This is a work of historical fiction. Benjamin made every effort to portray events, settings, and persons well.

Copyright © Benjamin McGrandle, 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Cover design © Mykola Shelepa

Map by Gustav Droysen

FOR LOVE, DEMOCRACY, AND MY TRIBE.

THE TECHNICAL LANGUAGE, MEASUREMENTS, SPOKEN LANGUAGE IN THIS BOOK ARE SPIRITUALLY CORRECT.

GERMANIA

IN THE FIRST CENTURY CE, ROME AND THE DIVERSE PEOPLES OF INTERIOR EUROPE CAME TO AN UNSTEADY PEACE AFTER GENERATIONS OF CONFLICT. SO IT SEEMED. THIS IS THE STORY OF HOW AN ETERNAL EMPIRE WAS PRIED AWAY FROM AUGUSTUS, FIRST CITIZEN OF ROME, AND HOW THE GREATEST DISCOVERIES CAN BE LOST TO VIOLENCE.

October 19th, 7 CE. Interior Germania Magna.

The Great Bog was a crawling, wild place. For thousands of years, lights like distant candles lured the fleeing and lost into impassable, sucking dreck, only to flicker and vanish as approached. Those desperate souls sank and were kept by the moss.

Alongside the tragic were the anointed. Long after iron was smelted, humankind sacrificed one another to demons. Fed to the Great Bog—they saved all creation.

South of those windswept and desolate peat fields, King Segimer crouched alone at a fire, deep in the ancient, sprawling beech forest his people called 'the box.'

The waxing moon shone on the matted deerskin draping Segimer's shoulders. Underneath, a thick overcoat kept him warm. Once swirled with royal sapphire and crimson, it now matched the flaking mud on his skin.

The King turned a spear in his hand. Its blunt end spun a shallow groove in the dirt and twigs.

He stretched like a lion awaiting its rival.

Sleep was rare, his vigilance constant. The shearing forces of perpetual effort would have torn a different man apart, but he endured.

A branch cracked in darkness. Segimer stood, muscles tensed, eyes searching.

They'd appeared like apparitions twice the day before, the most since the beginning.

A fire log popped, spraying sparks into the sky. Rounded shadows like hills rose through the glare.

Clasping the spear, he ran.

Colossal, roaring bears crashed out of darkness, hitting the ground with a force that rattled the King's knees. Charging side by side, one wheat-blonde, one night-black, hot saliva sprayed from their mouths, their chanting breath echoed like a drumbeat.

The wind tore at Segimer's clothes as he raced away, the stink of his sweat lit the bear's hindbrains, focusing their vision and speeding their hearts. Admiration of the man's strength, his cunning, his resolve didn't change that he had to die. Saplings cracked under their claws.

Up ahead, the forest floor dropped down into a narrow, rocky chasm. The King set his jaw.

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His boots crunched over leaves and rock; his toes hit the edge; he leapt. Silhouetted by moonlight, he twisted his shoulders and launched the spear. It skewered blonde bear's eye pulp with a thump. Howling, the bear faltered, tripping its companion. The man landed on his back, rolling into undergrowth on the far side of the little valley.

The bears flew off the cliff in a cloud of confusion and dust, smashing into the chasm's opposite wall like a tectonic shift. Ground shaking, Segimer peered over the edge. Twenty feet down, Black bear stood upright and clawed viciously at rock. It shook the trees. Their eyes met. It roared.

Pounding his chest, Segimer screamed back. Lifting his shirt, he unleashed an arching stream onto black bear's face. Shaking its head and dropping to all fours, it backed out of reach.

"That's ok enemy, I'm done."

Black bear walked to its injured partner and sniffed at the spear. Teeth like jagged rocks bit into wooden shaft and pulled. The iron tip came free with a wet pop and fell to the earth. Shivering with rage and pain, blonde bear bled.

Segimer sprinted into the woods with a cackle.

The bears grunted to one another. The man couldn't hide for long, they would find his scent.

Hurdling through snapping branches, the King knew he was being found faster. Only one explanation fit: his sons had returned.

2

October 20th, 7 CE. The Rhenus River, border of Gaul and Germania Magna.

Arminius stood on riverboat Augusti's bow, hands cupped over his crinkled eyes. His destination was Mogontiacum, a Roman fortress on the Gallic side of the Rhenus River.

High sunshine warmed his skin and sparkled off clipped wavelets. Augusti's prow cut through the water below. On the western bank, dense, bare forest grew to the water's edge. It slid by as they paddled north.

The trees tapered off and bristling Mogo commanded the shoreline. Clustered sentry towers punctuated towering walls around the eastern gate. Fearsome spikes lined a shallow ditch encircling the perimeter. Beech and pine were cut back a half-mile, ensuring no enemy could approach unexposed.

A thousand grimy shanties crowded the cleared ground. Iron armour glittered on soldiers loitering in midday sun. The dull hum of a working city floated through the crisp autumn air.

New wooden docks spread like fingers into a sprawling harbour, one of the key staging areas of Rome's vital Rhenus fleet. Gentle wind gusts rocked a dozen idle, moored riverboats.

A paved street wound up past stables and outbuildings to Mogo's vast frontage. Young guards relaxed near the riverside, talking amongst themselves. Their commanding officer rounded a corner and the men snapped to attention so hard Arminius feared for their spines.

Rome's golden eagle scrutinized its agents from every surface.

Beyond Mogontiacum, Gaul shimmered like a mosaic.

The riverboat’s lean, tanned Captain Atill had a weakness for pointed leather hats and vibrant, expensive clothes. Sidling up beside Arminius, he rested his hands on the smooth railing (he sidled everywhere).

"Armi, what're you looking at?" Atill's faultless, bright Latin was smoked with echoes of distant, green seas.

Arminius scanned the approaching docks, eyes coming to rest on the commanding officer. "Not sure yet. How's the crew today?"

Atill took off his cap, running a hand through greying hair. "Grateful to be finished this leg." He pointed to Mogo. "Shines like wealth."

3

"Money isn't interesting." Armi turned against the railing and faced deckwards.

The Captain pointed towards Armi's belt. "That isn't a poor man's sword."

"A gift." The black and bronze pommel shone on his left hip.

"Sell it, become rich."

"We settled this."

"We did. Besides, the way you play dice will net you enough to retire in Augustus's palace."

Arminius brightened. He elbowed the Captain. "Not playing you. No money to take."

"Not anymore," Atill grunted.

“It’s only money."

“Hmph. If you don't like money, give mine back.” Atill waved to the soldiers on shore. "You're not sure about your own people?"

"They're territorial. It can be an issue."

"Poor you. I'll make an offering for your safety.”

Arminius removed the round coin purse from his belt. He handed it to Atill, who weighed it in his hand before stuffing it down his shirt, where it fell and bulged against the fabric above his waist.

The clinking of armoured men drifted across the water.

Atill turned to his pilot. “Ease her in. The current drops off close to shore. An error here and we deal with the bridge." Pressing the coin purse to his stomach, he sidled off to assist his crew.

The ship's oarsmen sat on benches arranged in parallel rows. Pulling in unison, they guided the ship into harbour. Arminius turned his attention downriver. Arrow straight and sturdy, the bridge spanned four hundred feet of swirling water. It was modelled on a predecessor built by Julius Caesar, the first Roman to conquer the Rhenus.

Freedman Mani stood at the starboard railing. His shoulder-length, clove brown hair was tied back in a knot. Arminius joined him, surveying the rugged landscape.

4

The eastern shoreline was a tangle of tall reeds and wild grass. A lone heron fished in shallows, scrutinized by a family of mallards. Beyond the river, a muddy floodplain spotted with clusters of oak, black poplar, and shrub stretched to the horizon.

Armi leaned against the railing, regarding Mani's clothing with mild envy. A freed slave, Mani couldn't be a legionary. Banned from wearing uniforms, he made his own deerskin shirt and breeches much warmer than Armi's woollen ones.

"Want to hear something Segimer told me?"

"A story from the King himself?" Mani rumbled like the last thing felt in a mountain pass.

"The King himself. He told me that during his travels, Hercules landed on the banks of the Rhenus. He wore a lion's mane and rode a fire-breathing mare, Dinos, across the flat and barren land.

Miles away, Mannus dreamt of fishing from a dock. A shadow moved under the surface, the water exploded. A green serpent burst out, biting his manhood and leaving him a eunuch. Mannus woke and reached down, relieved he wasn't castrated.

Fresh air blowing through his window carried something new: the scent of a trespasser. Strapping on his sword, he rushed to find this enemy. The horse Goddess, Epony, waited in his stables. Together, they began the hunt.

Mannus found Hercules letting his mare drink at a stream. Their battle cut valleys, rose mountains, moved rivers. All the Gods gathered to bet on a winner. After seven days and seven nights, they called a draw. The fighters embraced each other as brothers and swore peace. The God of Forests was so impressed, he gifted them the Beech tree. They planted it together as a symbol of their friendship. From that gift came the forest covering all our land.”

Mani adjusted his back against the railing. "We had legends of Epony in Gaul."

"Segimer probably made that one up. It's all a young boy wants. Fighting, creation, fire-breathing horses. Let's pack up, then a word with the Captain. Will you supervise while they unload our animals?"

"I will.”

They packed their things onto baggage poles before walking sternwards. “Atill.” The Captain turned.

Arminius pointed upriver. "Be wary going back. The men from yesterday won't forget you."

5

"They didn't bother us before, obviously loaded down. Why bother us going back?"

"They won't rob you for gold?"

The Captain ran his hand over his face, thinking. "Would be unusual for these tribesmen to rob for that. Barbarians want raw materials like wood and iron. Why do you think they would hit us for coins?"

"Even if they don't spend them, won't they melt gold down for jewelry?"

Atill tensed. "I don't know."

"Maybe I'm relying on experience too much. My time in Illyria may not apply here."

The Captain turned his attention upriver. "What did you do there?"

"Standard cavalry at first, but later we hunted thieves of the water-based variety."

"Pirates?"Atill's voice was ice.

"Talented ones." Armi's skin pricked with goosebumps as the unshakable Illyrian waking dream flashed. A wave of heat washed over him, his heart began to pound.

"Are Roman coins worth anything to Illyrians?"

Arminius fought the vision back. The heat took longer to dissipate. "They bought things with them."

Atill shifted from defence to offence. "They adopted Roman currency? I've never sold anything to the Kingdoms here. That opens some interesting opportunities. What languages do they speak?"

"Some of the men I commanded in Illyria spoke different dialects but understood each other. All spoke Latin. They had to, in the army."

"So if I hired a barbarian ex-army man, he'd be able to talk to me and the tribesmen until I learn the language."

"Shrewd," said Arminius.

"Business is always being on the lookout for new markets."

"How many languages do you speak?"

6

Atill counted on his fingers but ran out. "Several, you?"

"Five."

Atill scoffed. The pilot shouted for his attention: the ship was entering harbour.

7

September 28th, 48 BCE. Alexandria, Egypt.

Rose sketched glowing horizon from her perch on a sandy riverbank edge. Her almond eyes flickered between fluttering, curling papyrus and the rising sun.

A high waning moon watched from overhead.

Likewise, her husband Den stood guard nearby. He inspected placid southern Shepards herding their flocks towards Alexandria's east gate through half-lidded eyes. He counted each sheep, reaching five hundred before he got bored.

Luxuriant, flooded Nile delta meadows mirrored clouds for two hundred miles east. Daffodil sunbirds curved through bright morning sky in their thousands. Den livened up, watching them with naked fascination, attempting different whistles to bring them close enough for study.

Westwards, Mediterranean waves caught rays of dawn like rippling golden fire beneath stacked blues of horizon and sky.

Den held up his hand, positioning his fingers between the sun's blazing rim and horizon. Two-finger breadths. Time to go.

Rose drew her final lines, held the picture up, compared it with the landscape beyond.

Den examined it over Rose’s shoulder. “Perfect.”

"It'll do. It's what I'll compare every other picture with." She ran a finger under Den’s eye. "You're tired, love.”

"We left early.”

"I love that you do this with me. I know your mornings are busy."

"If I didn't offer, you would come out here alone. Couldn't have that. Sheep could stampede."

Rose laughed, rolled up her papyrus, placed it in a linen backpack. She slung its strap over her shoulder. "You're perfect.”

"It's my job, love."

Rose kissed her husband’s cheek, ran her fingers through his trim beard. He gripped her hand. Together, they picked their way down steep riverbank towards the water.

8

Their deep, calm river was a finger of the endless Nile. It had flowed from the ten-thousand-mile Nubian heartland to kiss the edge of fierce seas.

Five hundred steps from Alexandria’s eastern gate, a sandbar connected the river's east-west banks. Knowing travellers could wade across single file.

They crossed, climbed the opposite bank hand-over-foot, and began a short walk back to their city.

Alexandria shone in dawn light. It’s famous lighthouse towered over city streets from its northern harbour island.

They reached the dirt road leading into the city behind a flock of sheep. As they walked, Den asked, "Did you hear our news?"

Rose shook her head.

“That Roman General killed last month was exceptionally important. We may get considerable favour from his enemies."

"Do you care about Roman favour?”

"We don't know anything current about the people north of Rome. The favour of an important Roman might get us parchments we've never seen before."

"Are the northerners literate?”

"We don't know."

"I see. Hopefully, there are opportunities for you." She squeezed his hand, his heart skipped.

As they drew closer to the city, Den said, "Remember that crate of soil from Nubia?"

"The librarians got excited when it arrived."

"Theos spread it in his yard, grew barley from it. He's going to start fermenting it later today."

"Interesting, babe. Let me know how it turns out."

They walked through the towering eastern gate of Alexandria, known locally as the sun gate. Den tried one last futile bird call to tempt them from flight.

9

Beside the gate, a towering granary complex loomed over the wall. They lived on the other side of the city, near the sprawling museum-palace complex that housed their library. Across from the library was the spectacular lighthouse and harbour.

Rose adored those walks home. The city bloomed like a flower in morning light. She inhaled deeply. Bakers had been at work for hours, scents of their creations blanketed the streets. On every block, vendors set up their stalls, entertainers organized their acts, gangs of feral dogs that ran the streets at night retreated into cool alleys.

Neighbours had begun to stir by the time Rose and Den reached their apartment building. Wheezy coughing filtered through the door of the apartment next to theirs.

Rose turned as they passed by. ”Marc isn't better yet?”

Den shook his head. "No, not yet. I don't know if you heard, but I was over there again last night. I could hear his coughing through our wall."

"You didn't wake me. Why not?"

"Why exhaust both of us. Besides, there isn't anything to do but hold Marc while Aya gets some sleep. It doesn't take two of us to do that."

"So that's why you're tired. You took care of a sick baby." Rose hugged him tightly. "You're a good man, Den."

He kissed her nose. "Thank you, love."

Den pushed open their apartment door. It was one of the smallest units in the building, but they didn't mind. In a city of six hundred thousand people, they felt that anything more spacious would be a waste. Den called the apartment 'economical.' Rose thought that was an academic word for 'cheap.'

The apartment's main room was half taken up by a long table that doubled as a desk. Rose's equations, ink, quills, blank papyrus took up one end. Den's accounting tables took up the other.

Beyond the table, counters against the wall provided space for food prep. All their actual cooking was done in the building's common courtyard outside. The exterior of the building was stone, but the interior walls and floors were wood. Having open flame inside was an excellent way to find yourself immediately and forcefully evicted.

Left of their kitchen, the bed was stacked high with pillows. Shelves supporting parchment and trinkets covered any spare wall space. Far left, past the table, tall shutters led to a balcony entirely covered in potted plants. Rose opened the shutters and inspected their leaves. They were

10

happy, tall, proud. She stroked them with a finger and gazed out over rooftops. The balcony faced east towards the sun gate. The lovely, sun-bathed city bustled below her.

Den tore a chunk of bread off yesterday's loaf. "Do you want breakfast?" he asked, mouth full.

She turned, shaking her head, "No, thank you."

Den swallowed. "Ok. I'm going to change, then head over. Theos has a meeting early this morning."

Theos, Alexandria’s head librarian, had too many early meetings for Rose. She preferred Den at home with her. But he was deputy head librarian, and it fell on Den to document meetings. She had accepted that he had responsibilities beyond spending time with her.

Den changed, then pressed his body to hers, kissed her goodbye, was out the door. She admired her plants for a little longer, singing to them softly, then went back inside.

She tidied for a bit, then sat at their table. She unfurled a papyrus and secured its edges to a clipboard. She'd drawn a perfect circle. It had taken some time. A thrill of excitement tightened her stomach as she studied its boundaries, Somewhere in its symmetry was a secret. Archimedes had worked the secret to 22/7. She knew she could refine that. Head down, she meticulously explored her circle for an hour. It passed in a heartbeat.

When the sun touched their table's precisely positioned edge, she changed into her work clothes and left the apartment. She headed towards the library, stopping briefly to buy some fresh bread and dates.

Alexandria's library was a vast, majestic heap of limestone in the greater compound of the palace and museum. Its towering columns and arched halls made Rose think of childhood days gazing up at the Athenian Parthenon in wonderment. Around the library, a smattering of buildings for studying mathematics, engineering, and astronomy rounded out the museum's intellectual inventory.

A constant stream of people in colourful robes ebbed and flowed through the library's front doors. Rose followed them for some time before breaking off and walking around the west side of the building. The mathematics and engineering workshops sat nestled against the west exterior wall.

Inside, models of waterwheels, aqueducts, and hand pumps haphazardly covered the floor, leaving only a narrow corridor of space.

She opened a shuttered window, took a deep breath of sea air, and got to work analyzing the picture from that morning.

11

A few hours later, Den opened her door with a whoosh that rustled Rose's clothes.

“Are you busy?" He was bouncing on his toes.

She was, but flashed a smile. "Nope."

"Come with me to the docks."

She stood and joined Den at the door, smoothly avoiding the cluttered equipment.

"The docks?"

“The Roman General’s enemy has sailed into harbour. He has ten warships. I need to see and thought you'd like to come."

The museum compound was on the waterfront. Den whistled as they walked to the north gate. They crested a low outcropping and the harbour was revealed: an armada of Roman ships punctuated the glittering sea.

"They're enormous. Incredible. They use a tensioned rope suspended beneath deck to increase hull stability." Den’s cheeks flushed.

"What does this mean for us?"

"You and I? Nothing.Theos talked about it earlier, he said that it's a personal issue. Shouldn't effect us or the city."

"A General's personal issues have a way of effecting other people.”

Den considered. “True.” He regarded Rose carefully. "Is something specific bothering you?"

"I don't want life to change. I love how it is.”

"We have a gorgeous life. Accompany me closer?"

Rose walked down to the docks with her arms crossed.

The Alexandrian harbour was too small for all the Roman ships to dock at once, so they formed up into orderly queues stretching northwards.

One would anchor, unload its men and cargo, then return to open harbour and allow another ship to take its place.

12

The docks bustled with Roman soldiers, their various hangers-on, and weapons. So many weapons, thought Rose.

Soldiers rolled dozens of flat-bed hand carts loaded with machine parts off ships. Rose couldn't identify most of the parts, however, working in the engineering lab had opened her eyes to the destructive potential of coiled rope and gears. Here they were in their hundreds.

The soldiers themselves were the regular sort, dirty and coarse mouthed. Alexandria’s harbour was the point of embarkation for most of Rome's grain and always had some low-ranking Roman soldiers hanging around. Rose was used to them. It was the officers that caught her eye.

She could tell them apart because, while rank-and-file were almost identical, the upper ranks each had some distinguishing flourish. They had different armour, a different cloak, or helmet, or staff. Those men, those legendary villains, were on their docks in numbers and variety Rose had never seen.

A man emerged from one of the wooden buildings lining the docks. The officers stiffened. It spread like a wave, soon they were all standing at attention.

He was wearing the most spectacular armour Rose had ever seen. Even from a distance, it shone like polished glass in desert sun.

Den squeezed her hand. "Who do you suppose he is? They all seem to respect him."

"That's another General.”

"It has to be. Look at his armour. It must have cost as much as that fleet."

The General spoke to his men, then turned and walked into the city, a contingent of heavily armed soldiers at his heels.

"Where do you suppose they're going?"

"Must be to the palace. Cleopatra is there. I wonder if he's off to see her."

Rose backed up slightly. "Cleopatra's in the city? I thought she was out in the country."

Den didn’t take his eyes off the General. ”She got back yesterday. Theos told me."

Rose bowed her head. "So it's war."

"Why do you say that, love?"

13

"This Roman General sails into port a day after Cleopatra returns? She's been gone for months. That can't be a coincidence. The city is perilous for her. She must have come back thinking that this General will protect her. Protecting her means that he'll go to war with her brother for the throne."

"War is an extreme outcome, my love. Have faith in humanity's better nature."

Rose hugged his arm. "I have faith in us."

14

October 20th, 7 CE. The Rhenus River, border of Gaul and Germania Magna.

The Augusti was a merchant ship. One hundred fifty feet long with a twenty-foot beam, its four-foot draft was designed to navigate the shallow waters of the Rhenus. Below deck, tightly packed winter supplies surrounded a few livelier things.

The boat maneuvered alongside the docks. The crew threw ropes down to waiting Guards, who expertly tied off on wooden cleats.

The quay was crowded with fish on drying racks, coils of rope, crates, tidy piles of folded fishing nets. A row of storehouses stretched along the rear. Two white-fronted geese lounged in reeds nearby.

After goodbyes to men he had played dice with, Armi jumped onto the dock. Mani handed his baggage pole down.

Captain Atill thudded down next.

The officer recognized Arminius's casual 'walking around' uniform and saluted.

Arminius saluted back. "Greetings, Guard Commander."

The Guard Commander smiled a thin, white line. "Who are you?" His short blonde hair fluttered in the breeze. Polished armour reflected Armi's face well enough to make out his black hair and flattened bulb of a nose.

"Eques Arminius of the Cherusci, son of King Segimer. Call me Armi, everyone does."

Atill's eyes bulged.

The Guard Commander straightened up. "Eques Arminius. Governor Varus is expecting you, he's in his offices here. Let's go, you're weeks late."

"What's your name, Guard Commander?"

"Vinisius Silvanus." He turned to Captain Atill, who backed within an inch of the dock's edge.

Arminius touched Silvanus on the arm. "Captain Atill has been gracious to us. Be kind to him,"

"Of course. We're all nice here." The Guards around Silvanus tittered.

15

"We'll walk to Governor Varus shortly. Where's the latrine?"

Silvanus pointed to a nearby building. "There. I have something better to do than wait, excuse me."

Captain Atill's eyes flicked between the two men. He jogged after Arminius.

"'You're a Roman-knighted barbarian Prince."

"Yes," said Armi over his shoulder.

"When you introduced yourself as Armi, I didn't put it together. You're seriously Arminius the Cheruscian?"

"Unbelievable, but true."

Atill followed Arminius into the empty latrine. Armi set his baggage pole down on the gritty floor and turned in dim light. Captain Atill cast a restless shadow from the door.

"What is it, Captain?"

"You're unkillable. They say you can't die." Atill seemed close to gushing.

"Because of all the times I should have died but didn't."

"You're the barbarian Achilles. That's what they say."

"I love it."

"In Rome, boys on the docks talked about times you—“

Arminius held up his hand. "No stories. I'd like to focus on what's in front of me."

Captain Atill leaned forward conspiratorially. "Seeing as you're important, would you put in a good word for Augusti and me? These contracts are lucrative."

Armi stepped up to a pot, moved his shirt to the side, relieved himself. "Tell stories of my poor gambling in every port. Get my name to the right people, big players. When I come around, I'll take advantage of the foundation you laid for me."

"Shrewd, Equite. All right, I'll go make sure your man has help with the animals." The Captain beamed and sidled out.

16

Finished, Armi unpacked his armour, helmet, breeches and inspected them closely, buffing out slight scuffs. He changed into his official kit, packed everything else, shouldered his baggage pole, and stepped back outside feeling more relaxed.

At the ship, Silvanus berated a pair of thin young men passing heavy ceramic jars from ship's deck to dock.

Mani and Captain Atill supervised nearby. The animals were being led down a gangplank.

First in line was their small mule, Victoria. She saw Arminius, leapt the last few feet to ground, pulled on her lead, and dragged the man trying to rein her in. Arminius jogged to her side, scratched behind her ears. She strained against his hands. He patted her muzzle.

Next, Mani's enormous Molossians disembarked. The largest of the dogs came first. As long as a man and waist-high at the withers, he paused while disembarking to regard the guards. They shuffled closer together.

Satisfied with their reaction, the Molossian padded down to the dock. His name was Mars. Mighty Rhea, Romulus, Remus, and Lupa followed. They formed a formidable pack around Mani and faced the guards. To their credit, the men didn't back up, even though they wanted to. Silvanus glared.

"Not in the Fort, they're wolves."

Mars put his head under Mani's relaxed left hand. Mani scratched him affectionately.

Armi stroked Rhea's ears. "They aren't wolves. They're Romans, bred from the finest lineage of war dogs. Named for the familial founders of Rome and their saviour. It's tempting fate not to treat them with respect."

Silvanus was unmoved. "My family raised Corsos. They go no further."

Mani leaned close to Arminius. "I'll take them below deck, come back here after."

"Take my things too." Mani took the heavy baggage pole, walked up the gangplank and out of sight. The pack followed obediently.

The Guards unclenched their shoulders.

Arminius studied the men unloading Augusti. The ones Silvanus had yelled at worked shirtless, narrow biceps knotting like rope. Swirling black tattoos curled over their upper arms and chests. Thin silver necklaces dangled over their protruding collarbones.

17

Switching from Latin to his native Cheruscian, Armi greeted the labourers. Their faces were maroon from effort. Their eyes wandered to Armi's sword. They stood to attention.

Silvanus marched up beside Armi, scowling.

"Yes?" The taller of the two men spoke in Marcomanni, only a slight deviation from Armi's Cheruscian.

"You boys are starved."

The men's eyes darted to Silvanus. "We're fine." The shorter one averted his eyes to the ground.

"If you're not hungry, extra rations wouldn't interest you."

The men straightened. The taller one seized his opportunity. "We would never refuse food."

"Me neither. I'll arrange it. Good work here." He turned to the man holding Victoria's lead.

Armi spoke in Cheruscian. "Put her in stables." The man tugged the mule up the road.

Silvanus wrenched on Armi's forearm. His eyes burned. Baring yellow teeth, his voice was a low hiss. "What did you say?"

Armi pulled his forearm away. He pointed to the cargo handlers. "More food." To the man leading Victoria. "Take care of my mule."

"You're giving orders in my harbour?"

"As a prefect."

"I'm Guard Commander. You have your men, and I have mine." Silvanus flicked his fingers at the cargo handlers. "These are mine. The Governor will hear of this."

"Then quit wasting time and lead on." Armi spat on the ground.

Silvanus gathered his cloak and stomped towards the Fort.

Armi followed him past spacious stables, through Mogo's monumental eastern gate.

A Roman Fort was a city dominated by the rhythms of army life. Inside, blacksmiths, canteens, and temples to the official Gods provided the necessities of life. The roads ran straight from east to west and north to south, crossing at the centre. A temporary Fort would be filled with tents in obsessively clean rows. Mogo was not temporary. Its immense interior space was piled with

18

wooden barracks and support buildings. At Mogo's centre, a long, two-story stone administration building with soot-blackened walls rose high.

Striding over hard-packed streets to the main building, Arminius closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The air smelled of work, men, horses, wood smoke. It smelled of the frontier.

Silvanus pounded on the oak front door and as it cracked open, purposefully blocked Armi's view. He managed to get a quick glimpse of a thin man with huge eyes. Silvanus whispered to the man, then the door closed over. There was a muted conversation inside. They waited awkwardly, the door opened wide, and the thin man escorted them in. Arminius glanced back at soldiers gathering and pointing. He winked at the crowd as the door closed.

An immense central staircase dominated the building's narrow, dark foyer. In front of the staircase, a desk and chair. To the sides, stone hallways.

Hot air from a fire beneath the floor circulated up through pipes in the walls. The air was warm. Armi could feel the heated floor through his boots.

The thin man led them up to an extensive suite of imposing rooms on the second floor. Their sandals slapped on spotless, bare stone floors. Sumptuous purple drapes covered tall windows. Marble busts lined walls. The breeze through the windows carried the sweet aroma of pine.

At end of a long hallway, Guards stood outside of ornate double doors. They pushed the doors open into a smoky, bright office. Candles dominated every table. Fur-covered couches with matching chairs lined side walls. Floor-to-ceiling shelves burst with reams of parchment.

Varus sat at an enormous desk in the centre of the room. Head down, he studied an itemized list. The thin man scurried across the room and stood beside Varus, arms held rigidly at his sides.

Arminius and Silvanus stopped in front of the desk, standing at attention, eyes forward. Varus didn't stir. The thin man touched him on the shoulder. Varus swivelled to catch his eye, tracked to where he gestured.

Governor Varus was distinguished. Past middle age, he had close-cropped grey hair and a dimpled chin. An ultramarine cloak clasped with golden brooches covered his senatorial toga.

The thin man spoke in a loud, clear voice. "It is my honour to present Publius Quinctilius Varus, Governor of Germania Magna. Governor Varus, this is Guard Commander Silvanus, and Eques Arminius, the Cheruscian you've been waiting for." He emphasized 'waiting' in terse syllables.

Varus let the parchment flutter to the desktop. "The son of Segimer."

Armi kept his breathing even. "Yes, Governor."

19

Varus leaned back in his chair, pointed a ringed finger at Armi. "You resemble him. Except clean, can't even see Segimer's face. He smells like a dead animal."

Arminius felt his hands ball up. He willed his fingers straight, his expression neutral.

Silvanus stepped forward. "Sir, I must report some strange behaviour this man engaged in."

Varus leaned across his desk. "Hey?" Silvanus jumped at the Governor's shout.

"I have suspicions about Eques Arminius," he yelled.

Varus frowned, deep lines creasing his cheeks. "What kind of suspicions?"

Arminius stayed perfectly still, eyes forward.

"I believe he may be communicating with conspirators using code." Silvanus swallowed hard.

"Conspiracy and deception happen. What evidence do you have?"

Silvanus jerked his thumb at Armi. "He told me to be nice to the civilian crew that brought him. In front of my men. He promised extra rations for two barbarians who only did their jobs. He spoke in their language. I couldn't understand what they said, but his charity may be a behavioural code of some kind. 'If I treat you well, meet me on the riverbank at midnight. If not, we try again tomorrow.' That kind of thing."

The Governor pulled at his rings. "That would be devious. Arminius, how do you respond?"

Arminius matched Silvanus's volume. "I am a decorated officer, a citizen, an Equestrian. I spent three years bleeding in Illyria. I treated those men with charity because of advice given to me by my Illyrian commander: 'in war, small things cause great events.' Treating those men poorly may be, in the end, one of those small things."

Varus wobbled his head from side to side. "Charity isn't typically an attribute of men who survive on the frontier. However, I understand your point. The cooperation of locals is—“

Silvanus interrupted. "Sir, he's a barbarian Prince. Before you trust him, you should—“

Varus's desk exploded as he vaulted from his chair. He galloped across the desk on hands and feet, and leapt onto the Guard Commander's chest, driving him to the floor. They landed with a crash and strangled gasp as Silvanus' arms and legs splayed like bits of wet string.

20

Varus pulled Silvanus's face up to his. "Are you mad?" Spittle rained Silvanus's cheeks as Varus roared. "Never interrupt me again. I am Governor. I am Rome itself, not a child you can badger."

Neither Arminius nor Varus's thin man moved to Silvanus's defence.

Varus let Silvanus's head thud to the ground. He stood and levelled a long finger down. "The next time you interrupt me will be the last time anything but screams come out of your mouth. Officers are crucified for insubordination. Do you understand?"

The Guard Commander's head bobbed.

Varus snorted. "Get up." Silvanus scrambled to his feet and stood to attention, hands shaking.

Varus's shoulders slumped. He crossed his arms, hugging himself like a scolded child.

"I regret hurting you. Aristotle said freedom comes through discipline. I am still a prisoner."

He straightened his clothes, walked to one of the couches and reclined, sighing. Once seated, his face hardened.

"Guard Commander, you will follow through on Eques Arminius's word to those men."

"Yes." Silvanus's voice quavered.

Varus waved dismissively. 'Yes' was the only correct answer.

"Guard!" The door opened and one of the men stepped in. Varus pointed at Silvanus. "Escort the Guard Commander out.” Silvanus saluted, backed away, shuffled out.

Varus turned his attention to Arminius.

"Can't him wandering hallways. He isn't wrong, there might be spies about. Have a seat in the chair."

Arminius sat down facing Varus. To their left, Varus's man picked up scattered parchments.

"That's Lucius Piso, my secretary." The Governor leaned forward. "I'm mostly deaf. A fever destroyed my hearing. I appreciate people who remember that. Now, some questions."

"Yes, Sir," Armi shouted. Behind him, Lucius winced.

"None of this is about Guard Commander's outrageous accusations. You're a gentleman, that's obvious. You love Rome. I have the same love."

21

Lucius set a cup of wine on a nearby table. Varus took a long drink. "Tell me about your trip here. I expected you some time ago."

"I came from Rome. It took a long time to find a boat, they had all sailed to Illyria."

"To support General Tiberius."

"Yes, Sir. I waited for weeks before learning of a civilian trading ship coming here. I bartered my way on, and here I am."

"What did you barter?"

Arminius hesitated. "I won passage in a game of dice with the Captain."

Varus choked on a mouth full of wine. After a fit of coughing, he waved a hand. "Did you? Inventive."

Arminius noted Varus didn't seem to care about the illegal deal. "Thank you."

Varus tapped his chin. "Eques Arminius. A Roman citizen. A Roman gentleman. A soldier. A Prince. My information says you and your brother went to Rome fifteen years ago as part of peace negotiations between your father and Tiberius. You were ten at the time?"

"Correct."

"Where's your brother now?"

"The last time I saw him, he was loyally serving Rome in Illyria."

Varus picked a hair off his thigh. Outside, wind rustled. "How did you become a citizen and Equite in only a few years? Surprising."

"Yes, surprising. I was knighted and awarded citizenship for services rendered to Rome."

"Not because your father is a King?"

"No." Arminius glanced around. "I don't want to keep you from other important business."

"I decide what's important. Because of your leadership in Illyria?"

"I was knighted before I got to Illyria. When I went to Rome fifteen years ago, I was fortunate to be boarded by an Equestrian family. My adoptive father, Marius, ensured I received an extensive

22

education and had me enrolled in the Vigiles. My friends and I joined the army when I turned twenty-one."

Varus leaned back, listening. Arminius continued. "Three years ago I deployed to Illyria."

"To fight in the Pannonian war, then the Illyrian revolt."

"Exactly. The first time I deployed there, we didn't make it because we got rerouted to Lycia."

Varus's eyebrows raised. "Gaius Caesar died in Lycia three years ago."

Don't mention dice, Armi told himself.

23

April 17th, 4 CE. The Italian Adriatic coast

Despite the excitement of years served in the Vigiles, Rome's fire-fighting night watch, the city and its many wonders had gone stale. Brundisium smelled of freedom and the sea.

The city's port whirled outside Armi's second-story barracks window. Seagulls squawked from roofs and fought over scraps in the street. Palm trees rustled in the wind. The bright morning sun shone on dozens of proud Roman naval boats moored along docks. Busy men tended to them like twirling schools of colourful fish. Ships as tall as buildings sailed from the jade waters of the stag antler harbour to ports in Greece and Asia.

Chin resting on his hand, Armi surveyed the activity below. His bunkmate Marcus kicked open their room's door with a crash.

Armi spun around. Grinning manically, Marcus threw an agitated cat at him. Armi caught the hissing, spitting animal with a shout. The cat squirmed from his grip and streaked out the window to the safety of neighbouring rooftops.

"What?" demanded Armi, holding up bleeding arms. "Why?"

Marcus wheezed. He held up a finger to indicate he would catch his wind before answering this essential question.

He wiped a tear from his eye. "Your face. You were so surprised." His laughter boomed in their puny room.

Felix came in from the hallway and laid a hand on Marcus's arched back. "This cack has been laughing since he caught that cat outside."

Marcus's cobalt eyes sparkled. "We wanted to find you a sparring partner of equal talent. She was the best match."

"Kidnapping cats, hey? What splendid soldiers you've become." Armi wiped his blood on a blanket corner.

"I'm so happy she won."Marcus exploded into renewed laughter.

Felix shoved Marcus. "Wow. Ok, we should go before you die of amusement."

Armi straightened up. "Where are we going?"

24

"Some of the boys are going down to check out the ships." Felix pointed out the window. "Unless you're satisfied with that view, you're coming."

Armi hopped up and smoothed his shirt. "Let's go ask the man."

They left their room and headed downstairs. Marcus's chuckling reverberated off the narrow, dim stairway walls.

The first floor of the barracks swirled with activity. They dodged anxious clerks and hustling legionaries on their way to the front door. Armi reached for its handle, the door opened, and Centurion Linus stepped in.

"The three friends." He closed the door with a click.

They stood to attention. Marcus was their designated mouthpiece. "We were coming to you, Sir. For permission to inspect the ships."

Linus raised a curved eyebrow. "Oh?" He considered. "Sounds educational, that's where real men work. It'll have to wait, there's news." He held up a piece of parchment. "Felix, gather your squad and meet back here in five minutes."

Three minutes later, their commanding Decurion, Cyrus, led the way back to the barrack's sizeable central room. Felix joined Armi and Marcus at the group's edge. Overhead, a pigeon cooed from the exposed wooden beams. She'd flown in earlier that morning, then resisted all attempts at capture. A grumbling servant with a bucket stamped out as the unit filed in.

Linus stood holding the parchment at the far wall.

He raised his hands for quiet. "We will no longer be sailing to Illyria."

A chorus of whispers.

Centurion Linus waited until they stopped. "Gaius Caesar has died in Lycia."

Armi's stomach fluttered. Gaius Caesar had been young. When his brother, Lucius, died a few years earlier, Gaius became First Citizen Augustus's sole heir. A power vacuum had opened in Rome.

The room erupted in dozens of quiet group conversations.

Felix leaned close to Armi and Marcus. "I wonder what that means for us."

Linus let his men talk before holding up his hand. The room stilled.

25

"This is a shock for me. I grieve for Augustus and Julia, Gaius's mother." He bowed his head, the men followed.

After a respectful interval, he carried on. "We can ease their burden. The incredible honour of escorting Gaius's ashes from Lycia to Rome is ours. We were scheduled to depart for Illyria in a week and I know you're eager to bloody your swords. However, we're the only assembled unit on the coast. Our new orders are to sail to Lycia tomorrow. Pack up, boys, we're going to Asia.

For Gaius." Linus saluted.

The men roared. "For Gaius."

The crowd dispersed. Armi, Felix, and Marcus formed a little circle near the room’s shuttered windows.

"We're going to Lycia boys," said Armi.

"Things change fast." Felix rubbed his hooked nose with a knuckle. "I wonder if army life is always this way. It must be. We go where needed."

Armi put a hand on his chest. "What about our men? We sent them to Illyria."

"They'll have to wait." Felix shrugged.

"I hope nothing happens to Mani, he's much better company than you two." Armi pretended to throw some punches at Marcus, who leaned back.

"Yeah, Aldo too. Oh wait, he's terrible. So boring. At least Mani is a soldier."

Felix slapped Marcus on the back. "Ok boys, let's pack. Afterwards, drinks. We deserve them as Augustus's chosen heroes."

Marcus, Felix, and Armi climbed the stairs to their room.

The next day started early. All three of the boys struggled to get out of bed. But, they did. Tardiness was a severe crime in the Roman Army. Sluggish and reeking of wine, they washed up and donned their heavy armour.

Their unit formed an orderly queue on the docks. Each ship was two tiers of oars and her own crew, including a Captain.

26

Three squads of eight soldiers and two support staff fit on each ship. Armi's entire unit of one hundred men would need four ships, the last ship only having ten men. The extra space was packed with most of their supplies, including the unit's ten mules.

Marcus pointed to the mules. "Glad we won't be on that ship. Nothing worse than mule piss splashing around your feet at sea."

Felix nudged him. "Been at sea with mules often?"

"No, but I've been at sea with your mother, so same thing."

Felix swiped at Marcus, who dodged behind Armi.

Behind them, Decurion Cyrus whistled. Felix and Marcus jumped back into formation.

"Uh-huh." Decurion Cyrus watched them for more foolishness.

An hour later, they boarded their ship, Fides, and set sail.

During the trip, Marcus made fifty-seven more jokes about Felix's mother and got punched in the stomach twice.

On the fourteenth night, they anchored off the coast of Lycia. In the morning, they would make landfall in Xanthus, where Gaius's Pretorian guard waited.

The fleet staged in darkness, watching the eastern sky. They headed for land as first light flickered. The Fides threaded through scattered reefs and rocky islands before sailing into the Xanthus harbour.

The city was treed, lush, and rock-strewn. Stunted oak, enormous cacti, and dense stands of macchia scrub clung to its steeps hills. A rich carpet of pink and white flowers covered whatever else wasn't stone. Distant clouds floated overhead.

They approached methodically, conducting a visual sweep of the quayside and town. Xanthus was small. A deserted central street ran northeast from the harbour. Single-story mudbrick buildings ran its length on both sides, each topped with a peaked dome. At the far end, a modest

27

~

villa marked the edge of town. Off the street, stumpy outbuildings laid scattered in scrub flowers. Out further was ranch land, empty except for a few scraggly sheep trapped by dilapidated fences.

Victoria unloaded her legionaries, then retreated to the open harbour. Fides took her place. The ship's crew deployed gangplanks, and the squads cautiously joined the ranks on the quay. The other two ships repeated the process.

A wiry man in a Pretorian guard uniform stepped out from the closest building.

Linus's baritone: "Draw swords."

A hundred short swords scrapped from their scabbards.

The man scraped over the rock towards Linus, smoothing his ragged beard with his hands.

"Greetings." His face was dirty, his uniform torn and streaked.

Centurion Linus called back. "Watchword?"

"Long live Julia."

"Sheathe swords." The unit obeyed.

The Pretorian debriefed Linus in a quiet, raspy tone Armi couldn't understand. After a short conversation, he turned to face the legionaries.

"Boys, I'm Tribune Sommer. A local anti-Roman faction has had us pinned in that villa for ninety days. The cacks allowed two of us out to hunt or get water. Any more and huge groups popped up to chase us back indoors. They don't come from the countryside, so we think they're in buildings along this street. Probably listening now."

Armi studied the buildings. They were dark, still, rundown.

The Pretorian continued. "In the villa's basement, a door leads to a tunnel complex. We think the tunnels run under both sides of this street. We believe the enemy is hiding there. Plan A is you clear each of these buildings and tunnels, then we move to the ships.

Plan B. The hills around here are essentially hollow, that's how extensive the local cave systems are. If you don't find anyone, they must be in those caves. We'll load up and take them as they come.

Plan C is, if the enemy breaches the villa's tunnel door while you're clearing buildings, you cover us and we run to the ships.

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Start at both ends and meet in the middle. We'll wait in the villa. I'll leave the rest to your commanders."

Linus leaned over to Sommer. "What about setting the buildings on fire? That’ll flush them out.”

Sommer crossed his arms. "The problem is the tunnel door to the villa. If they wanted to come in, they could. We don't know that we'd be able to protect Gaius in that scenario. The pincer movement seems best. Carry it out."

Centurion Linus straightened up and counted the domes on each side of the street. "Alright, boys, there are twenty buildings here. Teams will enter through the first and last one on each side. Everyone else, spread out evenly. I want archer sentries on every second roof. Watch the street side and the rear. Decurions, take lead."

They split into their eight-man squads.

Cyrus joined the other nine Decurions of their unit, talked for a minute, then dashed back to Armi's group.

"We're going to take the first building on the right side of the street. Any thoughts before we move? Once we're inside, I want sterile communication."

Armi remembered his time with the Vigiles. "What about torches and axes? It's going to be dark, and they're probably burrowed in."

Cyrus called other the Decurions back and reported Armi's idea. They agreed it was good.

The other Decurions returned to their legionaries and relayed new instructions. Armi suspected they would have thought of tools and light when the unlit tunnels were in front of them, but he was proud to have brought it up early. Felix winked at him, and Marcus subtly pumped his fist .

Each Decurion delegated a man to their respective ships and got eight torches, two axes, and two pickaxes for each squad. Armi thought the pickaxe was a clever addition.

Suitably armed, they advanced into position. The ten buildings on each side of the street shared a common wall. They reminded Armi of Roman apartments. Each had a wooden door and palm-sized, circular windows.

They readied to breach. Cyrus made the closing hand gesture signalling quiet.

He placed his open palm on the door, feeling for the vibration of footsteps. He put his ear against the wood. Silence.

29

Cyrus pushed open the door. Its warped wood-peg hinges shrieked and the door shuttered to a stop half-open. He examined the visible section of room. Thick dust stirred up by the door floated over a crisp reed mat laid down in the entry. The rest of the floor was filthy and bare. He tried to push the door further. It wouldn't move.

He lifted his foot to take a step in. A tickle in his peripheral vision pulled his eyes downwards—the mat sagged slightly in the middle. He stopped, wavering in the doorway. Leaning in, Cyrus lifted it with his sword. A black pit waited where the floor had been hacked apart. He flicked the reeds away and studied the hole, then led his legionaries back into the street, sweat beading in his hairline.

"Cack. Those sons of goats tried to soak us there. Felix, Armi, Marcus, go tell the other Decurions the floors are sabotaged."

They sprinted away. As the most junior men in the unit, they suffered being the messengers.

Their warnings arrived in time, none of the others had moved into the buildings. The friends reported to back Cyrus.

"Ok. How do we get in?"

Armi spoke up. "Let's cut through the back wall."

The squad headed around back.

The rear of the building faced ranch-land. The early morning sun cooked it ruthlessly. Their heavy sandals crunched over dirt and scrub.

Cyrus inspected the wall, pushing lightly with his hand. The bricks were solid.

He walked to the corner and examined its joining.

The bricks were alternatingly stacked on one another. The mortar was ancient and cracked. He grabbed one of the pickaxes and tapped the corner's edge. A rough chip fell by his feet. He handed the pickaxe back and the boys got to work. The brick showered down in chunks. They pried at the seam and a two-foot wide section of wall collapsed into the dirt with a thud.

Cyrus cautiously peered through the opening. The ray of light showed what he’d seen through the door. Dust and animal dung pellets coated the floor. Masses of cobwebs hung in corners. The hole in front of the door gaped at him. To his right, a black hallway ran the length of the building.

30

Cyrus stepped in. The floorboards running the length of the room and hallway creaked a warning. He motioned Armi into the room. It was much cooler than outside. His Decurion pulled him close and pointed down the hallway.

"Clear the passage. I don't trust the floor, so you're going alone." He turned to the men standing outside. “Light a torch.” The boys cracked sparks onto tarred cloth and handed it to Armi.

"Scan waist height and to your left. If you're attacked it'll be an upward stab. Keep the iron level with your stomach, deflect upwards, hit him in the face with the torch. Test the floor before each step and keep your feet apart. When you're at the end, we'll pull up the middle floorboard. Don't burn building the down."

Armi stood, drew his sword, and advanced down the inky black hallway.

He focused his hearing, directing it forward—nothing but the squeal of floorboards under his own feet.

The wall to his right was straight and flat to the end of the hall. To his left, a series of doors opened to the next buildings over. The globe of torchlight cast deep shadows into each as he passed. Breathing deeply, he worked at suppressing his heart rate. Sweat beaded on his neck and ran down his back. He kept his stance shoulder width and sword up, ready to deflect an attack.

None came, the place were empty. Beside the last open door was a a closed one. It's dark green paint was peeling off in strips.

He wedged his right foot against the base of the door, ensuring it remained shut. He sheathed his sword, knelt, and switched the burning torch to his right hand. He drew his dagger with his left.

Cyrus slid his knife under the hallways' middle floorboard and wrenched it up. Its glue was as old as the brick mortar and gave way with a snap. The board lifted. Armi did the same, and they set the wood aside. Crude joists bridged the gap in the floor at intervals.

Straddling the rectangular hole, Cyrus followed Armi down the hallway. At each joist, he leaned over and inspected its length with his fingers. He arrived at the closed door and knelt.

He pointed down. "The joists are all cut except this last one. If we'd come down the hall together, the floor would have given in. These sons of donkeys how to sabotage a building."

Cyrus signalled to the rest of the squad. They shuffled down the hallway. When they'd grouped up, Armi moved away from the door, and Cyrus eased the it open. It led to a set of stairs curling into the basement. The damp air was thick with dust and mould. The Decurion led the way downstairs, sword ready. Armi was is next in line, holding the torch high. At their rear, Felix lit another torch.

31

The tunnel’s narrow mud floor slopped up their ankles and sucked at their shoes. They gripped each other's shoulders for balance. After a series of turns, they hit a straightaway. Above their heads, a line of natural light shone through the long hole left by the removed floorboard.

When they moved past that glow, the tunnel faded into blackness so absolute it felt alive. Dirt walls had been shored with wood like a mine shaft that absorbed all sounds of their breath and movement. They advanced northeast.

Identical to upstairs, left-sided doorways led to rooms like jail cells.

They squelched through each, waiting for someone crouching in muck to stab them to death. Armi's hands began to sweat. His torch slipped, he jerked his fist up the handle, it fell and went out with a sizzle. The front of their short column disappeared.

Cyrus barked backwards. "Pass the light up." Felix handed his torch forwards. "Now spark another." Felix pulled the other torch from Marcus's belt and fired it up. He passed it to Armi, who held it high. Flames glinted off their armour.

"No, not you." Cyrus only gave one chance. A squadmate stepped around Armi and took his torch. The embarrassment was so crushing that he almost walked off into the gloom. They continued on. Firelight glowed up ahead. At a left turn, they met the other squad—no one else was down there.

They exited Xanthus’s tunnels and formed up outside, smacking drying mud from their legs and hands. Legionaries lined the street from harbour to villa. Morning light was blinding after the abysmal darkness. They took a minute to let their eyes adjust.

Linus walked to them. He sent the other squad to join the sentries and spoke with Cyrus. Then he pivoted to them.

"You're going to meet Gaius’s Pretorians. Everyone else is already in sentry positions. We'll escort Gaius back to our ships, load up into Victoria, and set sail immediately. Cyrus, take tactical lead."

"All right, boys. We'll figure out our return formation with the Pretorians. Don't assume this will be easy because we didn't find anyone underground. They're here somewhere. We could get some action."

He pointed to the villa. “The Pretorian Prefect is Titus. Linus and I will contact him while you stand guard. This is the show, boys. Act like it."

32

They marched. Armi noticed Felix and Marcus were stony with focus. Good, he thought. He scanned the brick doorways of passing buildings.

They arrived at the villa without incident. Linus moved through their formation and pounded on the door while the squad took up defensive positions.

There was a shrill creak. A sliver of villa interior appeared between door and frame. Massive Pretorian Prefect Titus stared out at them. He scanned his corners, and Linus and Cyrus stepped in.

They strode out two minutes later.

Linus crunched south to ensured their path was clear. Cyrus knelt. "The Pretorians will maintain possession of Gaius. Form a wedge behind me. They'll march in a loose shield wall around Sommer. Give them space to maneuver. Remember, our ship is Victoria, not Fides. When we reach her, three men will board and form a shield wall protecting the Pretorians. They'll do the same for Sommer. Board from the rear up. Victoria's crew will launch, and we'll meet everyone else out in the water. Understand?"

Squad: "Yes."

"Form wedge."

They arranged themselves into a wide seven-man triangle pointing towards harbour. Prefect Titus and his six men pushed from the house and formed up in the middle. Sommer carried a heavy woven basket with a thick lid.

Once in formation, Cyrus commanded, "Move."

Later, Armi would think about how hard it is to gracefully carry something bumping against your thighs.

In the moment, he only scanned buildings, tracked distance between him and his boys, adjusted his shield angle.

Some of their sentries started to chatter.

Linus snapped. "Silence." The entire street hushed. Sounds Armi wasn't consciously aware of (rustling clothing, rubbing leather straps) stopped dead. Later, Felix told him the breeze stilled.

Within ten minutes they arrived quayside in crisp formation. They advanced up creaking docks to Victoria. All aboard, her crew pushed off. Then they were out at sea.

33

They waited in place until the other ships maneuvered into defensive positions. Linus ordered archer sentries to the starboard, port, stern, and bow.

Gaius’s Pretorians put the mast's vertical bulk between them and shore.

Sommer picked up an extra length of rope from near his boots and tied the basket handle decisively to the mast. He checked its lid was clasped securely and nodded, satisfied.

Centurion Linus ordered the crew to make for Brundisium. The sail began to billow and snap. They heard a whistle from one of the defensive ships.

Linus cupped a hand over his eyes, straining to bring the signaller into focus. "He's pointing to Xanthus."

There, lining up on the docks, were dozens of men.

"They're armed. Sun is shining off their weapons."

They poured from buildings the legionaries had just cleared, crowding the street, more than a hundred. Behind them, smoke rose from the villa. Soon it was an inferno, flames reaching high.

Prefect Titus joined Centurion Linus and watched the villa burn.

"They could have had us at any time."

Linus touched his sword pommel. "We would have taken out our share."

Titus smiled. "True." He gave Linus a shove. "I'm glad it's you, brother. Been a few years. How're your little ones?"

No one else aboard knew Linus had children. "They're growing. Livia is walking now, driving her mom crazy. Camilla comes up to my chest."

"A tall one, hey? Must get that from her mom, sure didn't come from you."

"How's your left knee?" Linus threw a slow punch at Titus's leg.

Titus moved back slightly, laughing. He waved Victoria's Captain over. "Stay near the coast. If we see enemy ships I want to land."

The Captain measured a rough distance to shore, then looked up at the sky. "There's some danger from weather, but we should be able to manage."

34

"Good man." Titus swivelled back to Linus. "How about some dice?”

Linus allowed his boys to stand down as Victoria moved further away from Xanthus. Turquoise water and salt insulated them from their enemies.

Armi, Felix, and Marcus sat facing each other on wooden benches.

Marcus stared at Lycia’s retreating shore. "Those men were down there that whole time."

"Where?" Armi crossed his legs and leaned on his thighs.

Felix stretched out his shoulders. "Must have been hiding in rooms behind fake walls. Always assume they're clever."

"Too clever." Marcus scratched his forehead. "If we're ever clearing a basement again, make sure to knock on the sides. I don't understand why they didn't attack. We were ready, but they would have dusted us."

Felix shook his head. "They didn't want to fight. They wanted us gone. Those cacks applied enough pressure on the Pretorians to get a naval extraction, but didn't burn the villa down until we were out in the harbour."

Armi nodded. "Same with their show of force on the docks. They let us know there'd be resistance if we came back, but they let us get away with the ashes, and avoided Senate launching a retaliatory invasion."

They sat in thoughtful silence as waves lapped Victoria’s hull. What remained of Gaius sat in its basket at the base of the mast.

Felix spoke first. "That's the warfare of conquest: don't allow your enemy to know they're surrounded. We made it though. Let's remember what Cicero said--gratitude is the parent of all other virtues."

Then he elbowed Marcus. "You get to find out what mule piss around your ankles is like."

Marcus opened his mouth to reply, and Felix held up a finger. "Do not, for your sake, mention my mother."

Marcus closed his mouth with sarcastic slowness. Felix gave him a fraternal shove.

They began doffing their armour. They tightened straps, polished their segmented chest protection, buffed their helmets--the classic time killer of soldiering men throughout history.

35

Near the stern, in front of the mule pen, Linus set up an overturned barrel.

"Tali?"

Prefect Titus produced four dice and two clay rolling cups. He eyed a nearby basket of apples, grabbed one, took a bite.

"Sure. Classic rules: add up the dice, highest score wins. The shorter man rolls first." A small group of soldiers and ship's crew gathered until, sometime later, Titus threw up his hands. "What? Impossible." He jumped upright, looking ready to kick his dice and cups seawards. He tossed his apple core instead, shook out his hands, took a deep breath.

"Enough Tali for me. I forgot how much I hate losing, and I regret suggesting it. Let someone else play."

Centurion Linus called out, "All right, who's next?"

Hours turned to days. Dice games became a fixture of their downtime. Armi played a few short rounds without much luck.

Rugged coast drifted by. On day five, one of Victoria’s crew began betting rough wooden coins hewn from driftwood.

Sensing his unit's excitement, Centurion Linus came to inspect. He scooped up a coin, weighing it in his hand.

"This is close to gambling, which as you know, is illegal. Hey, Prefect Titus, what do you think? Is this gambling?"

Titus ambled over, picked up a wooden coin, put its thin edge between his teeth, bit it in half. He spit out a wooden chunk.

"Can't gamble with anything you can bite through. Should be law. This only makes our trip more interesting." He pointed to the oarsman who carved the coins. "How many of these did you make?"

"I have nineteen now, Sir."

Prefect Titus addressed the watching soldiers.

"Alright, new assignment. If you're interested, make yourself some coins. Use driftwood. There's lots around. Do not carve up this ship."

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They used nets and fishing gear to gather wood from overboard. Within hours, every man aboard had a neat little pile of carved coins lined up to play. When Armi's turn came, he sat down across from Sommer and placed his coins.

Sommer clicked through his stack. "Game's Tali."

Armi nodded. "Classic rules."

"Nothing but." Sommer placed a single wooden coin in front of him. "Roll."

Armi put four dice in his clay cup, shook, and rolled them across the barrel. They added up to seventeen.

Sommer's mouth moved as he counted dice. He winced: seventeen was the most unlucky Roman number. He gathered up the little cubes and threw.

Twenty.

Armi handed him his coin.

Sommer counted his pile. "Let's really play." He put five coins down and waggled his eyebrows at Armi, who matched the bet.

Armi: twenty-two.

The crowd murmured its appreciation.

Sommer: fifteen.

Crowd: "Ooooo."

Sommer glared at the dice, willing them to change. Then he handed his five coins to Armi. They bet four coins, the remainder of Sommer's pile.

Armi: twenty-four.

Sommer sucked air through his teeth. The grouped men stared.

Sommer: fourteen.

The boys leaned in to examine the dice, then hollered, clapping Armi on his shoulders. Sommer frowned and tapped tabletop with his fingers before relaxing and handing his coins over. "Miraculous rolls that round. I'll get you next time."

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Armi handed Sommer's coins back, grateful the officer lost well.

As is the right of winners everywhere, Armi stayed seated. Marcus sat down across from him.

"All right you goat-looking cack, let's do this."

They each put down one.

Armi straightened his coins. "Roll."

Marcus: twelve. He cringed. "Armi, and I mean this, I hope you mess this up."

Armi: six.

The crew laughed, Sommer laughed loudest.

Armi handed his coin to Marcus, picked up three coins from his stack, placed them in front of him.

"Getting serious, hey?"

"Serious as can be."

"All right." Marcus matched the bet and shook out the dice: thirteen.

Armi: seventeen.

"Booooo," said Marcus. He set a single coin in front of him. Marcus: eight.

Armi: four.

They stared at the dice. Someone chuckled. Marcus ran his hand through his hair. "That's the worst roll ever. Has anyone ever seen four ones before?"

A couple of voices overlapped: "Yeah, a few times," "Once," "It's been known to happen," and "Earlier today."

Marcus waved a hand. "Don't listen to them. Worst roll of all time. Let's go again. I'm all in." He pushed his entire pile forward. The only sound was soft lapping of the sea.

Marcus: sixteen.

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Armi: twenty-four.

Their audience exploded with cheers and whoops of laughter. Someone shouted, "Marcus, you're out.”

Marcus gaped at his dice. "Four sixes. You rolled four ones, then four sixes back to back. What're the odds of that?"

Victoria collectively calculated the odds. Felix grimaced. "Not good."

Marcus collected his coins and was reaching across the barrel to place them in Armi's pile when he stopped. "Do you mind if I keep these? In the spirit of investigation."

Armi waved his hands. "Sure."

Marcus returned his coins to the barrel top. "Ok, I'm going to bet a single coin, you do the same."

Marcus: twelve. "Ok, you roll, Armi."

Armi: six.

Marcus sat back. "Strange."

"What do you mean?"

Felix leaned closer. "I think I'm seeing what you're seeing." Prefect Titus, Centurion Linus, and Decurion Cyrus moved barrel-side.

Armi glanced around. "What? I don't understand."

Marcus rubbed his neck. "Let's keep going. I'm all in." He played his entire pile. Armi followed, feeling the weight of his officer's eyes on him.

Marcus: fourteen.

Armi: twenty-four.

"What?" Marcus shot up. Everyone started talking at once. Armi didn't like the sensation they were muttering about him.

Marcus took his coins and stood. "Someone else play him."

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Prefect Titus sat down across from Armi. Victoria tilted towards the vast man. Titus picked up his rolling cup for inspection. He picked up Armi's rolling cup and weighed them in his hands. He eyeballed Armi. "You're not cheating, are you? You rolled twenty-four three times out of seven."

Armi shook his head hard enough to rattle his teeth. "No."

Prefect Titus picked up the dice, examining each with veteran attention to detail. "I'm gonna give you a choice. Stand and leave now if, for any reason, you don't want to play anymore."

"Sir, if I get up now, everyone will think I'm a cheater."

"You're right. So, play another round. Against me. If you are cheating, and you cheat me, well, that would be stupid of you." Armi started sweating.

Cheating at dice wasn't illegal unless there was money involved, then the entire venture was unlawful. But when your only real currency is your honour, that's what you end up gambling with. On a tiny ship out at sea, cheating a man out of his honour could be a grave, sometimes fatal offence.

Titus held up dice. "Who has ink?"

Within a minute, one of the crew set an ornate inkwell and quill in front of Prefect. He inked a tiny dot on each dice, then methodically blew on them until dry. boys waited, fidgeting. Prefect Titus took his wooden coins from a pouch on his belt and arranged them in an orderly pile on barrel.

"Tali is game. Classic rules. How many coins have you got?"

Armi counted. "Twenty."

"Me too." Prefect set a single coin in front of him, gesturing for Armi to do the same. "I'll roll."

The dice tumbled from his clay cup: nine.

Armi: seven.

Prefect Titus picked up the dice. Seeing each had a little spot of ink, he put them back down. He bet two wooden coins.

Titus: eleven.

Armi: six.

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Titus placed three coins on the barrel, Armi matched it. He rolled: eighteen.

Armi: eighteen.

Titus cast a sidelong glance at the dice. No one spoke.

Without changing the number of bet coins, he picked up the dice, loaded his cup, shook: thirteen.

Armi: thirteen.

There were scattered gasps from the crowd. Prefect held up a hand for silence. He placed another coin on the barrel, bringing his total to four. He scrutinized his cup. "Trade with me." Armi handed his over. "Roll."

Armi: nineteen.

The Prefect sniffed. Armi swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Titus: eight.

The crowd remained static.

Titus put all his coins on the table.

Armi: twenty-four. collective inhale was so sharp that short hairs lifted in the vacuum on his neck.

The Prefect: nine.

Titus sat back. "Anytime someone goes all-in against you, you roll twenty-four." He shook his head, trying to dislodge the idea.

Over the ship, unnoticed by the engrossed men, clouds began to gather.

The Prefect hesitated, then took all but two coins back.

He rolled: sixteen.

Armi: five.

Prefect Titus growled and pushed his entire pile of coins in front of him.

The wind picked up, rustling clothes of entranced sailors.

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Titus handed the dice to Armi. They clattered to the barrel top: twenty-four.

The boys were still as a realization crept from one to the next. Something was being exposed.

The wind raged. The ship began to rouse. Everyone around the barrel extended their heads to the sky.

Armi only looked at Prefect. Prefect stared at Armi. They both looked down at the dice.

Half-consciously, Prefect picked them up, shook, rolled. The dice tumbled and stopped. Titus whispered his score: seventeen.

Frantic whistling echoed across the water. Men waved from Fides furiously. Armi and Titus followed their manic gesturing.

A wave the size of a mountain bore down on them from the sea.

Victoria looked on as the wave broke over Fides with a gargantuan crash, crushing her into splinters.

The sea beneath them swelled, and Victoria careened towards shore.

Another wave rose in the distance.

Lightning cracked, lancing downwards into roiling sea off the port side.

Thunder boomed and the ship trembled under Armi's feet. The sky churned green, grey, and black, so craggy and topographically varied that it resembled an upside-down mountain range.

The sea rose so high and fast it felt like falling towards that impossible sky.

The crew moved frantically to regain some control of the ship. They tore at rigging, calling to their Gods for mercy. Three men pulled the rudder so hard their tendons screamed, threatening to tear away from the bone. The penned-up, wild-eyed mules brayed and stomped in panic.

The Captain shouted orders but the howling wind drowned him out.

Juno. The Goddess's name crashed into Armi's whirring mind. This was how Juno had fought Aeneas and shattered him against the rocks of Carthage.

The ship listed terribly to starboard, parallel with the shore. They stared down wave like it was a cliff. The sea beneath retracted, revealing sharp fangs of pointed rock.

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They fell.

Victoria crashed into rocks, sending men and mules flying like sea spray.

Armi smacked into the mast. Through a red haze, he saw the basket containing Gaius's ashes, slid his arm through its thick handle, secured it to himself in his elbow's crook.

He looked around—he was alone. The sea had taken everyone else.

Another wave, titanic and grey as stone, towered over the ship, backlit by lightning spears.

Armi closed his eyes.

The wave crashed on him, then darkness.

He washed up on a sandy shore sometime later, buoyed up by mast and basket. He woke on his back, vision blurry and black around its margins. It was twilight and eerie calm. Surf stroked his legs, soothing him, asking him to forget its capacity for violence.

His left arm, still threaded through the basket handle, throbbed savagely where it bent at unnatural angles. His vision began to fade, his head nodding as blackness threatened him again. A wet snuffling jarred him awake. Something round and smooth bobbed near his working hand, tidally teasing his fingertips.

A ragged, waterlogged mule came into focus. Rope meant to secure it onboard the ship looped its neck.

A dispersed zigzag of apples floated back and forth in waves. The last apple caressed his fingers. Armi closed his eyes.

The mule worked its way down the apple line until it was a few feet from Armi. He opened one eye a crack and fixed on the rope dangling from its neck.

The mule ate the second closest apple and stopped, staring at Armi, chewing its mouthful to paste. Armi slowed his breathing, trying to disguise the fact he was, for the moment, still alive. The mule hobbled closer, snorting its way to the apple near Armi's hand. When the rope swung close enough, he grabbed it.

The mule leapt into the air, neighing wildly, and bolted back the way it had come. Armi started to drag through wet sand, snapped upright, spun, pointed his legs in the direction the mule ran. He

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dug his sandals into wet beach, the rope tightened with a thunk. The mule jerked downwards, faceplanting into the ground with a thump.

Armi's left arm suffered in maneuver, sending paralyzing waves of pain up into his shoulder and neck. He shook pinpoints of light from his vision as the mule dragged itself up. It turned to him, wet eyes pleading. We're both exhausted, Armi realized.

He turned to the apple bobbing in the surf. He maneuvered closer, leaned over, pinned apple to sand with his mouth, and sunk his teeth through its peel. He straightened up, bit off a piece in his mouth, and let the other part drop to the ground. He kicked it towards the mule. The apple made it halfway between them.

The mule walked to the apple chunk, rolled it around with its tongue, gobbled it. Swallowing his bit, Armi extended his right hand and beckoned the mule closer. The mule wobbled over and collapsed beside Armi, who stroked its muzzle. "Good job," he said. "Be joyous, you're my best friend now." He laid his head against the mule and—

It was deep night when he woke. Still entangled in the basket handle, his left arm hummed with fiery pain. The mule slept underneath his head, its breathing synced with his.

He wrapped rope attaching him to the mule around his good hand and sat up. He surveyed the beach. It was littered with the debris of their ruined ships and a few still bodies. Inland was low shrubbery and trees beyond. His eyes teared at the sight of the dead men. He should identify them.

He tried to stand. His legs, beaten and raw, collapsed. He fell to the wet sand, the mule docilely watching him. Appraising the inland trees, he decided it was the Greek coast. Greece was uniformly inhabited, or so he understood. There would be a road nearby. He focused on the dead bodies and calculated how much energy he could expend. Almost none. He would either be able to investigate the dead or move off the beach but not both.

There was no choice.

With the minimum amount of movement, he untangled his left arm from the basket. It was an ordinary type, not imperial at all. Its lid was still clasped.

He undid clasps and lifted the lid. Inside, moonlight lit an exquisite wooden box. Its hinges and clasp shone ornate and golden. He shifted it in the basket. It was heavy for its size. Satisfied, he closed the lid. All right, Gaius, he thought, time to go.

He prodded the mule weakly. It dragged itself to its feet. If he and it were to go on any further adventures, it would need a name. He stroked the mule's side. "You can only be Victoria." He checked between Victoria's legs to see if her name fit. It did.

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He took the basket in his right hand and, leaning on noble Victoria, stood up. His legs shook, but he did not fall. He lifted his left leg over Victoria's narrow back and sat down. Victoria sank in the sand but did not bow. He positioned his ruined left arm in front of him, hefted the basket into the ditch of his right elbow, and gave Victoria another gentle prod. She started to walk inland.

Armi turned back to bodies on the beach, and the sea that had taken his friends. A single dry sobbed wracked him. His arm screamed. Goodbye Felix. Goodbye Marcus.

Once off the beach and under trees, moonlight no longer lit the way. Victoria steadily picked her way through underbrush, Armi wavering on her back.

His left arm was unspeakably painful, skin tense and red, his fingers numb. He held it as still as possible, but every step Victoria took was agony. He didn't know how much longer he could force himself to carry on. However, stopping and laying on the ground cradling his arm solved nothing, so he adjusted its angle a few degrees and breathed.

He heard a sharp metallic clink to his right. Delirious, he scanned the trees. He spotted a firelight in distance. Using his legs, he steered Victoria in that direction.

Sometime later, as he closed in on a clearing filled with wavering light, a voice behind him said, "Hey! Stop." He stopped. A Roman sentry hurried around Victoria, spear ready. He called for backup, and several boys from the camp came running.

"It's ok," Armi said, voice cracking with pain and exhaustion. "I'm Roman, from the 7th legion." As he lost consciousness, rough hands broke his fall to the ground.

A month later, he gazed up at Rome's walls from the back of a cart. Victoria patiently plodded behind, inspecting the city. His left arm still hurt occasionally, but the legionary physician who had cast it in plaster assured him he would regain full function. His back hurt as well, from an unfortunate event in a field hospital, but that was also dressed and healing. The basket and its precious occupant sat beside him.

The cart was part of a Roman military procession escorting Gaius's ashes back to his adoptive father, Augustus.

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~

They passed through city gates and wound their way to the palace. On arrival, he was escorted into a vast atrium and seated. Immaculately dressed servants reverentially took the basket and whisked it away.

Armi waited, idly musing if Victoria would like Rome. She would, he decided. It was unlikely she'd be shipwrecked in the forum.

A bearded man came into the atrium and waved Armi to follow him. They walked purposefully through gilded marble corridors lined with flaming sconces, enormous frescos, and hardened Guards.

They stopped outside a set of massive double doors. Two stone-faced but not entirely unfriendly Guards patted him down, opened the doors and led him into a private office. It was surprisingly spartan. A gigantic window dominated the opposite wall, the noise of the city drifted in. A single desk and chair were positioned in the centre of the room. The basket sat on a desk. On the wall behind the desk, an embossed imperial seal. A plain door was set into the wall on his right.

Guards positioned themselves to the sides of this door, and Armi heard footsteps behind it. The air felt like it was thickening around him. His palms began to sweat.

The door opened without a sound, and First Citizen Augustus stepped into the room.

He was dressed simply in a white shirt and brown leather belt. His hair was grey and short, his face equine and clean-shaven. His grey-green eyes fell on Armi. The shock of it crackled through him. The power in the First Citizen's gaze was like the titanic wave falling on him all over again. Armi saluted so hard a spike of pain erupted from his healing arm.

Augustus glided to his desk and opened the basket's wicker lid. He took out the wooden box and set it in front of him. With a craftsmen's dexterity, he lined the box's bottom edge with the desk's front edge. He lifted the basket and set it on the floor, handle parallel with the desk's side edge.

Augustus sat and pored over Armi's face, then waved his throbbing arm down. Armi stood at attention, the entirety of his mind occupied by the First Citizen and his graceful, cat-like movements.

In a voice as silvery and fine as smoke, Augustus said, "You've brought my son back to me."

Relief at being exonerated for the ashes delayed arrival threatened to put Armi on the floor.

Armi's head felt fuzzy. "Yes, Sir."

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Augustus studied Armi. It felt like he was being dissected, as if the First Citizen could see and examine all his constituent parts, silently and expertly judging his fit into a more significant work.

Augustus moved his gaze to the box. Armi felt its absence like he felt the movement of the sun behind clouds.

Augustus opened the box. It creaked slightly, revealing an even rectangle of light grey ash. The First Citizen crumpled in his chair. He nodded to one of the Guards, who disappeared through the plain side door.

Augustus's eyes were fixed on the ashes. "Your unit and accompanying Pretorian Guard?"

"Lost at sea, Sir."

"Like so many of us."

Armi said nothing. There was stillness in the room. The only sounds floated in from outside.

The Guard came back carrying a sword in a black scabbard. Augustus took the sword, stood, and walked around the desk. He stopped directly in front of Armi. Fear swelled in Armi's chest.

Augustus was tall, a head taller than Armi, and he gazed down on him. He drew the sword and held it out in his palms.

Armi took it, surprised by how light it was. Its diamond-shaped, bronze blade was as long as a Roman cavalry sword. Its wide guard, handgrip, and pommel were polished black wood inlaid with more sparkling bronze. It was simple and royally opulent.

"It's an excellent sword," said Augustus, "made for Ramses the Third and appropriated by Marc Antony during his time in Egypt. Its blade is a mixture of bronze and metal mined from fallen stars. Your reward for returning my son to Rome. Additionally, you are granted the rank of Equestrian and made a Roman citizen." He waved his hand vaguely.

Armi tried to think of something eloquent but only managed, "Thank you, Sit. Sir." He did his best not to let his eyes deviate off one particular spot on the opposite wall.

Augustus smiled distractedly. He walked back to the desk and picked up a parchment. He handed it to Armi. "That is the necessary documentation. Take it to the censures office to solidify your title."

He went back to his desk, sat, and gazed into the box. Eyes on the ashes, he said, "You are dismissed. Enjoy your title. Serve Rome well."

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"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Armi sheathed his sword and was escorted from the room to the front steps of the palace. Two months later, he was in Illyria, serving Rome well indeed.

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