The sun burned golden above the Eternal City, gilding its white-stone towers and crimson-roofed domes in the light of divine majesty.
The streets, once quiet with the usual rhythms of daily trade and disciplined legion drills, now thrummed with breathless anticipation.
From the northern road, a sound began to echo.
Hooves.
And at last—
As the clouds of dust rose only to eventually reveal the shadowy forms.
Drums.
Dozens of war drums began to thunder in rhythm from the high towers and walls.
Each beat was a declaration.
Each thrum across the stone was a signal to the hearts of every citizen:
He has returned.
Their lord and master.
Julius.
Emperor of Romanus.
Uniter of two nations, and Ruler of close to seven at this point.
~
The northern gate — Porta Aurea, the Gate of Gold — stood open wide, flanked by soaring marble columns and newly raised imperial standards that fluttered in the spring breeze.
And before it?
A sight to bring any soldier to reverent silence.
