Finally story time....
Scipio collapsed in his saddle as the Carthigianian army retreats after the days battle, "Finally the Carthagianians retreated, if they had fought another 5 minutes I doubt our men would have continued the fight. Hell they would have died from exhaustion!" The long battle was finally ended and the Carthagianians sued for peace, Scipio was relieved, he has led Rome to her first victory and a great one at that. His name will live on in the annals of history for centuries, he knew, but he couldn't help but feel that more trouble was coming for Rome. He looked at his army as they celebrate their victory and hard earned rest before leaving for Spain. The Celts, he thought, long haired barbarians, who has no honor, bloodthirsty men who would stop at nothing but complete annhiliation of their enemies. He shuddered, "I pray to Mars that Rome will survive this terrible conflict between them and the Celts, and I pray to Mars to give me the strength to fight the Celts and free Rome from the clutches of barbarians." He turned his horse towards the camp, near the mighty but now humbled city of Carthage, to await the transports that will take them to Spain.
Meanwhile back in Rome, around the same time,
King Romulus read the note concerning Carthage, his advisor said, "Congratulations on your victory sir."
"Mighty Carthage may have been humbled by Roman force but greater troubles await us and the empire if we are not careful." King Romulus warned.
"Whatever can you mean sir? Surely not those barbarian Celts? They are nothing more than an angry mob." the advisor chuckled.
"Yes, but remember, they are a mob, numbers against experience, strength against quality. We will be fighting a war we could lose if we do not plan carefully. Rome has almost been sacked, becuase our defenses were broken by these "mobs" as you call them." King Romulus countered.
"Yes, but now with the war against Carthage over, our troops from there can be sent against the Celts, like you said sir, experience against numbers. We will win." argured the advisor.
King Romulus sighed, he was growing too old for this, nearing 50 years of age and no son to take over, he feared for Rome and her survival during this dark time. The king waved away the advisor and slowly walked over to his room to rest. Little did his advisors or people know that he was dying, he will be dead by morning, but he knew as he slowly walked to his room.