EMBERS (Marcus Acacius)

XVII | Woe to the Conquered

The battle was over shortly after it had begun. I didn't protest as Roman soldiers herded us out of the city. We huddled together in a big group, as the bodies of the dead were dragged out and piled high before our eyes. I hadn't failed to notice that the mountain of Romans was significantly smaller than that of the Numidians. There was no question about which side had come out on top.

I kept my gaze down as a man walked up to the bodies. Whispers of "that's the general" and "he will burn in hell" floated all around me, but I still did not look up; even when torches were used to set the bodies alight. My nose scrunched at the smell of burning flesh, but I did not move a muscle apart from that.

"I claim this city for the glory of Rome. Numidia is no more." The general's words carried across the desert and cries of despair engulfed me from all sides, as the Numidians watched their home being vanquished. "Vae victis. Woe to the conquered."

Roman soldiers began to push the Numidians to their feet. I finally lifted my head, watching the general's back as he stared down at the burning bodies. If he felt any remorse for the carnage he had just administered, it did not show in his stance. Loathing filled my heart and I swallowed the fury that rose steadily in my throat.

"Get up," a Roman soldier snapped at me. I glared at him as I begrudgingly complied. He just smirked, like this whole ordeal was amusing to him. "If it makes you feel better, you put up a good fight—"

Usually, I took every consideration for the consequences of my actions, but in that moment my anger got the better of me and I snapped. I spat at the soldier, the saliva hitting him square on the nose with a satisfying splat. I hadn't even realised I'd done it, until he lunged forward, bringing his sword up to my throat.

"Stop it!" The voice came from behind me and the soldier faltered when he heard it. "Sheath your sword, Paulus."

The soldier—Paulus—hesitated, his sword still dangerously close to my throat, but he begrudgingly pulled it back. I could see the tremor of his fingers as the weapon scraped against its sheath. His eyes were wide, a mixture of fear and confusion at the interruption. It wasn't often that a Roman soldier—especially one as rough as Paulus—was stopped by a voice like that in the midst of his dominance.

I didn't dare to turn around. I could already guess who it was, and the last thing I wanted was to face him now—after everything that had happened today. I was afraid of what I might do if I came face to face with the general of Rome.

But then came the sound of boots. Heavy and deliberate, the kind of steps that commanded attention. My breath caught in my throat.

"General," Paulus  muttered, a mix of reverence and uncertainty in his tone. Any superiority he had felt a moment ago when he'd threatened me, had evaporated into the hot desert air.

"Paulus, she is not your prisoner," The general said coldly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "You will address her with respect."

Paulus stammered a response, his face reddening. He backed away, clearly shaken, leaving me standing alone in the dust. I could feel the weight of the general's gaze on me, even as I refused to look at him directly.

"Adriana..." His voice was softer than I had expected. Almost like a question—as if the name felt foreign and strange on his tongue.

Time seemed to stretch, bending in ways I couldn't understand. The desert wind, the cries of the defeated, the distant crackling of the flames from the pyres—they all faded into the background, as though the universe itself had paused. My mind was still, silent, as I tried to comprehend what I was hearing.

I hadn't expected this. No, I had never imagined this.

I never thought I would see him again. Not after everything that had happened. Not after all the years that had passed like fleeting shadows. I had long ago buried the memory of him deep, as one does with things lost to time. He was a part of my past, a past I had been forced to leave behind.