"What could he possibly know, ordering us about like this? Unbelievable."
Nicanor grumbled, tossing down his medical tongs. Hailing from Greece, he was widely considered one of the finest physicians in all of Italy.
He had extracted hundreds of arrows from the flesh of soldiers and had even saved a man whose guts were spilling out of his belly.
Yet, some inexperienced young patrician was barking orders at him.
No matter how noble the young Caesar's bloodline might be, Nicanor's pride simply couldn't stomach it.
"Boil all the surgical instruments in water before operating? Why on earth would I waste precious time with such nonsense?" he muttered.
And that wasn't the only absurd demand Caesar had made.
He had strictly forbidden the use of leeches to drain tainted blood, and forced all the physicians to scrub their hands with Palmolive before any surgery or treatment.
To Nicanor, it was all a colossal waste of time.
The ban on leeches, in particular, had caused a massive uproar among not only Nicanor, but every other doctor in the camp.
According to Hippocrates, the greatest physician of Greece, the human body was composed of four humors.
Illness occurred when these fluids fell out of balance. To draw out the corrupted blood and restore that balance, leech therapy was essential.
Yet a Roman noble who knew absolutely nothing about medicine had decreed a total ban on the practice.
"But this treatment is vital for saving the wounded!" Nicanor had protested.
"No. I am not compromising on this, doctor." Caesar had bluntly replied.
Even after that, the young Caesar had interrupted the physicians at every turn—ordering them to scrub the medical tents spotless, forcing them to wear gloves that had been boiled first, and making them cover their mouths with cloths.
"Washing with Palmolive kills tiny creatures living on our hands? What a load of rubbish."
Nicanor scoffed.
It was the exact same nonsense spouted by that Roman scholar, Varro.
Varro had warned people to avoid swamps, claiming that invisible, tiny creatures floated through the air and entered the body through the mouth and nose.
That anyone could actually believe such ridiculous nonsense was absurd.
If that wasn't simply the naive gullibility of youth, what was?
However, there was one glaring anomaly.
Ever since they started following Caesar's ridiculous rules, the wounded were actually recovering much faster.
It had to be a mere coincidence.
Just as Nicanor was lost in thought...
"How are the wounded doing today?"
"Ah! Yes, imperator. They are all recovering at a rapid pace."
Nicanor flinched in surprise and spun around to answer the voice behind him.
Caesar was calmly strolling through the medical tent.
"And the soldier who took a wound to the abdomen?"
"His condition is... not good. I'm afraid a recovery is highly unlikely..."
"I see. I'd like to speak with him myself."
"Of course. Right this way."
Nicanor watched from a distance as Caesar quietly talked with the dying man.
Regardless of the absurd medical theories he spouted, the boy at least seemed like a decent commander.
"He spoke a lot of nonsense... but perhaps his methods were worth testing further. There were rumors that the wounded in Hispania healed unnaturally fast after using Palmolive as well."
Shaking his head, the physician walked off to discuss the matter with his colleagues.
***
"He told me he's from the city of Larinum. Says his family still lives there."
"What did the doctor say?"
"That he won't make it past tomorrow."
I let out a heavy sigh and looked up at the sky.
It was the perfect weather for flying a kite.
Not that I was in the mood for it.
"That soldier's injury isn't your fault, you know. He got hurt fighting bandits," Brutus said, shrugging as he set aside the paper he had been writing on.
"But he was fighting under my orders."
I never had to deal with this kind of guilt when I was just running businesses back in Rome.
The enterprises I started had altered the fates of countless people, but they had never directly taken a life.
This was entirely different.
A single bad order from me could get hundreds of men killed.
"Caring for your men is the mark of a great commander," Brutus stated firmly.
"However, if you become overly obsessed with their safety, it will cloud your judgment. Sometimes, making cold choices is the only way to actually save their lives."
"Quite the paradox, isn't it?"
A dry chuckle escaped my lips before I could stop it.
I never expected to be receiving counseling from Brutus of all people out here.
Still, his words brought me a strange sense of comfort.
He was right.
If I acted like a coward, paralyzed by the fear of casualties, I'd end up putting even more of my men in danger.
"You sent out a request to the allied cities, and they chose to answer. The same goes for the soldiers. They weren't dragged here in chains; they volunteered. Just like I did."
"I expected you to criticize them as nothing more than mercenaries chasing the money. We're selling the bandits as slaves after all."
Honestly, I thought Brutus would have condemned this entire bandit-hunting operation as a glorified slave-catching scheme fueled by greed.
"Whatever the methods, wiping the bandits from the roads of Italy is a righteous cause, isn't it?" Brutus shrugged again.
"If the sacrifice of a few buys safety for all the citizens of Italy, then it is a worthy trade."
"..."
As I sat there processing his words, I noticed Brutus scribbling on his paper again.
"What exactly are you writing down?"
"Oh, this? It's nothing much. Just a sort of record."
"A record of what?"
"Of our journey. I may not be the great Thucydides, but surely I can manage to leave behind a written account, right? My memory isn't quite as sharp as my uncle's, so I prefer to jot things down as they happen."
"Do me a favor and try to leave our personal conversations out of it," I said with a laugh.
I really didn't expect Brutus to make such extensive use of the paper I had given him.
"Now, how could I do that? My conversations with you are the most crucial parts."
"Well, we should probably get going."
Standing up, I adjusted my armor, cape, and helmet.
This was no time to hesitate.
Just as Brutus said, a commander had to act decisively.
But any decisive action required a solid plan first.
"I need to head to the command tent. No, on second thought, the medical tent."
I couldn't exactly order Antony to crawl his way over to the command post.
I shot a sideways glance at Brutus, who was already struggling to hold back a smirk.
"Please, do me a favor and try not to laugh in front of Antony."
I've got a bad feeling about this.
And as was always the case, my bad premonitions had a nasty habit of coming true.
***
"If you want to laugh so badly, just laugh."
Antony glared at Brutus from his prone position on the cot.
"But the second I can stand, the very first thing I'm doing is kicking your arse into the dirt."
"It's a bit hard to feel threatened when the man making the threats is in such a... compromising position," Brutus replied with a polite, yet utterly infuriating, smile.
The medical tent was filled with the mingled stench of blood, crushed herbs, and boiling water.
Still, thanks to my endless nagging, basic hygiene measures were actually being maintained.
Before I laid down the law, this place had been a filthy mess.
Antony ground his teeth as he lay on his stomach.
"Of course a coward like you didn't get a scratch, hiding in the rear. What were you doing? Scribbling away on your little papers for your 'records'?"
"If I am a coward for being in the rear, does that make the imperator a coward as well, since he was right beside me?"
"You bastard, don't you dare twist my words like—"
"That's enough from both of you," I cut in with a heavy sigh.
I had finally managed to escape Rome, only to end up breaking up fights between these two again.
It was like watching Pompey and Crassus all over again.
Why am I always stuck mediating between two overgrown children?
First I had to mediate between Pompey and Crassus in the First Triumvirate.
And now I was trapped in yet another triumvirate, mediating between Brutus and Antony.
If I had known it was going to be like this, I would've just brought Felix along to torment him instead.
"What's important right now is assessing our situation."
I pulled a low table up to Antony's cot and unrolled the map.
I had to pin down the edges with a bronze cup and a dagger to keep it from curling back up.
"They hit us from these two spots, unleashing a volley of arrows before charging. They were far more disciplined than I expected, and they clearly knew the terrain like the backs of their hands."
Antony explained, reaching out to point at the map while still lying face-down.
Brutus immediately cut in.
"We need to switch our strategy to a prolonged siege. No matter how many animals are on that mountain, it won't be enough to feed hundreds of men for months."
Antony opened his mouth to retort, but Brutus continued.
"Furthermore, the chances of the allied cavalry deserting are slim. Every single one of them knows that getting on your bad side right now will jeopardize their chances of getting a tower built. They aren't fools."
"But the fact remains that a siege will take far too long. If the expenses start outweighing the potential profits, the allied cities will grow restless," I countered.
Just then, Antony waved a hand to get our attention.
"I figured something out while we were pushing up the mountain. Their water supply. There aren't many natural springs on that mountain. The only ones are located near the base."
He tapped a few spots on the map.
"There's almost no running water higher up. They've been sending parties down at night to fetch water. We managed to capture a few of them."
"They might be able to fill their bellies with wild animals, but water is a completely different story."
I stared at the locations Antony had marked.
If we blocked off the springs at the base of the mountain, we could force them down once their thirst became unbearable.
It wasn't a bad plan at all.
"But that's not the end of it," Antony added.
"Not the end of it? What do you mean?"
Antony was silent for a moment before he reached out and tapped the open plains on the map.
"If you were in their shoes, what would you do once those springs were choked off?"
"I'd come down the mountain and fight. Or more accurately, I'd try to break the siege and escape," I replied.
Next to the Aurunci Mountains lay another mountain range.
Sandwiched between them was a small stretch of plains. If the bandits could just cross that plain, chasing them with cavalry would become practically impossible.
"But we can catch them easily on the horses."
"If they move as a single group, yes."
Antony spread his fingers wide.
"But if I were them, I'd splinter into three, four... maybe even five different groups and scatter. For us to cover this entire plain, we'd have to spread our cavalry dangerously thin. If they charge us all at once, we can crush them. But if they scatter in every direction? We'll catch one group, let two slip by, and watch the rest vanish into the neighboring mountains."
Brutus immediately spoke up. "But surely our current cavalry numbers are sufficient to—"
"They're not," Antony cut him off flatly.
"The cavalry we've scraped together from the allied cities isn't nearly enough to hold positions across the whole plain."
I stared at the map in silence.
Antony was right.
If we spread our riders out and failed to converge on the right spot in time, we'd be forced to watch the bandits slip through our fingers.
"Then what about using horns?" Brutus suggested. "We spread the cavalry out as wide as possible, and once a group spots the enemy, they sound the horn so the others can converge on their position."
"Sound travels unpredictably across an open plain. It'll be too hard to pinpoint the exact direction," Antony said, shaking his head.
"The only viable option is firing signal arrows into the sky. We use arrows fletched with bright red or blue feathers so the surrounding patrols can spot them."
"With the telescopes, we could spot them easily. But an arrow falls too quickly," I noted.
Even if a patrol fired multiple arrows, there was still a high chance the others might miss it.
I needed a way to send a clear, lingering signal to the surrounding cavalry.
Just then, a strong gust of wind blew past outside, causing the tent fabric to flap.
The loose end of a hanging bandage fluttered, and the map shuddered beneath its weights.
Suddenly, a memory flashed through my mind.
It was the day I left Rome.
The parting gift Julia had given me.
Something that could be launched into the sky, remain visible far longer than an arrow, and mark a location more precisely than a horn blast.
"There might actually be a perfect solution for this."
"A perfect solution?"
"My little sister gave me a present when I left Rome."
I smiled, looking toward the tent flap swaying in the wind.
Yes. I just needed to use that.
I opened my mouth and yelled.
"Fetch a messenger! Tell him to bring me paper, thin branches, and some dye immediately!"
Brutus furrowed his brow.
"Surely you aren't planning to build another one of your toys in the middle of a military campaign?"
"A toy?"
I shook my head with a grin.
"No. This time, it's hunting gear."
***
A few days after repelling the Roman advance, the bandit gang led by Seleucus faced a grim new problem.
"Are you telling me they've locked down every single spring?"
"Yes, boss. Our boys tried to sneak down and fetch water a few times, but they were turned back every single time."
"You useless idiots. You can't even fetch a simple bucket of water?!"
Seleucus scowled fiercely.
If he mobilized all his remaining men, overwhelming the guards at one or two springs would be child's play.
But doing so meant abandoning their heavily fortified defensive positions.
"That's exactly what those Roman bastards want us to do."
"What do we do now, boss?"
"There's only one option left."
While Seleucus laid out his escape plan to his men, down at the base of the mountain, Roman soldiers were busily painting large sheets of paper in bright colors.
"Painting on papyrus, huh? This is actually more fun than I thought."
"Yeah, but... why exactly are we doing this?"