“Gather round, good Romans! Close in, close in! For I’ll tell you a tale of the man who saved your fathers, the man who held back an army with nothing but his shield and his soul!”

It was the time when kings had been thrown out like rotten fish, and the Republic—our shining Republic!—was new-born, fragile as a babe. But the wolves were circling, aye, wolves in bronze—Etruscans! Lars Porsenna, the tyrant’s friend, came down with spears and war cries to chain us once more.

The enemy thundered to the river, to the Pons Sublicius—that bridge of planks that led to Rome’s beating heart. And our men? By the gods, they shook like reeds! They saw the glint of swords and thought all was lost. They’d have let the wolves pour in—aye, if not for one man.

One man!

Horatius! Cocles, they called him, for the one eye that blazed brighter than two! He strode to the bridge, iron on his chest, fire in his blood, and he roared: "Romans! Where is your pride? Will you let these curs trample our freedom? By the shades of our fathers, not while I breathe! Hew the bridge! Axes! Bring it down! I’ll hold the foe!"

And so it was—while axes bit the timbers, Horatius stood, a wall of flesh and bronze. Two others joined him—Lartius and Herminius—good men, brave men. The Etruscans came on like a flood, shields locking, blades flashing. The bridge quaked with the clash! Arrows fell like hail, swords rang like bells of doom.

And still they fought! Blood ran on the planks, the river drank red. Till at last—CRACK!—the bridge split! Rome was safe—but there was no way back for Horatius. Did he falter? By Mars, no! He turned to his gods and cried: "O Tiber, holy father, take me home!"

Then, wounded and spent, he leapt—steel and all—into the foaming flood! Arrows rained, the water roared, but the river bore him like a mother’s arms. He crawled ashore, bleeding but alive—and Rome? Rome roared like a lion set free!

From that day forth, his name was iron, his deed eternal. For the tyrants learned this truth: Rome may bend—but she does not break! Not while men like Horatius stand at the bridge!