Scipio knew the land lay before him. No Roman could resist the call for his country, the desire for glory, the virtue of battle. Yet Hannibal had resisted all comers as of yet. Wisdom said that delaying might still be the best course.
But all must fight some day. All may die. None choose this fate or no, but the hour and manner perhaps.
Publius Cornelius Scipio picked up his sword. Oddly, he wrote a poem of good cheer. He sent a dispatch to his wife and children, to be sent in case he met his death on the field.
And he strode to led the men into victory.
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