It's time for one of history's fabulous stories: Horatius at the bridge.
Lars Porsenna and Tarquin were on their way. Thousands of Etruscans were hitting the road for Rome, murder on their minds, sword hands twitching.
There was only one man Rome could look to in this desperate hour!
HORATIUS!
With his faithful sidekicks, Spurius Latrius and Herminius, Horatius made for the bridge over the river, the only route the Etruscans could take to Rome. As a legion of burly workers hacked and burned the bridge, Horatius stood tall and proud, shild on arm and sword in hand. No Etruscan would pass while Horatius drew breath!
A dust cloud gathered in the distance, and Horatius' eagle eye discerned Lars' flashing helm. He gripped his sword tighter and strengthened Spurius' and Herminius' reselove with a manly glance. The moment was near!
Five hours later, Etruscans were swarming the point that Horatius and co. held firm. Behind the Romans, the workers were nearly finished, hacking and burning with as much might and valor as their aching muscles allowed. The goal was nearly accomplished. Suddenly Horatius heard a bellow of pain to his left. Spurius had fallen, a battle axe through his cranium! Screaming with rage, Horatius grabbed the axe and whirled it round his head, once, twice, thrice! It rose into the air like a giant bird of prey and landed square on the crest of Lars' aide de camp. Herminius gave a shout of triumphed, only to be silenced by the snaking blade of a swarthy Etruscan.
Darkness veiled his eyes.
Horatius experienced a warp spasm. The situation was intolerable. His frightful countenance caused the enemy to fall back with cries of fear. His rage was fearful to behold. Raising his mighty sword, he laid to. Right and left and center swept the awesome blade and the Etruscans fell before this single man as wheat in the harvest. He was a force to be reckoned with.
A shout of delight found his ears above the din of battle and he realized that the bridge was destroyed at last! Aiming one last derisive laugh at his hopelessly distraught enemies, Horatius lept into the churning waters. His friends on the other side cried out in distress to see their hero thus cruelly taken from them. They need not have worried. Within minutes, Horatius surfaced, gasping but triumphant, on the Roman side.
He clambered up the steep bank and turned to roar his contempt at those Etruscan killers-of-friends! Those sacks of wine! They had been utterly frustrated in their attempt to pillage Rome.
Horatius received laurels and wine and adulation and lived out his life forever known as the savior of Rome.
