Daniel Ottalini - Copper Centurion

Julius

The crisp autumn breeze swirled dust and kicked up dry leaves as it raced across the Cimbrian lowlands into the twisting streets of Copendrium, major port and capital of the northern province. The wind brought with it the scent of war and weighted the air with the tension of preparation.

Centurion Julius Brutus Caesar walked down the narrow, winding Via Ecclesia, with its multitude of small shops and eateries. Otherwise known as Church Street, it wove through the heart of old town Copendrium. Dusk had begun to settle in, and the streetlights were flickering into existence, as lamplighters with long poles lit the gas lanterns every thirty feet.

Pulling his red woolen cloak tighter around his body to ward off the chill, Julius paused at an intersection, his eyes straining to read the street signs. A nearby lamplighter must have seen his confusion, because the man walked over and held up his long tube lighter, illuminating the signs. Julius thanked the man profusely and tossed him a half-denarius for his trouble before continuing on the now-certain path.

Julius stopped under the swinging sign illuminated by the flickering streetlights and lit windows. Decorated with a laurel crown circling a dancing maid, it identified the pub as the one he sought. He opened the ancient, well-worn door and the sounds and sights of the tavern washed over him as he entered.

“Good evening, legionnaire,” a cheerful voice called. “Welcome to the Emperor’s Maid, the finest tavern and inn here in Copendrium. You will na’ find better rooms in all of Cimbria.”

Julius turned to the owner of the voice-a short, round woman with a thick neck and a dense mane of disheveled blond hair. Her northern accent reminded Julius of a similar accent he had heard just a few months before. With an inward shake of his head, he pushed down those memories and nodded at the innkeeper. “Good evening, Domina. .”

“Krystina, at your service. We have rooms, food, drink, and company, if you so choose, young man.” She flashed a sly grin.

Julius felt his face heat as he fumbled his next comment. “I-ah. . no thank you, that won’t be necessary.” He waved her off. “I’m actually here to meet up with some friends. I’m afraid I’m a tad bit late.”

Her eyebrows lifted at the mention of a meeting. “Oh! You must be looking for the tribune. Right this way.” She walked out from behind the bar, squawking at a serving girl to take care of the patrons at the bar.

The front end of the inn was a wide serving area, with a bar at one end by the door, and a multitude of tables and chairs pushed haphazardly together by different patrons. Voices filled the room, making it loud, but not deafening. Through this tangled maze Domina Krystina led Julius, deftly maneuvering around tables and visitors, her ample frame always moving at the last second. Not one drop of wine or beer was spilled, nor one patron jostled without a kind word of apology.

Julius, on the other hand, had nearly upended several serious card games and emptied two different glasses of drink by the time they had crossed the room. He left several muttering and cursing customers in his wake.

At the back of the common room were several closed doors. She opened one of them and gestured him through.

Julius stepped out of the smoke and noise of the common room into a private meeting room, its walls paneled, intricately carved beams supporting a ceiling of some dark wood. To his left, several men lounged on chaises or in high-backed chairs near a large fireplace that dominated that end of the room. Its metal chimney hood was blackened with age and soot, and looked as if it had never been cleaned. The other light in the room came from dangling gas lanterns, which helped to banish the flickering shadows from the fireplace. A slender figure swathed in a long cloak stood apart, looking through the windows on the opposite side of the room at the dark streets.

Domina Krystina bowed slightly, and announced Julius.

“Thank you, Domina. That will be all that we are needing,” Tribune Constantine Tiberius Appius said from the chaise where he lounged with his back to the fire, his chin resting on his fist. “Come in, come in, Centurion. Looks like it’s getting cold outside,” he added as the younger man took off his cloak and hung it by the door.

Julius’s commanding officer reached over and grabbed a morsel from the tray of finger food on the table nearby. He popped it into his mouth and waited while Julius settled in a chair, looking around the room at the other occupants. “Well, report, Centurion Caesar. What did you discover? Everyone here is a friend to our cause.”

Julius squared his shoulders and mentally ran down his report. Taking a breath, he began. His words flowed into the room, with only the crackle of logs in the fireplace and the occasional crunch of chewing punctuating his words. “I reported in at the post to check on the men. As of today, the IV Britannia and the III Cimbrian have arrived; they were setting up their quarters when I left. With the XIII and VII Germania already here, we are simply awaiting the arrival of the Northern Aerial Division under Air-Admiral Polentio. This includes the H.M.A.S. Scioparto , fresh from a retrofit.” He paused as Tribune Appius interrupted, waving his hand.

“Excellent! We’ll be able to see Captain Alexandros again. Mighty fine job he did, last time we worked together.” The statement hung in the air for a moment, as the other officers nodded in agreement. “With the air-admiral’s ships and our men, we should be in Midgard by the Winter Solstice!” he boasted, the red flush in his cheeks betraying the amount of wine he had imbibed.

Fists clenched, Julius snarled, “We’ll pay them back for every life they took in Brittenburg, and then some!” He didn’t try to keep his anger and hatred from his voice, and the others looked at him. Sadness showed in some eyes, while steely resolve glimmered in others.

Tribune Appius stood and extended a fresh goblet of wine to him. Julius grasped it and drank deeply, the liquid pushing the sudden tightness from his throat.

“No one can bring back the lives lost in Brittenburg, Centurion, and it would be foolhardy to try. Especially by wasting your lives fruitlessly against the mountain walls of Midgard.” It was the figure by the window that spoke, turning to address the other occupants of the room. A slender arm pulled back the hood, revealing a pale face with high cheekbones framed by curly brown hair. Dark eyes peered from deep sockets, giving the woman an almost skeletal look. Julius thought he saw sadness in her eyes as she took his measure. “I know all about your family, Centurion, and I offer you my condolences on behalf of the Imperial Senate.”

Julius was having trouble masking his emotions. He clamped down hard on the turbulent rush of anger, sadness, and frustration boiling just below the surface. Finally, he managed to mutter thanks.

“Although it may not seem like it, I know how you are feeling. My name is Senatora Octavia Pelia. I’ve been tasked by the Senate War Committee to be their observer for your mission. And because I know what you’re already thinking about civilians messing around with a military operation, I am here strictly as an advisor, not a leader. My father was Senator-and General-Horatio Pelia, victor of the Battle of Vilnus and the Seven Woods War. I’ve lived near the northern frontier my entire life, and I’m one of the foremost experts on the Nortlanders-their culture, language, and history.” She paused, looking around at the military officers. A few seemed a bit startled by the amount of background and information she was bringing to the table. Others could barely contain looks of annoyance at having to put up with the military’s foremost evils: women and politicians.