They long waited for the peace to shatter and for imperial boots to cross the border. Roman knew this would happen, yet fear gripped his throat when he thought of their men stomping his fields, their ships drowning his seas. He had studied them for years, but he felt there was critical information he was missing. A battle must be won long before he lined up the soldiers, and so far, he was looking at defeat.

He would send thousands to death which will be remembered as a military maneuver. Studied and celebrated if he won or deemed a foolish gamble if he didn’t. What did his father think about the day before a fight? Did he feel the pain of his enemies when he ravaged their armies and sacked their cities? Was there any remorse in him at all, or did the voice of ambition silence everything?

He wanted to imagine his father full of confidence, having a good night’s sleep before the massacre, watching the field with unblinking eyes. But he was sure doubt filled his heart too. Wondering whether there was anything else he could’ve done better and whether staring at the maps yet another night would tilt the odds in his favor.

Through the flapping entrance of the tent, he saw the smoke of extinguished bonfires, knowing that everyone in the camp had dreamt of the same thing last night. All soldiers, blacksmiths, and nobles will pray to be victorious tomorrow. If they fight as hard as they pray, then they have a chance.

One of his generals used a boy no older than twelve as a page. The child had tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to die. But he most probably would.

Could he have made terms with the empire? Yield gold and dirt and win back his people’s lives. But this only postpones the bloodshed, and he made this mistake with his brother once. One’s desire for peace won’t stop another from wanting war. Because if we don’t lead, then malevolent men will, or even worse - incompetent ones. It’s good men who are willing to endure a life of violence that keep evil at bay.

His generals surrounded the table like vultures around prey. In previous campaigns, they would joke, some of them still hungover from the night before. Even when they fought the northmen, he had to hang a general for incompetence so the rest could take the campaign seriously. But this time, they feared for their lives. They were looking at the map, as detailed as their scouts had reported the landscape, thinking about every small hill, every rock formation they could use to their advantage.

There were no talks of women or celebrations. The wooden pieces rattling on the table filled the gaps in their words. The czar moved one piece - a hundred widows. Moved another one - a hundred more.