The Eagle Falls

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Rhine frontier
1165 ab urbe condita
(412 AD)

"So," Marcus Procopius Elafius Aquila, Dux Germaniae, said to his tribune as they looked over the iron-grey river that served as his new command. "The end of the world. I never thought I would live to see it, Flavius." The tribune, a man of perhaps twenty-five, was too young to know what his general was saying, and so followed the time-honored tradition of sycophancy and merely nodded his head, offering an unconvincing "Yes, sir." Marcus harrumphed, returning his gaze to the Rhenus as he leaned on the pommel of his staff, letting his eyes drift over the accursed river. The end of the world. And so it was, in more ways than one. The Roman world, synonymous with the civilized world, with civilization itself, ended here, on the west shore of the Rhenus, physically. Yet it was also here, a few short years ago, where the Empire had been destroyed.

The death throws were just taking a while.

In his father's day, one could stroll easily upon the eastern bank for miles, protected by the fortified limes and a number of fully-staffed legions. By the time Marcus had reached manhood, the limes had been abandoned, the legions withdrawn, Rome ceding all of its territory on the eastern bank to the tribes of the Germani. And then, five years ago, the already-stretched frontier had finally broken. Stilicho, then the Master of Soldiers at Rome, had withdrawn all but one legion for his campaign in Dalmatia. The river had frozen, and on New Year's Day, the massed fighting forces of five German tribes had marched across the ice, destroying the frontier, pillaging Gaul for years. It was only recently that most of them had been pacified, or thrown back across the Rhenus, or given federate status - bribed into submission with money and land and service in the Army. Now, even on the western bank, on territory still belonging to the Empire, a citizen needed an army to be safe. What could one expect, when even the Emperor and his family resided in Ravenna, when Rome had just been sacked for the first time in 800 years?

Still, as he scanned the forested bank a kilometer away, watching several blond-headed dots fish, Marcus found it hard to hate the barbarians for it. They had had little choice. Population growth, several bad years for crops, and pressure in the east from the Huns had left them with little choice. They were exiles from their own lands. Just as he was.

His ancestors had come from Rome herself, and more than one of his great-to-the-unknown grandparents had served in the legions under Caesar, in his first foray to Britannia. Their great-grandsons had continued to serve Caesar's descendants, following Claudius and Agricola when they had finally claimed Britannia for the Empire. He had been born in Isca Silurium, a small town for legionaries and their families in the mountainous west of the island, the product of five hundred years of mingling between Roman soldiers and Britanni women.

His childhood had been the only time that even a Roman as old as Marcus could remember peace; when he was a teenager, the Great Conspiracy had been hatched behind the Northern Wall, and the unheard-of alliance between the many barbarian tribes had nearly wiped Britannia clean of its Imperial presence. The relief force from Gaul that had arrived the next year under Count Theodosius had seemed like a blessing only for the few months until it had ushered in a wave of repression that had made the much-vaunted Christian martyrdom seem like a stroll in the Lucullan Gardens. Still, it had not been enough to deter Marcus from joining the Army when he had reached age. It ran in his blood; his father, uncles, brothers, cousins, all had joined the Army before him, and he had been proud to be inducted that spring day with the twenty-three other tribunes of the Twentieth Legion, swearing allegiance to Emperor Gratian under the legion's eagle at Segontium, so long ago.

They were all dead now, of course. Tata and Lucius and the rest of his menfolk, dead like the Emperor and eagle he had both sworn himself to, dead even like the Twentieth, destroyed by the march of the Germani across this very same river five years ago, crushed from history by the weight of change. Even his home no longer existed. When he had joined the Army, Marcus had been posted outside of Britannia, and had initially cursed the fate that had sent him so far from his home. But as one British general after another had declared himself an usurper and sent his armies across the Saxon Sea to attack the Imperial armies, he had found himself grateful not to have to make the choice to betray his island or his Emperor. Tata had made the same choice Marcus would have, and had been executed by the claimant Magnus Maximus. Finally, tired of the cost of maintaining a garrison that so often turned on his forces, Honorius - the child-emperor who had greater interest in his pet chickens than the running of civilization - had mandated that Britannia look to itself from now on. Marcus' own home was now one of the increasing number of provinces that had been abandoned beyond the edge of the known world, and he knew he would never see it again.

To be true, that thought no longer bothered him unduly any more. What was left to him there but ghosts of the dead who would have been dead no matter what, bitter memories of happier days, and the remains of a villa, burned by Scotti? Home was the Army for him now. Of course, he thought as he at long last turned from the river, towards the threadbare encampment, even that home was beginning to show its age. He was Dux Germaniae, the Commander-in-Chief of the Provinces of Upper and Lower Germany, the bulwark of Rome's defenses against the Germanic barbarians for five hundred years. In the old days, he would have had ten full-strength legions, scores auxilia, hundreds of town militia and federate units. Now...now, he had the 8th Augusta and 2nd Flavians, neither of which were anywhere near full strength, and whose remaining soldiers were homesick, despairing of being posted so close to an enemy that had proven itself so strong, underpaid, underfed, undertrained.

It was the revenge of Honorius, Honorius and the sniveling coterie of eunuchs and power-mongers that constantly circled the piteously-named Imperial Palace in Ravenna. Marcus was a Christian in little more than name; he was from a province known for its treason and which was not even a province any more; but by far the worse, the fact that he had served under Stilicho. Stilicho, the Master of Soldiers, the devout Christian, the greatest general - Roman or otherwise - of the past fifty years, the man who it had been said could have, even in these days, saved and restored Rome. The man the Imperial advisors had grown jealous of and convinced Honorius to execute, a fate that had followed too many of Stilicho's officers. Marcus himself had only been saved by Constantius, a prominent general who had placed him on his staff. The previous year he had helped Constantius defeat the last claimant general at Arelate, restoring at least a modicum of stability to the Empire and the last threat - at least, direct - to Honorius' power.

And so, instead of being executed, his service had seen him promoted, from legate to Dux, and given the glorious command of two provinces and ten legions - at least, on paper. Of course, the frontier he needed to defend was still the same on paper as it was in reality, and the Germani - those who had been too weak to do so before, or had been forced back across on the point of Stilicho's sword - were once more feeling the pangs of winter and jealousy, and would likely try again to cross once the Rhenus froze. No doubt Honorius and the others at Ravenna hoped that he would be killed in the inevitable battle. It was likely they would be proven correct, yet once more, Marcus felt little sadness at the thought. There was very little left in his life to bring him happiness.

Marcus entered the gate of the camp, Tribune Flavius at his side, rattling off information. The Curator of the nearby capital wished to talk. A delegation from Ravenna would be arriving in a few days. A messenger from one of the Germanic tribes, the Quadi or Franci or whatever barbarian name they had, wished to parlay and had offered the king's son as an honor-ransom. The quaestor was angry over the quality and quantity of supplies. Marcus brushed the man away.

"Later, Flavius. I will deal with it soon, I promise. Just...not now." He had wanted to say, I cannot stomach it, cannot summon up the desire, would like nothing more than to leave this all behind me, save for the fool's sense of duty I have. But an officer should never show any sign of weakness, of indecision, before the men. Especially not when the officer showed as much grey at the temples as Marcus. Soldiers took it as an especially bad omen then.

Flavius left towards the building that served a as the central command, while Marcus took a right down the central road of the camp, arriving at the row of ranking officers' quarters, stopping at the largest. Marcus hated taking advantage of his rank, but especially in these times, it was expected, even required for the men to truly accept his rank. And anyways, in the olden days, a duke would have lived in a splendid palace with marble floors and heated baths. When put into context like that, an extra room seemed little to worry over. And it was not as if he didn't have a good reason for that extra room.

Walking in through the doorway, heavily insulated against the Germanic cold, Marcus beheld one of the few reasons he found life still worth living - perhaps the best reason, although he would certainly admit that to no one: his daughter and youngest child, the product of his fruitful second wife, now long dead with so much of his past. A pain that the two of them shared.

"Well, Flavia, mea columba, how do you like our new home? Not the Golden House, perhaps, but..." he shrugged, finding it hard to say something positive about this dreary assignment, even to boost his daughter's spirits. The fact that she had wanted - demanded, even - to join him here had touched him deeply, especially when her brother seemed to not even remember his father still lived, but Marcus was rather worried over how she would enjoy herself here, not to mention her safety.

When pretty girls were concerned, Roman soldiers could be as dangerous as Germans.

Flavia Procopia Aurelia

"Mea Pater"

Flavia had been busy arranging the placing of the carpets as well as overseeing that the altars, honouring Juno and Bellona, were being installed. It never did any harm to honour the traditional ways even though it had gone out of fashion. It wasn't much of a house, not in comparison to her late husband's villa in Rome, but it was nevertheless home in some respects. With Flavius having fallen with the Legions there had been little else for Flavia to do but to return to her Father's house, and although it had been something of a setback she couldn't have been worse of. For all his fearsome appearence, Marcus Procopius had never been anything but a gentle, doting even, father who had allowed the young Flavia to indulge her interests.

It was natural that she had gone with him to Germania as well. Marcus Procopius might be one of the foremost generals of the Empire, but he wasn't getting any younger. Added to the ailings of old age, there was the shadow that seemed to follow him. He had lost two wives and Flavia knew that even if her Father had loved her mother Aelia well enough, it was the loss of his first wife, Serena, that still haunted him.

She wrinkled her nose thinking of her siblings. None of them had cared overly much for their father and she knew that it pained him as well. Still a Roman General did not show such sentiments, not even to his closest confidants, but Flavia was good at reading her Father's mind.

Getting up from the couch where she had been sitting and kissing his cheek as he got inside. His bodyslave was in close attendance, taking his cloak and another one hurried forward with a cup of wine for him to help him chase away the bitter cold that seemed to be the most prominent feature of the forrests of Germania.

"I trust your day has been good Mea Pater?"

Flavia sat down again as Marcus took a seat and drained the cup of wine, only to have it refilled immediately by the slave. Giving the girl a stern glance, signalling for her to give the Paterfamilias some berth as he lay down more comfortably on the couch.

At 19 Flavia was still young enough to be attractive and old enough to know how to run a household. In many respects she had taken on the role of the Domina of Marcus' temporary lodgings and why shouldn't she? After all there was no wife to see to that the bare necesseties were catered for and even though most of the slaves knew what was expected of them it did pay to keep a stern eye on them

"I'll have dinner prepared if you wish for it or perhaps you would want a bath before we eat?"

She knew she was fussing but seeing as Marcus was the one fixed point in her world Flavia would rather go the extra mile than have him think she did not care about his welfare. She smiled softly as she watched his face in the reddish light from the lamps. He was handsome in a weathered kind of way. The scars that lined his face only served to underline that. She recalled that his hair had once been as dark as her own, but lately it had turned a shade of grey. Still his eyes were just as radiant green as her own and she knew that this feature had set her aside from her siblings.

"I had the altar to Bellona placed in your chamber Father, I hope that pleases you."

Flavia smiled again, hoping he would find the small gesture to be enough to take his mind of the many troubles he was facing.

Marcus Procopius Elafius Aquila

"A good day? Oh, it was as good day, of course. A typically fantastic German day." Marcus said as jovially as he could, sitting down in the couch, his joints slightly stiff from the cold and the maneuvers he had taken several cohorts out on earlier. What he meant was that any day the Germani did not swarm across the river and kill citizens was as fine a day as anyone on the frontier could ask for. But better not to trouble her, even if she was likely smart enough to reason that out on her own. Let Flavia think it nothing more than a quip on the disagreeable environment in general.

He accepted the cup of warm wine. It was nothing special as far as wine went, he knew, but he had never been a heavy drinker of the stuff, much preferring the soldiers' drink of posca, warm mulled vinegar that was guaranteed to help a legionary face another day in the service. But he would certainly not let his daughter drink it, and had scrounged up what wine he could find. It was a sign of the times that the area of nearby Gaul, once such prime grape land, now mostly looked to imports, its vineyards barren and trampled beneath Germanic hooves...Marcus gulped the rest of the wine to drown out the thought. The slave, Amiftre, hurriedly refilled it, and he was grateful to see Flavia shoo her away before he had to. It seemed that she took better care of him than he did, Marcus mused, as he laid himself down more comfortably on the couch. He sighed as he, more slowly, worked on the second cupfull.

"To tell you the truth, my dear, it's a shambles. Hundreds of miles of river for two legions, both of them lost half their men under me at Arelate - understaffed and with reason to resent me for it. Bad enough that one was raised in Italia and one in Africa, not only makes them homesick but wondering why they're risking their necks when they think they're safe behind their mountains and sea. And my reputation...Well, I suppose that, at least, is a double-edged blade." And I am reduced to seeing double-edged blades as a sign of luck, he added to himself glumly.

He forced himself to move on, not wanting his melancholia to infect his daughter's obviously good spirits. Marcus covered his sudden silence with another gulp of wine, his eyes discretely taking in his daughter. He was both lucky and cursed to have such an attractive daughter - and no father who considered the arranged marriage he had reluctantly but necessarily put her through a curse could truly consider himself a father, Marcus had always thought, no matter what tradition or the law said.

She had barely needed to stand on tiptoes to kiss him on his cheek as he had entered, her skin soft and pale - the mark of a proper upper-class woman - in contrast to his own, leathery and brown from sun and snow. His hair had once fully been her deep brown, rather than the pale imitation flecked with gray it now was; yet, his had never been as curly as her own, even without her slaves working it in the latest fashion from Italia or southern Gaul. And her eyes...so much like her mother's, and he felt a pang of sorrow thinking of the stele marking his Serena's place of rest. The stele that was in Isca, in forbidden Britannia, and that he would never see again...

Marcus cleared his throat hastily, masking his distress, bringing a finger up to point at Flavia. He wagged it at her, though with no real malice.

"I appreciate the shrine, columba. Bellona has guided me through more than one battle, I'm sure of it. But we're Christians, remember, and each year it gets more and more risky to let it show that we're anything other. I trust Amiftre, and you, and that you'll be careful. But...just, be careful. Just because we're on the edge of the world doesn't mean we're beyond the eyes and ears of the Emperor. Or those that hold his eyes and ears," he muttered darkly, once more quickly changing the subject.

"Now. I'm in no mood to go to the bathhouse. And dinner with my daughter seems as pleasant as any evening could be spent." He smiled happily. "You spoil me, Flavia, you know. Coming all the way out here with me...It does mean a lot. Especially when you could have stayed in your husband's villa. Although I suppose Rome isn't what it once was," he allowed, thankful that she had not come to any harm when the Vandals sacked the City for ten days

Sitting up as the food was prepared, he removed the scrolls that Flavius had given him. Breaking the wax seal that bore the insignia of the Emperor, Marcus shook out the paper, unrolling the missive that an Imperial courier had hurried across Gaul from Ravenna to deliver. He groaned once. A group of the Imperial Council was being sent to report back to Honorius on the progress of repairing the Rhine defenses and dealing with the Germanic federates - the so-called 'allies,' although their loyalty to Rome began and ended with the gold and grain supplied to them - and enemies alike. His eyes started when he saw the names of one of the so-called dignitaries that would be coming, and groaned again.

"It seems your brother will be paying us a visit soon, Flavia," Marcus said, lowering the scroll.

Flavia Procopia Aurelia

Flavia listened in silence to her father's recount of the situation. Although not versed in military matters, she was still informed enough to understand just how volatile the situation was. The men of the legions weren't happy and she had come to understand that while the official reasons for the prolonged campaign was that of safeguarding the Empire and preserving civilisation and the Roman way of life, but to the men in the ranks it was about loyalty to their comrades.

Smiling softly as Marcus chided her for having brought the pagan altars with her but not really taking his criticism to heart.

"Well Mea Pater we may be good Christians these days but since the Christ does not care much for war nor for the obligations of the Domina I thought it prudent that he would be given some help."

She felt a fit of giggling bubbling up inside her. Flavia was not overly concerned with religion. For all practical reasons she adhered to the state religion, but in the privacy of her own home she still paid homage to Juno as she had done to Diana when she was growing up. Stifling the laughter that threatened to overwhelm her she took on a more demure posture before continuing.

"I know what we are but is it not prudent not to forget from where we came Father? I don't think that it will hurt to have the added blessing of the old Gods, especially not here."

Marcus nodded solemnly, he had his duties to make sure that she as well as the rest of his household did not stray from the proper ways, but Flavia could detect just a hint of amusement at her arguments. She figured that she had been blessed, whether by Christ or by Juno, in the fact that both Marcus and Aelia had been refreshingly void of how a Roman daughter ought to be brought up. He had encouraged her to study, and even allowed her to practice rhethroic with him as her opponent. On the whole it had been a good life.

Flavia's reverie was interrupted by Amfitre who quietly asked how she wanted the food to be prepared and she found herself embroiled in a quick discussion as Marcus began reading the scrolls that he had brought with him. Clearing his throat and informing her of the impending visit of her brother.

Once again Flavia wrinkled her nose, she had never gotten along with Marcus Procopius Elafius Aquila Secundus. He was almost eight years her senior and his rather cold demeanour had rendered any deeper relation between the two impossible. Further was his snobbish ways, Marcus Procopius Elafius Aquila Secundus, would never let her forget that she was only the daughter of their father's second wife and thusly being inferior to him. Flavia further disliked her brother due to his complete disregard for Marcus. As soon as he had managed to secure the position within the highest echelons of politics he had more or less severed the ties with his family, and although Flavia was glad not having him around she knew how much hurt it had caused her beloved father.

She gently arose from her own couch and sat down next to him, taking his hand in between hers and leaning her head on his shoulder. "I don't think you need to worry about it Father. I'm sure my brother is as anxious to see you as you are to see him. Further I think that he's quite worried about you, even though he has not expressed it as well as he should have. Just give him the benefit of a doubt and I'm sure that it will all work out."

She felt Marcus arm draping itself around her slender shoulders and pulling her into an embrace, much like he had done when she was still unmarried. Physical signs of affection were rare enough and it meant all the more to her when he bestowed such on her. Like most other high born Roman women, Flavia had been little more than a child when she had entered into marriage, and even though she had been mature for her years, the shock of separation from her family had left a scar with her. Relishing the closeness for a moment longer before standing up and calling the slaves.

"By Gods Father, I could swear that the slaves are getting lazier by the hour. You're being too lenient with them I'd say."

She cocked her eyebrow at the standards, she was by no means a tyrant but she had always had a clear idea how a household ought to be goverrned, and since she had joined with Marcus, it felt even more important that everything was done with perfection.

Marcus Procopius Elafius Aquila

Marcus smiled as Flavia wrinkled her nose at the mention of her brother. His thoughts exactly, even if he couldn't, or rather shouldn't, express them that way, not if he was to be a good father in the eyes of both the Christ and the old gods. Not that Secundus had been a good son, but still, the gods tended to have a touchy sensibility when family relations were involved. Flavia rose to sit down against him. "That's what I'm afraid of, my dear," he said as she took his hand in hers. "That Secundus is as anxious to see me as I am to see him. And I already can say I don't approve of his choice of friend."

The circle of jealous, petty advisors that surrounded an emperor and the officers of the army which were so often at odds against them never got on well as a rule. But in recent years, as the rivalry between the two groups had grown, and the counselors' voices had occupied Honorius' ear so totally...well, the record of Roman military victories - ie, the lack of them - over the past few years spoke of the effect the friction was having on the state. And the recent purge of Stilicho and his men, as well as the officers lost in the Germanic incursion or civil wars against the officers that had finally rose up, had left the Army in a more precarious state than ever before. The fact that a delegation of these advisors were coming to see him would have boded badly in any case. The fact that his dour, self-aggrandizing son was with them only made Marcus feel more uneasy. In the old days, a general might be summoned before the Emperor who would bid him to open his veins. Now, it was entirely possible these men had been sent to do the task for their master.

After all, Marcus thought, it would be a shame if Honorius had to leave his pet chickens alone to see to a mere matter of state.

Marcus reached out subconsciously for Flavia, pulling her into a warm, protective embrace. Here he was, so glum and despondent, yet she was quite happy just to be with him, giggling at his jokes like nothing was wrong, eager to assume the best of her brother. It was refreshing, a happy counterpart to his own sullenness, accumulated through the bitter years of his life. She was young, had avoided much of his hardships, and he vowed to protect her from it as best as he could. Given the circumstances, that was perhaps not much, but at least for now, she was once more his little girl safe in her tata's arms.

He let the embrace continue than he would have normally. He had impulsively reached out to hold her, just as he had Aelia and Serena before her. He had hugged her far too little since she had rejoined him from her husband's death the prior year; he had justified it by anything between him being too busy in those frantic months, to not wanting her to feel like a little girl before. Those were good reasons, yet not the full ones; Marcus felt more than a little overawed by her change. She had always been old for her age, yet Flavia had been wedded off when she was still very much a girl, and by the time Marcus had seen her again following Flavius' death, she had quite definitely grown into a woman. He had not been with a woman since Aelia's death - this time, truly because he had been too busy, along with the lingering feelings of guilt and attachment he still felt - and the juxtaposition of his little girl on such an adult body had left him somewhat confused.

Yet, Marcus could not deny that it felt good to once more have a woman to hold. Not in a sexual way, of course, God forbid. But the feeling of a warm body to hold against his own, to protect physically even as he took solace from her spirit...the feeling was therapeutic, and Marcus felt himself grow sorry when Flavia finally broke it to return to handling the slaves. Yet, he chastised himself even over that thought. Surely the embrace had gone on long enough. He was not some doddering old wreck, after all, and Heaven forbid that he grow as soft on himself as Flavia now accused him of being towards the house slaves.

"I confess, columba, that after spending a day browbeating unwilling provincial peasants into something approaching a Roman soldier, I find it hard to continue doing so with the slaves. But I'm sure with you here, you'll be more than willing to handle that aspect. Your mother was a right terror with the slaves. I sometimes wished I could have convinced her the Goths were really negligent housecleaners posing as barbarians to escape from their duties. Then you would have seen a stable frontier." His smile was only slightly tinged with sadness. "I do wish she was still with us."

Dinner was soon ready. It was nothing special if one went by the standards the rich in Rome or Ravenna set, but by the standards of an officer in a frontier army, it was far from dull. Wine, bread and oil, chickpeas and mushrooms, honeyed thrushes, pork and garlic sausages, finished with grapes and almonds. After having survived on little more than porridge and oil for much of the previous year's campaign, Marcus was glad to have something approaching real food, and had ever since eaten with a renewed vigor. Flavia had to have been used to higher quality food, but if she disliked it, she hid it well, and Marcus swelled with pride at his daughter's perseverance.

"The chieftains of the Franks and Quadi wish to talk with me," Marcus spoke over the meal. "The Quadi are supposedly our allies, which means we pay them gold and food and overlook their raids on our side of the river in exchange for them not migrating en masse into the province. The Franks were pushed back across the river by Stilicho alone. They do not even pretend to be our friends, but have offered their king's son as a hostage for me to speak with them. Both of those situations are contingent upon treaties made between those tribes and Stilicho, and now that he is dead, by our own hands at that-" by which Marcus meant by Romans, and not he himself "-I'm not sure how well the arrangements will hold. There is a distinct risk in speaking with them, although likely not as great as seeing dignitaries from the Emperor." He offered a small laugh at that, then grew serious again.

"If something is to happen to me when I go to speak with them, Flavia, it could get dangerous for you here - for the army in general as well as you specifically. You know how the Vandali treated Rome when they sacked it. This camp is neither a holy city nor a civilian body, and they will show even less restraint if they overrun it. A pretty girl..." Marcus paused, having to clear his throat.

"If you wish to take a vacation to, say Treverorum or Noviodunum, I would not take offense."

Flavia Procopia Aurelia

"Nonsense Tata."

She had used the less formal title as she responded to his wishes that she'd leave the camp. "I don't fancy a holiday nor do I relish the fact that you're actually contemplating sending me away."

Flavia could feel the colour rise on her cheeks as she put the spoon down and matching his emerald stare. "I'm not a child Tata and I chose my own paths. I have no intention of leaving you at this time, especially when you're about to receive my brother and having conferences with the barbarians."

Sitting back again but not averting her eyes from his gaze. Flavia had had quite enough with being discarded as a mere item of furniture. Flavius had been like that as well. They'd only been married for a month or so before the call to arms was heard and he had left her. She had begged to come with him but to no avail. A military camp is no place for a woman he had told her and that had been the end of their discussions. Thus Flavia had been left to her own devices in the grand villa in Rome.

She realised that up until now her life had been a lonely one. There had been one confidant in her bodyslave Lydia. The Greek woman having been the substitute for the mother that had left her all too early and on more than one occasion she had been doing her best to confort her as the pain of her loss, both of her mother and her husband had grown too great to bear.

It was not that Flavius had ever lavished her with attention, far from it. To him she had been a necessary evil in order to further the Aurelius family, but she still couldn't help but feel a deep attachment to him. Nonetheless she did not relish the idea of being sent away again.

"No Tata I absolutely refuse being sent away. If the barbarians attack then surely you will need someone to look out for you when you come back."

She smiled mischeviously as she got up and once more sat down on his couch, entwining her slender fingers with his calloused ones.

"Besides when my brother arrives you will need someone to stand by your side Tata. I don't mean to be disrespectful but I can sense that you are not overly pleased with his visit. I don't blame you, surely it's the duty and obligation of a Roman and a Christian to honour his Father, but it seems that ambition got the better of my brother."

Flavia smiled mischeviously, sensing that Marcus shared her views of her brother. The smile and the slight nod confirmed her suspicions and she couldn't help but grin in response.

"I always found him a bit hmmm too preoccupied with his own importance Tata. I'm sorry if it sounds disrespectful but I'd rather be honest with you than keeping up an appearance which I do not agree with."

Marcus merely nodded, the noncommittant answer of the Paterfamilias not wanting to let it be known where his sympathies lay. It was very typical of her father. He would go great lenghts to ensure the unity of the Aquila family. Flavia suspected that he knew about the differences between herself and her brother, and when thinking back she thought she could remember how he had tried to lessen the hurt that Marcus Procopius Secunds had inflicted in her. As for Elafia there had been little to say. Flavia shared few, if any interestes with her sister and to be perfectly honest the girl was simply daft.

Feeling yet another fit of giggles assail her as she recalled how her older sister had behaved, and not able to restrain herself, having to clasp her hand over her mouth. It wasn't the way a proper Roman woman ought to react, but then again, Tata had always been very lenient.

He looked at her, silently begging an answer to her behaviour, but Flavia could not bring herself to tell him, at least not yet. Instead, and on the spur of the moment, she lay down beside him, her back against his muscular chest and her head resting on his arm.

"Forgive me Tata but I was just thinking of Elafia. Do know that I love her dearly but in all honesty, and Juno knows I'm speaking the truth, she's a few sesteriers short of a denar."

It was disrespectful given that Elafia was a respectable wife and mother, but nothing could erase the pictures from Flavia's mind as she recalled how easily fooled her older sister had been.

Marcus didn't answer, but merely wrapped his arm around her slender waist, pulling her closer to him. It may be inappropriate an act but Flavia couldn't care less about it. She had missed her father terribly and it had pained her to see that the once seemingly indestructible man had been reduced to a mere shadow of himself caused her more grief than ever she would admit.

"I won't leave and that's final Tata."

She whispered the words as she felt the warmth of his body against hers.

Marcus Secundus (shortened for flow)

Marcus Secundus rode confidently, if despondently, in the delegation sent to his father. To be honest, relations with his tata had been poor for some time. He had disliked his social-climbing stepmother and her brats, and had the nerve to actually say so to his father once when he was drunk. The argument that followed had been one that neither of them had spoken of since....but neither had forgotten or forgiven. Reverence for his father's authority aside, Secundus hated to see the family tainted with such a dubious bloodline for marital purposes.

Lower-class women were supposed to be concubines and mistresses, not wives. A bastard half-sister could be tolerable, but one whose dowry might cut into his inheritance was annoying. Bad enough that the dim-witted Elafia had a dowry. With her boring and stupid nature, she probably needed one. But, why Flavia? And, of course, she went back to tata when her husband was killed. The brat had him wrapped around her fingers. Always had. Tata's girl.

Secundus despised women who withheld sexual favors merely to attain marriage, money, and a higher station in life. He was sure that was what Aelia, and he never forgave her for it. Truth be told, all of his differences with his father stemmed back to that. Politics be damned....he just wanted to rise and keep the more respectable side of the family at the top of the heap. Then he could marry Flavia off to whomever he wished...and the same with Elafia, and keep the bulk of the money for himself.

If that meant that he had to hide his true beliefs, then so be it. Secundus belonged to a small sect of Mithraists who had survived. Like most Mithraists, he believed in virtue, but he interpreted it in ways that some of his brethen might have found horrific. Virtue, to him, meant duty to one's name and reputation first. And respect for the social order as it should be. Men ruled. Women obeyed. And social-climbers were kept in their place, as the Emperor Diocletian had wisely decreed once. Too bad that Diocletian had failed to keep the system working.

Well, if Secundus had his way, he'd succeed where Diocletian didn't. But on a smaller scale. If Gaul was lost, so be it. There was still Italy, Illyricum, and the East. And Secundus had plans for Gaul. It would be his private empire, if he had his way. Gaul and Britannia. If it meant no more Germanic raids, the Emperor would give it up to Secundus, who wanted to emulate Tetricus and build a Gallic empire. Where his father foolishly threw away his chances, Secundus would seize them. He just had to know the right people to bribe and the right people to blackmail. Then Rome would recognize his rule. And he could win by diplomacy, pitting the barbarians against each other until they were so exhausted that they paid him tribute. Then they could be reduced to mercenaries in his Gallic army. Yes, it was treason, but it was also destiny. His destiny.

Marcus Procopius Elafius Aquila

Marcus was overcome by emotions, emotions he knew he shouldn't show, that being the height of impropriety. Of course, so was what he did next, but if he found it difficult to verbally express his pride, there was certainly no way that Marcus would avoid showing it in a way that he could. Marcus reached out, drawing her close, once more holding her against him tight, glad to have his daughter back. She was so tiny and light in his hands; she might quite assuredly have become a woman in her absence, but she had never been with child, never groan bloated from inaction, was still almost as light as a feather in his arms, seemed like he could snap her like a twig had he wanted to. But her physical weakness was as far from his mind as could be. Her words had shown her true mettle, and Marcus knew that at least one of his children had inherited his bravery.

"Oh, Flavia...That is very foolish and very brave of you," he said, stroking her back, his first impulse to stroke her hair foiled by not wanting to spoil her elaborate curled style, especially when it was one of her last marks of being a gentlewoman this far from true civilization. "And I'm very touched. After all that's happened, you don't know how good it feels to have...family close." As if the word had suddenly awakened him to how tightly he was holding Flavia to his chest, Marcus let up on her, letting her return to her side of the couch, suddenly embarrassed.

He had never been one for physical signs of affection, outside of sports with his son and husbandly duties with his wives and girlfriends long before that. He had never been cruel, and often was friendly, with his children; he had especially doted on Flavia, above and beyond what most other fathers would spare their daughter and youngest child. But hugs and kisses...the fact that he had done so with Flavia now was almost as embarrassing to him as how close such contact had been.

He considered his words..."'How good it feels to have family close,'" he said, repeating his last sentence, pretending nothing had just happened. "Of course you know what a gift that is," Marcus said, apologetically. He hesitated for a second, before reaching over to pat her hand on the table, almost awkwardly. Flavia had spent six years a thousand miles from her family, with more than five of them alone. He know marriage to Flavius was far from enjoyable for her; yet it had been necessary for the family, financially and politically. He might not have apologized for it, at least directly; yet he had never been happy with it, and had missed her greatly.

"Although, since you seem to adamant at staying at my side," he added with a smile and a deliberately-light tone, "I doubt we shall ever have to worry about us being separated again. I doubt any suitor would be able to pry you away from me, if neither I nor the Germani can. As to the remaining parts of our family...What can I say. Your brother was always ambitious, always intelligent. He deserved better than the life of a common soldier. I just-"

Marcus halted. He had been about to say, I just wish he had made himself something more than what he is now, but even just between the two of them, even with what had just been said, he couldn't say those words. Instead, he continued. "As to your sister, well...Elafia is happy where she is, and probably the safest of us all. When it comes down to that, I suppose that's the best most people could ask for."

Elafia was married to the propraetor of a relatively-unimportant diocese in Hispania, and thus had the best of both words: distance from the frontier, relative stability and wealth, yet not important enough to purge. The marriage had worked out well for his and Secundus' career, Elafia and her husband were pleased enough with each other, and they had given him several grandchildren. The fact that he would never see them or their parents didn't matter to Marcus; at least, no matter what happened here or to Secundus at the volatile court at Ravenna, his bloodline would continue.

He returned to the cooling food, finishing it soon, with the hovering Amfitre taking the implements away no sooner than he had finished. The day had grown dark since he had arrived and the lamps had already been lit. He had an early day tomorrow, with the arrival of the Imperial dignitaries and the meeting on the Eastern bank. He rose from his couch, stretching. And even before he could sleep, he would need to pour over documents that the tribune had handed him, give his signiture to several dozen requisitions, and that was likely just the beginning.

"I am afraid I will have to take my leave of you now, mea columba," he said, standing still before suddenly drawing her into a warm embrace under an impulse that came suddenly. "It will be a busy day tomorrow, but I'm sure I will make time to see you. Perhaps you can befriend some of the other officers' women. I'm sure they'll be as bored as you." He smiled at her, kissing her forehead, before turning for his own room.

"Goodnight, Flavia."

Marcus spent what was probably more than two hours working on his forms. Before he was halfway done, an optio arrived from the quaestor's tent, wishing to know if they were completed yet. Marcus drafted the man to help him, and once the forms had all been looked over, he dispatched the soldier to deliver them all. In them had been notices that he wished to see the command staff at headquarters first thing the next morning, to discuss the arrival of the delegates and the meeting with the Germani.

That done, the general tripped down quickly, donning woolen garments that were his protection against the cold and made him feel like the old man he had become. A quick prayer to the Christ, a kiss at the shrine of Bellona, and Marcus was in bed, nearly asleep before he hit the cloth.

Flavia Procopia Aurelia

"Goodnight Tata"

Flavia lingered a few moments longer, making sure that the slaves attended the final chores before she headed to bed. Saying her prayers to the Christ without any praticular fervour, that she reserved for Juno. Being helped by Amfitre to undress before she slid down beneath the heavy blankets on her sleeping couch. Always this horrible cold. Flavia was certain that she would remember its chilling grip of her bones even when she got back to Italia. How could anyone want to live in a country such as this. The forrests that made up for most of the scenery were depressive to behold and the climate didn't exactly cheer anyone's feelings.

Perhaps it was the reason the Germanii were so intent on pushing south? Oh well that was enough of idle speculation. Politics did not really interest her, but she knew she'd do well to make herself informed as to the situation, if nothing else it would help her understand her father's worries, and hopefully be able to alleviate some of them.

She smiled as she thought about Marcus. she had been worried that he would refuse her request to join him in Germania, after all he had more pressing matters to attend to, but he had acceeded although not without the lenghty sermons about the dangers that lay in wait in this untamed province. Further it had made her immensely happy that nothing seemed to have changed between them. Tata was still able to leave the official persona out of their relation which set him apart from most other men she'd known. Flavius had been ambitious, not as much as her brother but still, and in his world an officer was always an officer. His household had mirrored that of a military camp and there was little warmth between the spouses. Flavia had nonetheless felt it her duty to stand by him and had even wanted to go with him to Gaul, but she was of course denied that.

As for her brother, now that was a piece of work. Had he been around in Caesar's days then surely he would have been the first to run his knife through the Consul's chest. Marcus Secundus would never let anyone or anything stand in the way of his ambition. Oh well, perhaps he had changed, stranger things had been known to happen.

She awoke early the next morning, accompanied by the ever present cold. Calling the servants to make sure that breakfast would be prepared in such time that Tata would be furnished with something warm to drink and a meal before he left. It was still dark outside and the howling of the wind through the seemingly endless forrests served to underline just how desolate the place seemed.

Marcus was quiet as they had their meal, seemingly too focused on the conference with the barbarians that he had to sit through today. Once more Flavia wanted to reach out to him, but she restrained herself, not wanting him to be unduely distracted.

"I'm sure that the barbarians will come to their senses Tata, and perhaps this might even be the prelude to a lasting peace?"

She spoke softly, not knowing if her assesment of the situation was correct or not, but feeling that something needed to be said to try and lift her father's spirits. Marcus had smiled at her hopes, saying something non-committantly about hoping the same but having to prepare for the worst. He kissed her forehead and once more instructed her to be careful should anything happen, before he donned the heavy cloak and left.

Flavia was of a mind to follow Tata's advise, the wife of the tribune Livius Pontus Nerva, and herself had been exchanging some pleasantries at her arrival and the girl was nice enough, even if she was a shade parochial. She'd have Amfitre sent over with a formal invitation as she oversaw the preparation of refreshments. Even honey water seemed to be a rarity in this Godless place.

She was interrupted in her reverie by a very dertermined knock on the door. There were no guests to be expected if not...Diva Juno it could only be her brother. Sighing as she got to her feet and instructed the door to be open and that warm wine be prepared.

Like their father, Marcus Secundus had a way of projecting his presence, but where the former would do so without any particular menace, Marcus Secundus radiated it. He stood as tall as Tata, and with the same chiseled features but less weathered.

"Welcome Brother. It pleases me to see you in such good health."

Flavia began in a soft tone, even with a smile on her lips as she walked closer to take his hands in hers. "I trust your journey was not too taxing. Do you care for some wine, or perhaps something to eat? I fear that you just missed Tata, apparently he had to attend some meeting or other with representatives for the Germanii."

She sat down and motioned for wine and food to be brought out for Marcus Secundus. Although smiling she began to feel less comfortable with the situation. Flavia had hoped that things would be different now but from the sullen silence that her brother reserved for her it was evident that he still harboured the same sentiments as he'd always done.

Marcus Secundus

"Well, dies faustus, isn't it, little sister? Thank you for the welcome. I'm here in my newly appointed capacity as commander of cavalry in this diocese. As you know by now, the present situation adds some extra weight to that rank. I believe that you know my friend Deacon Laurentius, here as the eyes and ears of the bishop of Rome. And this is the eunuch Somnus, whose name notwithstanding is quite watchful indeed. He comes from the office of the Grand Chamberlain.

"Thank you regarding the wine, but I think that I shall have to remain sober for the next week or so. The difficult situation here requires. Oh, let me introduce my lovely companion Philippa, a woman wise enough to remain in her proper relation to her benefactor.

"We are most distressed at the present military reverses, as I'm sure that you can imagine. I understand that Father is undertaking a parlay with the Quadi and the Franks tomorrow. One can only hope that further disasters are avoided. May Fortune and our Lord be with him in that endeavor. Now, Somnus, I believe that you have provincial taxes to audit and traitors to ferret out. And, you, Deacon, surely have pressing ecclesiastical matters that require your attention, so that you don't need to observe the intimate familial concerns of a firstborn son and his half-sister.

"Philippa, here is some money. Go buy yourself plenty of clothes and shoes, but remember, winter clothing! It's cold out here, and I don't want you to catch your death.

"So, little sister, it has been a long time. How long? I expected to see Father, on urgent business from the Emperor, but not necessarily you as well. Shouldn't you be seeking a new husband, instead of risking your frail life in the dangerous Gallic frontier? Oh, well, it is proper that I greet you as my sister, I suppose. You ought to have remained safely in Italy, however. Plenty of noblemen impressed with your paternal ancestry, after all. With that nice dowry of yours, you could find a very wealthy and august husband, I'm sure. Elafia did, and she doesn't have half of your brains or beauty.

"I think that I will eat something, however. Do sit down with me, little Flavia. We have a few things that we can discuss as a brother and sister. My first business isn't for a few hours, followed by more military business, and, of course, the Mithraeum, if there is any here these days. Not all of us are true Christians, you know," he deliberately patronized her with his usually condescending manner, saying nothing indiscreet about military matters, but maintaining a casual and yet distant posture.

Marcus Procopius Elafius Aquila

Marcus was roused by Mago, his trusted and ancient manslave, shivering as he rose and performed his morning ablutions. At least the washing water hadn't frozen during the night, as it had on occasion back home and on campaign here. Frozen water in the morning was not only a discomfort, it was also a danger. If his water bowl froze, the Rhenus could, and then the barbarians would find nothing between them and their hated, depleted enemies but 700 meters of flat ground.

No matter how glad he was that the water wasn't solid, it was not much warmer, and Marcus briefly flirted with temptation. No. He would head to the bathhouse later in the day. No sense doing so now, as much as he wanted to be warmed up in the manner only a hypocaust could give. Not when he had so much to do, and would most assuredly return dirty, sweaty, and possibly bloody later on. There were of course other pleasant ways to be warmed in the cold of a campaign tent in the north, but he was far too old for that. He was no longer a looker, and those women who were tempted by power would find little in him to excite. Besides, he had put two wives in the grave already. He could not do so a third time.

By the time Mago had finished helping him dress, he was pleased to see that Flavia was already awake, Amfitre and her companions preparing a simple if heart meal. Honeyed bread, some cheese, and watered wine; none of it fresh, but at least warmed over a fire, and better than he had grown used to deserving. And the companionship more than made up for it.

Marcus eat quickly, a combination of the need to hurry and the wish to consume it before it cooled. Of course, it cut into his time he could spend with Flavia, but the call of duty came before family, sadly. And he would see her tonight, no doubt with her brother. A pleasant thought, one that made him even more eager to cross the river.

Flavia asked a question about the barbarians, one that showed off her innocence as well as her ability to see, or at least hope for, the best of any given situation. Marcus just had to smile. "A lasting peace...Perhaps, someday, columba, God will see fit to grant us the peace promised under the Kingdom of Heaven. Hopefully, once the barbarians see that we aren't quite as gone as they think, it could help speed the process."

It was not the first time the Empire had been on the verge of defeat. 400 years ago, the entire Germanic frontier had been eliminated, and yet that had not slowed the development of a new golden age. More recently, Aurelian, Diocletian, and Theodosius had all ended similar Germanic opinions as to the oncoming collapse of the Empire, turning defeat into resurrection. Personally, Marcus thought it much more likely a future lasting peace would mean the German occupation of the Empire. But he would certainly not say that to his little Flavia. And, just perhaps, there was some good to come of grasping on to hope.

Kissing Flavia a fond goodbye while both promising to see her later and exhorting her to take care and make friends, Marcus left his barrack, Mago in tow handling the duke's accounts. They arrived at the command tent to see the other ranking officers already there, per his orders. A courier, exhausted, was waiting with another message cylinder bearing the Emperor's seal. He opened it, not saying a word until he was done reading it.

"I have two items of interest. One. Honorius has appointed Flavius Constantius to be Master of Soldiers and given him overall military command of the Western Empire." This brought much animated discussion among the officers. Constantius had been the general who had taken Marcus under his wing following Stilicho's execution, and he had just been given Stilicho's former position, essential warlord and second only to the Emperor himself. Likely this would see fortunes rise for them, but Marcus would withhold judgment. Constantius would be far from the first man to have his opinions change with power. Marcus waited until he had judged that the talk had gone on long enough, then simply stated his second item, his voice causing his subordinates to quiet immediately.

"Second. The delegation from Ravenna is closer than we thought. They will be here likely within the hour." The happy talk dissolved to silence mixed with a few groans.

"Nerva. Have you done as I asked?" The tribune nodded in response to his commander.

"Good," Marcus said. "Scudilio." The man, the legate of the 8th Augusta and de facto second in command, stepped forward. "You will have to deal with our friends from the capitol. I am afraid I will be preoccupied with matters on the Eastern bank."

"Of course, Dux," the other general said, a smile on his face. It would be just like the Dux to prefer cavorting with enemy barbarians than the oily eunuchs and cocksuckers of the Emperor.

"Good. Cornelius, assemble your men, meet me at the docks. We leave for the Eastern bank as soon as you're loaded on." The man, Gaius Cornelius, nodded. He was the First Spear, the senior centurion of the army and almost as old as Marcus himself. A professional soldier who was serious as to his task, he had served with Marcus for over twenty years. Their relationship was strictly professional, yet Marcus would be hard pressed to imagine a day without Cornelius at his side.

Marcus strolled slowly down to the hastily-reassembled docks. The old frontier guard had included six warships specifically built for patrolling the river. They had been destroyed by the ice and the crossing five years ago. The once-large merchant fleet, which had hauled in grain from Britannia and oil from the Euxine Sea, had been reduced to a handful of decaying wrecks, which he had been forced to seize and retrofit into patrol boats - or transports, as was the case now. Cornelius was assembling the First Cohort and a number of spare centuries for transport across the river, to serve as discrete scouts and an honor guard. The barbarian request to parlay had not included an offer of companions. But neither had it refused them. If they were as sloppy with their warfare as they were with their diction, Marcus mused from the prow of the lead transport, they would prove little problem.

Romans were not a seafaring people and he was glad enough when they reached the over bank, proud to see his prized shock troops rapidly storm from the moldy decks onto the beach, forming a phalanx which he walked through to meet the Germanic chief, who was calmly watching with a detachment of his household cavalry.

"You did not come alone," the Quadi king said in wretched camp Latin, likely learned second or third hand from enslaved citizens or soldiers.

"Neither did you. Yet I forgive you for your breach of conduct." The two men paused, staring at each other silently.

"You wanted to talk with me," Marcus finally said.

"My name is Tudrus, and I lead the Quadi. I was named for the founder of my tribe. Like him, I will make us a great people once more," Marcus' enemy finally said.

"I am Marcus Procopius Elafius Aquila, Dux Germaniae," he responded, giving the same courtesy. "And did your namesake make your people great by being humiliated by the Roman Army and forced back across the river like an insolent child fooling in an adult's affairs? Or have you merely failed utterly in trying to emulate a great man forever out of your reach?"

King Tudrus stiffened, his already swarthy face turning red. "We were defeated by your warlord, Stilicho. He was a great warrior. There is no shame in defeat by one such as he, and we shall sing of him in our sagas for years to come. He was a man, and we made a treaty with him. Yet now he is dead, killed by your own king. To break our agreement would no longer bring us dishonor. In fact, some of us wish to kill your kind to avenge one so rare as he."

Still, Marcus was silent, waiting. Finally, it came.

"We know how weak you are. Two half legions. If you let us pass, we will bring no harm to you or your people." For the first time, Tudrus lost some of his bluster. "We are starving. The Huns have pushed us from our home. We know Rome is a land of sun and food. We only wish to live like men."

Marcus faltered for a second. Tudrus was only looking after his own people. He could no more bear to see them suffer than he could Flavia. Yet still, Marcus could not budge.

"No," he simply replied.

Tudrus stiffened, then looked confused, finally angry. "Is my son still alive?"

Marcus nodded.

"Good. I named him Fritigern. In honor of the Gothic warlord who killed your emperor and massacred your army at the city you call Hadrianopolis." His face assumed an absurd look of pride and defiance, as if he had scored a mark of vengeance against Marcus' refusal. "I dream that he will someday repeat that glorious day."

"An accomplishment any father might be proud to see his son perform," Marcus agreed. "And if you want to see him live to do so, you will not cross the river. The moment you do so I will send him back to you in pieces."

If Tudrus had been red before, his eyes now seemed to bulge. "You...you..." he sputtered. "You must return him! He is an honor hostage! To break convention like that...No one is that...that cruel! That uncivilized!" His guards were growing restless, and behind Marcus, Cornelius made a sign, and eight hundred elite Roman soldiers deployed their spears in a fluid, silent movement.

"War is not civilized, my friend," Marcus said, deliberately turning his back on him. "But you are wrong in thinking I lack honor. Your son will be fine under my care. And the moment one of your warriors crosses the river, you will see that Rome still has iron in her blood." For an instant, Marcus had been concerned that he had had a mistake, played his hand too hard. Yet Tudrus held back his cavalry and the Romans made an orderly, if quick, withdrawal back on their transports, and soon were away downstream, towards the Franci realm. The last Marcus saw as the fleet rowed north was Tudrus glaring at him, the desire for revenge plain.

It was an hour before they reached the shore across from Dispargum, where Clodio reigned among the Franci. The Franci were still technically allies of Rome, serving as federates, allies for hire that bolstered the frontier defenses. Of course, more and more Franci had crossed the river to settle in northern Gaul, both peacefully and by force, and Clodio's predecessor had taken the Franks across in the mass migration, only to be killed by Stilicho for his troubles. Clodio had wisely agreed to return to the east bank in return for a resumption of the treaty and Roman 'subsidies' - a word that made the coin-counters in Ravenna able to stomach bribery.

Clodio was quite eager to prove his friendship with Rome as Marcus as his party arrived at the wooden palisades around Dispargum. His shield brothers and advisors, even his wife and children were out, silently observing, though unlike the Quadi, seemingly more to impress than threaten his guests. The Franci had turned enough of a profit of their partnership with Rome to not want it to end - and perhaps knowing how, even in this day, they still relied on the friendship of Rome to keep their own enemies at bay.

However, as Marcus walked with the young king, listening to Latin that was somewhat improved over Tudrus, he could not help but think the man was trying too hard to impress upon the Dux Germaniae his loyalty to Rome.

"I was a good-faith hostage for a time at Rome. I served in your legions when I was young. I learned Latin, the True Faith, the Roman way of war," he was saying now, as they both took food and drink from a wooden table where it had been laid out. "I am not a fool as Marcomer was or Tudrus is. I respect your ways, I know that you are far from dead. I am not greedy. I am content to stay here and guard your great civilization's borderlands," Clodio said, beer frothing over his greasy blond mustache.

"I sense a 'but' coming," Marcus said, deliberately lightly. Clodio laughed.

"I see you are not a man to mince words. I respect that. Among our people, a king is not like your emperor. We rule and command in war, but in peace..." he shrugged. "We are valued as the chief advisor and granted our rule by God. Or the gods. But there are others, respected warriors and shield-brothers..." Clodio shrugged again, taking a bite from a shank of pork.

Marcus was silent, thinking. There was a measure of truth in this. Enough men in his army - up to his second, Scudilio - were Romanized Germani of varying degree, as had been Stilicho. He knew some of their traditions, more than the fools in Ravenna who decided policy did. But he also was a good judge of character, and knew when a man was lying. No doubt Clodio did value Roman allies, at least the food, gold, and prestige it brought - even now, in its twilight, the barbarians could not seriously claim that Rome was not the greatest civilization that had ever existed. But Marcus also knew that to be forever exiled from the land of milk and honey that Clodio's countrymen had taken was not easy to come to task with, not when the winters grew colder and sparser each year, the Huns drawing closer by the day.

And even after Marcomer had died, it had still taken defeat to convince Clodio to withdraw back across the river.

"My friend, I understand the quandary you must be in," Marcus said gravely, patting the man on the soldier. "It is not easy to follow the honorable path when it requires you to stand alone. I know better than anyone what you must be going through."

"Yes, indeed," Clodio agreed, sounding relieved.

"Tell me," the Roman said, eyes passing over to the younglings clustered around their mother. "That is your family, correct?"

"Yes," Clodio again answered, this time much less enthusiastically. There were several sons, but only one daughter. But that she lacked in numbers, she more than made up for in quality. Long, straight light brown - almost honey toned - hair; wide blue eyes, skin fair with a few freckles dusting her nose and cheeks...and a figure that made promises a man would kill to collect.

"You look to have a fine brood of warriors growing there. Would to God I had been blessed with more sons, but I have but one, and two daughters. And I know how much of a struggle it can be to handle the fairer sex." His voice grew lower, as if sharing a secret.

"We both know that your enemies will resent you for deciding to maintain your friendship with Rome," Marcus said seriously, as if deciding for the king that that was the choice he would follow. "And your sons will have no trouble defending themselves. Your daughter, though...we are in a similar situation. My daughter is with me, as well, against my wishes. I wish to God she were elsewhere, but she is where she is, and I dare say she is safer there than yours is here with you. Let me take her off your hands. No harm will come to her, I promise you. She will be treated as my own; in fact, I think my Flavia will like having a friend. I will keep her well fed, warm, and she will have no comfort that my own daughter does not also have. She'll probably get a better education than most, and when this is all over, I swear before Christ, as one man to another, that you will have her back safe and unharmed."

They both knew what this was, of course. Marcus had seen through Clodio's bluff. The girl would be as much of a hostage as Tudrus' son, and should the Franci invade, her fate would be the same. But he had meant every word he had said. The girl would be safe, even somewhat freer than the boy. He had doubted that the Franci would invade; with this, though, he could be as good as certain.

Clodio's face clouded and he was silent for a moment. But he, too, knew that he could not refuse, not without risking what he was trying to hard to maintain. "Fredegund," he barked, and the princess approached her father. The two had a short, furious conversation in unpalatable German, and finally, looking as angry as if she had been ordered to burn in a funeral pyre, took her place next to Marcus.

"You made the right choice, my friend," he said, grasping Clodio's hand in the Frankish manner. "One of my officers will arrive next week with the...subsidies." A few more sentences of polite assurance, and once more the Roman delegation - and Fredegund - departed a German camp, and soon were back on their ships.

The Roman camp was located upstream, and returning would take somewhat more than the hour it had taken to arrive at Dispargum. He turned towards the sullen beauty. Well, why not. It would beat the time, take his mind off the sea. Unlike the Romans, the Germani were sea wolves, and she seemed to be the only soul onboard who did not have a tinge of green. Marcus approached her.

"So. Fredegund. Do you speak Latin? Do you know why you're here?"

Flavia Procopia Aurelia

Flavia nodded politely as her brother's companions were introduced, and with only a hint of disapproval she offered a soft smile to the woman Philippa. Marcus Secundus had not changed, that much was clear. The same boisterous self-importance radiating, and seemingly convinced that the world revolved because he gave it permission to do so. It was not that it bothered her as such. Men were as vain as women although they revelled in titles and commissions rather than dresses and jewelry. What did strike at her was her brother's insistence of implicitly slandering her mother.

"You will do well to remember, Brother, that while you may not think much of my mother, Tata did. Thus to speak in such manner of her memory is in fact an affront to him as well as it is to her. I hesitate to stoop to your level but since you persist, may I point out that while our sister may not be the wittiest of women she does have a number of redeeming features that I'm sure comes more from father than from your mother. You on the other hand have none of Father's good traits and I can only assume that your disposition is a direct inheritance from Serena."

Flavia sat back, feeling the blush colour her cheeks. She knew he took perverse pleasure in trying to put her in what he felt was her proper place. Drinking deeply from her cup before meeting his gaze again.

"With all due respect, my marital status is no concern of yours, and given that you have not bothered even to write to Tata these past years I find it strange that you take such offence for seeing me here. I did receive his blessing to accompany him here and you ought rather to be pleased that one of us are honouring the obligations we have to him."

She held Marcus' gaze as she put down the cup on the table between them, once more feeling the same anger she had done when as an eight year old girl had been teased by the then sixteen year old Marcus Secudus, to the degree that she had thrown a cup at him then and having been forced to run through the villa in fear of what he would do in return. Thankfully Tata had been present, and informed the enraged Marcus that while he did not condone her behaviour, the right to chastise her was not his. Tata had given her a right talking to but she suspected that he understood, and was even sympatethic to her reasons for behaving as she had done.

Flavia could not help but to smile at the memory of the particular incident and strengthend by it she sat back as she watched her brother.

"So this Philippa who you claim is a woman who knows her standing, is she a whore then? I'm actually quite pleased to see that you have some aspects of normality about you although it is a tad sad that you have to pay for affection but then again I always had you marked down as someone who took his fancy in youths rather than women. For all your masculine pretences you do posses quite the effete anima you do."

Keeping her emerald stare firmly trained on her brother as she carried on as if their discussion had concerned mundane things rather than explicit abuse of one and other.

"Do take some more wine, I find that it gives one a healthy pallor, you do look a bit faint dear brother."

Flavia counted silently to ten, knowing that Marcus Secundus would be liable to explode and subsequently lash out at her. Already the colour was rising on his face and she could see that he was gritting his teeth. Unlike Tata, who had always strived to maintain his composurer, she recalled that her brother was likely to lose his temper. It was apparent that Marcus Secundus did his best to keep his emotions in check, and acting on a whim rather than out of a premediated strategy, Flavia softly spoke again, pushing him yet closer to the brink.

"You're patethic Marcus, never anything but a shadow of Tata. By Juno, even Flavius was a better man than you are."

She yelped as her brother got to his feet, hands balled into fists as if he was about to hit her, and judging from the look on his face, it seemed likely that he would. He was however interrupted as Amifitre annonunced that the Dux with company had arrived, and Flavia quickly got to her feet, getting on the other side of the couch as she bestowed her brother with a long stare. Turning around and gracefully making for the entry and taking as demure a position as befell her position.

"Welcome back Mea Pater. My brother has arrived and is anxious to see you." Standing tiptoe to kiss his cheek and turning to his companion. A young Germanii woman. Arching her eyebrow in a silent question as to who her presence but gracefully turning to her and smiling.

"I'm Flavia Procopia Aurelia and I bid you welcome in my father's house."

Marcus Secundus

The slights to him and to his mother were frankly quite annoyingly, and half of Marcus wanted to give Flavia a good spanking or worse to remind her of her station compared to him. As he didn't remember his mother, an affront to her was even worse than the suggestion of effeminacy about him. After all, there was some truth to the sexual slight: Secundus did like the occasional young man, though his usual preference was for women.

On the other hand, he had perhaps been too candid with a girl who couldn't handle the harsh truths of the social order. Secundus also believed in some degree of filial duty, though to him it took the form of assuming one's rightful position within a family and respecting his father in a public sense, even if he didn't condone his choices in private.

Secundus has always possessed a naturally cold and aloof manner, which to him meant greater dignity. That didn't mean that he lacked passion, however. It was simply a passion for what he deemed the right way of doing things: respect for custom, reverence for Lord Mithras, and a public facade of family concord if the real thing was lacking, for the sake of decorum.

The effeminate side was simply a consequence of his dual sexuality, though in truth in the field he assumed as hard and virile a manner as possible. That he only brought one female companion, a concubine rather than a whore, was due to the presence of youths and actual whores in any town. He liked Philippa, but strong amorous passions for anyone, male or female, were distractions from his true love: power. He wanted to take it and rule Gaul and Britannia, bring them back to order from chaos and savagery, and restore civilized values, albeit under Mithras and Sol Invictus rather than Christianity or the old religion.

Seeking a subtle revenge against his half-sister, Secundus dismissed her as he saw their father,"No need for wine, I told you. This is a time for sober men. I am here on more than a family outing. I have the Emperor's business to discuss. Run along now. Father and I have matters of State, matters pertaining to men, to converse about."

He grinned as he said this, knowing that it had a good chance of cutting as deeply as anything that she said to him about his mother and himself. Same Flavia....still believing that her mother was as socially acceptable as his. Typical woman, looking down her nose at men, but Mithras forbid that anyone should treat her as an inferior! And, of course, she had their soft-hearted father under her thumb.

"Father, I am here with the Emperor's full blessing, to report as the new commander of all cavalry in this diocese and effectively on this entire frontier. I have the seniority to outrank the other cavalry officers here. I see that I have not arrived a moment too soon. Too much lost already. Too many savages on the wrong side of the Rhine. Too many traitors and barbarian spies at work. And what did the Quadi and Franks extort from us, this time, as the price for peace? Appeasement is becoming rather hated in Ravenna, as you can imagine. Not that the present weakness of our legions leave us any practical alternative, I suppose. But Rome, or rather Ravenna, is eager for a restoration of our glory and honor in the field of arms as soon as possible," he spoke with only formal courtesy to Aquila, even as he saluted him.

Fredegund, daughter of Clodio

The chill in the air upon the deck did little to take the heat out of Fredegund's cheeks. She was seething. To be being used as she was, as a hostage, honorable or no, was beyond the pale.

"You will go and you will behave...more than simply your pride is at stake here..." Her father had all but berrated her in front of their honoured guest. Admittedly it was in German and most likely not understood but the meaning of his words and her reaction to them could not have been totally missed by the Roman. She knew he had had little choice and to be taken as a guest by the Romans was better than to be taken as something else should the war come to her family's door, but still...it was all so frustrating.

It was at times like these she cursed her sex, were she a son she could take arms and make a life for herself but as a daughter, as a woman, her feminine charms were the only weapon she posessed and having been as closely protected as she had been for the 18 years she had so far lived, it was a weapon she knew not how to wield.

She leant against the side rail of the ship slightly, her bright blue, now slightly sad, gaze drifting towards the scenery rolling past, the smooth motion of the ship barely affected her and she felt a small prickle of amusement as she watched the faces of burly soilders growing grey with nausea from it.

She became aware of eyes upon her and glanced back over her shoulder to see the Dux's gaze focused upon her. Tensing slightly, she looked back out over the water, pulling her heavy cloak closer around her figure as she heard his footsteps approaching steadily across the wooden floor.

"So. Fredegund. Do you speak Latin? Do you know why you're here?"
"I speak enough," She replied smoothly after only a moment's pause, her accent far better than her father's, but then she had had time to study while he and her brothers had spent hours outside honing their skills with the blade, practicising strategies for combat against enemies of varying kinds.

"And I would truly be a fool if I did not know how I had come to be upon your vessel," She finished, turning her icy gaze towards him, tilting her chin to look into his eyes. "My father has done what he had to, and now I must do the same..." Fredegund let her eyes drop down over his frame for an instant, noting the differences between this Roman and the men of her family's acquaintance before looking back out over the side of the ship. The slightly darker skin and thicker, wavier hair.

"As your 'guest', as I understand it, I will be restricted to your home, your property, speak to only those whom you deem suitable, go where I'm told...and do nothing otherwise. I know as well as my father the position he had placed me in, I am a hostage and the conditions of my well being and care rest upon my father's shoulders and the shoulders of his people. You may not be locking me up in a windowless room, Dux Marcus...although I do not know you any better than you know me...that may well be the fate that awaits me...regardless, let's not pretend that I am anything other than your prisoner, for that is what I am, and what I will be until you return me to my home...such games certainly do not become princesses...or men of your standing..."

She finished bluntly, letting her words hang in the air between them for a moment or two. Refraining from adding that if 'prisoner' was to be her role, then attempting to escape should be her duty, and having grown up with several older brothers, she had learnt more tricks than most young princesses had. She wouldn't need to tell him, he would find out soon enough, and why spoil the only potential amusement she could see her having during her stay with the Romans.

"You are faring better than your crew I think, Dux Marcus..." She added with something of a smile flitting across her lips. "You at least look more green than the gray colouring most of your men...but I suppose that is to be expected..." She did not attempt to hide the slight laugh that entered her voice as she poked, albeit mild, fun at the all conquering Romans who it seemed lost most of their bravado when not on dry land.

The rest of the journey passed uneventfully, Fredegund's mind focused on noting landmarks with which she might plot her return to her family. Soon enough they arrived at the house that was to be her 'home'.
The air was alive with tension when they entered and undeniable to Fredegund, despite any attempt the young woman who approached the Dux made to smooth it over. The similarity between them identified her as his daughter before she spoke and Fredegund returned her smile and words with a polite bow of her head and a slight curtsey before adding quietly.
"I thank you for your welcome, I am Fredegund, daughter of Clodio...you have a beautiful home..." She had barely given her surroundings a glance but her upbringing demanded she be curteous.

Marcus Procopius Elafius Aquila

Marcus let a smile come to his face as the defiant young thing before him so contemptuously spat out her view of her role as 'guest.' He remained silent the entire tirade, the same smile on his mouth. He waited for a few seconds once she was finished, waiting to see if anything more was forthcoming before replying.

"Excellent," he said happily. "I cannot tell you how glad I am that you understand the truth of the matter. It will help immensely that we won't have to keep up a charade, either one of us. I have been on this end of the honor-hostage holding before, and it was quite tiring." He reexamined the barbarian, as if just noticing a hidden quality to her. "It may be that it will not be as bad as you think. With a tongue like that, I think you might get along well with my daughter."

Marcus had considered billing her with Fritigern, but this exchange had made him reconsider. He wouldn't make any attempt to hide the other honor-hostage from her, but keeping them together seemed like a bad idea. The boy was dull but strong. Add it to this one's looks and wits and things might become a shade too unpredictable.

As he had decided this, Fredegund had gone on to offer her insight into the health of his crew while seabound. As insults went, it was far from devastating, but it showed her spirits were far from dulled by the prospect of staying with her ancestral enemies. Good again, although Marcus could not help himself with a retort of his own.

"True, we Romans never got the hang of sea combat that your people have. But then again, your people never got the hang of land combat that we do. Otherwise, how could a mere shadow of a legion be enough to frighten several entire tribes of yours into cowering on the Eastern bank?" His smile was both congenial and condescending.

"I think my friend Clodio made a good choice in entrusting you to Roman care. With some education, clothes, manners, and religion, we might civilize you yet. You would make quite a formidable Roman matron. Who knows, perhaps you and some officer of mine will take a fancy to each other and you will decide that you would rather stay in civilization. Such a thing has, after all, been known to happen to honor-hostages in the past."

It was a mild warning more than a threat. He had made an oath to Clodio, and intended to keep it. Yet, if she did become too much of a hassle...in these days of politics and deceit, there were more ways than crude slavery to keep an attractive young barbarian princess from her people.

Marcus left Fredegund there to ruminate on that, going over to discuss matters with Cornelius as two legionaries discretely moved up, standing watch on either side of her.

As soon as the rickety fleet moved up to dock at the camp, Tribune Nerva hurried up to the general. "Sir," he said breathless. "The dispatch from Ravenna is here."

"I expected as much," Marcus said, ignoring Nerva's stare at the barbarian who was being 'helped' off the ship by her legionary 'escort.' "Has Scudilio kept them occupied?"

"That's the thing, Sir..." Nerva went on, hurrying to keep up with his dux after getting over the shock of the beauty. "They ignored him completely. They went to see...Well, your home, Sir. The chief of them is still there." The tribune was too polite to ask if the rumors were true, that was it really the Dux's son?

Marcus paused, angry at the breach of protocol. Grunting, he continued. "Very well. Tell Scudilio that the subsidies to the Franci are to resume, and that the Quadi hostage will be staying with us indefinitely. Also tell him that we are blessed with the daughter of King Clodio."

"Yes, Sir," Nerva said. "But with all due respect-"

"I am going to meet with the head of the Imperial delegation. You have your orders, Nerva, please carry them out."

Nerva saluted and hurried off to the command tent, as Marcus gestured for the soldiers surrounding Fredegund to continue with him to his home. When they arrived, they spread out, stationed at the door and each window. Wordlessly, Marcus beckoned for her to enter after him - as if she had a choice - and, steeling himself for the confrontation, stepped into the lion's den.

Secundus was standing across the room, looking as angry as ever, with a remarkably-innocent looking Flavia ready to welcome him and kiss him on the cheek, the two girls introducing themselves.

"Thank you, Flavia, my dear. Yes, Nerva told me that Secundus had arrived. Hello, son. It's good to see you," he said without any particular rancor, before turning his attention back to the women for a second.

"Flavia, Fredegund is the daughter of the Frankish king. Clodio has decided that, the situation being what it is, she is not safe among his people for the time being, and has entrusted her care to me for the foreseeable future, as an honored guest of the Roman state. Perhaps you would be so kind as to keep our guest distracted while your brother and I speak? Don't worry, I'm sure it will not be long, and I will see you shortly."

He smiled, belying the implicit dismissal of Flavia and the barbarian. He hoped she would not take it too hard. It wasn't that Marcus didn't want Flavia here while he discussed his affairs with Secundus; instead, he didn't want Fredegund to witness any dissension within his family or the ranking Romans, and asking Flavia to show her around was the least obvious way of dismissing her. When the two girls were gone, Marcus turned his hard gaze upon Secundus.

"It is good to see you again, my boy. It is a shame that it took these circumstances to bring us back together. Although I suppose I am one to talk. The campaign field has left me little time to correspond. I'm sure the situation in Ravenna is similar for you, so do not worry over apologizing for your lack of communication." Marcus' voice was warm as he said it, which made the criticism all the more cutting. He helped himself to Flavia's wine as he listened to Secundus explain why he was here. When the boy was done, Marcus stared at him for a second.

"Mago," he said to the slave finally. "My commission, please." In seconds, the slave had handed the cylinder to his master.

"This, Secundus, is my writ of appointment as Dux Germaniae. It is signed by both Honorius and Constantius who, as you might have heard, has just been made the military master of the West. It grants me supreme command over all forces within the frontier jurisdiction. Now. I have no problem in you holding a cavalry command of your own, reporting directly to me. Yet you are mistaken, my boy, if you think that you will be taking even one horse or one officer from my existing command. I will take this issue to Constantius if you wish to press it, but as the ranking officer with the blessing of our Imperial commanders, my word is final.

"Second." Marcus' face became a bit sad, as if Secundus had failed him. "It was a serious breach of protocol not to report to the commanding officer of the camp as soon as you arrived. Certainly the sentries told your party that I was absent and that Legate Scudilio would meet you. Yet you ignored him to visit your sister. With no disrespect intended, my son, you are a politician, not a soldier. Giving you a cavalry command was a decision made by those who do not understand war - and, if I may say so, by those who initiated the use of subsidies and federates that you just decried. If you wish to help the war effort, I could have more use of you as a diplomat. As it turns out, the Quadi squeezed nothing from us. Their king's son is a hostage of mine and will remain so. The Franci, however, are another matter. I hold their king's daughter, yet he has many sons. The subsidies to them will continue. If you wish, you can go with them next week when they are delivered to the Frankish camp. Perhaps your silver tongue will save Rome a few sestercii."

Marcus smiled, walking up to his son, patting him on the shoulder. "It is good to see you again. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to the billeting of our young princess. I will be holding a staff meeting at dusk. I will expect you and your party to be there so proper introductions can be made. And I need not tell you that until you find lodgings, my house is yours. Now, until later, may the grace of God be with you." The sentiment was warm, even if Marcus was more than aware his son was no Christian.

With that, he left Secundus, looking for his daughter and her guest.

Marcus Secundus

"Well, it seems that Father, for all of his wisdom, has failed to grasp the realities of my close ties at court. My appointment was as commander de jure of cavalry in this diocese and de facto of all cavalry on the frontier. Perhaps, then, this official letter from the Emperor to Father will simply have to await him, with a fuller explanation of my new duties. Constantius has the supreme command, but not even he can overrule the Augustus.

"Well, friends, until such a formal conference, I have to take my leave of my inferiors. Oh, and do feel free to address me under my new title of Count Secundus. Gratefully awarded by the Emperor himself. It pays to be on good terms with the praetorian prefect of Italy, who just happens to know the Emperor very well indeed. Not to mention the commander of the imperial household troops.

"Oh, I forgot that my sister and I haven't dined together. Perhaps she'd care to visit me at the new villa that I just bought through my agents. I gather that tata didn't know about that. Oh, here's Somnus and Laurentius. Come on, friends, I have to find my concubine, whose shopping errand has perhaps been extended too much. Too much girlish enthusiasm for a woman of twenty, at times, but a charming lady who knows her place in the social order, at least. Doesn't try to worm her way into marriage by withholding sexual favors until vows are spoken. Far too many social climbers among women, I'm afraid," Secundus declared to any officers still in the room, before departing.

"Oh, wait, Somnus, perhaps you can deliver the official edict of my imperial appointment to my father. He is a bit diverted, I'm afraid, and didn't receive all of my news. The Emperor is very concerned at the lack of effective cavalry tactics of late, and sent me to help rejuvenate the mounted corps of our legions. I'm sure that you'd like to meet my illustrious and noble father in person, at last. He's quite an admirable, if a bit too uxorious at times."

Secundus was very annoyed, in fact, to be simply scolded and then dismissed by his father. It was no part of his plan to be treated as simply another subordinate. His understanding, worked out with the praetorian prefect, the commander of the household troops, and the Emperor, was that he was to have a largely independent cavalry command...one with which he could wage a kind of scorched earth policy against any rebellious tribes. To have his father treat him as simply another officer, having to report to the second-in-command, was rather revolting, to put it mildly.

Oh, well...he had influence enough to push through an appointment in Ravenna, but apparently the chain of command had broken down....all the more reason to secure a proper military force of his own and begin gaining supporters for a move toward a separate kingdom. He had a private understanding with a few associates in high places that a Gaul allied to, but separate from, the Empire, would be preferable to a chaotic and barbaric Gaul.

Time was running out to push for his initiative....and he had to acquire troops that would be directly loyal to him. Gauls, mostly. Fierce, patriotic, and financially strapped. And Secundus had amassed a fortune for precisely this end. A private cavalry force, not costing the State a thing, but nominally loyal to the Emperor...for now.

Flavia Procopia Aurelia

"I greet you Fredegund, daughter of Clodio."

Flavia extended her soft hands to take those of the Germanii woman's in hers. Her fears that the girl, would have been a possible mistress of her father's but the way she carried herself belied such. Feeling how the firm grip and slightly calloused hands as she squeezed her hands in greeting before making a short reverence to Marcus Procopius.

"I'd be happy to show Fredegund around Tata and I'm sure that" here Flavia looked directly at Fredegund and smiled "that we will become great friends."

Marcus Procopius nodded solemenly as he proceeded to attend to Marcus Secundus leaving Flavia and Fredegund on their own. Giving the girl a look over, Flavia found that she was slightly taller than she was and furthermore more generously endowed. The sullen look did nothing to diminish the beauty of her face, not that she couldn't benefit from a few hints about the application of proper make-up but still. Flavia had always been considered beautiful but she doubted that any man, given the choice would prefer her to the Germanii standing before her.

"I think that we ought to get you a proper dress my dear Fredegund, not that i don't approve of the Germanii fashion, but since you are to lodge with us it would be more suitable for you to dress according to Roman custom."

Flavia still held on to her hands as she led her through the villa to her makeshift chambers. She had not been able to bring even half of her wardrobe but still, the dresses that she had with her far surpassed the simple gown that Fredegund was wearing. "If you want me to I'll have Amifitre help you don it." Seeing the utterly forlorn look on the younger, at least that was what Flavia thought of her new acquanitance, face she pulled her to her in what she hoped would be a sisterly embrace.

"I don't know the reasons as to why you are to stay with us but know this, I will be your friend and confidant if you let me. Truth to tell I would like to have a friend here."

Withdrawing from the embrace and sitting down on her sleeping couch as she met the icy stare of Fredegund. "Perhaps I shouldn't tell you this but my brother, yes that is Marcus Secundus does not approve of me nor does most of the people who wield some influence at court. It's of no consequence of course, I don't care what they say or think. I'm my father's daughter as surely you are yours, and in a sense that makes us sisters doesn't it?"

Flavia felt that perhaps she had spoken too openly with the Germanii but there was something about her that merited an honest approach. Fredegund stood proud and even though she was pleasent enough it was obvious that she did not relish the idea of having to stay with the Aquinas.

"Do tell me Fredegund, and do not feel you need to be constrained by protocoll and suchlike, are you one of the honour hostages? Do know that my father is an honourable man and he would never do anything to harm you. Nor would he let any ills befall you. And as I said earlier, I promise you that I will be your friend and sister for as long as you stay with us."

Flavia smiled once more, perhaps a shade uncertainly. She desperatly wanted the Germanii woman to approve of her as well as confide in her. For all her haughty manners Flavia was not used to company nor had she ever been in the position where she could actually help someone else.

"I'll let you in on a secret" She smiled conspiratorically as she motioned for Fredegund to take a seat next to her on the sleeping couch. "Although I've never been a honour hostage I can wholly sympathise with what you are going through. When I was thirteen I was married to a man named Flavius, I didn't want to of course, by Juno's grace, I was no more than a child but it did serve to strenghten my father's position. I hated every minute of my marriage, even though my husband was away on campaigns with the army for most of the time."

Reaching out to take Fredegund's hand in hers. "So I appreciate if you're not best pleased but hopefully your stay here will strenghten the position of your father and perhaps you will make a new friend as well."

Flavia smiled again as she squeezed the Germanii woman's hand anew. Hoping she would come to share her own hopes as to her stay with the Aquinas.

Fredegund, daughter of Clodio

Fredegund allowed herself to be led away, the exchange between father and daughter had a subtext that was not lost on her but she refrained from comment or from showing her recognition on her face. It was obvious this family was as honorable as any and wished to keep their family business private, as it should be. She respected that.

"I think that we ought to get you a proper dress my dear Fredegund, not that i don't approve of the Germanii fashion, but since you are to lodge with us it would be more suitable for you to dress according to Roman custom."
"I shall bow to your knowledge on such matters," Fredegund replied smoothly, the older girl's subtle inspection of her form hadn't gone un-noticed either and to her surprise, she thought she had seen a flash of something, concern, a sense of being threatened, jealousy, in the Roman girl's eyes for the briefest of moments when they had first been introduced.

Fredegund frowned slightly when shown one of the robes Flavia intended for her to wear. There seemed to be twice as much fabric as was in her current clothing, not to mention the styling of it was almost entirely beyond her comprehension.
"If you want me to I'll have Amifitre help you don it."
"I think that might be for the best..." Fredegund managed to admit before finding herself in the arms of the dark haired Roman. The embrace was friendly, almost kindred in it's warmth. She tried to relax but her natural guard would not be lowered so easily.

"I don't know the reasons as to why you are to stay with us but know this, I will be your friend and confidant if you let me. Truth to tell I would like to have a friend here."
"Thank you..." Fredegund replied shortly as Flavia moved to sit, leaving her feeling more than a little awkward. It was not in the nature of her people to become so familiar with people so quickly, even if they were as apparently easy going as this daughter of Rome appeared to be.

"Perhaps I shouldn't tell you this but my brother, yes that is Marcus Secundus does not approve of me nor does most of the people who wield some influence at court. It's of no consequence of course, I don't care what they say or think. I'm my father's daughter as surely you are yours, and in a sense that makes us sisters doesn't it?"
"Men think in ways we are not meant to understand, I have three brothers and most of the time I wonder that they might even be on the same plain as I...that we even notice this difference and make an attempt to understand it obviously places us in a position of consternation from the male perspective..." Fredegund replied curtly before she could stop herself, smiling almost nervously after her words. Cursing herself inside that she was already begun dropping her guard.

"Do tell me Fredegund, and do not feel you need to be constrained by protocoll and suchlike, are you one of the honour hostages? Do know that my father is an honourable man and he would never do anything to harm you. Nor would he let any ills befall you. And as I said earlier, I promise you that I will be your friend and sister for as long as you stay with us."
"I am, I am an honour hostage as you put it..." Fredegund's voice became a little tighter, the words of her father repeating in her mind. "I am here to make sure my father and his people do as Rome wants...and while it is a role I am more than reluctant to play, I must give thanks that I have been placed with a family such as yours, whose sense of honour is obvious..." Fredegund bowed her head slightly.

"I'll let you in on a secret"
One of Fredegund's eyebrows arched with unstoppable intrigue as she approached Flavia and sat beside her.
"Although I've never been a honour hostage I can wholly sympathise with what you are going through. When I was thirteen I was married to a man named Flavius, I didn't want to of course, by Juno's grace, I was no more than a child but it did serve to strenghten my father's position. I hated every minute of my marriage, even though my husband was away on campaigns with the army for most of the time."
"I...I cannot imagine such a thing..." Fredegund was genuinely stunned. She knew of such marriages and felt more than a little relieved her own family hadn't seen fit to organise such an arrangement for her.

"So I appreciate if you're not best pleased but hopefully your stay here will strengthen the position of your father and perhaps you will make a new friend as well."
"I feel sure that I shall..." Fredegund smiled, for the first time, genuinely. Her blue eyes growing warm and the action that curved her lips brightened her face entirely. She squeezed the Roman girl's hands in response to the delicate fingers pressing her own palms.

"Now then...perhaps you could help me with this robe..." Fredegund smiled a little wider, moving to pick up the robe Flavia had selected for her, holding it unwittingly upside down and eyeing it almost suspiciously. "...For I am certain that without assistance this garment might prove to be my downfall..." She wasn't sure why she felt so calm with this practical stranger but Flavia had been correct in that they had both been used to further the causes of their families over their own wishes. Besides which, a friend was always a useful thing to have to hand.

Flavia Procopia Aurelia

Flavia couldn't help but giggle as she watched Fredegund struggle with the garment presented to her. The way the Germanii woman held the dress bespoke the fact that she was far from familiar with the likes of the exquisite Roman garment. Getting to her feet and gently taking the dress from her hands and helping her put it on the right way.

"I'll call Amfitre to fetch a few pins to fasten it, and I suppose, given the awful cold of this Godless country, you'll do well to use a shawl as well. Not that you want to hide that beautiful hair of yours but still."

She couldn't help but run her fingers through the thick honey coloured mane of Fredegund's, marvelling at the softness and the texture. Flavia had always been proud of her own curls but she felt that Fredegund was truely more blessed than she was. She could not think that any man in his right mind would be able to resist the Germanii woman.

Putting the pins in place and looking critically at her work. "The dress needs to be taken out somewhat given that you are more blessed by both Juno and Venus than I am" Flavia smiled mischeviously, indicating Fredegund's ample bosom not constrained within the tight confines of the dress. "I'll have Amifitre put your hair up if you want to." She nodded seemingly pleased with the result. "Mother Juno would be green with envy had she seen you dearest sister."

It was true, the Germanii woman looked absolutely stunning in the Roman dress even though it was a size or so too small for her, and even though she maintained somewhat of her icy appearence, it only served to underline the girl's beauty. Not able to restrain herself, Flavia moved to embrace her again, running her hands down her back in what she hoped would be interpreted as a consoling gesture.

"I know that we are both being played as pawns to further the causes of our families, and while our peoples might end up being enemies in time, I swear to you here and now, Fredegund, that I Flavia of the Aurelii will always consider you my sister and never harbour any ill feelings neither to you nor your people."

She proceeded to kiss the Germanii woman's cheeks before taking a step back and once more looking her over. "You look absolutely stunning Fredegund, you truely are beautiful but then again it takes a certain amount of poise to carry yourself in the way you are. I'm so very happy that you have joined us."

Flavia proceeded to instruct Amfitre to get the dresses back in the chest and generally fussing over the state of her room. "We need to get you properly settled in as well. Amifitre, be a dear and make sure that our guest, Princess Fredegund is given a proper enough accomodation."

The bodyslave sighed inwardly as she nodded to her mistress and quietly left the room. Even though Marcus Procopius occupied one of the largest houses it would still be crammed given that Marcus Secundus would most likely be lodging with them as well.

The bedding arrangements of the Aquinas household was of no concern of Flavia right at the moment. She was thoroughly enjoying having the Germanii girl as her guest and hopefully as her friend. For all her sullen appearence, Flavia thought she could detect a humorous side to the girl and that appealed to her greatly. In a way Flavia could recognise the same ironic outlook on the world that she herself applied in order to handle the ills that the world had thrown at her, and she was further most impressed how dignifying hte Germanii princess was, even though she was effectively a hostage of her father's.

They chatted about mundane things until they were interrupted by Marcus Procopius who seemed genuinely pleased by the two of them engaged in conference. Getting to her feet Flavia greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and even bestowed a hug on him. Perhaps it was improper but then again it would probably serve to underline to Fredegund that Marcus Precopius was indeed a good and honourable man. She felt his hands on her back for a moment before he disentangled himself and stood back to address them both, telling them that it pleased him that they had struck up a rapport.

The day progressed with Flavia overseeing the preparations for dinner as well as giving Fredegund a basic tution of how to keep the slaves in line. As dawn fell the slaves under Amiftre's stern command had set the table and thus Marcus Procopius, Marcus Secundus, Flavia, Fredegund and Philippa could sit down to enjoy what the Aquina household could muster.

Needless to say the presence of Philippa did irk Flavia but she kept her tongue in check, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that was maintained. Still she couldn't help but feel agitated by Marcus Secundus presence and his self-importance and smugness and as the slaves cleared away the meal and after sha had hugged Fredegund goodnight and followed her to her lodgings she quietly tiptoed to Marcus Procopius champer. Quietly knocking on the door and receiving a muffled grunt in response to her wordless question before entering.

Her father lay in bed, a candle lit and reading through yet another scroll. He looked at her, silently asking why she had ventured to see him but not dismissing her outright.

"I'm sorry Tata but..."

The memories of her brother's words regarding her mother welled up in her and she couldn't help but feeling tears burn in the corners of her eyes. Clasping her hand to her mouth trying to stifle the sobs that raked her. Moving quietly to Marcus' bed and laying down, resting her head on his chest as she cried, feeling his hands awkwardly pat her back and even run his fingers through her hair.

"I'm so sorry I oughtn't behave like this but I'm so very saddened."

She wrapped her slender arms around him as yet another fit of sobs caused her to tremble, her hot tears rolling down her cheeks to pool on his naked chest. He gently pulled her closer, whispering to her much like he had done when she'd been a child until finally the worst crisis had passed. Looking into his eyes moving closer. The act was not premediated but rather governed by the longing for acceptance and comfort. Having been little more than a child when entering wedlock, Flavia resorted to the one thing she knew would grant her the comfort of a man, thusly he lips found his, hesitantly at first but slowly becoming more passionate a kiss.

Marcus Secundus

Having recruited a few officers for a private army of sorts (now more necessary than ever, given his father's refusal to part with even a single horse or rider, thus leaving Secundus a commander without any troops), Secundus set off to his villa, determined to surprise everyone.

The last thing that he wanted was to actually spend the night in the same house as that upstart of a sister of his. He particularly resented the looks that he got from her when she saw his concubine, not to mention her remarks about his sexual leanings. What he did and whom he bedded was no business of hers...or "no concern" of hers, as she put it to him about her marriage. He had at least as much right to determine his conduct in matters of sexual congress as his younger sister did, if not more.

He chose a concubine rather than a wife because he had no desire to bed a woman who might have any legal claim on him, and because if he wanted to take a bride later, he didn't want to have to go through the onerous process of divorce. Concubines could be dismissed. Wives had to be divorced. It was much more complex and involved more bureaucratic, legalistic issues. The only reason that he would marry was for political advantage, not for love or lust. Those things were why men had concubines, mistresses, and whores. That Philippa was the first of these, and not the other two, was due to her sharing a residence with him.

If he wanted to marry for affection or lust, he'd probably wed her....but he didn't believe in marrying his social inferiors. Besides, only power justified the annoyances of marriage. Wives tended to expect more position or authority in the household, and that he would share with none.

Well, on to supper. A quick conference with his father, and then time to let the message from the Emperor sink in....while Secundus ate separately at his own villa. If he was to be his own man, Marcus couldn't live under his father's roof. Besides, his political and religious issues required privacy, not to mention his military tactics and recruiting. Evidently, his father couldn't be trusted or confided, let alone his sister. Discretion and secrecy meant that he had to keep such things to himself and his colleagues.

And his friends from Rome and Ravenna were quite pleased to have such a wealthy patron/friend. It wouldn't hurt him to be generous, when his whole strategy lay in building an alliance of friendly factions at court...to help advance his political and military careers.

He had found that being a Mithraist was more useful than being pagan or a Christian, in fact. He could speak on much the same terms and language as a Christian, and as long as he didn't openly confess his true beliefs, they could pretend that they didn't know. Pagans would know his reputation and find him a potential friend and protector. Christians would tend to respect his principles, if only grudgingly, and find him a necessary liaison with that small minority of Mithraists who still had influence in the legions. And, of course, his brethren were obliged to back him, unless he did something plainly wrong.

So he was quite annoyed that the villa wasn't ready on schedule, and he had to endure his sister's prudish company after all. Was she really that offended by his refusal to wed Philippa, or was it too much of a silent reproof of her mother's greed and ambition? He had to wonder why she was such a prig sometimes. Could just be Christian lunacy, of course. What could be expected from a religion that had such a clearly harsh and impractical view of sexual congress outside of matrimony? That would certainly explain why she thought her mother right to wed above her station. But it wouldn't change his mind, he thought, as he ate his food and continued his refusal to drink any wine.

And for his father, the news that his son was a count with a special command from the Emperor himself might provoke some consternation, albeit perhaps mixed with some pride in his son's influence and ambitions.

After supper, Secundus headed back to his villa, to finally discover that it was prepared for him. Some good news at last! He promptly set up his household with the first of his guards, servants, and friends. And, of course, his lovely companion Philippa, an African woman with a good dose of Punic blood in her.

Marcus Secundus (continued for the evening)

Secundus thoroughly enjoyed his private conference with Laurentius and Somnus, even if he had to make sure that the former was well provided with youths later. Typical cleric, he thought. Full of the same "vices" that they decried in others. So be it. Well, as long as he supplied the deacon with plenty of sexual companions, he couldn't complain in fairness or gratitude with regard to Secundus coupling with his concubine.

Not even when Secundus retired to the same bedchamber that night. Somnus, of course, needed no sexual release, being a eunuch. Laurentius, however, indulged himself to his heart's content, in both wine and young men.

The plots safely hatched, Secundus fully delighted in the delightful breasts and beautiful cunnus of his favorite companion. However, it was her bottom that pleased him most, as it waved at him while he plundered her sex. He had tried buggery now and then, but he mostly just enjoyed taking her womanly part and admiring her buttocks as he entered her cunt from behind. The trouble with buggering a woman, he had found, was that unless she was clean, it wasn't worth it very often. It was tight and pleasant, but he had to wipe himself afterward.

So he mostly left that to when he took a youth. Some interest in young men was a tradition in the cavalry, after all. Not that he indulged it often, however. Women were just prettier and, frankly, cleaner. That was the problem with buggery....he hated to dirty himself too often. So it was best to keep his penetrations mostly to cunnus and mouth, unless he was sure that the bedfellow in question was sanitary.

After half an hour of foreplay and preparation, mostly to reward her subservience to him today and make the act more enjoyable overall, he slid into her sex...fully reveling in her dark buttocks and pink cunnus. It was one of her chief attractions...the swarthy complexion that set her apart in this region.

Marcus Procopius Elafius Aquila

Marcus left the meeting with Secundus with a bitter taste in his mouth. Uncomfortably like what he had heard a certain poison used in 'noble deaths' tasted like in those who only had a few seconds left to savor it. Well, more than a few seconds had passed since he had left Secundus, but Marcus was now, more than ever, convinced that his son was deadly - and possibly, not just to him or the frontier command. The boy's attitude had been strange, his claim of being given cavalry command disturbing. The boy had no military training at all, and cavalry was not an easy military art to master.

Him being appointed as a simple tribune of cavalry would have been stupid enough - yes there was no other word for it. But him being placed in absolute command of cavalry for an entire diocese...Well, to put it bluntly, that smelled of Honorius through and through. The emperor was neither a great helmsman of state, nor a great soldier; he was, however, the emperor, and he liked to look out for those who flattered him at court. A dangerous combination it had proved in the past, and no doubt would prove once more. Marcus could not disobey a direct order of the emperor, nor could he hope to match Secundus' influence with him. Yet, he felt there was plenty of ambiguity in the orders and his response to the boy had not been out of line.

He had meant what he had said, that he would fight it if need be. And while Secundus had Honorius, Marcus had Constantius. The general had been close to the emperor ever since Stilicho's death, and had continued to grow in influence; the fact that he was now Master of Soldiers boded well for the army, and he was certain that Constantius would back him in this. Still, such deliberations would take months, likely, and so Marcus decided it was one of the few of his many concerns that he could file away for the present. The best remedy would be to keep Secundus busy. The boy wanted to play soldier? Marcus smiled. He would be only too happy to oblige. And perhaps he would turn his son into a man while he was at it.

His next stop was to see how his daughter was doing with their guest. As he entered Flavia's room, catching them in the middle of an animated conversation, Marcus paused, doing a double-take at the transformation that Fredegund had undergone. Flavia came up to kiss and hug him, and once more, Marcus returned it. It was something more than reflex this time; it was as if, after going through the draining experience of talking with Secundus, he had been left empty, and was drawing sustenance from the close contact with the one person left alive that Marcus knew loved him, and that he loved in return. He let it last for a moment, savoring it, before breaking it, not wanting to display too much of a scene before the Germani, whom he now addressed.

"Look at you," he said appreciatively, noting her Roman dress and Roman hairstyle, both, he assumed, courtesy of Flavia. "I told you we would make a Roman matron of you, and it looks as if you are halfway there. I also told you you would get along well with my daughter. From the conversation I heard, I sense I wasn't wrong about that, either. Hopefully the fact I was right about those two things will help convince you that I was not lying about the rest of what I promised you, Fredegund."

He rubbed a hand through his short grey-brown hair, before continuing. "I'm glad you two appear to be getting along, because it seems that you will be spending more time with each other. Things have been rather hectic at late for me to arrange separate lodgings for you, Fredegund, and especially as I don't know if Secundus will be staying with us-" he managed to avoid any trace of the emotions he felt at that sentence "-I am afraid, Flavia, that at least for the moment, she will have to sleep in your bed. The only other options would be pairing one of you with Secundus, myself, or the slaves, neither of which would be proper. Besides, I am sure with nights as cold as they are here, with Flavia at least used to the climate of Our Sea, she will welcome an additional body's heat."

He was too politic to add that Fredegund staying in his house, especially with another person, would help ensure that she did not get lost, so to speak, especially as he had doubled the number of guards normally stationed around the house in preparation for the girl's stay. And if the other officers thought he was taking improper action from his position as host, well...let them think that. For most of them, it would just serve as another useful reminder of his status as commander.

Marcus stayed to chat with the women for a few more minutes, asking that Flavia teach her friend to write; it would be useful if, eventually, she would be able to send letters to Clodio every month with the subsidies. Before taking his leave, Flavia only allowing him to do so after wrenching a promise to return for dinner from him, which he gave with feigned resignation. From the housing, he went to the command tent, where Scudilio and Rufus, the legate of the 2nd Flavians, the tribunes Flavius and Nerva and the other officers, were all in an uproar. Only Cornelius, the iron-faced First Spear, was as silent and unmoved as the Pillars of Hercules. Scudilio held up a scroll of parchment.

"Have you seen this, Sir?" he asked. "That disgusting eunuch handed it over to us earlier. 'Count Secundus'? Command of cavalry for the diocese? Oversight of our activities and dislike of the subsidies policy that they forced on the army? Are they mad or just amnesiac?"

"Calm yourself, Scudilio. And remember that the orders you criticize are signed by our emperor himself. That goes for the rest of you. Yes, I am aware of the orders. And let me also remind you that both the Emperor and the Master of Soldiers have appointed me unquestioned supreme commander of the frontier." Marcus repeated to them the same orders he had given Secundus, that the boy was free to form his own unit and report solely to the Dux, but was forbidden any horses, soldiers, or supplies from the frontier army that was Marcus' command. As he finished, Rufus nodded, butting in.

"That would explain what I've heard from the camp, Sir. Durio came back from a scouting expedition, training some new recruits. Said men from the delegation, that would be from Count Secundus, Sir, were recruiting from the town. Mostly old veterans, or Vandal and Franci federates, or the local auxilia. I...I heard he also has a number of Treveri." Rufus looked troubled, his face almost as the color as the hair that had given him his name. And for good reason. The Treveri were a Gallo-Roman people that lived just across the provincial border in Gaul, technically outside Marcus' jurisdiction. They were master horse breeders, and had traditionally provided both horses and riders for the frontier army for half a millennium. If Secundus was tapping them, the army could be bled dry of its most valuable commodity, and there might be nothing he could do about it.

At least, nothing official. "That is indeed...troubling news," Marcus admitted. "But rest assured, I will get to the bottom of it and set it right. I will have a talk with the Count-" he vowed never to refer to Secundus as his son again in public "-and write letters to the prefect of Gaul, the curator of Treverorum, and the Master of Soldiers. However, for now, we will have to make do. Oh, and on a related note, I believe the Count had expressed an interest in seeing to a reformation of our subsidies program. To that end, I feel it appropriate that he get a...practical lesson in it. When the subsidies to the Franci next week, be sure he goes with them." Marcus' smile was returned by the rest of the staff. Already, he was looking forward to a day without the boy.

The next hour or so consisted of Marcus discussing plans with his officers for the final deployment of the two legions across the most sensitive areas of the river, along with finalizations for battle and requisitioning of supplies, the latter of which he attended to after the meeting broke up. He continued at it until the light began to fade, at which point the ever-present Mago reminded him of his dinner engagement. Flavia and Fredegund were of course already there, with Amfitre and the rest of the staff having outdone themselves with a meal truly fit for a dux, a comes, and a barbarian princess: beef and hares steepled in garlic and Indian pepper, buttered mullus fish, mushrooms and lentils, and pickled cabbage. After a period, they finally began to eat, growing tired of waiting for Secundus.

The man finally arrived later, with his African whore who Marcus had not met earlier. The fact his son had such a woman was not anywhere near as annoying as the fact that he brought her to such a dinner; however, thankfully, Marcus did not have to deal with her for long, as both of them stayed only for a few minutes, but not before helping themselves to the finer pieces of hare. Marcus did not even have time to question him over the Treveri issue; no matter, of course, in retrospect. He didn't want to spoil such a lovely dinner with talk that would just make him angry, discredit him before his guest, and end up with nothing for that trouble.

He finished earlier than the women, as was often the case when he had been married, and after noting Fredegund's reactions to what were likely her first (and possibly would be her most lavish, unfortunately) Roman meal, he excused himself, heading to the bathhouse for a regrettably-late washing. The lessening light necessitated that it be done under the light of lamps, an interesting experience and one that he wished he had someone to share it with. The warm water helped chase away the Germanic cold, although returning across camp to his house was much less enjoyable. He shivered, jealous at the warmth that Flavia and Fredegund were sharing, not from any amorous desire to join in but rather a wish to simply not be freezing.

Inside his quarters, after his preparations for bed, Marcus began to look over the requisition forms, petitions from the locals, recruitment reports, and other statements from his men that he hadn't gotten to during the day. That was mainly because these were the bottom of the barrel in terms of importance, but he knew from years of experience that it was best not to let anything slide. You never knew when they would be needed, and it set you down a slippery slope into becoming as lazy and disconnected as the Imperial advisors now in his camp.

He heard a knock at the entrance. "Enter," he said brusquely, expecting it to be an officer who better have a good reason why it couldn't wait until morning, especially given how early his mornings were. Instead, he was surprised to see Flavia.

"Flavia? What is it, my dear? Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked, becoming even more surprised, and more than a touch worried, when she broke down into sobs, practically falling into his bed and burying herself into his chest. His arms surrounded her, trying to comfort her as he felt her hot tears fall against his increasingly-warm skin.

"There there, my dear...What's the matter? It isn't Fredegund, is it?" he asked, suddenly worried. Yet her answer was merely to tell how sad she was - and then, she kissed him. Marcus went still in shock, his lips gaping more in surprise than acceptance, yet Flavia seemed to take it as such, her kiss growing more intimate, and Marcus, as if looking from the outside, began to return it, his hands moving lower across her back, the comforting rub becoming a caress. The kiss ended, and he found himself staring into the eyes that were a mirror of his own, only a few inches away. His breathing was labored, and he sensed her was as well. Someone had to say something, the silence was deafening. Finally, he broke it.

"You are the only person left alive that I love, Flavia. I missed you terribly when you were gone, more than I could say. And...and I am so terribly, terribly lonely. This is a sin, against the Christian God and against the old ways."

He paused, and he could sense her tearing up. He had been about to say one thing, but that simple sight made him change his mind. He could not deny it. He couldn't make her cry, not the girl who was the only living person he truly cared about, the only one who also loved him. If this was what she wanted; it wasn't like he was forcing her; even the Testaments had stories of such things, with approval...

"If we do this," he said very softly, "we must tell no one. Not Mago, not Amfitre, not any of your friends, no matter how close. Are we one on this, my little dove?" he asked, brushing her cheek.

Marcus Secundus

As he finished with Philippa, Secundus was ill at ease and unable to rest, so he began to head out to his small and growing camp. Father had been petty enough to deny him troops from the regular army, but that could turn out for the best. Men more loyal personally to Secundus would be easier to lead into rebellion if and when necessary.

And more and more, thoughts of a secretly condoned "revolt" appealed to Secundus. It might well be the only way to convince the Gauls that this wasn't just trading one Roman ruler for another in disguise.

It didn't hurt that Secundus had finally located a Mithraeum, useful for both religion, politics, and the enrollment of new officers. In the past, before the Christian nonsense had taken over, Mithraism had been the dominant sect of the legions. Well, if Secundus had his way, that preference for the savior-hero-god would be encouraged to return.

There were still some old veterans who worshipped Lord Mithras, and these men could form the nucleus of his all-cavalry force. He had to stay in the letter of the commission granted him, at least for now, so it had to be pure cavalry. No problem for him. Cavalry were swift and terrifying in brief raids, ambushes, and other such harassment tactics. Exactly the kind of private war that the Emperor had sanctioned, with some persuading from the prefect of Italy and the commander of the household troops.

Constantius was all well and good, but he was too, well....traditional in his military genius. Sometimes, a bit of ruthless attrition would do the trick where proper engagements failed. At least, that was what Secundus thought. Fabian tactics, he recalled them being named. Well, if he couldn't be a great tactician, he'd emulate one, and the Great Delayer made a good choice under the circumstances. Secundus knew his limitations: he wasn't half the general that his father was on the field of pitched battles.

But there was more to warfare than proper engagements....attrition, scorced-earth...lightning raids into enemy territory to repay them in kind for their savagery. Thus would Secundus and his small, elite mounted army wage war.

As he uttered a solemn prayer unto the Lord Mithras, trusting the warrior-god and his brethren in the Mithraic rites to help him raise this new force, which would be an asset rather than a detriment to Gaul....Secundus wondered what exactly his father had against his choice of companions. Was he turning prude, too? Was this a disease that many Christians caught, and if so, why hadn't the deacon been infected? Or, for that matter, the bishop of Rome himself?

That it was unhealthy, the Count had no doubt. The body wasn't ideal, but while trapped in it, the soul made good use of it for whatever purposes Lord Mithras had. No sense in hastening death or depriving oneself of bodily needs before the time of release from the body and the material state. It was cruelty, disrespect for order, avarice, and other such things that most angered Lord Mithras. Not an essential corporeal instinct, at least to many a Mithraic interpretation.

Besides, he doubted that his father was impervious to the need for a good coupling now and then. What, then? Being honest enough to take his concubine there...or flaunting his belief that concubinage was a more proper state for social inferiors, thus implicit reproving his father for yielding to Aelia's machinations? What was it that so annoyed his father?

Lacking any other reason, Secundus concluded that his father simply looked for excuses to frown on him, probably due to Flavia's pernicious influence. Somehow, they had determined to hate him, so that was that. Well, even so, he was still his father's only son. That was his father got for failing to sire a bastard or two, he smirked. Well, no harm in bastards. Not entitled to a legacy, but there were imperial connections to resolve that problem.

So, that was that. Father resented him for existing, for one reason or another. And nothing that he did would ever win his father's approval. Then no point in worrying, was there? He was free now....free to be himself. A true aristocrat, sophisticated, worldly, educated, and properly stern when it came to women.

Not averse to erotic pleasures like his father, but quite opposed to being under a lady's thumb under any circumstances. Uxoriousness was a vice, not a virtue. Didn't Lord Mithras regard women as inferior, spiritually and otherwise? Too attached to comfort and safety, if he recalled correctly, and too keen to manipulate men with their wiles.

Ever watchful, Secundus set up his guard and held his first ever military conference, introducing the various tribunes, centurions, etc. Luckily, he had found enough Mithraists to serve in the officers' tents and staff his force that he could trust everyone in the command tent.

As the camp began to fill up and build up, he exulted in the excitement, energy, and exertion involved. Yes, this was quite the life. No longer the courtier, scrapping for favors. He was now lord and master of all that he saw. He could see why his father might love this life now. It had its uses, indeed.

He laid out the first orders for drilling, further recruiting, provisioning, and most of all, initial reconnaissance....not about to ride out into unscouted territory, of course. What he lacked in strategy, he owned well enough in organization and administration. He was a born bureaucrat. Everything was meticulously planned and implemented, with a martinet's efficiency and discipline.

And so, at a relatively young age, Secundus had the beginnings of his own army. All mounted, but that would just make an elite and specialized force...and all loyal to him first. They didn't know the other officers or commanders. And they wouldn't grouse about him, since he would pay their wages far quicker than Rome did. Something that had to help his reputation. That collection of secret firms had begun to pay off....especially the investments in real estate and moneylending.

No general, perhaps...but definitely a man to be reckoned with. Sooner or later, Father would have to stop treating him as an overgrown boy who needed to emulate him.

Marcus Secundus

Once enough of the first troops were gathered, the new commander of the elite cavalry army of the diocese led them in an oath of loyalty to himself and to the Emperor (he could get around the second part in time).

He was just glad that he wasn't compelled to be a surbodinate to his father's officers. Technically, his father was his superior, but he regarded his special commission from the Emperor and the nature of his mission, added to his father's apparent determination to obstruct his efforts, to be an indication that he was on his own. No was truly the subordinate of a man who viewed him as a rival, and that was what his father seemed to think. He had an independent command, separate from the regular frontier army, so he was a law unto himself. Time and growing manpower would prove him right.

Of course, it wouldn't grow too much. He had kept his army down to a certain maximum number for a variety of reasons. For one thing, his father would seize the excuse to complain if he inducted a lot of men into service. Also, horses and men were expensive. While he was rich, he didn't wish to use all of his funds for this enterprise. Furthermore, keeping the force a small and disciplined army would ensure its cohesion, morale, and loyalty to him. Also, if he was going to have his units officered by Mithraists, that didn't leave him too many troops to serve in those squadrons of cavalry.

No, much better to reinforce the idea of an elite force of cavalry on the frontier to use "slash and burn" tactics, instead of a massive horde of barbarians who might prove unwieldy. He could more easily to raise a standard of revolt and achieve the element of surprise that way, too. It was more effective, in his view. Also, if he proved wrong, the damage that he might do would be less that way.

If all worked well, he could soon be on his way to the purple.

He quickly gave the men a short and highly rhetorical speech, including passwords for those Mithraists in the ranks who would understand them. He wanted it clear to them that he was one of their brethren. That he would one day end their outlawed status, one way or the other, another motive to support him. He spoke of a Deity, but only in the vaguest terms. After this, he retired to his villa and the bed that he shared with a still sleeping Philippa. The woman was snoring, but he didn't care. He had earned his remaining hours of sleep and could slumber like the dead. Tomorrow would see his destiny further advanced.

Fredegund, daughter of Clodio

Fredegund found her cheeks colouring uncharacteristically as Flavia raved about her appearance in the slightly constricting Roman gown. One didn't have to be an expert on feminine fashions to know that her frame and Flavia's were more than a little different and as such, the dress fit her like a slightly too small second skin, flowing over her curves like water, pressing her breasts slightly upwards of their natural position and almost presenting them for inspection.

She sat sit and obediently as Flavia's delicate fingers stroked and teased her hair into the desired style, pinning it up and back in fashion Fredegund could scarely begin to understand.
"Thank you," Fredegund whispered, genuinely but still a little unsure about how she felt about her new appearance. The appreciative glance given to her by the Dux upon entering the room only served to add to her consternation. The news that she would be sharing sleeping quarters with Flavia was oddly reassuring, although it would mean her attempt to return to her family would have to wait until the daylight hours.

She spent the day surprisingly pleasantly, talking with Flavia, acquainting herself with the household staff and the house itself. The evening meal was a fresh experience of it’s own. She had never seen so many rich dishes, so many kinds of food on one table. She was eager to try everything but wary of the way in which she should conduct herself. With the friendship Flavia had shown her throughout the day it would be all too easy to forget the real reason why she was dining with these people. These Romans.

Fredegund settled for trying a little of everything, some she found to her palate, others were too rich for her taste. She could not help but notice the reaction of Flavia and her father towards the presence of Flavia’s brother and his…consort but she kept her eyes averted and didn’t comment, although the urge to do so was burning within her. She was a guest and she would behave like one.

Soon enough, Flavia escorted her to the bedchamber and embraced her again. Fredegund returned the gesture and concealed her surprised as Flavia left her alone. She swiftly crossed the bedchamber to the window but silently cursed as she saw not one but two guards beyond it. Escape would definitely have to wait until the morning.

After a minor struggle, Fredegund managed to work loose her hair from the styling of Flavia’s fingers and brushed it thoughtfully, letting a silent prayer go out to the night sky that her family and her people would sleep in peace. She eventually wriggled out of the constricting dress, leaving her in her slip and after splashing a little water onto her face she moved to the bed.

She couldn’t help but smile as she slipped into it. It was far more comfortable and much warmer than the bed she had slept in for most of her life. How like these Roman’s to still feel the cold. Smiling to herself, Fredegund snuggled into the sheets and blankets and found her eyes drifting closed far quicker than she had expected.