.  All his life, his 
brothers had said that he was too calculating, even in his kindnesses.  
Not so much in doing it, but in always considering whether any deed is 
proper, and worthwhile, and something that he would not regret doing, 
later.  Well, now, he would live up to that.  Since the secret could not be 
let out without revealing secrets that were not his to keep, he would not 
speak of it.
	Looking up from his thoughts, he realizes that his feet have long 
since recognized the path, and that he is but half a block from his house.  
Gaius pauses in the street, considering what he had to tell his family.  
Lying to his father would be heinous, and better that he say nothing.  But 
perhaps a judicious application of the truth would satisfy his family, at 
least until he could divert their attention to other topics.  Unfortunately, 
there was no dearth of them, and none pleasant to contemplate.
	With trepidation in his heart, he enters through the front gate, 
and makes his way to the dining room.  Likely the news would still have 
kept his family up and talking about the hostages.  In any case, his 
father would still be awake.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Your father is awake, as is your mother. Everyone else has gone to bed, 
however.

"Gaius," your father says. Stress shows in the lines of his face, and for 
the first time you have to update your mental image of the man....you've 
carried the same picture in your head since late childhood, of a former 
soldier and well-born (but not quite well born enough, not quite wealthy 
enough) member of the equites class, a man eternally strong and wise 
and almost all-powerful, in your eyes.

He is still strong and wise, but the years have crept up on him...his hair 
is greying with alarming speed, and it seems there are more lines 
weathering his face than when you left Rome only a few short months 
ago. He raised you and your brother with the objective of securing for 
you a higher place than he was able to obtain. Sometimes merciless in 
his efforts to make sure you will elevate the Pontio name, you came to 
share his ambition, as does Diocletian (though perhaps not as much, 
that boy- "More interested in the lady of the moment than in politics", 
your father has often said despairingly of your brother).

You will indeed elevate the Pontio name to heights unimagined...in you, 
it will literally live forever. But ironically, that is a secret you cannot share 
with anyone. Your clan will not be able to fully share in your personal 
glory. And though you always expected that someday you would have to 
bury your parents, it's a little harder to accept that it is now a dead 
certainty, and not only that, but Diocletian, your sister Septima, and 
everyone else you know, will die before you do...someday, you may be 
surrounded by a Rome uninhabited by anyone you grew up with, anyone 
you knew during your mortal lifetime.

Of course, that's all after you return from wherever your defeat at 
Cannae sends you, and that may be many years in the future. It could be 
that your parents will not even still be alive when you return to Rome.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	"Hello, Pater.  Persius wanted to know some more information 
about the fight, and he seemed interested in my future for some reason.  
Perhaps if we make it through this war, he will be willing to act as a 
patron.  Unfortunately, he had some bad, though not unexpected news:  
he believes that we will not be ransomed, and I think his sources of 
knowledge are probably rather good."
	Of course, his parents need not know what specific information 
Persius wanted, or why he would be willing to become a patron, but 
probably his parents would not be willing to inquire in depth, not with 
other concerns ahead of the family.
	"It looks like I, and the other delegates, will be leaving tomorrow 
to go back to the enemy camp.  But there is no need to discuss this 
tonight, I think... perhaps Persius knows less than he thinks, or his 
sources are mistaken, and we will be ransomed.  Or perhaps they will 
allow individuals to be ransomed." 
	Not mentioning, of course, that allowing individual families to 
ransom their members will likely not be allowed.  If they don't want to 
ransom the whole group, better to keep the money to outfit another 
army, would likely be the Senate's thinking.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Your parents accept your report of your evening with Persius, and your 
speculations about what the Senate might decide. There seems little left 
to say; your mother has spent all her emotion.

The next morning comes far too soon, and with it, the verdict.

As Persius predicted, the Senate has voted against ransoming you. The 
entire Roman army, what's left of it at Cannae, will be left to the 
Carthaginians, for Hannibal to do with as he sees fit. And you and your 
fellow delegates will be sent back to deliver that news to him.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	Gaius takes the news impassively.  This had been a topic for 
debate during the trip to Rome, and he had also had Persius' warning to 
prepare him for the likelyhood of the situation.
	After the verdict is given, he gives his parole to the Senate, and 
wanders home with a heavy tread, to say farewell to his family.  The 
farewell is short, in keeping with both proper reserve and with his 
conviction that he will return in far less time than expected.  And 
afterwards, he goes to the gate by which the returning captives, 
delegates no more, will gather to leave.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Not surprisingly, the man who turned back while you were all leaving the 
camp at Cannae does not show up, which delays your departure. The 
Senate sends a detachment of guardsmen after the would-be welcher, 
who justified his violation of parole by claiming that, having returned to 
the camp before proceeding on to Rome, he had thus fulfilled the 
conditions of his parole and was free to go where he willed since the 
Carthaginians let him leave a second time without extracting another 
oath.

Needless to say, this blatant sophistry does not sway the Senate, and 
the soldier from Neopolis is brought back, tied to his horse. His ride back 
to Cannae with you looks to be quite unpleasant.

None of you are of much mind to pay attention to this snake, though. 
Your fate looms before you with much greater and more dire 
significance. Of course, you now have a different perspective on it; no 
matter how long you are enslaved to Rome's enemies, you know you will 
be able to return home someday. Your companions, on the other hand, 
will probably never see Rome again. There is a great deal of weeping 
from the women of Rome as your party exits the gate and sets out on the 
road south.

<><><><><>

[gaius]
	Having made his farewells to his family in the morning, Gaius 
had hoped that they would remain at home, and make it a clean parting.  
Naturally enough, his hopes were disappointed, as his mother claimed 
relation to a delegate to wait in the front of the crowd until the Neapolitan 
is brought.  Weeping all the while, of course.  The best mother one could 
hope for, but she really was too willing to let her emotions pour out, for 
all to see.
	Be that as it may, there were much less pleasant topics to dwell 
upon during the ride back to Hannibal's army.  The topic that received 
most attention was the likely buyers for legionnaires sold as slaves.  
Asia Minor was the consensus likeliest place where most would end up, 
but a vocal minority suggested that due to his ties with some Gallic 
tribes, Hannibal would be more likely to sell them in Iberia.  Or, if he 
were to send for reinforcements from Carthage, a good number could be 
taken to Africa.  In short, everybody put forward their worst nightmare, 
and hoped that the others could give good reasons why that would be 
unlikely.  Naturally, everybody remained even more morose, as none of 
the undesirable purchasers could be ruled out.
	Gaius made an effort to be a part of the conversation, but he 
had never been comfortable at speaking with strangers.  And being the 
youngest and lowest-born in the group made him even more so.  At 
length, he simply sat his mount, trying to figure out what the implications 
of immortality would turn out to be.

	With a start, he looked up.  The camp was still miles ahead, but 
some of the Gallic outriders were riding up to challenge the party.  Or 
maybe they were Iberian.  Who could tell, or cared.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Predictably, Hannibal does not receive your news with joy. If you had 
doubts before, you're certain now, as your thoroughly subdued party is 
brought before the Carthaginian general, that he is not an immortal. He 
has apparently been attending to the logistical necessities of keeping 
several thousand Roman prisoners of war fed, as well as maintaining the 
discipline and readiness of his own army. Consequently, he looks tired 
and frustrated.

His one good eye squints almost shut as he shakes his head, looking 
over the lot of you.

"Rome is more foolish than I thought," he grumbles. "So be it. I certainly 
have no use for you; we don't need slave labor, and I have a campaign 
to finish. Tomorrow you will all begin relocating to the southern coast. 
I've already received envoys from the kings of Bithynia and Lycia. They'll 
send ships to bring you to your new home."