Conquest and Glory

Chapter Twelve Pardon the delay, it was unexpectedly busy yesterday.

Dec 18, 2025

Justinius was withing eyesight of Rome. Since he had set out summer had waned and Autumn had come in. A cold rain was pouring, making the grass slippery and turning dirt to mud. Justinius had taken the most direct route to Rome. Quintus, who had begged to come along, had traveled with him since he didn’t know the way. They had run into a few of their own along the way but hadn’t ever grouped up, though some of the others had stayed near. They had done their best to avoid any populated areas or coming into contact with traveling mice, and Justinius was thankful for the rain for once since it would give them some cover as they infiltrated the city. He frowned. The rain would help them, yes, but he could barely see anything with it and could not see how well Rome was defended.

“How are we going to enter?” Quintus asked.

“I was wondering the same thing,” Octavius said, coming up behind them with the two mice he had traveled with. “Shall we go through the main gate?”

“I’d prefer to enter from the other side of the city,” Justinius replied. “They probably wont be looking as hard for us from that side, if they are looking for us at all. We don’t know if Aquila expects us or not.”

“He knew Cassius escaped,” Justinius said. “Or he should. And he’ll be wary that some help of some form might come. He’s expecting something—he has to after taking Rome like that. I just hope he isn’t watching Cassius’s house.”

“Unless he didn’t know it was Cassius,” Octavius interjected. “But that seems like a vain hope.”

“Well, that’s all we have at the moment,” Justinius said slowly, brow furrowed. “Let’s go.”

They slunk back and circled the city. The rain was still pouring when they reached the gate they were looking for. They entered slowly, making sure not to appear connected. Justinius tried to keep himself inconspicuous, but he knew with his previous standing then promotion to legate he would easily be recognized by the right person. He hoped that right person didn’t turn out to be the wrong person. Not many people were out, seeming only to be out if they had to. He almost walked into a rat who was still trying to find who had jostled him when Justinius slipped into a side street.

He breathed a sigh of relief, then ducked again as two legionaries walked by. They weren’t part of the two hundred. He wondered if he had hidden himself in time, but they didn’t seem to have seen him. Readying himself, he resumed his trek to Cassius’s home.

He made sure he hadn’t been followed and that the house wasn’t being watched before entering. While he was doing so two mice under his command entered furtively, looking about them. Not exactly suspicious, but they certainly weren’t inconspicuous. Waiting a minute more, he entered the house through a back door. He knocked.

“What is it?” a annoyed voice said, opening the door. It was a shout mouse with a clipped ear. He frowned at Justinius. “What do you want?”

“I’m Justinius,” he said. “Cassius sent me here.”

“Cassius did, eh?” the diminutive mouse said. “Okay, come on in. Name’s Hippias.”

Justinius didn’t quite like the mouse at first, and he couldn’t say exactly why. But there was definitely something about his eyes he didn’t like. Hippias led him into a room with around a score of mice. Most of them were from his legion, but four appeared to be servants of Cassius. Justinius soon came to think he had misjudged Hippias.

Hippias was a delightful host in Cassus’s absence, and made every effort, and made sure the other servants and slaves did as well, to make sure Justinius and his mice were well received and taken care of. He was a small mouse with cream colored fur and there was a prominent nick in his ear.

“Where is Marcus?” Justinius asked after they were settled and he was sure they hadn’t been followed. Some of the others chuckled and poked fun at how nervous he seemed to be.

“He left a while back,” Hippias replied, pausing from his duties.

“Where is he?”

“We thought it unsafe to have him remain here,” Hippias said. “After Cassius and the others got out of the gates, there was no telling who survived, or who would go where. But we knew some had been killed, and Marcus didn’t want to take any chances and was sure Aquila would come poking around here. If he did, Marcus’s life would be over. That and the fact he was too recognizable. If anyone saw him, they would know who he was and might tell Aquila at once. So we decided to send him off in secret not two days after Cassius left.”

“Where did he go?” Justinius wanted to make sure that he was safe and was considering checking himself.

“You are planning on going overthrowing the usurper, Aquila, no?” Hippias gave him a curious look. “Then be patient. If you go up against Aquila only to fail, he could get the information out of you. I’m not sure if even you could resist him, and then any hope would indeed be lost. I could not in good conscious tell you where Caesar Marcus is for Marcus’s sake. Besides, I don’t know where he went, or if he went out of the city at all. He thought it would be safer to not have anyone know where he was. I don’t think he entirely trusted that we wouldn’t betray him.”

“Marcus was cautious, and his betrayal would have left little trust in others,” Justinius remarked.

“Indeed.” Hippias resumed his work and Justinius was left in thought.

The days passed, and so did the rain. Justinius spent the next few days scouting Rome and the strength of Aquila’s forces. It appeared that many of the legion did not side entirely with Aquila, but were forced to go along by those who were higher up and the rats. Quite a few of the nobles had joined with Aquila, appreciating the power and comforts that came with joining him, while even more had been put to death or exiled, and not a few had joined out of fear of their own life. The city was faring just as poorly as these—the streets had acquired filth at an alarming rate and mice were afraid to leave their homes. Justinius could hardly wait till Rome was restored to her former glory.

Justinius had finished his plan as well as he could by this point. He still had yet to get an exact number of the rats in the city, but by his estimation it was in the hundreds. Potentially well over five hundred. Many in Aquila’s legion had been put to death or exiled publicly, and many more and secretly been given to the rats from what he had been able to gather. The number of those mice who had served Aquila and willing to give their lives for him and executed by him was almost a hundred. They must have been the most vocal. Though it seemed that only a quarter or so had fully turned on Marcus, they were the ones who could force the rest to follow. It was these that would pay in the end. The rest were either following whoever was in charge because they didn’t care or out of fear for their lives. How they preformed in the coming days would decided their fate after Aquila’s defeat.

Almost all of his forces had made it into Rome without discovery, with Cassius among them. Justinius had situated them at strategic points around the city in places he knew they could hide without being found. Thirty he had kept at Cassius’s house with himself to fight alongside him when he would launch his attack. Those situated around Rome would rise up and be a distraction for Justinius and his group so they could sneak through and get to Aquila. All he needed to do was to send word to them and the whole city would be thrown into chaos. He had even sent seven mice under the command of a mouse named Brutus to infiltrate Aquila’s legion and cause an uprising to help even out the battlefield. This was known only to him and Octavius. Octavius was to break into the prison and break out any Aquila had unlawfully imprisoned. Quintus had not the experience of a legionary nor the knowledge of Rome to be of any help other than at Justinius’s side. Even then Justinius had his doubts that the mouse could be anything but a hindrance.

He slank back, ready to return to Cassius’s house where he had set up his base of operations and report back. He wanted to learn as much as he could from his reconnaissance but he knew that the longer they were in Rome the larger the chance of them discovery grew. He didn’t know quite as much as he would like, but he knew he had no other choice than to make his move. He would do so in the early hours of the next morning. He’d have messengers sent out to spread the word. Octavius and Brutus and those under them would have to wait until the battle started, that would be their sign to make their moves.

The day was growing late as he darted through the streets near Cassius’s house. He thought he heard something behind him, but when he looked there was nothing there. The wind whistled by sharply, and he wondered if they might get an early snow. They days had been growing unusually cold. Shivering, he stepped inside the house, making sure that no one was watching and that no one had followed him.

He said something to those who had been hand picked to run to those hiding in the city about sending the word next morning. Then told Hippias he would make the move next morning. Cassius was out at the moment, so Justinius told Hippias to inform him upon his arrival.

“It will be done,” the former slave said after hearing what Justinius had to say. “Now get your rest—you’ll need it tomorrow. We’re all cheering for you.”

“I think I will,” Justinius replied, unable to hear the last comment of Hippias through his own yawn, He retired for the night after making one or two more comments to one or two mice.

Octavius had snuck into the prison in the early morning hours. This was the first chance he had been able to and he wanted to get an idea of just how many he’d be able to recruit. He had slipped past the rats who had fallen asleep. Miserable creatures. He was sure even the traitors who had sided with Aquila wouldn’t fall asleep on their posts—traitors or not they were still disciplined legionaries.

He slipped through the shadows, making notes of who looked like nobles, legionnaires and plain criminals. But he stopped when he saw the last cell. Something was very wrong.

There, in the cell, was the late emperor Marcus. He was thin and he looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in several days. He perked when he saw Octavius.

“Is that you, Octavius?” he hissed.

“How did you know?” Octavius said, coming close to the bars.

“I remember Justinius speaking highly of you and seeing you when you went off, but never mind that now. Is the legate here?”

“Why?” Octavius said, suddenly alert.

The former emperor grabbed him by the collar through the cell bars. “We’ve been betrayed!”

Justinius awoke refreshed. He ate a quick meal, then readied his mice. The runners all went out ahead of him and Justinius followed at the head of his group. He stopped short upon exiting.

The runners, six in total, were all dead, shot with arrows. About forty rats and twenty mice stood in the street or up on the rooftops, bows drawn and new arrows nocked.

One of the highest centurions under Aquila, a mouse named Julius with whom Justinius had met some time ago, stepped forward. “Surrender, and you may find mercy.”

“I would rather die than beg for my life from someone like you,” Justinius roared.

He looked back and the other mice with him nodded approvingly at him. Then he turned his attention to the matter at hand. Though he didn’t regret his decision which would only have angered Julius and ruin their only chance for mercy, he didn’t think their chances looked very good. He frowned again, wondering how many more times it would take before his face remained like that—how his wife would scold him. At least they’d go down fighting. He vowed to take the traitor with him even if it was the only thing he did.