It had been two years since the Third Punic War had commenced in earnest. In all of that time, the Roman army had yet to make a dent in Carthage's great walls. Time and again, they had chipped away at the city from the seas, only for its massive fortifications to rebuff any assault they made, dragging on the siege for far longer than General Claudius had ever hoped it would. They had even tried to choke off the harbor on which the city's maritime trade was so depended on, but even that had been thwarted by the enemy setting their own ships ablaze and sending them to burn the oncoming fleet. The whole war effort was going nowhere quickly, and it was easy to see in everyone's eyes that impatience and agitation was winning the day, as what had once been hoped to be a quick and easy conflict was quickly turning into another long, protracted war against Rome's long-persistent adversary.
Looking out to the sea from the bow of his galley, Claudius couldn't help but what the point of all of this was. More than 40 years had passed since the Punic Empire's military might had been all but vanquished, and yet Rome still lusted for Carthage's complete destruction. At every corner in upper society, it seemed you couldn't go one day without someone grumbling about how Carthage was still persisting even after having lost the previous two wars. Cato the Elder in particular had become notorious among the Senate for ending every speech with "Carthage must be destroyed." For his part, Claudius had seen little worth in kicking a hobbled man while it was still down. The once-proud empire had been made to pay reparations to Rome twenty times over and had little means of meaningfully fighting back against their might. The back of Carthage had already been broken, but it seemed the feckless old dodders and cowards at the Senate had been leery of Carthage's reemerging commercial prosperity, so now they had sent their finest men to die for the sake of their bruised prides. What he wouldn't give for someone to properly put them in their place...
Of course, such heretical thoughts were ones the old general wisely kept to himself. After all, he had already proven his worth in battle, but most of the other soldiers were just taking their first true steps into manhood. To gain honor among the highest echelons of society by winning accolades in combat was the swiftest way of proving that you weren't merely a boy anymore. Whether this war was justified or not mattered little in the face of such a glorious prize.
Eyes growing weary of staring at the monotonous blue of the sea, Claudius swiftly headed toward the decks to retreat back into his quarters. No matter. It did not matter how many times Carthage resisted. They could set as many ships aflame as they desired, send as much calvary to defend their walls as they could muster; every hour they purchased for themselves was only delaying the inevitable. It was only a matter of time: Cato the Elder's prudent prayers would soon be answered. Carthage would fall, its people enslaved, and the city razed to the ground where it stood, leaving nothing but ash. There would be no mercy spared for the empire: every hallowed monument would be destroyed, every field pillaged for all that it was worth, every vial and priceless artifact that they cherished desecrated beyond repair as punishment for spitting in the eye of Rome for as long as it had, for serving as a blight on her might for far too long.
It had to be this way, otherwise there was every chance that, in desperation for results, they would call upon his Prim as a secret weapon.
At first, he had tried to keep it hidden, but given his status, it wasn't long before most of Rome grew aware of the unusual nature of Claudius' first child: namely, that it was a giant. Already, the child had already grown beyond all reckoning, so much so that a friend had said in a drunken stupor that it was enough to scare even the gods. Rumors had quickly spread of his wife having gotten into an affair with the hundred-armed King of the Giants himself, ones that he was very quick to snuff out with the blunt end of his sword. He could feel his head pounding just thinking about all the incessant questions that came his way, all the gawkers that had come intruding into his home that had to be fended off by the Praetorian Guard. It was an unceasing madness, one that he did not wish on anyone, even his worst enemies.
The worst of the pesterers by far had been the members of the political class. If it wasn't the procurators pestering him about the potential costs of housing and feeding his child, it was those senators practically salivating at the mouths at the chance to use Prim for further military expansions at as young an age as could be managed. There had been offers of a bounty's worth of silver denarius sent his way, but each time, he had refused. With how the current war effort was going, his fears were beginning to grow once more of his child been seen as a potential means of turning the tides in their favor. If he did not find a way to quell these contentions soon, it would only be a matter of time before his hand was forced, and he had no choice but to give up his child to the Republic for whatever perverted, twisted ends they had in store.
Recently, news had spread of how Scipio Aemilianus, the adopted grandson of the hero of the Second Punic War Scipio Africanus, had been put in charge of the war effort. It had unnerved General Claudius, to let a pischello like him take the counsel, but he had proven himself more than adept in battle over the last two years. Perhaps that would make the difference in this current siege on the capital of Carthage.
He could only hope it did, both for his and his child's sake. He could not bear the idea of such a horrid fate, not for:
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