Non auro sed ferro

Furio Camillo lives in an era that is told very differently from what we are used to: history and myth are mixed, indeed one is the other and vice versa. The light of knowledge is interspersed with numerous spaces of shadow and uncertainty.
Leaving aside the fact that we cannot know how much in authors such as Titus Livius or Plutarch is historically accurate, the gaps of information for narrators are not a problem but an opportunity.
Indeed, if the story of the character Camillus is told in some detail, the same cannot be said of many of the figures surrounding him.
Prominent among them are Marcus Cedicus and Pontius Cominius. The former is said to have heard a mysterious divine voice warning him of the arrival of Brenno's terrible Gauls; the latter, on the other hand, is said to have devised a cunning way to return to the besieged Urbe by his enemies without making his presence known.
That's all: two names with two “functions.” Yet without them the Camillus affair would not have been the same. Could the temptation to give them a face and a story be resisted? Of course not, for the story of the “second Romulus” is also that of Marcus Manlius Capitolinus and the Capitoline geese, of the wise and unyielding Marcus Papirius, and of those two plebeians barely mentioned by ancient sources: the genial Pontius Cominius and the unheard Marcus Cedicus, just as unheard remained the divine voice of Aio Locutio, who tried to warn the Romans of the impending danger.