James Mace - Soldier of Rome - Heir to Rebellion

“At least you got some pleasant memories out of the whole thing!” Magnus remarked with a laugh. He then reached down and helped his friend to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go find some more distractions together and we will break that spell you are under!” Artorius laughed and walked back towards the inn, his arm around Magnus’ shoulder. They saw Praxus and Ostorius heading towards the inn, both men slightly inebriated and singing a song about a prostitute from Sicilia, while trying to hold each other up.

Artorius then remembered that he still had his room that he had paid for. He wondered if that little hussy would still be there or would she have run off into the night? It mattered not; she could be replaced easily enough. His friends, on the other hand…well, they were more than just his friends, they were his brothers, and they was no replacing any of them. They were his rock that he built upon, for they never let him down. And when he was down, they were the ones to pick him back up again.

Not since the death of his brother and mother had Artorius ever felt such pain of loss. He wondered if Diana was indeed the only woman he would ever love; that whatever future relationships he may have with women, all would leave him hollow and lost. He shrugged his shoulder and figured that love was but a fantasy told by poets. After all, one did not marry for love in Roman society; it grew after the marriage, if it came at all.

Isurium Brigantum, Capital of the Brigantes, Isle of Britain

September, A.D. 23

The Brigantes had been very kind to Milla since her arrival eight years previously. It was King Breogan — so named after an ancient king of legend — that had first found the young woman and her young son lost in the wilderness, terrified and half mad with hunger. He had recognized her as being of the people of the continent, but he did not ask any questions at the time. Instead, he took Milla and her son, Alaric, into his house. His daughter, Cartimandua, had taken to them almost immediately, particularly the young Alaric, who was but a couple years younger than she.

Breogan had no sons and had buried two wives; the second had died giving birth to his beloved daughter. As the years passed he had thought to make Milla his wife and adopt her son as his own, but Milla would not have it. Though she cared for Breogan deeply and had grown to think of Cartimandua as her own daughter, there was something in her past that she could not let go of. Breogan rarely asked her about it, seeing as how it upset her greatly. It was when a caravan of Roman merchants arrived that he guessed what in Milla’s past vexed her so. Normally the Brigantes did their trading with the Roman merchants at the eastern coastal towns; however, these particular merchants had elected to come to Isurium Brigantum itself. When Milla heard where the men were from she ran away, sobbing in terror. Breogan and Alaric would later find her deep within a grove of trees, curled up on the ground with her head resting in Cartimandua’s lap. The young woman gently caressed her hair and tried to console her.

“It is Rome that darkens your past, isn’t it?” Breogan asked at length. Milla started to sob again while Cartimandua held her close and whispered into her ear that everything would be alright.

“The Romans murdered our people,” Alaric said. All eyes turned to him, Milla shaking her head, but the boy was tired of keeping their past a secret. “We are of the Marsi; a tribe that was butchered by the legions eight years ago. My mother is Milla, wife of the war chief, Barholden. We are all that is left of our people.” Milla placed her hand over her eyes, a host of painful memories overwhelming her. Breogan turned to face the lad. Alaric was fast becoming a man and was but a few inches shorter than he.

“But you are not the last of your people,” the king replied. “Mallovendus, who I assume is your uncle, has ruled the remnants of the Marsi ever since the end of the wars between Arminius and Rome.”

“He is my husband’s brother,” Milla said, desperately trying to regain her composure. She sat upright, Cartimandua keeping her hands on her shoulders. Milla then recounted her and Alaric fleeing their village when it was destroyed by the legions. She recalled in brutal detail the savage beating her father took at the hands of a legionary before he was slain; how her sister was stabbed in the back trying to flee, and her newborn niece drowning in the river. The Romans had been particularly cruel to the women, smashing many to death with rocks and clubs rather than granting them the quick death rendered by the gladius.

“Many tribes paid a terrible price during the wars,” Breogan said when Milla had finished.

“I never heard what had happened after we fled,” Milla replied. “I only wished to get my son as far away from that scene of death as I could. That is why I came here. The ocean stands between your people and Rome; and yet they still come.”

“Traders , not legionaries,” Cartimandua said reassuringly. Milla shook her head.

“A Roman is a Roman,” she asserted, “and my fear is that they will find too much to their liking here; for if they do the legions will follow.” Breogan dropped to a knee and took one of Milla’s hands in his own.

“I must beg for your forgiveness, my dear,” he pleaded. Cartimandua closed her eyes, for she knew what her father would say. “It is I who brought the Romans into my lands. We have had a trade agreement with them for years, as have many of the kingdoms of this isle. Many of the statues and décor you see in my city come from Rome; we trade goods and luxuries with them for tin, which this island has much of.” Milla lowered her eyes, though she did not pull her hand away. In truth she did not know what Roman art or architecture looked like. She had never even seen a Roman until they came to murder her people.

“I know nothing of the Romans except the horrors they brought to my people,” Milla replied. “They murder entire nations and dare to call it peace!”

“I wish to know more of the Romans,” Alaric said. “If they do come to this land, then I should like to be ready for them.” Breogan looked back at him and nodded as Milla lowered her head. Alaric knelt before his mother and took her other hand.

“Your mother’s heart breaks at you leaving,” Cartimandua observed as she and Alaric walked through the woods that evening.

“Have you ever seen Rome?” Alaric asked, stepping over a fallen log.

“Once, a long time ago. When my grandfather was still king of the Brigantes he was a guest of the Emperor Tiberius, soon after his assumption of power. Germanicus was making ready to invade Germania and the Emperor wanted the reassurance of any allies or trading partners on the island that the tribes of Britain would stay out of the war.”

“So your grandfather allied himself to Rome while my people were murdered,” Alaric said quietly.

“It was not for us to pass judgment in the conflict between Rome and the tribes of Germania,” Cartimandua replied sternly. “Rome was already a strong trading partner and our people had flourished because of it.”

“You intend to remain allied to Rome when you succeed your father, don’t you?” Alaric stated rather than asked. Cartimandua folded her arms across her chest and breathed in deeply through her nose before giving a curt response.

“Yes. Remember little brother; it is a brutal world that you are stepping back into. I am not unsympathetic to what happened to you and your mother. However, if I am to spare my people the same fate, the last thing I should do is antagonize the Empire that has been a valuable partner to my father and me.

“Your mother was right about one thing; Rome will come. Perhaps it will happen in our lifetime, perhaps not. The Emperor Tiberius has no ambition to expand the Empire further, but what’s to say his successors will feel the same way? The whole of this island is volatile, with tribes constantly at war with each other. The Iceni are particularly troublesome. I daresay a Roman invasion would be a blessing!” Alaric was appalled by what he heard, but still he listened.