Chapter Text
Lucullus must have gone insane.
That's the first thing Julia Calida thinks when she sees Gaius Fabius Tycho leading her reinforcements. Why else would Lucullus send a man (at least in age, definitely not in bearing) who walks through enemy territory as though it were a forum in Rome. The others with him don't exactly contradict that assessment. One is wearing armor similar to what she's seen in arenas. The other looks to be old enough to be the leader's grandfather (and might be, as far as she knows). If it weren't for Caeso, Calida would've assumed this was some sort of Pontic trap.
Throughout the fight, her opinion of Gaius doesn't stray too much from her first impression. He is not a man accustomed to killing other men; evident by the way he tries to lead the group to the back of the warehouses in an attempt to sneak by the guards. When this extremely inconspicuous group is spotted, he hesitates when firing his bow. The few shots he does take usually go low, aiming for enemy legs. He doesn't use cover, getting a couple of arrows to the shoulders and chest as he looks for a target (his stance like a hunter’s, she notices). Luckily, they are facing poorly trained men with even worse equipment. When the job is done, Gaius quickly searches the crates for Greek fire, purposefully ignoring the corpses littered about.
Lucullus explains the situation to her after they have returned to camp. Gaius is a noble, the younger child, and lived an uneventful and less than challenging life before escaping Rome. Even with the respect she holds for Lucullus for all he's done for her, Julia can't help but feel frustrated that he's given such important missions to Gaius solely on the basis of his parents’ accomplishments and friendship. It seems not even Lucullus is above a little nepotism.
Taking a deep breath, Julia reminds herself that she is proof Lucullus has an eye for talent, and at least Gaius is a decent shot. If he ever learns to take cover, he might even survive this war.