“Look at the men around you,” he continued. “Meet their eyes and take their measure. From this day forward, for as long as we march together, your tent-mates are your brothers. Fight for
them
. Protect
them
. When they stumble,
you
help them stand. When they tire,
you
give them encouragement. And when the enemy is but a gladius length away, you
kill
for
them
. Do this, and they will do the same for you.
“You think you fight for fame or for spoils? Do not let the play of your anticipation distract you from the work of your sword. You think you fight for your sweetheart or your wife? Your wives are far away, but your brothers are right beside you. Fight for them, and live! Fight for each other, and we will return to Rome with such treasure it will take a thousand mules to bear the weight of it!
“I make this promise, witnessed by these officers: when we return victorious, laden with Parthian gold, a bonus of 1,000
denarii
awaits every fighting man!”
It started somewhere in the middle of the army but rapidly built to a crescendo, a single voice amplified thirty-thousand times: “Crassus! Crassus! Crassus! Crassus!”
###
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andrew Levkoff grew up on Long Island, New York, got a BA in English from Stanford, then put that hard-earned degree to dubious use in the family packaging business. After a decade of trying to convince himself to think 'inside' the box (lots of them), he fled to Vermont where for eight years he attempted to regain his sanity by chopping wood and shoveling snow off his roof.
Since 2005 he has been taking the cure out West, where his skin has darkened to a rich shade of pallid. Andrew lives in Phoenix with his wife, Stephany and their daughter, Allison, crowded into close proximity by hundreds of mineral specimens Stephany and he have collected while rockhounding. "They're just a bunch of rocks," says Allison. Ouch.