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The VII Gemina escorted Rutilius to Mogontiacum under the watchful eyes of the cohorts of the I Adiutrix. Once there, they relieved the VIII Augusta, which would then escort Titus Sabinus east to the rest of his legion. A few cohorts of the VIIIth were left to augment the VIIth- these would combine with some of the replacements Nobilis was bringing to reconstitute the XIV Gemina. Another load of replacements was due in the fall, which would bring all legions up to full strength. Rutilius hoped Nobilis did not forget or put off the requisition- the Dacian border was heating up and that meant that soon they would be getting priority of supply, which in turn meant he could kiss any thought of full-strength legions good bye.

Nobilis arrived right on time a few days later. His replacements were divided up among the legions by the primi pili while he himself sauntered over to the praetoria to inspect his new abode.

“Welcome to Germania Superior,” hailed Titus Sabinus. He thrust a goblet of watered wine to his governor and introduced himself at the same time. “Titus Flavius Sabinus, your quaestor, and legate of the I Adiutrix.”

Nobilis set the tone of their relationship right there by replying, “Those foolish sea pups who wanted to be legionaries but refused legionary arms?” He laughed. “No worries, little Sabinus. We will work together to get them to forget those silly weapons and make true legionaries of them.”

“You might want to reconsider that,” commented Rutilius, who once commanded the II Adiutrix. “Those bows, when properly cared for in this climate, can be quite an edge in battle, not to mention to the morale of the troops wielding them.”

“Rubbish!” Nobilis said gaily. “We have here in this army a system that has proven itself capable of victory time and again. The auxiliaries in their little forts see the enemy and bring us word. Then the legions march out and give them a solid thrashing with first pilum, then scutum and gladius. Why change what works?”

He turned to Sabinus. “Your men want to be bowmen? To use auxiliary weapons? Then fine, lad. You have some excellent auxilia in this province. We will simply form them up into a legion and drill them as such. In the meantime, your men who wish to continue using the bow can be dispersed among the cohort forts of the auxilia with their precious bows. They can also draw auxiliary pay for using auxiliary weapons- which I believe is a drop from two hundred twenty five denarii per year to one hundred eighty eight, and serve a full twenty-five year auxiliary term instead of the legionary twenty. And when they finally retire, they will be presented with proof of Roman citizenship as their reward, instead of the plot of land allocated by the governor. In short, if they wish to wield auxiliary weapons, they may- but then they cannot expected to be treated as legionaries. ”

“Those bows put you into the governor’s chair without a battle,” Sabinus reminded him.

“Oh be real, will you, Titus?” Nobilis spat, with an accompanying sigh. “The pilum would have been just as effective in that position- you could hit them, they could not hit you.”

“So said the Surena to Crassus,” Rutilius countered. He immediately regretted it.



“That was a different situation, Lupus,” Nobilis countered. “But since you brought it up, just how many of those legionaries were felled by arrows? Hmmm? Not many. Most were starved out. Arrows wound. Pila kill. And the legions use the pilum. Sabinus, give your men the choice- they can dispense with their bows and draw legionary pay and privileges, or they may keep the auxiliary weapon and draw auxiliary pay and privileges. I have a task of ensuring your uncle that the remaining legionaries in this province are totally loyal. We will test this loyalty on the Adiutrix first. Any found lacking in utter loyalty will be transferred to the auxilia, or out of service.”

With that, Nobilis spun about and exited, leaving the two II Adiutrix veterans shaking their heads at the departing governor.

“I’ll trade you the VI Victrix for the I Adiutrix,” Marcus offered. “You know I’d let them keep their bows, and legionary status.”

Sabinus shook his head. “Gnaeus Messala would be a boon, but I doubt Nobilis would allow the trade. He comes across as a prig who likes things tidy- and he thinks legionaries should use legionary weapons and tactics. He is right- to a point. But the bow has been useful as well. Still, it is time my men forget their maritime past and begin concentrating on their primary purpose here- fighting up close and personal. With the boys across the river fighting amongst themselves now, it is going to get quite boring around here. Plenty of time to train.”

Rutilius nodded. “I’d have let them keep the bows. I like flexibility in my forces. It allows for better flexibility on the battlefield.”

“I hear you,” Sabinus said. “And agree completely. But not every general is as competent as you. For most, especially the mediocre ones, the system they know is the system they use. Marius, Caesar, Agrippa, Germanicus, Tiberius, Claudius, and Corbulo all used this style to overwhelming success, while other, less-brilliant generals managed to get by on the strength of the legion. My bows detract from that strength, which detract in turn from the strength of the army. Nobilis is right, though I dare not admit it to my men- it is time they became legionaries. I will not always be their legate, nor will we always have generals competent enough to use their abilities, and besides, the replacements coming in shun the bow. Only my veterans still use it.”

Rutilius nodded. It hurt to do so, but he did. “Make sure it is they who make the decision. And use the bit you just said about generals and their styles- it might help. If not, remind them of the problem with the replacements.”

Sabinus sighed and sank down into his chair. In doing so, the chair moved to tap the bucket behind it. This in turn reminded him of what brought him into this chamber. He rose, and picked up the bucket.

“My new postmaster found this,” he said, handing the bucket over. “Personal post for you. There are three more buckets of imperial post- it had been building up for a time now- ever since Calvus closed the road.”

Rutilius thanked him. “I will be going, now, Titus. Good luck with your speech. I for one am going to keep the bow I got from you. I earned it, by Mars!”

Sabinus grinned, remembering the archery contest. Rutilius had placed fifth of forty five hundred entrants. The top ten could keep their bows as prizes. “That you did, Marcus, that you did.”

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“I hear the fool wants to pry those bows out of the hands of Sabinus’s legionaries,” said Dieter Straightback as he paced the floor of the visiting officer’s quarters he shared with Rutilius. Neither bothered to unpack their saddlebags- they would be moving on in the morning anyway. Both wanted to get away from Mogontiacum and the new ass running the place as soon as possible.

“He has his reasons,” Rutilius replied in a bored voice. His mind was not on the argument- it was on the post he was going through while his Guard commander paced like a man on edge. His father had written a seldom letter. It was full of family gossip which bored him- that his uncle had made a coup in the spice market, while a cousin had married into a knight’s family. Most of it was drivel concerning his distant First-Class cousins. Only toward the end did he mention in his laconic way the success of his own son, but then cancelled that immediately by using the entire letter as a parable that Family should come before all and that all fame was fleeting. The unspoken criticism of the death of Publius did not go unnoticed.

That was Father, he thought. Hard-ass through and through. He was no doubt proud of his war-hero son who rose from the Third Class to the Senate and was now a praetor, but he still felt it his duty to bring his son back down to earth. Claudia went unmentioned- obviously he felt the Germanic woman of no consequence. But then again, he had never met her, while he practically raised Publius. It is a shame he did not know- and could never know- that Publius was not dead.

“And?” Dieter asked bluntly.

“I am sorry,” Rutilius replied. He put the letter down. “My father wrote a rare letter. Mostly family drivel, bragging about my cousins, but he chastises me silently for the death of Publius.”

“He is a fool,” Dieter said dismissively. “His son is a better man than he could ever be, and that hurts him. He will come around. And if not, why do you care? You have entire tribes adoring you. Forget his harsh thoughts and think of our own problems, which are much greater. Will we be serving in Vetera, or in Colonia?”

“I was planning on Vetera, but now I think Colonia would be the better choice,” Rutilius said as he reached for another scroll. “Messala will be rotating back to Rome, as will Decius Paullus. Gods, they have been here for five years- far too long for legates.”

“You have been here for what? Seven years?” asked the Guardsman.

“Fourteen, but I was not always a legate,” Rutilius replied. He rolled over and opened the scroll he had picked. “Lucius Amensius might be rotating out too, but he is like I was- a legate risen from the ranks. He has no pressing senatorial business back in Rome needing his attention. So with possibly three of my four legates rotating out and an ass ruling the province south of me, it makes sense to put my remaining legate as deputy governor in the north with his legion while I rule from Colonia- between my two new legates and closer to Germania Superior if I am needed. Why do you ask?”

Dieter smiled broadly. “Heidi is a Chatti. The Chatti are closer to Colonia than they are to Vetera.”

Rutilius grinned. “I see you have your priorities straight,” he laughed. He grew quiet, then sat straight up with a start. “Decius is walking now, and speaking clearly!”

Dieter came over and looked at the scroll. The script was tiny, but clear. A woman’s hand. He knew of only three women who could enscribe Roman runes- two were not known to Rutilius, but the third was Froydis. She was writing to her husband, telling him of the events of home in order to hasten his return. An old tactic, but an effective one.

“In which language, I wonder,” the Batavian asked teasingly. The boy was a blend of German and Roman, and mothered now by another German, but one whose Latin was almost flawless. Would the boy learn first his mother’s tongue, or his father’s?

“Latin, of course,” Rutilius replied. “We speak only Latin around him.”

“And Gerd sang to him in Batavian while wet-nursing him, while his other wet-nurse sings Cugerni lullabies,” Dieter reminded him. “Your boy is going to grow up in two worlds, Marek Kingslayer, whether you want it so or not.”

Rutilius shrugged his shoulders. “So did I, whether Father wanted it or not. I turned out well, and would not be half the man I am today had it not been for both.”

Dieter cackled a laugh at that. “That is true. Had it not been for your Germanic looks and knowledge of our ways, you might have died on that battlefield by Vidar’s Altar. Twice, I might add. It is a boon to all that you survived- and continued to be fair.”

“You know,” Rutilius said suddenly, ”It would probably be easier for her to find you than you seeking her.”

“Huh?”

Rutilius put down the scroll and rose. “You want me to rule from Colonia because that is closer to the Chatti, where your Heidi lives, right? Assuming of course that she returned to her village after the episode with the Little Vixen.”

“Of course,” Dieter said, following his friend so far. Rutilius may have enjoyed his ‘gift’ physically, but he had established no personal attachment to her. Sigrun was a woman hired to satisfy his urges, and he thought of her as such- a gift from his wife for a night’s dalliance. The Batavian, on the other hand, was neither married nor considered part of Froydis’ benevolence. Heidi had been hired by the Little Vixen to side-line him with sexual favors, but he did not know that at the time. Nor did Heidi realize the depths of feelings her nights with the Guard Commander would raise within herself. They may have come together in deceit and under a blanket of subterfuge, but what they had was real to them. Or at least Dieter thought so. He had made no secret of his desire to take some well-earned leave to go find his Chatti woman and bring her back to bear his children.

“So, which do you think is easier to find?” Rutilius continued. “A widow among the tribe that lost over sixty thousand men this summer past? Or the straight-spined Guard Captain of the provincial governor?”

“She lives in the same village as Sigrun,” Dieter countered. “Goat Horn. I can find a single woman in a small village easily enough.”

“If she feels the same, you probably could,” Rutilius reminded him. “But do you know that she does? She was paid a fortune to seduce you- enough to buy herself the husband of her choice. She was an actress- and a good one to fool you once. Do not risk yourself if she is fooling you again. Besides, many others will remember a locked-back warrior who stood beside the man with the winged helm and tore the Chatti army apart piece by piece upon the field where brave Horobard fell. Going over there alone or with a small group may result in you staying there- as ashes or in a wicker cage.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“There are traders and merchants who cross the river every week. Some of them might pass close to the village of Goat Horn. Have them spread the word to your Heidi that you await her in Colonia or thereabouts. A widow can pass safely enough through our province if she is smart- did not the Little Vixen and her group prove this? Let her find you. If she does, then it was meant to be. But I will not let my Guard Captain and best friend get himself killed or worse over a love that is not true.”

“It is a true love,” he said defiantly. “This I know.”

“It is true from your side,” Rutilius agreed. “But for a love to be true, it has to be mutual, from both sides. Her side is unknown, and her words tainted by the circumstances. Let her prove her love for you by joining you here. I will even provide a horse farm for you two to settle upon, if you wish.”

Dieter thought that over. “Aye, Marek. You speak true. I shall do as you say- and send word to her through merchants. And when she comes,- and she will, by Idun’s Apples!- I want that horse-farm just north of Colonia, the one by the river.”

Marcus laughed. “It is a deal, my friend.”

With that resolved, Dieter opened a small amphora of local beer and poured two horns. He handed one to Rutilius, who resumed reading his post, while he himself settled into a couch to do his best at making that amphora dry before sleep claimed him.

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I felt sad when the governor forced the Adiutrix to renounce their naval bows. Many a time did it save Rutillus in battle.

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Colonia was buzzing with the news from the south. The legions, which had been out training but looked a lot like they were guarding the roads, had returned to their base. There was much talk about their presence in the first place- constructing fortifications here and there- not oriented to the enemy, but towards this province. And others facing south. It mattered no longer. They were gone now and the legions returned to their bases. The general consensus was that they were indeed only on an extended training exercise after all.

The traveler entering from the north gate drew some attention by the time he reached the marketplace. Most of the attention was drawn to his axe, a northern-style bearded model. It was uncommon to see such an axe in this district. Here axes were for cutting trees, and had no need of a bearded barb on the lower end of the edge. Occasionally axes could be used to cut down bandits or in battle, but they were still woodsmen’s axes for that.

The man himself was a large and unkempt warrior. He wore short but thick braids to keep his hair out of his eyes. He wore fine chainmail though, and had a decent sword belted to his waist. In that belt was a francisca as well. His face- scarred and brutal- was that of a veteran who had fought in combat. The patch over one eye testified to a dreadful wound, which he survived, marking him as a tough man as well. A mercenary, or a man looking for work as one.

His eye roamed the sides of the market. He had already taken in the crowded square of the market itself and deduced those there were but sheep. No danger. Along the southern wall, under the overhanging roof, he saw the famous Colonia Shelf. Thirty four clear glass jars lined that shelf, each the size of a bucket. The glass alone must have cost a fortune. It cost more for the contents-, at least to the thirty four men whose heads were enshrined in that gruesome display. He cursed, then laughed, then turned away to see if there was a buyer for his axe, and a seller for a spear.



The crowd eased away from him, allowing the big man an easier passage to the stalls. He found a weapons merchant and approached him directly.

“How much for this axe?” he asked in a gruff voice. He had an accent the trader thought a northern one. It fit with the axe.

“Four denarii,” he said quickly. Northerners had such fierce tempers, he had heard.

“How much for that spear?” the buyer asked, pointing his axe at a short-hafted spear with a wide steel blade-leafed point. It was a fine weapon, one which can also serve in other ways. “Trade?”

The merchant shrugged. The spear was bought for a single denarius. This was a good profit, but one cannot appear too hasty or the buyer might catch on and realize his error. “It is a Spanish blade, made of steel from Toletum. Very strong, very rare. It is worth that axe, but not more.”

The buyer had never heard of Toletum and its steel, but acted suitably impressed. Nor did the seller know anything of that Spanish town except its existence in far-away Hispana. Or of its steel, for that matter, though he had once heard two merchant guards talking about its quality. Ever since, Toletum steel had been his bargaining chip.

The buyer could care less of steel or spears or far-away Hispana. He needed a spear if he was going to fight men on horseback and that was that. Batavians always rode, and thirty of them would be coming up the road from the south shortly. Amid their protective shroud would be the man he came to kill.

“Done,” he said. He tossed the axe onto the man’s counter and accepted the spear. It was long enough for him to hide behind, and short enough that he could wield it in one hand. It could serve as a lance if needed, or be thrown. It would do.

Weapon acquired, he faded back into the crowd toward the stalls selling dried meats, and then over to those hawking dried fruits. He bought from both, then mingled a bit more before heading out the north gate again.

The marketeers and merchants let him go unmolested. They were glad to be rid of him, and not a one thought of hiring such a brute to guard their goods. Not even those who would soon be crossing the Rhenus in order to trade among the man’s savage brothers.

The hulking man did not care for any offers of employment. He looked to the south with a gleam in his eye. He had a spear, and a sword, and a horse. He needed little else. He fixed his eye on the hilltop far away. There lives Rutilius. And there he shall die. He will have thirty men with him, but so what. That rat-faced ass Burgis had sixty men with him, but he lost them all. They were convicts and deserters. Of course they would lose against Batavians. But I… I am a warrior. An unconquered warrior, and named a lion on battle. I shall succeed where Burgis the Gaul failed.

He marched into the forest to make his camp, and ponder how exactly he was going to make that happen. It would not be a stupid frontal assault as had Burgis. Nor would the were-wolf trick work again, not against Romanized warriors. He must be cunning like the wolf, but patient like the bear if he were to succeed. Thus he must wait.

It will not be long now.

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“That’s odd,” said Dieter as he looked up at the small fortress looming over them on the hill above. They had spent a week helping Nobilis get set in his province- a horrible affair due to the man’s innate sense of superiority and equally strong obstinacy- but mostly helping Titus Flavius Sabinus get the hang of being a quaestor. Now they were on the road to Colonia, and just about to view the town itself when Dieter looked up.

“What is odd?” asked Rutilius. He too was looking at the fortified house above- his house. He was almost home. “Someone put a lot of work into clearing the slope from the road to the house, but the small cliff they created makes it impossible for anyone to come through the woods like before- or to flee the same route without breaking their legs.”

“Not that,” Dieter smirked. It has been his own suggestion to the Guard Commander of governor Cordinus to do something about that weak spot. Evidently the Samnite took his duties to heart. The slope of run-off from between the two cliff-faces was removed and the gully filled to horse-head in height. “Look at the standard. The elephant of Cordinus no longer flies.”

Rutilius sharpened his gaze to where the little green square should be hanging from its cross-pole. It was not there.

“That is odd,” Rutilius replied. “But I do like the way the men of Cordinus thinned out the forest, and even put up a little tower to watch over the back quarter.”

Dieter shifted his gaze and picked out the tower among the trees. “Well sited,” he added. “Hidden from casual view, yet has sight over the road and back woods. Clever.”

“Cordinus takes his security seriously,” Dieter said flatly, eliciting a small laugh from his lord.

“So would you if you had been stabbed and poisoned during your tour,” Amalric added dourly. He too took security of his liege more than seriously. The debacle at the farm near Argentorate still plagued him, though it did not seem to bother the other two.

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The road split at the town gates. One path led directly into the town, while another well-used path hooked sharply to the left to begin the ascent toward the house on the hilltop a few miles away. There was a line of trees on one side of the road- the western side, which shaded the road in the morning and noon, but left it open to view from the house in the afternoon. It also obscured the road itself from view from the Rhenus Road. Cordinus had taken his security very seriously indeed. Rutilius wondered if the man had turned out Claudia’s people in his paranoia, despite the man’s promise to let them remain in their homes while he was in residence. The thought left him cold.

He approached the gates with a veil of dread cloaking him. There were Batavian Guards at the open gate- a welcome sight. They greeted their lord with swords raised in salute before returning to their post by the side of the gates.

In the courtyard awaited a surprise that ripped the cloak of dread from his shoulders and cast it flaming and screaming into the flames of forgetfulness. The Main House was before him across from the courtyard, and there on the portico, flanked by two sturdy Batavians, stood his family. Froydis, his wife, with her hair pinned back behind her ears with those lovely ivory combs he gave her, knelt before the door. Standing beside her on wobbling legs, was a tiny blonde boy who held her hand tightly but wore a smile that threatened to split his small face.

“Tata!” the boy screamed when he saw the first rider enter the square. The boy pulled free of the woman and half-fell, half crawled down the stairs. Once he hit dirt, he thrust his little butt into the air then pushed up with his arms until he regained his balance on wobbly legs. A few unsteady steps later, he was in the arms of the man who dismounted quickly at the boy’s first move.

“Hello son,” Rutilius said as he hugged his firstborn. Pride filled his eyes and soul as he realized Decius had recognized him despite his long absence, spoke to that effect, and came under his own power to him. Nothing could wash away that good feeling of watching his baby run to him. A few seconds later Froydis was there to double that pleasure. Before she could take the boy away she too was drawn into the hug. Then Traudl rushed forward to remove the boy before he could be crushed against the armor of his father. Rutilius used the opportunity to kiss his wife deeply, a greeting worthy of a man who loved his wife and had not seen her in months. “Hello, wife.”

“Do not squeeze so hard, Marek,” Froydis said as her lips parted from his long seconds later. She smiled as she patted her swelling belly. “Or you will squeeze out our child before his time.”

Marcus grunted once and released his wife to admire where their child was growing firm and strong, then wrapped his arms around her shoulders and drew her close for another kiss. He was home, with his family. His growing family.

Dieter dismissed the Guards to the barn and then their quarters while he swept up the loose reins of Rutilius’s horse, forgotten in the joyful moment. A man’s reunion with his wife was a private affair. Besides, with his Milika laying in her grave sixty paces away and Heidi somewhere across father Rhein, there were none her to give him such a greeting. His heart ached once at his lord’s joy, but he nodded once to himself as he vowed that once day he, too, would experience that joy, with his own family. A tear formed, which he wiped quickly away. In doing so he noticed three horses over by the corral, and recognized them. He would hand the horses to another Guard then go see what Claudius Victor had to say. He had no doubt the lord’s Chief Steward was hidden away in the barn, to allow Rutilius his family reunion uninterrupted.

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Dinner that evening was a festive affair. Rutilius sat at the head of the long Germanic table, with Froydis at his side. Beside her sat Amalric, while Claudius Victor and Glam occupied the places across from her to the right of Rutilius. Dieter, as Commander of the Guard, sat at the other end of the table, with the rest of his officers surrounding him. Traudl and the new maid Henrika served the food prepared by dead Martha’s successor Bertha. She made meat pies worthy of Martha herself, with the flaky crust just soft enough for a knife to slide through without breaking.

Rutilius had already taken care of business, having spent the first hours home in the master bedroom with his wife, and the following hours discussing his holdings and their states with Claudius Victor. Young Eirik was being tutored by a Roman businessman on numbers and oratory and by Batavian nobles in swordcraft and horsemanship. He received regular loads of work to do from his Roman tutor- prepare an essay on Aristotle’s teachings to Alexander of Macedon, for example, or to figure the tithes due Rome for the farm’s eighty bushels of apples sold to the legion commissary- and little time to write them from his Batavian teachers who were succeeding in bringing his battle skills up to their high standards.

“So, Dieter,” Glam called to his commander, “what do you think of the new Guardsmen?”

Dieter forked in a mouthful of the beefy pie and shrugged. “They seem alright at first glance, but they are not Batavians.”

“Oh, but most are,” Amalric chimed in. “When Lady Froydis heard that Cordinus was leaving early for his new province, she packed up the house and moved back into this one. Tiberius Labeo gave her forty men from his Guard as an escort, to leaven the eighty Cugerni, Ubians, and Tungrians she herself had hired. There are even a few of those Cananefate in the mix as well. And fifty more boys from our tribe joined up as well. Add that hundred seventy to our fifty and the forty lads we left to watch over her and little Decius, and we have almost nine turmae in the Guard now- more than half of them our lads.”

“They are all our lads,” Claudius Victor wheezed between mouthfuls of the delicious tart. “At least they are now.”

Rutilius nodded to Claudius Victor. If he was going to run this province fairly, he had to consider all inhabitants as his people, with no favoritism being shown to a man because of his tribe of origin. And his Guard would have to reflect that as well. Froydis had done well in staffing the Guard with a good mix of men of all tribes from the province.

“When exactly did Cordinus roll out?” Rutilius asked. “I had yet to formally relieve him and receive his briefing.”

“The fleet that crossed Sabinus sent a ship downriver,” Claudius Victor said in that hoarse voice of his. “Piscius wanted Cordinus to know of the battle, in case you lost or needed help. A day later he was gone.”

“Typical Cordinus, fleeing the field like a bunny fleeing a wolf,” Glam mumbled. But surprisingly, Claudius Victor rose to the man’s defense.

“I do not think so,” the chief steward said gruffly. ”He first sent word to Messala and Amensius to move on Mogontiacum, so they could assist Marek if needed. Then he headed off to Gaul to rally the auxiliaries there- his legion was detached, remember, in order to bring more forces onto the flanks of the Bald Man Calvus. When we heard Calvus’s death cry and the meek footy-falls of the Seventh Eagles toward their home, Messala and Amensius returned to their castra and Cordinus kept going to his new station.”

“And that was when my family decided to come surprise me by being here when I was to report in,” Rutilius completed, to the nod of Claudius Victor. “A man cannot think of a better welcome. I had expected Cordinus and his pomp, and find instead my lovely bride and our son.”

“I am pleased that my husband found our surprise to his liking,” Froydis added with a glowing smile.

“I had never seen a woman pack so fast as when she was told of the death of Calvus,” one of the newer officers at the table said. “The messenger had barely relayed the news to the Eagle battle chief when she was in motion. An hour after she was ready the Guard was ready to move, too.”

“We had not much to pack,” she replied modestly. “Both my husband and I travel light.”

“And you had help from the Eagles,” the officer allowed. “While we had but ourselves and had to gear up our horses as well.”

“I am very glad for the effort,” Rutilius admitted. “This was a much better welcome than I had expected. And a lovelier one, too.” This last was accompanied by a Cananefate wink to his Cugerni wife, who blushed a Cherusci red.

“Tonight we feast, my lords, and tomorrow we recover,” he added. “For the day after, I will be running you men ragged as I intend to visit each and every village in this province. No hetman will go unknown, no tribe shall be passed by, and every man-be he Roman or Germanic- will know that this will be a properly run province and that ‘justice for all’ is not just a collection of words. We have tithes to collect, assizes to make, courts to hear, and I must take over all the nasty and boring tasks Cordinus did for us. He had a quaestor. I do not, at least, not yet. Until I am granted one or promote one of the tribunes, I have to run this entire province from the saddle of my horse. And many of you will regret teaching me to ride like a Batavian. This I promise you.”

A rousing cheer followed his proclamation, as well as a few challenges made in good faith. No matter where he led, they would be at his side- and in better shape than he.


After dinner was another session, this time with just Claudius Victor, Dieter, and Rutilius. It was a quick one, just a summary of the tasks Rutilius had laid out at dinner and their advice as to the planning and manpower needed. It was settled quickly.

“Have you seen these new recruits?” Dieter asked of the steward. Claudius Victor nodded.

“Good men, for the most part. I trained them for a while, before turning them over to Atle Strongarm, the officer you left in charge of the Home Guard when you took Marek to Romeburg. They are good men, Deets. As good as any man who ever served under Steinar Strongarm. Some of them are just kids- but good ones. Eager, and more important, loyal. Each of them owes Marek for something- a home on one of his farms, or a fair deal in the courts, or just the simple good peace he brought after our revolt. Status quo antebellum- a much, much better peace than we defeated Batavians had ever thought possible. Tiberius Labeo loves him, and so do our people. The Cugerni and Ubians and Tungrians as well- they consider him kin. And you already know how the Cananefate feel about him. Every tribe feels the same. Including the Romans.”

“Not all Romans love our man,” Dieter said sullenly. Then he grinned. “But that number is dwindling, now that he is on first-name terms with the Eagle King.”

With that, he and Claudius talked about the episode in Romeburg while Rutilius retired to read his mail, and the notes left by Cordinus before packing off to bed early. The two Germanics let him go- he would be busier than a one-toothed beaver building a dam in a flood the coming weeks, and would have little enough time to enjoy his wife properly. But tonight, he would have that time. The last time for a long while.

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Excellent as always Terikel. A nice family scene...

Indeed, a nice family scene. Makes a change from the guts and glory!

I prefer the epic battles though...

Family and friends are what people fight for in those epic battles. Many might think God and country, ideals and freedom, but when it comes down to putting steel into the other guy and avoid him doing the same to you, it is your mates at your side and the comfort of loved ones at home that give you the fortitude to face down those angry men with swords and and stich your own steel into their guts.

Besides, epic battles tend to be final. One side is usually destroyed, leaving very little to dissuade the victor from accomplishing his task afterward.

Sadly, there are no more epic battles forthcoming in this series- though there will be a fight or two. We are in the downhill slide now, wrapping up loose ends, and ending the series over the next two or three installments. But that does not mean there will not be a surprise or two in the works...

So stay tuned.

It's a pitty this epic story is near its end However, all stories have to end. I just hope we see more interesting stories from you, Terikel...

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Marcus finally finished reading what Cordinus had left for him. He stood up, with only a slight quiver betraying the unpleasantness of what he had read and retired toward his bedroom. He stumbled in, but stopped abruptly as he took in the scene before him.

The bedding had been changed since the afternoon romp, and the scent of stale sex removed with it. Clean linens- of Egyptian flax, no less, were on the bed. Froydis had her hair down now, framing her face in a rolling halo of wheaten honey, and making her eyes look exceptionally large and purple in this light. It was enough to thoroughly raise his desire; she did not need to let the sheet slip to expose her breast. The forlorn and somber mood shrouding him evaporated as he stepped nearer to this lovely woman. He loosened his armor and let it fall to the floor, then divested himself of his other garments to join her.

No thought more of what he had read dared interfere with his consciousness at this moment. This was a time for only a man and his wife.

Only afterwards, as they lay in each others’ arms a few hours later, did those nagging thoughts come back.

Veleda had been spotted near Vetera. The man who saw her was one of the few men who guarded old Civilis and was still alive. He was not sure, at first, but later recounted that it had to have been her. The Witch of the Revolt still lives, and is on our side of the river. Beware!

A slave who escaped from a latifundium south of Mogontiacum in Germania Superior has been tracked by dogs and the trail of bodies he left into our, now your, province. I did not think anything of this bit of trivia, dear Marcus, but he left a survivor alive. The woman pretended to be dead, and the brute assumed she would stay that way. Before and during his repeated rapes of the woman, he grilled her as to your whereabouts. Yours, not mine. That makes it personal. I had thought it funny at first- a Germanic hunting you of all Romans, but after seeing for myself the shape he left the poor woman in, I no longer see the jest. He is a brute, this one, and means you harm. Be on your guard, my friend.

Froydis felt his the tenseness of his body despite her best efforts to relax him. She did not know the cause, but still something disturbed him. She held him closer and purred contently against him. She drifted off to a contented sleep, while her man tossed distraughtly until sleep finally found him too.

It was no good sleep, despite its depth. His dreams were a stage for his memories to play across. He was in the marketplace of Noviomagus, seeing Froydis for the first time. Salvius was by his side, gawking at a Gallic redhead, while he himself was admiring the quiet way his future wife was putting down a heated argument. Then he was stabbed, and when the legion doctors would have killed him with their arts, she had taken over and healed him. Then he was riding the brown blaze-faced horse killed years ago. It was a fine horse, strong and swift, and the forest was open despite its age. Or maybe because of it. He was not sure. The road ran through it, and he felt the presence of a turma of eastern cavalrymen behind him. Then death came.



Like in the dream of the marketplace, he saw then felt the steel enter his body. He had heard talk once of philosophers saying when a man dies in his dream, he dies in his waking life as well. Horseshit. This was the second time this night that he felt- physically felt- steel puncture his body with mortal force. He fell from his horse, then looked up.

The memories took hold of him. Froydis was kneeling astraddle his body, staunching the blood from an angry wound to his chest. He knew it was her- he knew her touch intimately now- yet here she was desperate, if not intensely adamant about him living through his dire wound. She was not the wheaten blonde holding his tortured body in the waking life, but the face, and those eyes, were identical. Only the ragged, tousled haze of black hair adorning her head was out of place. She was gripping his face in her hands, demanding in German that he live- live, and remember.

Remember what? His body was wracked with pain, yet the dream held him fast in its grip. And then he was free, and awake.

His eyes flew open.

He rolled over to face his woman, his love. He found her sitting on the side of the bed, fully dressed, and a tear falling as her eyes picked up the expression of anger and betrayal on his face.

“You know,” she said simply.

He nodded in the near-darkness. The sky outside was light enough to allow some of its light to burn through the curtains meant to block it, yet the light was but a dim, eerie glow permeating the room. She felt more than saw his nod.

“The letter from Cordinus?”

He shook his head. “The one to Cerealis.”

She nodded. She had written that note in her own hand, copying what she saw in a vision. She had sealed it with his own seal, loaned from Claudius Victor back when Rutilius was scouting the Bructeri lands. She knew at the time that it would cause this moment, but she had to take the risk. “I acted hasty there, but saw no other way to save you.”

He sat up, causing her to move away from him. He noted a sense of fear in her haste. The feeling was distasteful.

“Why?” The word came out more like a croak than a sound from a human throat, but he had way too many emotions running through him to care.

Froydis stood up. Destiny was closing in upon her, stifling her vision to produce a single moment of choice with no guidance. Her fate was no longer her own- it was now in the hands of another. His. “You have a decision to make, lover.”

“I do not understand.”

Froydis sighed. She had thought him smarter than this, but knew he knew. He wanted her betrayal spelled out for him, in order to accept all that happened in its perspective. He needed evidence to process, not just his own imagination and logic.

“I see things, Marek,” she explained. “I cannot help it, though sometimes I can concentrate and see what I need to see. Or want to see. Sometimes the visions are like a play- in living color, with sounds. These always come true. Others are without sound, or without color- like watching an event by the light of the moon. These can come to pass, or not, depending on the actions of those involved. And others are fleeting images, a memory of something past. It can be quite confusing.”

She could see his mind reeling now, and his emotions boiling through confusion and anger and betrayal- and love. There was still hope.

“I usually see nothing concerning myself,” she said. “But I can see much of those I am close to, or touch. Your little minx Katja, my niece, has much of the same power. That is why she let you live when my sister wanted you dead. She knew I was no threat to her mother, or herself, or to the tribes. That was why she said what she said to the Chatti whores you so thoroughly enjoyed. And I did not feel jealous or betrayed when I saw that, my lover. It was all part of the grand scheme the gods have for us.”

He blushed at the memory. He knew then that she was no charlatan, no witch, or simple fortune-teller. Only the few Guards who had been with him in Argentorate knew of the whores, or what they had said of Katja’s parting words- and none of them had spoken of it since. They would not- as it may get their lord in trouble with his wife. Yet Froydis knew, and in detail as well. She was indeed a supernatural woman. She was indeed Veleda, the Bructeri seeress. She had hidden from Roman view by secreting herself into the heart and bed of the one Roman who could have found her- would have found her, when he carried out the Imperator’s directive to capture her and bring her in chains before him. All she had needed to do was bleach her hair and wear normal garments and she was no longer Veleda, Queen of the Bructeri, but Froydis of the Cugerni… She might not even have had to bleach her hair- a simple washing out of the charcoal dust that had blackened her natural hair would have been enough to make her invisible to searching eyes. But he would have found her, eventually. She had to know that, thus the masquerade.

She laughed. “My fate is not to die in chains as a curiosity before your Eagle King. I may appear before him- this I have seen in the moonlight eye- but I was not in chains then, nor will iron cuffs ever mar my skin. That I do know. My fate is different, and totally up to you. Know this, Marcus Rutilius Lupus, I love you with all my heart. I have ever since you came to me in a vision after the Twins decided to murder you. We are soul-mates, you and I. I walked away from you once- when you married Claudia. I spoke to her that night, and told her this truth. Veleda has seen this future- I will indeed find true love, after a period of deep sorrow and much pain. Well, lover, I felt that pain when you married her, and was very sorry. I watched her death break you apart, and felt the depths of your love for her. Yet for all its power and depths, the love you two shared as not a true love. A true love would have saved her, like it may me.”

The mention of his dead wife brought him out of his turmoil like a snake striking. He lunged up. “You knew she would die, did you not? You could have saved her, yet did nothing.”

Veleda shook her head. “It does not work like that. I knew that there was danger coming, but no specifics. I also knew that a true love could save her. It did not, thus the love you shared was not true. I am sorry for her loss, Marcus. She was a good woman, but nothing could have saved her. The gods removed her from you to make room for me. Now they remove me from you… To make room for Sigrun? Maybe. You shall hurt, lover, but you will recover. And both Rome and the tribes will prosper because of your choice. But the visions- they are moonlight views. They are not set in stone like those in color with voice, like when you were to die upon the road to Saturninus. I managed to save you there, but barely. I upset the will of the gods then, and thereafter found the joy other visions promised as your wife. Now I must pay for the pain I caused you, but do so willingly. You are still alive to feel that pain.”

“What do you know of true love, witch?” he asked bitterly. “You have played me for your own ends, toyed with me like a cat with a mouse, and watched as my family was slaughtered- maybe even caused it, for as far as I know.”

Froydis-Veleda- rose. “I know true love, and the pain it can cause. I have that pain now, watching my true love reject me in his turmoil. I had naught but respect for Claudia Sacra, and wished her well. I would remind you that you chose her to be your wife. I did not. I knew that your wife may not last long, whoever she may be. You did me a favor, Roman, when you chose her. You spared my life then. Too bad you condemn me now. We could have had something wonderful.”

“We would have had something built upon deceit, Bructeri,” he hissed bitterly. “Deceit seems to run in the royal blood of your tribe. I am so glad I helped Segestes assume the throne there- he would bring honor back to your tribe.”

“What we have was built up honestly,” she replied in a low whisper. “And I too am glad a man like Segestes is now king.”

She picked up a small sack that she had earlier stuffed under their bed. A small pack of food, a knife, some trinkets. And her ivory combs, lost when she had fled her tower, but recovered by the man who defied the twins Udo and Ulfrich to rescue them.

“You have a decision to make, lover,” she repeated. “I am going out that door now. Think over what has been said this night, or early morning. You will always be in my heart, as I am in yours.”

And then she was gone.

Marcus let her go. He wrestled within himself, twisting and turning on the bed that now he alone occupied. Was it to be this way forever? Were all he loved doomed to die, or be driven away? Was he to be alone, because his love invariably killed those he loved?

He already made one decision. He would ignore the directive of Titus Flavius Vespasianus. He would look for Veleda, but never find her. She was correct in that- she would not stand before him in iron bracelets- at least, not by his hand. She had saved his life three times now- he would save hers once. She was free to go, and to take his broken heart with her.

He rose. It was a mechanical matter to dress- his mind was on his problems. Even his chainmail shirt went on without thought- so deep were the routines of his life. Armor- covering his heart from prying eyes, and his body from prying blades. He snorted. Froydis did not just notice things- she knew where to look, and what it meant.

He reached for his sword- the long blade he had taken from Udo’s corpse. Doubtless she knew exactly how he had gotten it- she had probably seen it. He belted on his dagger- she had not asked about it, because she already knew.

Damn it! The woman Rome demanded punished for the Batavian revolt just walked out of his door, and he had let her go. He was now a traitor, but was strangely at ease with that. It was the rest of the baggage train that tore him to pieces.

He stumbled out of his chamber and into the hallway. He could see through the window there the statues of his dead family below. He knew the face of Claudia was carved to stare down and forward, yet he could not help but see her now, with her stony face turned toward him, and a burning glare in her eyes. He blinked, and saw that his eyes had been playing tricks on him. Claudia’s head was still looking forward, her eyes invisible from this angle. Yet he remembered the accusing look. Was it because he failed her, or because she knew what he had done. Or was it… disapproval?

He shook his head to clear it. It did not work. Mumbling to himself, he lurched down the stairs and out the front door to stare into the empty courtyard of his home. He had half-expected to see Froydis standing there, awaiting him. She had not. The courtyard was bare.

Dieter came out the door behind him, two horns of beer in his hand.

“Here,” he said gruffly as he sat down on the little bench adorning the portico. It was the only fixture there. “Drink.”

“It is a bit early for beer,” Rutilius replied. The sun had risen, but barely.

“Or late, depending on your point of view,” the German replied. He drained his own horn and belched loudly. “I have been up all frikkin night, so to me this is a late beer. Or was.”

“Veleda?” Marcus croaked. His throat was suddenly constricted. A sip of the beer helped sooth the sudden dryness.

“Gone,” Dieter replied. “Idiot.”

Marcus spun toward his Guard Commander so quickly he almost spilled his horn. “You knew?”

“Claudius Victor told me last night,” Dieter said with a nod. “But I figured as much by myself. She was very good at noticing things, too good.”

“You knew, or suspected, and you said nothing of this to me?” Rutilius roared.

Dieter ignored the man’s rage. “She has saved your life at least three times now, and posed absolutely no threat to you. My interest in her went no further than that. Why should I care what she did in a former life? I once tried to kill you myself, back when we were at war. But we are at war no longer, and I count you among my best friends. So does she. She loves you, you idiot, and you let her walk right out of the gate and right out of your life. For what? Because she once advised Civilis? I fought for the man, and slew scores in his name. Because she ordered the slaughter of the two legions? Horseshit and cowflops. That was Ulfrich, on his own. You know that as well as I do. She is no more your enemy than I am.”

“How do you know?” Marcus asked. His voice was so low it was almost a whisper. “She might have been working her way into my heart in order to slay me when Rome needs me most. She would have seen that, and prepared for it. I cannot trust her. And with no trust, there is no happiness, or love.”

“Hel’s Half-White Face, man!” Dieter roared back. “Had she wanted you dead and the province conquered- all of the Empire north of the Alps, in fact- all she had to do precisely nothing. You would have taken us, the auxilia, and the Cananefate across the river and died gloriously but uselessly there. It was she who saw that your letter to Cerealis would end up with Cordinus in the camps by the Sacred Grove, and it was she who told the Frisii where to meet you. Those extra five thousand warriors really helped out, did they not? Had she not acted to save your ass, and mine too, we would all be dead. So no, Marcus, I do not think she had a hidden motive. She had her chance to destroy you and all Roman power north of the Alps, and did everything she could to prevent that. She loved you dammit, and you spurned her!”

“So you think I am stupid?”

“You let the love of your life walk away. No, you drove her away. Of course I think you are stupid! Claudia was a wonderful woman, Marek, but she is dead. Nothing and no-one, not you, not me, not Veleda, could have stopped that. It was her wyrd, the moment you chose her as your wife. It could just as easily been Veleda who was slain here, and her statue decorating your garden. Yet you were lucky, you moron. You found another such love as you had with Claudia. Few men are so lucky. I am not one of them. But you are. And you threw it away. Idiot!”

Marcus sagged against a column of the portico. “You are right, my friend. I have been stupid. I care not what she did before we met, and she has been nothing but a loving woman and wife since we met. But Rome wants her, and will find her if she stays as my wife. I let her go to give her her freedom, that she may live.”

“What a crock of shit,” Dieter fumed. He was getting seriously angry now, an effect of being up most of the night since Claudius Victor woke him with the news, and words he was to say. It was playing out just as he was told- proof that Veleda had seen this very confrontation. She was indeed the real deal when it came to prophecy. But those final words he was told not to say… They burned in him, but he saw now the truth behind them. He could talk to Marcus of the past, but he must not mention the future. It had to be the decision of Rutilius.

Rutilius sighed deeply, then stood tall. He had a decision to make, she had told him. And now he made it.

“Fetch my horse,” he said. “And a spare.”

Dieter smiled and whistled. Claudius Victor came out of the barn leading three horses.

“You are making a wise decision, Marcus,” he wheezed He handed over the reins.

“You put my bow on my horse,” Rutilius noted. “How do you know that I am not going to hunt the little bitch down and kill her?”

“You would have ordered Dieter to arrange a patrol, had that been the case. Asking for your horse and a spare meant you are going after her to bring her back to your home, as a man does for the woman he loves.”

“I really hate her powers,” Marcus mumbled as he mounted. “But in this case, she is saving us time.”

“Her powers made you rich, and the world a better place by keeping you in it,” Claudius Victor replied with a broad grin. “I cannot fault this. Or did you really think I am a financial genius? All I did was go where she pointed me and looked for what she said to look for. And in doing so, we built a financial empire for you and cared for our people who needed it.”

Marcus waited until his steward mounted before asking, “How long have you known?”

Claudius Victor smiled broadly again. “Since I first laid eyes on her. Or have you forgotten that I too was a chief advisor and warchief to my royal cousin Civilis? I saw her every bloody war council, with that charcoal shit in her hair. She did not like Civilis, but she gave him good advice. He might even have won, had he listened.”

Marcus shook his head. Such power! “I cannot let her ‘advise’ another rebel. If she will not come home, then I must do my duty and kill her myself. She was right about one thing, though. I will not see her in chains before my Imperator.”

“She has a three hour head start and runs fast,” Claudius retorted. “Stop talking nonsense and let us find the love of your life. You will see for yourself if the love you two still share is as true as those arrows of yours. I killed the worm who made them, by the way. He was a spy, and intent on doing you harm. I snapped his neck like a twig. Veleda was there when I did it. I told her I would do the same to her should she intend you harm. She nodded, as if she knew the truth of what I say. And I knew the truth of her answer when she replied she would never intend you harm. You may have enemies, my lord, but Veleda is not among them.”

Rutilius and Claudius Victor started their horses down the hill towards town. As they approached the road, Claudius suddenly stopped. “We should skirt the town to the west.”

Rutilius thought for a moment, a difficult task with his mind still in shock. But he knew his steward was correct. Veleda had touched him after he had read the note of Cordinus. She would know she had been spotted, and know to avoid the town as a risk. The man who talked to Cordinus might talk to others. There was still a hefty reward to be had for the man who brought her to the Romans… Or at least any Roman authority whose name was not Marcus Rutilius Lupus. She would likewise avoid the main roads, and anywhere to the south. She would head north, through the forest, and try to cross back to her homelands by means of the ford where she had joined his merchant caravan.

Then again, Claudius might be saying this because she told him where to go. Rutilius had no idea of anything anymore.

“Follow your heart, Marek,” Claudius Victor said, as if reading his friend’s thoughts. “It will lead you to her.”

“You seem bloody sure it wants her,” Rutilius mumbled.

Victor cackled. “That is one of the few things I am sure of, Marek. Your heart yearns for her. Even a maimed wardog like me, inured to pain and hardness, can feel it. I am not so sure of your head, but your heart.. Aye, my friend, I can see that clearly.”

“To the woods, then.”

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So Froydis was Veleda. *whistles*

Epic swerve, Terikel. Epic swerve.

I have to admit that even though there were some hints in previous parts, I was taken completely by surprise. Let's see if Marcus finds Veleda before Ulfrich finds him...

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Froydis was padding quickly through the forest. She was not running, yet, but she was not dawdling either. Her fate was unclear, and that both scared her and thrilled her at the same time. She had not lied when she told Marcus she saw little when it concerned herself. But she had seen two or three possible fates. One was approaching quickly. As in her Vision, she was padding through the deep forest with a pain in her chest. She was doing that now. After that, no visions at all. She knew what that meant. Her fate was beyond her control now. This was a penalty from the gods, for interfering with the fate of Rutilius on that autumn day when he was to be murdered. The fates of many had to be rewritten after that rash and pivotal act, and the gods take poorly to extra work thrust upon them by a mortal upstart using their gift.

Going into town was foolish. That she did see clearly. There was a man there, who had talked to Cordinus. He had seen her on a rainy day, when her shawl was up over her head to keep out the rain. He could not see her hair, only her face, and he had recognized that face. He was still in town, though would be dead by morning when he choked on a bone in his stew this evening. Had he seen her in town this day, he would have had her arrested to earn a reward which he would spend on a steak in celebration, thus living to see the morning at her expense.

Likewise the roads were dangerous. She knew from Avitas and Cordinus that there was a predator along the roads, which had increased the patrols of auxilia cavalry. Among those patrols were men who would not hesitate to hassle a woman traveling alone. Hazards were so easy to avoid when one knew of them ahead of their passing.

That left her the forest, and her coming destiny. She knew from her visions that a major event was coming. She could feel it. But its course, how it would play out- that was still as dark as a winter midnight with no moon. All she knew was that she would come upon a tree split by the wind soon, and there it would happen. What, she did not know. Only that it was by that tree that true love would save her, or her past would catch up to her. After watching the reaction of Marcus this past night, she thought the latter. It would serve her right, and fulfill her mother’s words. Her powers, once awoken, would eventually destroy her. Young Froydis had laughed then, and begged her mother to awaken the Powers in her as she had in her older sister Hanneli. She had seen Hanneli- who took the witch-name ‘Halla’- become famous through the tribes and she wanted that fame and adoration as well.

Now she laughed to herself for her folly. Halla was disgraced, while she herself was a hunted wolf in a Roman forest. Katja had no doubt inherited the powers from her mother- and made better use of them than ever Halla could. She was of her blood, and a survivor. She would lay low and rise on her own merit far from Rome, assume the witch-name of ‘Vosje’, and raise a horde of children by several kings. She would be a prize and her children likewise prized. Her firstborn would always be her favorite. Veleda sobbed, knowing why. ’Little Vixen’ is a very appropriate name for her!

Musing as she was, she did not notice where she was. She was heading north back to her homeland, but the wind-torn tree before her was too sudden, too soon. She was not prepared for the moment she knew was coming. She heard the heavy footfalls through the blanket of leaves a moment before a rough hand grabbed her shoulder to spin her around and slam her against the bole. She need not look up, but she did, and smiled.



It was as she had seen, her moment of truth. Her visions ended here. Her future from here was unknown, an exciting thought. She enjoyed a moment of total ignorance for the first time since she was a child.

“Hello, Ulfrich,” she said with a smile.

The one-eyed giant before her stopped abruptly in shock. He squinted his eye to be sure, noticing the strange blonde hair in place of what should be a raven thatch. But it was indeed her. The Witch. He laughed heartily.

“Veleda,” he shouted. He placed his forearm across her throat to pin her to the tree. “It has been a long time, witch, but I have you at last. I forgive the gods the cruel tricks they played upon my brother and I, now that I can destroy two foes with one dagger.”

Her smile never ceased, that haunting, playful, all-knowing smile. It infuriated him more than her words ever could.

“I shall kill you, witch,” he sputtered. “And after doing so, kill Rutilius as well. But first, woman, I shall take from you what you boasted you would give no man.”

His free hand began untying the knot of rope holding up his pants. He had wanted this woman long before she had spurned him with her haughty laughs. Not man enough for her? A failure? He would take his pleasure from her and leave her broken and begging for more.

As his own pants fell to mid-thigh, he began ripping open her cloak. It was not easy with one hand, yet the fabric was held closed by a single button. It parted from its base with a pop, to reveal her frock. He could see the pert breasts he admired so much pressing against the taut cloth, and more, he could see the swollen abdomen of a woman midway through her pregnancy.

Something clicked inside him, enraging him. No man was good enough for her? Then who put her with child? Wotan? She had lied, the bitch. There was a man good enough for her- the man who killed his twin, who broke his tribe’s power. The man whose woman was now at his mercy. Rutilius.

And her smile had still not faded. Verily, it grew wider, as if she could read his thoughts.

His member grew flaccid at the thought of the Roman besting him in this as well as everything else. His anger returned, doubled. He caught up his folding trousers with the hand that had held her pinned against the trunk and lifted his dagger with the other hand. This ends now, forever!.

He raised the dagger above his head. He wanted to see fear in her eyes at her impending doom. He wanted to see the famous witch flinch. To fear him. Yet she did not. She stood there calmly, smiling, infuriating him, as if daring him to follow through. Oh, he would! The only consolation he felt was that she moved half a step back, away from the tree.

Ulfrich took half a step forward. His arm began to stab downward. He heard a horse whinny in the distance, and knew that Rutilius was there. The Roman would watch his woman die before his eyes without a prayer of doing anything about it. That damned smile will fade. Now. The dagger swept forward faster.

Ka-thunk!

Ulfrich stared at the arrow nailing his wrist to the tree. What in the name of Loke?

Another ka-thunk, and his right leg was likewise pinned to the tree. He struggled madly to free himself as he heard the horses’ hooves pounding the forest floor. The arrow was embedded deep into the tree- it was as if Donar himself had driven it there. He noticed it was an oaken shaft. Erwin! I have been pinned by a Bructeri arrow, made by our best arrowsmith who was to lure Rutilius to his doom! He could not break the shaft, but he could and did rip his arm free by sliding his pierced flesh off of the end in an excruciating wrenching of muscle.

It did not help any. Claudius Victor swung his sword at the gallop as only a Batavian could do, leaning far over in the saddle and slamming the flat of the blade alongside the Bructeri skull. The brain inside rattled like a child’s toy. Ulfrich slumped to the ground like a sack of apples, only his leg remaining where it was- pinned to the tree by the second Bructeri arrow.

Rutilius, who was right behind Claudius, threw his bow aside and literally tumbled from the saddle. He rushed to his wife, and took her by the shoulders.

“Are you harmed?” he asked. The concern in his voice was true, and thick enough with which to smear butter onto bread. “Are you injured?”

Veleda shook her head. Her smile faded a bit at his touch, but not because of it. Her visions returned, flooding her mind with new possibilities of the future- and some certainties. This man’s love was one of them, in bright and vivid colors with Valkyries singing loudly. She broke from his grasp and rushed inward to him to hold him fervently. “I am fine, lover. Our child as well.”

He returned her embrace feverishly. “I was a fool to let you go. I shall not be so foolish again.” He kissed the top of her head as he held her tightly.

“I know,” Froydis replied lowly. Then she giggled at her own words. “At least, I know it now.”

She turned her head to catch Claudius Victor beaming like a lovestruck nymph. He had kicked the dagger meant to kill her from the hands of Ulfrich, and was about to deliver a francisca blade to the man’s forehead.

“Let him live,” she asked of the steward. “He was told long ago that he would be struck down by a prince, and die in utter agony. You, prince of the Batavi, struck down Ulfrich of the Bructeri, who once broke a king’s decree and slaughtered two surrendered Roman legions. It is only fair that the Romans fulfill the other half of his destiny.”

For once, Rutilius did not mind the powers his wife wielded. “He crucified me in his hall, as a trophy. I shall do the same to him, but I shall do it right. Bind him securely, Claudius. We do not want to prove Veleda a liar just yet.” That last was added with a cruel grin.

“He knows the secret of your wife, Marek. It would be in order to silence him forever, to keep her safe.”

Veleda held her husband fiercely while she spoke, “He will indeed talk, but it will come to naught. None who hear his words will believe them, or care. It will be the ravings of a crazed man, and of no more importance than a butterfly’s wingbeats on a windy day.”

“You know this, without touching him?” Claudius Victor asked.

“I am holding my husband,” Veleda replied in a demure voice. “We now have a long and happy future together. This I do see. Nothing Ulfrich did or will do, said or will say, shall change that.”

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It was two days before the summer solstice, on the flat stony field outside the gates of the castrum at Vetera. The field was deserted but for two men, though it was surrounded by the ankle-high foundations of destroyed buildings. Surrounding the foundations was a cohort of the XXII Primigenia, rotating its patrols around the perimeter of the old castrum. The field itself, the former parade ground of the castrum destroyed in the Batavian Revolt six years earlier, was marred only by the removal of one stone in order to plant a cross and the splinters of broken pottery here and there.

“I must applaud your excellent archery,” Ulfrich said as he hung from the cross. His wrists were securely bound, and a second set of ropes on his upper arms prevented any movement from his limbs. But he did not hang, not quite. A little ledge was under his feet. Upon this ledge he stood, to keep the weight of his muscular body from pulling his arms out of joint. It was a temporary relief, one that would make his death take that much longer when he no longer had the strength to stand on it. “No man I know can hit a moving arm from two hundred paces, and then finish the job with an arrow to the leg.”

“Shut up,” Rutilius ordered. He sat before the crucified man on a curule stool, a badge of his office as reigning governor. “I missed. I was aiming at your chest.”

“Then it is truly fate that causes me to hang here,” Ulfrich said with a resigned sigh.

“No, you did that yourself,” Rutilius corrected, “when you defied the decree of free passage given by Civilis to Lupercus. I served in the V Alaudae, you know. I knew Civilis, if but briefly. He would have murdered me out of prudence, but he was an honorable man for that. The Alaudae and the XVth were good men, who deserved better than to be butchered helpless and unarmed in the forest by a brute who knew no honor.”

“Helpless?” Ulfrich sputtered. He laughed. ”They killed a hundred of my men- some of them with their teeth! Yet they died, though they died well. I shall try to do the same.”

“I do not give a damn as long as you do die,” Rutilius replied straightforwardly. “You are a blight upon the honor of any who know you. Killer, murderer, rapist, liar, coward, the list goes on. But it ends here.”

Ulfrich made to say something, the held his mouth shut. After a few minutes of blessed silence, he spoke again.

“This spot must hold some kind of special significance for you,” he mused. “Did you choose it so that I could see my lands across the river, to torture me with the fact that I can see my lands but never again set foot on them? That no hope of rescue exists?”

“No,” Rutilius replied quietly. “I choose it to settle some ghosts.”

When it became apparent that the crucified Germanic had no idea of what he spoke, he added, “We found the bodies in the woods where you left them. You did not even bother to clean up the battlefield, or give them a proper burial. So my legion and the others picked up the men, burned them with a priest performing the rites to give their souls peace, and stored their ashes in large amphorae. One hundred and sixty amphorae. But the spirits did not gain peace from that. Every man who had ever served in either legion knew that. The spirits would not rest until their killer joined them.”

Rutilius stood, bringing his voice closer to the hanging man. “We built that castrum over there from the stones of this one. This one was too far gone to repair. And when we were done, we broke the amphora here on the parade ground, that the men be free in the fortress they fought so long to defend. But that too did not give them peace.”

He looked about. “Do you not see them, Bructeri? The shades of the men you murdered? I can feel them, and know they watch. You are closer to Death than I am. You should see them better than I. Staring, waiting, expecting you to join them, that they can rest sated of vengeance.”

The utter conviction in the voice of Rutilius caused a shiver to pass through his body. Yes, he could see them now. Short, dark shadows, gathering around the edges of the field. His victims, coming to take his soul and torture it forever for the crime he had committed. No Valkyrie would come for him now, to sweep him away to Wotan’s Great Hall. No, ghosts and spirits shall drag him down to Nifelheim, or worse- to their own hell. He quivered visibly now.

“I was content to put you here , bent over a wooden sawhorse, and scourge you to death to placate them,” Rutilius continued. “Fifty lashes, maybe more- you are a strong bull. You would bleed in agony, and mix your blood with their ashes before your soul joins theirs. Or simply strike you down and be done with it. But I changed my mind. I decided your fate would be the one you once decreed for me. You crucified me, a Roman citizen. But like all things you do, you screwed it up. I decided to crucify you, and show you how it should be done. The ledge upon which you rest is an aberration, though. You gave me a ledge, so I return the favor. Now shut up and die like a good man. One more word and I shall cut out your tongue. It will hasten your death, but relieve me of hearing your nonsense. The Larks would understand.”

Rutilius sat down and resumed watching the man die. Despite the physical strength and size of the condemned man, Rutilius knew from experience that it was a simple matter of mental strength versus the pain that would determine how long it took to die. Ulfrich was an ox in body but a worm in spirit.

He would not last the day, ledge or no.



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A brutal way to end someone's life. Brutal.

He probably deserved it though... An excellent update as always, Terikel.

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Epilogue

Castellum Rutilius, outside Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippensi, Late Autumn

“I see you are settled in now,” said the visitor. He was sprawled on the Roman couch in the reception chamber of the governor’s house outside of Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippensi. He was an odd sight, that man, dressed in Germanic leathers with long blonde hair tied up in a Suevi knot on the top of his head. A long Germanic sword was at his left hip, with a hunting knife of the other and a francisca tucked into his belt. A hint of chainmail could be seen where his leather jacket was not quite closed. In all, a German lounging on the couch instead of sitting upright in the dining hall was as out of place as a Vestal virgin in a bordello.

But then again, Gaius Roscius was as Roman as Caesar, despite his current garb.

“The province is settled,” Marcus Rutilius agreed. “And Cadorus is becoming quite a good quaestor. His suggestion of moving the VI Victrix to Vetera was a good one. The XXII Primigenia is on its way to Pannonia now.”

“Well, with Paulus now a praetor there and the Old Owl asking you to send a legion to Pannonia, it makes sense to give him his old legion as an escort. And with Gnaeus Messala in Rome now, moving the VIth north will put that young prick of a new legate under the stern barbarian eye of Cadorus. It also gives Cadorus two legions with which to secure the long northern part, while you and Amensius’s Rapax can hold the short south easily enough. Especially now.”

Rutilius nodded. “The peace is holding. The Marsi have finally chosen a king, and he is an ally of Segestes. The Tencteri and Usipi are too exhausted to do anything anyway. That leaves the Chatti as the only source of potential trouble.”

“Theowyck is a good bloke,” Roscius countered. “His tribe was hurt bad when his father died seeking glory in the north. Theowyck blames Halla for that, not you. In fact, when I had dinner with him a month ago, he wished you well.”

Rutilius raised an eyebrow.

“No, he did not see through my disguise,” Roscius clarified quickly. “He was speaking in general. He wished his own reign would be as long as his father’s, and as that he would be as honorable to his tribe as you were to yours. He made a big point of it, to be honest. Plus his tata lost a lot of men in that goatscrew by the Grove. He will not be going to war anytime soon.”

“I have it from a reliable source that the border here will be quiet for quite some time- centuries even,” Rutilius said. “The Germani are settled, and the Empire is looking to the Danubius now. The Dacians are really starting to act up, so the Rhenus falls in importance now that the Agri Decumates are in our hands.”

Roscius nodded. He had heard the same thing, from other sources. The eyes of the empire were turning away. Rutilius had built a good peace here that was fair for all, and thus would hold for quite some time. Centuries? That was taking it a bit far, but for the foreseeable future it was appeared true.

“So how are your orders proceeding?” he asked casually. He picked another plum from the bowl on the table and popped it into his mouth in a single gulp. “I love these damned things, by the way. From your farms?” He spit the pit out with a loud thunk.

“Imported,” Rutilius said off-handedly. “I will start an orchard of those near Argentoratum, though. Calix has the climate and the know-how to make the trees grow and thrive.”

“Speaking of farms, I ran into Claudius Victor. He just bought a nice plot just north of here. For Dieter, I assume?”

Rutilius nodded. “His woman came across the river two months ago with a small escort. He and she have hardly left the cottage since. I had Claudius Victor buy that farm so the rest of us could get some sleep during the night hours.”

“Met her,” Roscius admitted. “A pretty woman, built solid enough to take the likes of him. I met one of her escorts, too. Another big girl, but with two thick braids of hair the color of unsalted butter. She is carrying someone’s child now, but acting like a widow. I might settle down myself to a ready-made family, if I could get her to look at me the way her buddy Heidi looks at Deets.”

Rutilius hid the smile the mention of Sigrun brought. He had his own social spies now, and they kept him informed of every available woman in the province who might make a good mate for any of the eligible bachelors among the elite Guardsmen. A beautiful actress like Sigrun would indeed make a fitting mate for a rugged arcanus.

“As to my orders,” he said, finishing off the last lines of his scroll, “they are going well. Here is the latest report you are to which you are to testify. Our lads fought three skirmishes, driving the savages back into their woods, and are advancing on their stronghold, where we expect to recover the Eagles soon.”

“I love a good work of fiction,” Roscius said. He sat up. “No mention of Germanic spies, or massive ambushes, or of Chatti warhosts trapping our men?”

“As decreed by Vespasian himself,” Rutilius nodded. “A boring work of pure fiction to feed the warhawks in the Senate. No ambushes, no surprises, just mundane overrunning of savages in small-sale battles. I will give you the Eagles to take back on your next trip, when I write that the legions are returning to their winter quarters.”

Roscius rose. “I will take this to Cordinus in Gaul to have him seal it and make it official.” He scooped up the scroll and rolled it up before stuffing it into his mail-bag. He began to exit, then turned. “And the other order?”

Rutilius looked him dead in the eye. “Veleda the Witch has disappeared and not been seen in years. We are continuing to search for her but it is like finding a strand of straw in a haystack. I do not expect success.”

“She would know where we are looking,” Roscius said bitterly. “And from all I have heard, she was a true spåkona. I don’t expect her to be found either. Anyway, I’m off for Gaul. Give my regards to your wife and kids. That daughter of yours has really bright eyes, Marek. Like her mother. She will be a handful when she is older.”

Rutilius smiled broadly. “You have no idea.”

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EINDE, FINIS

THE END

A brilliant tale!

I have watched Rutillus from a young soldier caught up in the destruction of several legions to be the saviour of Rome in Germania!

Though it will be weird not seeing a new chapter from you every week.

An epic tale indeed!
With a fitting epilogue. For over two years I've been following and catching up the trials and turbulations of this Right wing guy.

But with all good stories, it has to end some time.
And this seems like a good a point as any.
Although I would've liked to see Rutilius play a role in Domitianus coming to power...

Any other tales lined up for us oh great Skald?

Thanks for keeping us entertained for so long!
(we want more)

This tale has come to an end... What a shame... I just hope that you'll write another equally wonderful tale soon (we have a Sepia Joust on historical fiction coming).

A magnificent end to a Masterful epic. Amazing work chief Skald!

It has come to my attention that this wonderful tale has finished, I am still woefully behind on my reading, but I felt the need to drop in and say what a magnificent job you've done in crafting this epic.

I look forward to reading your next scroll, hopefully by then I'll have completed this one!