Ah cool, I've been looking forward to an update on Julian!

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Rutilius and his Guard left Rome to take up his new duties. Once again, he was heading north, back to Germania- a journey he has made twice now. This was his third trip, but this time he was not going there as a legionary replacement, or a legate. He was going back to rule the province as an Imperial governor. This was quite a step up from his first trip when he was but a Third-Class citizen freshly enrolled in the legions and assigned to join the V Legion Alaudae fourteen years earlier.

As on his last journey north under Cerealis, he would be taking the quick route. Up the Via Aurelia through Pisae to Mediolanium, then over the Via Mala to Vindonissa and from there to Mogontiacum to set up Germania Superior before finally settling in Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippensi where Vespasian had given him the task of turning his Public House back into the Basilica of the province it was under Vitellius. He had argued against that move at first- Vetera was far better centrally located for the provincial capital, but as usual, Vespasian had his reasons. This time the clincher was that he wanted Rutilius to be close to Mogontiacum where Nobilis would be ruling Germania Superior, in case the man new to Germania needed tips or aid. Colonia was indeed closer to Mogo than Vetera, and would make that possible, thus Rutilius understood and accepted the Imperial decree.

Pisae was uneventful, as was Mediolanium. There was an inn near there he remembered, run by a Septimus somebody or other. The finest food in all of north Italia, he remembered Licinia telling him once, a lifetime ago. He dined there, enjoyed the meal, spent the night, then rode out in the morning. A single rider rode up to his troop just after he cleared the city gates.

It was Roscius.

“Heading north?” the arcanus asked.

Rutilius nodded.

“Safety in numbers,” Roscius commented.

Again Rutilius nodded. This time he gestured to the arcanus to join him.

They rode together in silence for an hour or so. Then Rutilius turned his head to the scout.

“Why did you do it?” he asked simply.

“Same reason I did that cockroach Catullus,” Roscius replied easily. He did not need to be told to what act the praetor was referring. The death of Clemens had been officially announced as due to a heart attack. A select few knew that heart attack was induced by exsanguination from having his throat slit and being disemboweled. Rutilius was evidently one of those select few now. “Their crap got my friends killed.”

They rode on a bit in silence before Roscius added, “Do you want your dagger back?”

“Keep it. I no longer need it. It has served its purpose.”

“It has,” Roscius agreed. “It’s a valuable knife- jewels and all on it. Thanks. So, what now, fellow felon?”

Rutilius smiled at that. “I told you once, Gaius- it is no felony to step on a cockroach. I have a three year commitment to Germania Inferior, and after that, who knows?”

“I was planning on helping out in Germania Superior for a while, but I think when that pans out, I would like to settle in Germania Inferior. I hear the Ubian women are both beautiful and happy to consort with Romans.”

A flash of memory brought Claudia Sacra before his eyes. His lovely Ubian bride…

“They are,” Rutilius agreed. A pang of sadness erupted at the thought, but soon turned warm as he remembered the good times they had shared together. Claudia’s image faded, to be replaced by the vibrant and glowing image of Froydis with her large, liquid eyes. The warm glow filled his soul at the dead wife’s memory grew stronger as his thoughts turned to his living wife. “As are the Cugerni. You will be welcome among either tribe.”

Roscius nodded. “Good advice, Marcus. I think I will enjoy the coming few years.”

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The air was surprisingly fresh for a midmorning late spring day in Germania Superior. Titus Palpellius Florus and his visiting cousin Gnaeus Palpellius Gavros were walking along the path between two wheatfields, when they stopped to take in the breathtaking view of the distant hills with the winding river between them.

“This really is a marvelous place, cousin,” Gavros said to his cousin. “So green, so rolling.”

“So cold,” shivered Florus. Like his kinsman, he was dressed in a tunica, but where his visiting cousin had on leggings and had stuffed his sandals with warm wool, he himself had foregone the winter clothing. Now, in the crispness of the morning, he was regretting his decision.

“You and your stubbornness,” laughed Gavros. “I told you it was chilly.”

“You are here but three days,” Florus scoffed. “You are still used to the heat of Italia. I have been here for four years now- I should be used to the temperature.”

He turned to his younger cousin. “So tell me, Gnaeus. Who will be our new governor, now that Cornelius Clemens has had his triumph and retired to his estates?”

“Clemens is dead,” Gavros replied sadly. “They say it was his heart.”

“A shame,” Florus commented. “He was good for business. So tell me, Gnaeus. You must have heard something?”

“I have indeed,” Gavros laughed. “Your new governor will be a bit more strict that the previous one. A tight-fisted New Man in the making, from what I hear, and nobody to trifle with.”

“Ah,” said Florus, with a relaxing sigh. “We are getting Rutilius. I had hoped so- he is hard, but fair from what I hear, and a man who knows the Germani inside and out. If anyone can keep this province moving forward, it would be him.”

“You are getting Nobilis,” Gavros replied. “Rutilius- now Rutilius Lupus- will be returning to Germania Inferior to replace that turd Cordinus Gallicus.”

The whip’s crack tore through the stillness of the men working in the fields, and shook the two noblemen standing but a further four paces away. It was followed by a bellow from the man bearing the whip, but strangely no wail of agony from the man whose back was now bleeding freely.

“Put your back into it, One-eye!” the overseer cried. “You are three times bigger than your chain-mate, yet do half the work.”

“A warrior does not scratch dirt,” the bleeding man in a surly, defiant voice muttered. This earned him another lash of the whip.

“You are no warrior,” the overseer reminded the recalcitrant slave. “You were a roughneck criminal caught in a vigile net, and now you are a slave. A step up on the social ladder- so be grateful.”

“I shall help him, master,” the scrawny man chained to the huge slave said quickly. He was a nervous sort, a man sold into slavery to cover his gambling debts. He was a decent cloth-maker before he lost his wife, house, and freedom all in one catastrophic day at the arena. “I shall double my efforts to teach him our ways, if I have to. He is new, is all. And proud. But proud slaves are dead slaves, and this he must learn. Time, master. He needs time to adjust.”

“He has been tilling these fields for several months now, Tuvius,” the overseer grumbled, but he lowered the whip. “He should know how it works by now. And be grateful his big ass was not hung from a cross.”

Tuvius shrugged. “He is Germanic, lord,” he said, as if that explained everything.

The overseer grunted and turned to check the other slaves. Those too were Germanic for the most part- warriors taken in battle. Yet they had no problem with tilling the field or weeding it. Only this oaf- a criminal captured in a raid on a riverside dive- presented problems. Maybe Palpellius would finally sell him to the arenas as a gladiator, or let him crucify the oaf come market day and be done with the problem. That last would also serve to show the others all are expected to toe the line or pay the price. They did not like the big Germanic any more than the Roman guards and overseers did- he showed utter contempt for them, and it was returned tenfold. Yet the man worked hard when he wanted to, so thus far he had been spared. If Tuvius thinks he can get the burly cur to buckle down, he was willing to let him try.

“Get it through his thick head that his life depends on his work,” the overseer commanded. “Or it will be over shortly- but very slowly.”

“Yes, master,” Tuvius agreed nervously. He turned to One-Eye and gestured to the weeds awaiting pulling and the dirt awaiting turning. “Come along now, One-Eye. Let us earn our keep. Master is not joking,”

But the huge man had no intention of scratching the dirt or pulling unwanted plants from the ground. He had other things on his mind, things he had just heard. The whip cracked again, forcing a grunt his time. One-Eye began to move- being whipped to slivers or hanging from a cross would not get him what he needed. He began attacking the ground with a vengeance.

The overseer drifted off to another group that had stood and gawked instead of working. The noblemen moved on as well. Only the guards remained, their pila held at the ready, their eyes missing nothing.

Yet an hour later, they did miss something. One-Eye’s shovel did not impact on the ground on that last thrust downward. It went into the shin of Tuvius, whose crouching form had been shattered by the previous thrust. The shovel, already bloody from braining the debtor, now cut through the dead man’s leg as if it were an axe. Before the change of the sound could be understood by the guards, One-Eye grabbed the chain that no longer bound him to his partner and fled across the fields to where the forest offered haven and hope.

The pila had too short a range, but one of the guards had a bow. His arrow sang out, and impacted squarely on the fleeing brute just shy of the forest. One-Eye went down hard, face first.

“Go get him,” the overseer said to two of the guards. “And if he is not dead, make him that way.” To hell with Palpellius’s orders. The man tried to flee- standing orders mete out death for such. he then cracked his whip in the air with a mighty clap. “The rest of you meatheads ought to get to work, or suffer his fate as well!”

A half hour later, the overseer was even more unhappy. His guards reported a bloody patch where One-eye went down, and a trail into the forest, but it ended where a broken arrow was found. One-Eye was gone.

The overseer cursed, but gave the order to hunt the fugitive down using local hunters, with the usual ten denarii purse to whoever brings in the head. One-Eye would be caught, but it would cost, and at a time when his personal finances were just barely keeping him one step ahead of joining his slaves instead of overseeing them.

Later, they would find a small farmstead on the other side of the woods. The man who owned it lay before the house, his head caved in and his body stripped. Inside, his wife was found dead, her clothes torn asunder and her body ravished. Across her body was draped the chains that once bound her killer, the one shackle firmly closed, the other broken open by the hammer and chisel found near the barn. Of One-Eye, there was nothing found except tracks leading south. The chase would continue south.

In the meantime, One-Eye was riding his stolen horse west, and then swung about to the north. Rutilius is returning to Germania, he thought viciously. This time he will not leave it alive. He gripped the farmer’s sword now at his belt. It was a poor blade, but good enough with which to slay a man. This time, he shall die by my blade, as my brother had by his. This I swear, by Wotan and Donar, by Frey and Tyr, Uller and Loke.

I am coming for you, Roman bastard, Ulfrich thought bitterly as his horse galloped north. You have much to pay for, and will not pay alone.



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Here ends Part X.

The finale, Part XI, will begin shortly- maybe a month or so.

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A fitting end for this part It seems that Rutilius will face Ulfrich once again. I'm looking forward to the next part...

At first I wondered who One Eye was but as soon as I saw the slave show interest in Rutillus I realized it was none other than Ulfrich!

Good ending to the tenth chapter of this most excellent series.

So, when will the next part begin? I'm desperately looking forward to it...