Prologue

Line after line of Roman soldiers stood upon the plain of Agrippinensis, their formations precise and well-ordered, specifically arrayed to give the impression of an invincible fighting force. Standing behind all the heavily armed and armoured lines of soldiers on a gently rising slope which gave a perfect view of the entire battlefield was a large tent, home to the Military Tribunes and Legion Commanders. In front of the tent stood a man who would have seemed almost entirely unremarkable if not for the impressive armour and purple cloak which adorned him, signifying his rank as the General in command of the assembled army. A cold breeze ruffled the shock of neatly trimmed black hair atop the General's head. The cold air forced him to narrow his piercing blue eyes as he gazed down upon the soldiers before him. An intricately decorated short sword hung in its scabbard at his side, swaying delicately in the breeze. Every puff of his breath hung in the air for a moment as a translucent cloud of mist, a visible representation of the chill which permeated every square inch of the land. Germania Inferior was not a pleasant province in the early stages of winter.

Satisfied with his inspection of the soldiers, the General turned on his heel and strode confidently into the command tent. No sooner had he passed through the heavy cloth flaps and entered the considerably warmer structure than one of the Tribunes scuttled to his side.

"General Ulpius," the Tribune said in an ingratiating voice, "we have prepared your orders for the troops and are prepared to send them to the Centurions upon your request."

"Have we heard from the scouts yet?" General Ulpius asked, trying in vain to hide his contempt for the weasly young Tribune. The General had little respect for the Tribunes - often, they were nothing more than privileged boys using the position as a stepping-stone to senatorial positions back in the comfort of Rome. He, on the other hand, was a soldier born from a long line of soldiers, trained from childhood to be a mighty warrior. While the Tribunes had cushy administrative positions handed to them, it was only through the blood and sweat of his unending toil that he had been able to earn the favour of the province's Governor, and thus the command of the provincial legions. Even the Emperor had once praised Marcus for his skill in battle - an honour which few others could claim.

"I'm sorry , sir," the Tribune wheedled, "but we have not heard from our scouts yet. It is, of course, possible that they were intercepted and killed by the Sicambrii army - in such a case, it would be foolish to delay giving orders to the troops."

"It's just as possible that they haven't reported back yet because they haven't found the Sicambrii army," General Ulpius snapped back. "And if I give my men orders to hold their ground against an enemy attack, only to find out hours from now that the Sicambrii have turned back or somehow circumvented our position, it will take hours to straighten out the mess - provided we were able to catch up with the Sicambrii forces before they reach Cologne. I will not take such a foolish chance."

The Sicambrii were one of the tribes of roaming barbarians who made their home in the province of Germania Inferior. Up until recently, they had been one of the least aggressive tribes in the region, fighting only in retaliation for Roman encroachment on their perceived territory. As of late, however, rumours had begun to circulate that the tribe was concentrating their forces from all over the province under the command of a group of renegade Roman citizens. The sighting of a large group of armed Sicambrii marching towards the provincial capital of Cologne had sparked an immediate reaction only three days earlier, forcing General Ulpius to rally the provincial legions and fortify their position at Agrippinensis in expectation of a Sicambrii attack.

"You'd best listen to him," said a booming voice from behind General Ulpius, accompanying a freezing draft as the tent flaps were pulled open. "Marcus knows what he's doing."

"Governor Ceresius," General Ulpius said with a slight smile as he turned to face the new arrival. "I was not expecting you here. I was lead to believe that you would be remaining in Cologne while we take care of this minor issue with the Sicambrii."

"Are you objecting to my presence?" The Governor's tone was jovial, but it was undercut by the unspoken question: are you challenging my authority?

"Not at all," General Ulpius replied. "In fact, I welcome it - sit back and enjoy what you are about to witness, Governor. The battle will be a decisive display of the Roman superiority over the heathen hordes, and will be well worth remembering."

"Actually," Governor Ceresius said, placing his arm around Marcus' shoulder, "I'm not here to observe."

"Then may I ask why you are here, Governor?" Marcus winced internally; he knew the answer to his question already, but hoped that the Governor would surprise him and allay his fears.

"You are right when you say that this is a battle which will be worth remembering," Governor Ceresius said. "The triumph over the barbarians will be one which will be sung of even as far away as Rome, with the same hushed reverence usually reserved for discussion of Emperor Trajan's conquests.

"But I digress. I have decided to invoke my authority of command as Governor of this province. I will be the one who leads our legions into battle."

"Governor, with all due respect -" Marcus said. His heart sank down into his stomach - the apprehension which had settled deep inside of him suddenly flared to life.

"I will accept no arguments in this matter," Governor Ceresius interrupted. "My mind is settled, and the issue is decided. I have prepared orders for your men, Marcus. I expect that they will be carried out to the letter."

"Governor Ceresius, I must protest. With the utmost respect and deference to your civil authority, you have never commanded an army before. While I fully trust that your orders and tactics will undoubtedly be sound and well-advised, I must nonetheless request that you abandon this course of action."

"Do you forget my own military experience, General? Unless your mind is getting clouded in your old age, you should remember that I served honourably as a Tribune on many glorious conquest in my younger days. Now stand aside, General. Join your men if you feel the need to be involved in the battle, but your commands will be superceded by my own."

"Sir," a breaking young voice came from the entrance to the tent. A breathless young man, still in the grips of adolescence and barely able to fit into the military uniform which hung from his body, stood panting just inside the tent's door-flap. "The Sicambrii have been spotted. They will be upon us almost immediately!"

"Dispatch these orders to the Centurions," Governor Ceresius said, handing the young man a leather bag filled with scrolls. "Ensure that they are followed to the letter."

"Of course, Governor," the young man said, taking the bag with a bow. He rushed out of the tent to obey his orders. As the tent flaps swung open with his egress, a cheer came up from the front lines of the army. General Ulpius glanced at Govenor Ceresius impudently before leaving the tent to discover the cause of the cheers. It took very little time to find the cause of the noise - the first Sicambrii soldiers could be spotted on the opposite end of the plain, even from great distance which seperated them from the Roman army.

"Here they come," Governor Ceresius said gleefully. His glee was cut short as the trickle of Sicambrii soldiers churning onto the battlefield became a flow, until the entire opposite side of the plain was rapidly lost under the stomping of Sicambrii boots.

"Here they come indeed," General Ulpius said gravely. "I hope for the sake of our people that your orders are sound, Governor. I shudder to think of the consequences if we should lose this battle."

"We shall not lose," General Ceresius said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Our forces are invincible. Trust me, my friend, and we shall soon be relaxing in the warmth and comfort of my mansion, laughing at the pathetic antics of and these petty barbarians."

Chapter I

Marcus Ulpius sat at a table, staring down into his glass of cheap wine. He was not a physically imposing man, but rather the contrary. A shock of unruly black hair sat atop an almost entirely unremarkable blue eyed face, which rested upon a lightweight body of average height. Looking at him, one would be tempted to write him off as a nothing, a nobody. Today, that assessment wasn’t entirely inaccurate - he certainly wasn't the clean-cut, carefully groomed soldier that he had once been. A thick layer of stubble covered his cheeks and chin, and an unpleasant odour wafted from his body. Even his clothing was tattered and dirty, from his threadbare grey tunic down to a pair of pants held together by little more than Jupiter’s blessing. There was not a single thing about Marcus that even hinted at the fact he had once been a great man, renowned through all of the Roman Empire. He looked filthy. He looked disgusting. He looked weak. Looks, however, can be deceiving.

The Squealing Weaselwas much like any other tavern in Xanten. So far removed from the heart of the Empire, few establishments could boast of any real civility or amenities. Smoke clouded every corner of the tavern’s main hall, and the smell which pervaded throughout was a sickly combination of cheap wine and unwashed bodies. To say that fights were common would be a gross understatement; indeed, scarcely a night went by when there wasn’t at least a handful of minor skirmishes, and it wasn’t rare to see seriously wounded patrons being thrown out on the street by the bartender. Tonight, the entire tavern was on edge. It had been quiet all night - not a single fight had taken place. Approximately thirty patrons were scattered throughout the hall (which was only large enough to accommodate fifty men without being overcrowded), most lost in alcohol induced stupors. This was a good place to come when you had to drown your sorrows, or at least needed to hide from them for a while.

The night’s peace was suddenly disturbed when an extremely inebriated patron stumbled into Marcus’ table, jostling it hard enough to send Marcus’ drink square into his lap. Marcus leapt to his feet, shoving the drunkard backward in the same movement.

“Blasted fool, watch where you’re going!”, he spat angrily.

“My apologies,” the drunk slurred, “But I think the table moved…hey…I know you! You’re that sot…oh, what’s the name…Ulpius!”

A shiver ran down Marcus’ spine. Being recognized was never a good sign. He was not a well liked man in Germania Inferior since the Battle of Agrippinensis. His reputation had taken a steep dive shortly after that fateful day. People blamed him for the defeat, rather than placing the blame with Governor Ceresius. They said that Marcus should have known better than to allow a civilian to command an army.

“No,” he said, “You must have me mistaken for someone else. I apologize for yelling at you. I’ll just be on my way now.”

“You are him, aren’t you! You bloody spineless coward! Mangy whore-monger! You led my brother’s legion at Agrippensis…you got him killed.”

Marcus winced. The drunkard seemed to be sobering up in a hurry now, slurring fewer words and standing in a decidedly hostile stance.

“I have no quarrel with you,” Marcus said quietly. “Move on, and let this quarrel go. No good will come of this, I assure you.”

“The hell it won’t! Someone should have put you down long ago, like the blasted cur you are! First you run two full legions of men headlong into their deaths, and then run away like a coward…You’re no more than a traitor.”

That was enough. The mere mention of the word “traitor” motivated Marcus to action. With a fierce cry, he lunged forward at the man, swinging his fists in rage. A soldier never forgets his training, and Marcus was no exception. Even with a brain half addled by drink, he landed his blows quickly and accurately. First his left fist smashed the man’s nose, and then his right came down onto the man’s temple. While the drunkard staggered backwards a step, Marcus’ right hand arced upwards again, this time connecting with the man’s chin. In the blink of an eye, his body collapsed into a heap on the floor, blood gushing out of his nose.

Memories came flooding back to Marcus as he watched his opponent drop to the ground. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he was lost in a deluge of mental images: formation drills in the Empire's capital, his drill instructor red-faced and screaming out the proper instructions for weapon drills, days on end spent fighting in hazy battlefield, choking on the acrid fumes of massive barrels of burning oil, and grand ceremonies to commemorate his victories. That was all gone now, the memories no more substantial than the smoke which filled the tavern. This is my life,Marcus thought bitterly. Supreme warrior of the bar-room brawl. The great cautionary tale, the fallen General.

Marcus sighed sadly as he stepped over the drunk’s fallen body. Events always unfolded this way when he was recognized: shock, then anger, and then the inevitable violence. Forget the fact that he’d been a damned good soldier for over fifteen years, and that he had led the Legion 1 Minervia for a further two years before being appointed General of both of the province's legions. Forget that he was a brilliant tactician from a long line of brilliant tacticians and warriors. Forget that he was, and always had been, loyal to the Empire. In the blink of an eye, all of that reputation was wiped away.

More than just my reputation,Marcus reflected, my entire life. I was a hero once. Now I’m nothing – a slovenly drunk in a tavern full of other drunks, with nothing to distinguish myself from the masses. I lived my life as a hero, and now I’m going to die a traitor…and all because of that son of a bitch.

The son of a bitch that was the target of so much of Marcus’ hatred was a man by the name of Julianus Vestatian. Several years ago, Julianus had held a position of some influence in the governance of the province of Germania Inferior. He had been a Praetor, second in command of the province’s civil affairs. Marcus, on the other hand, had been the Dux Legatus Legionis, or Commander-General, of the provincial armies of Germania Inferior – a position which gave him complete control over the province’s military might; over ten thousand soldiers had lived or died at Marcus’ whim. While the two men had held positions of arguably comparably power and influence over their respective domains, Marcus had chosen to use his influence wisely. Julianus, however, had not.

Enough thinking of the past,Marcus thought as he approached the bar and ordered another drink. I came here to get drunk, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.

***

It was several hours later when Marcus finally stumbled out of the tavern, so drunk that he could scarcely stand. The rest of the night had gone largely without incident; bouncers had carried the body of the man Marcus had fought with out the door, and nobody else had dared approach him. Now, drunk and alone, he had no higher aspiration than to find his way home – or at least to find a comfortable alley to pass out in.

I should be in Rome right now,Marcus thought in that disjointed, semi-random way that bitter drunks think in the twilight hours, retiring to some comfortable senatorial position, with Lucia at my side. Instead I’m here, defeated and dishonoured, and she…

For better or worse, Marcus never had a chance to finish that particular thought. As he passed a particularly dark alley, a pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him inside. In the dim light Marcus’ blurred vision was barely able to perceive the familiar face of the man he had fought with earlier and two other shadowy figures before the blinding pain of a kick to the groin knocked him off his feet. Before Marcus knew what was happening, he was being assailed from all sides, unable to stand under the rain of blows. Before he sunk into the welcoming embrace of unconsciousness a single thought came to him: by Bacchus, this just isn’t worth it.

Chapter II

“Close your ranks! Break their columns! Don’t stop until Pluto claims either them or you!” Marcus’ voice boomed across the battlefield, and swarms of soldiers reacted to his call. The plain of Agrippinensis was chaotic - spears, swords, and shields clashed together violently, combining with the screams of dying and wounded men to form a cacophonous symphony. In the midst of all this chaos, Marcus stood resplendent as a bastion of order; his black and purple cape flowed around him, billowing around a suit of highly polished banded armour as he strode back and forth across the battlefield, gesturing his orders towards the various Cohorts in front of him. The units responded to him as best they could, wheeling about to face their enemies just as they were directed.

The plain of Agrippinensis was a vast, open field flanked on the east and west sides by dense forests. Normally a tranquil pastoral setting, the plain had seen better days than today. Dark clouds covered the sky, and a fine mist drizzled down upon the combatants trampling the lush grass which covered the plain, forcing the nearly thirty thousand men to fight for their lives in mud and muck. Two full legions of Roman soldiers - over ten thousand men in all - fought in neat columns against a horde of nearly twice as many Sicambrii tribesmen lead by traitorous Romans.

They fight in loose, sloppy excuses for formations,Marcus thought, but their sheer numbers are wearing us down.

Reacting to a horrifying scream to his left, Marcus whirled just in time to see a half dozen barbarians cutting a swath through a nearby formation, rushing directly at him. With a primal scream ripped from the very depths of his soul, Marcus charged straight at the men, intent on slaughtering them all. After closing the gap between them, Marcus thrust his sword at the closest. The tip of his short sword entered the man’s throat at the jugular, piercing straight through the neck and nearly cutting his head clean off. Before the first kill’s body had even a chance to fall to the ground, Marcus had reversed the trajectory of the blade, swinging away from the dead man and slashing deep into the shoulder of the next barbarian. As Marcus’ blade bit deep into flesh, a spray of blood erupted from the wound, covering him in a fine red drizzle. Before he could pull his blade out of the wound it had created, Marcus felt a terrible flash of pain in his chest. Looking down, he saw the head of a spear protruding from his armour, having pierced straight through his back and out the other side. Oh, damn, was the only thought Marcus could register before the pain of a second spear piercing his side drove him to his knees. Agony overwhelmed him as the world faded to black.

***

Pain was the first sensation Marcus felt as he struggled to regain consciousness. The dawning realization that the battlefield had been only a dream was soon replaced by the bitter disillusionment of his return to reality. His entire body ached, and the fact that he felt a boot nudging him in the ribs only made things worse. To top it all off, he was fairly certain that the rib on the receiving edge of the nudging was broken.

Don’t move, was the thought that bubbled to the surface of his half-conscious mind, and he’ll go away. Bloody guards need to mind their own business.

Unfortunately for Marcus, the insistent nudging did not go away, but instead intensified. Gradually he forced himself to open his eyes and sit up. The return to consciousness was not pleasant. Bright sunlight dazzled his eyes, and the stench of the garbage and urine which filled the alley assaulted his nostrils. As his eyes adjusted to the harsh daylight, he perceived a blurry form standing over him. After nearly a full minute squinting up at the figure, he began to make out some details: the man responsible for his rude awakening was, in fact, little more than a boy. Small and frail, the fair-haired youth was dressed far too well to be native to this part of the city. As the boy glanced around the alley disdainfully, Marcus caught a glimpse of the winged sandals which were embroidered upon his cap.

A messenger boy, Marcus thought, finally gathering enough of his mind to being making sense of the world around him. Better than a guard, at least. Well groomed, too. Probably thinks he’s too good to be standing in a piss-soaked alley. Come to think of it, he’s probably right.

“I presume that you are Marcus Ulpius, former General of the provincial Legions? I was told that you often…rest in this area.” The boy’s Latin was crisp and precise, without a trace of an accent - a sure sign that the boy had been raised in Rome.

Somebody has gone to considerable effort, Marcus reflected. Bringing a messenger from Rome to the outmost reaches of the Empire is an expensive undertaking, warranted only for tasks of the utmost importance and secrecy where local messengers cannot be trusted. I didn’t think I still warranted that kind of treatment. By the gods, I know I don’t.

“I…” as Marcus tried to speak, phlegm rose in his throat. Coughing and hacking, he spat out a small ball of spit, phlegm, and blood. “I am that man. Ulpius the great, the glorious, the warrior…” his voice trailed off bitterly.

The messenger rolled his eyes and spoke in a patronizing tone. “Quite so, I’m sure. I have been sent with a message for you.”

“I would have never guessed that,” Marcus sneered. “I’m a drunk, not an idiot.”

Ignoring Marcus’ sarcasm, the messenger reached into a small pouch on his belt and pulled out a rolled up scroll. Breaking the seal that held it closed, the messenger unfurled the scroll and read it in a clear, ringing voice: “Marcus Eranthan Ulpius, Dux Legatus Legionis of the Legions of Germania Inferior, loyal servant of Rome and the Emperor - your attendance is urgently required in the provincial capital city of Cologne. Please use the enclosed funds to arrange the most expedient transportation possible. Upon your arrival in Cologne, report to The Countryside Innand ask for Vito. Show him this message and an audience will be arranged with me at the earliest possible convenience. Yours, Domitian C.”

Domitian? It can’t be. How could he have found me? More to the point, why is he looking for me? Marcus’ mind raced with these questions and a thousand more.

His duty nearly completed, the messenger dropped the scroll and a small purse full of coins on the ground beside Marcus. He stared at the two objects as if he doubted their very existence. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, carefully measured voice.

“If this is a joke, it is in very poor form.”

“I assure you,” the messenger said, “it is no joke. I was personally hired by Mr. C., and have carefully ensured that neither the message nor those coins have left my possession before this very moment. The veracity of the message cannot be disputed. If I may be so bold, the only decision that you need to make is whether or not you will do as Mr. C. asks.”

With that, the messenger turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Marcus bewildered in the alley.

Shaking his head, Marcus thought, I’m too old for this.

***

From his vantage point atop a small hill on the northernmost fringe of the plain of Agrippinensis, Marcus surveyed the battlefield. The rain had ceased and the clouds had parted to give way to the rapidly sinking sun. The fading light revealed a horrifying scene: thousands of bodies carpeted the plain, some still wailing and writhing in their death-throes. Scattered pockets of soldiers still skirmished amongst the corpses, but the victorious Sicambrii horde had largely departed southward, in the direction of Cologne.

There’s nobody to stop them,Marcus reflected sadly. The city guard are nothing more than glorified babysitters, and with the Emperor and his legions conquering Dacia, reinforcements will not be forthcoming.

“It could be worse, my beloved. At least you survived.” A sweetly melodious voice sounded from behind Marcus. Whirling to face the speaker, he felt his knees buckle and nearly give way. Seated on a bench in front of him was a stunningly beautiful woman. The day’s final beams of sunlight glinted off her chestnut-brown hair, and a bright intelligence shone through her blue eyes. The sight of her caused Marcus’ breath to catch in his throat.

“Lucia…Lucia, my love. What are you doing here? You should be in…” his voice trailed off as he realized the implications of what he had nearly said.

Lucia smiled. “In Cologne? Yes, I suppose that I should be. I just couldn’t bear to be there…away from you.”

She rose from her seat, gliding gracefully to Marcus. He slipped his arms around her as if by instinct, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. The two were almost comically mismatched; in his full battle gear Marcus towered over her. She could hardly even reach all the way around his armour as she embraced him, and her cheek was nestled firmly against the cold iron that covered his breast.

“You don’t belong on a battlefield, my love,” Marcus whispered into her hair as he held her.

Lucia glanced up at him, a sad smile decorating her face. Without a trace of conscious action, their heads sank towards each other. In a moment all the horror of the battlefield vanished as they joined together in a kiss.

***

Marcus bolted upright in his bed. Cold sweat ran down his entire body in rivulets. His pulse pounded in his ears as the last vestiges of the haunting dream faded away. Moonlight filtered through the window of his undersized boarding room, illuminating little more than a drab bed which held both Marcus and a half empty bottle of whiskey. Although his memory of the afternoon and early night was nothing more than a blackish blur in his mind, there was no question that he had been the one who drank the whiskey. The sudden motion of bolting upright had caused his stomach to roll in his chest, and before he could assert conscious control over his body, Marcus shook violently, spewing vomit over the side of his bed.

The Gods be damned,Marcus thought as he picked up and examined the bottle, for placing this - all of this, the lost battles, the drinking, the soul-crushing defeat that I've suffered - in my path. No…no, they cannot be blamed. Bacchus did not force this bile down my throat. I have done this to myself. Enough of this damnable self pity - no amount of alcohol will alleviate the weight of the sorrows I must bear, and I shall not die the death of a coward alone in my room with this bottle.

With an angry grunt, Marcus heaved the bottle across the room. He felt no small measure of satisfaction as it burst into a thousand shards, splashing its numbing poison across the wall and floor.

Domitian survived, he pondered, and now seeks me out. He even used my old title to address me. And the Roman boy-messenger…that kind of effort is only expended on an issue whose importance requires the utmost discretion and expediency. It seems that the fates are beckoning me to Cologne. Very well. If that is the will of the gods, then that is what I shall do. Any action is better than the dog’s life that I have been subjecting myself to here.

Chapter III

A small wagon rumbled down the poorly maintained road to Cologne, bouncing from one rut to another with enough force to knock the unfortunate passengers inside into one another every few minutes. Picking himself up after a particularly violent jostle, Marcus dusted himself off and cursed the fates which had drawn him to seek this particular conveyance. The only other passenger, a cantankerous old drunk who was in severe need of a bath, cursed loudly at the driver.

“Hades take you, boy, if you don’t watch where you direct those damned horses!”

Marcus rolled his eyes. The driver and passenger were grandson and grandfather respectively, and had been exchanging affable insults for most of the nearly two week journey. Sure enough, the young man’s mid-pubescent breaking voice shot right back at his grandfather.

“Unless you plan on laying off of the whiskey long enough to patch this road yourself, you’d best be shutting your mouth and minding your own business!”

The grandfather laughed, a deep throated cackling which carried the stench of whiskey and years of neglected oral hygiene to Marcus.

“Children these days,” the old man remarked in what would have been a sagely manner, save for his near inability to keep himself seated upright, “have no respect for their elders. In my day we would have been stoned to death in a public square if we dared talk back like that to our betters. Why, look even at yourself, good sir. I can see that you’re a man of good breeding. I’ll lay wager that before you could even speak you were taught proper respect for those who came before you…not like that young bastard up there!” The old man shouted that last part loudly enough to ensure that his grandson heard him clearly. A muttered reply involving the old man’s questionable lineage was all that could be heard coming from the driver’s seat. The irony of the fact that the insult questioned his own bloodline seemed to be lost on the young driver of the wagon.

The last two weeks had been kind to Marcus, or rather he had been kind to himself. Despite the oft-repeated urgings of his fellow passenger, Marcus had not drank a drop of alcohol since that last night in Xanten. He had purchased a set of new (though equally drab) clothes, began bathing on as regular a basis as the road allowed, and had allowed his rough stubble to form a full, close-trimmed beard. He could scarcely be recognized as the same bitter drunk who had polluted the streets of Xanten earlier that month. The change was only skin-deep, however. His dreams were still plagued by horrific nightmares, and in his waking hours grief for his lost Lucia washed over him like waves upon a beach.

In fact, it could be argued that this was the first time he had allowed himself to truly grieve. After his defeat at Agrippinensis, the Roman-led Sicambrii horde had swept onward to Cologne. In the days of looting and pillaging that followed before the Roman traitors could reign in the unruly barbarians, Lucia, Marcus’ wife, had been killed. Her head had been placed on a pike outside the city gates along with the heads of hundreds of other innocent Roman citizens. The rumours which had been carried to Marcus included insinuations that the invaders had beaten, raped, and tortured the citizens, but he could not allow himself to even consider the possibility that one of their victims had been Lucia. It was this inner turmoil which had driven Marcus to dive headfirst into the bottle. The rest, as the say, had been history.

Marcus was jolted from his reverie as the wagon once more struck a deep rut, knocking his head against the side of the vehicle. The old man beside him didn’t even notice this jolt, instead continuing to babble out a long string of complaints that Marcus had successfully managed to drown out for several minutes.

“…and so,” the old man continued, “that is why I believe that Emperor Trajan erred in giving these blasted tribals clemency for their crimes. Not that I would dain to tell the Emperor himself what to do, of course, but these filthy savages are unfit to live amongst us! Look at them…they can’t even manage something so simple as sentry duty. A sure sign that they are not the favoured sons of Jupiter as we are, yet still they subjugate us…” The old man gestured out one of the wagon’s tiny windows. Sure enough, as they approached Cologne’s main gates, roughly a half dozen Sicambrii sentries could be seen completely ignoring their duties, instead tossing a small white object back and forth with some considerable amount of glee. A closer glance revealed that the item they were throwing around was a sun-bleached skull torn from atop the pikes outside the gates.

Marcus’ blood boiled in his veins. Those godless sons of whores,he thought, are making a game out of the remains of Roman citizens! That skull could belong to my beloved Lucia…

The undisguised hated and fury on his face obviously caught the old man’s attention, but it was only when Marcus began to growl slightly while clenching and unclenching his fists that the old man put his hand on Marcus’ shoulder.

“Be careful, my boy. You need to pick and choose your battles. Discretion is, after all, the better part of valour…General Ulpius.” A gentle smile played across the suddenly sober old man’s face.

Marcus could only stammer his reply. “But…what…how…you never let on that you knew who I really am.”

It was true, too. When Marcus had purchased his transport on this wagon, he had given the name Julius Serratus, and both the old man and his grandson had merely nodded acceptingly. Now, though, the old man only laughed agreeably at Marcus’ bewilderment.

“It is difficult,” the old man said, “to mistake you for any other man than Marcus Eranthan Ulpius, my boy. The fates have dealt you a cruel hand, but make no mistake…you are still beloved by those who truly matter.”

“Like whom?” Marcus scoffed. “The Emperor? He turned his back on me when he pardoned that traitorous bastard whore-monger Vestatian. The gods? They’ve shown nothing less than abject cruelty and dispassion; if not for the steadfast knowledge that I was - and still am - one of their most devout and observant followers, I would be tempted to believe that they were forcing this entire situation on me as a form of penance for some sort of misdeed on my part. Instead, I can only believe that they've chosen to ignore me. Who else does that leave that could love a fallen hero such as myself? The citizens of Rome? They’ve forgotten that I even exist.”

“You give the gods and your fellow men too little credit, my friend. The world has not forgotten you. It just doesn’t see you as you once were. The proud, mighty warrior that you used to be is still within you. You just need to loose him upon the world.”

“I am afraid that is much easier said than done,” Marcus said with his eyes downcast. “The warrior you spoke of died at Agrippinensis. This flesh, this shell…it is all that remains.”

The old man’s playful smile expanded until Marcus was sure that it would split his face in two. “No,” he said, “He isn't dead. Merely lost...and perhaps I can help you find him again. I have a gift for you.” He turned around, rummaging through a trunk beside him. After a moment, he turned back to face Marcus, holding out a package wrapped in layers of delicate red silk. “Take it,” he urged, “at my insistence. I will accept no refusal.”

Slightly puzzled, Marcus reached out and cautiously took the package in both hands. Balancing the small bundle of silk on his lap, he glanced up at the old man, who was watching Marcus intently and with some small degree of glee. Looking back down at the gift, he slowly peeled the layers of silk back to reveal a dagger of unsurpassed beauty before him. A ruby encrusted pommel rose upward into a golden hilt. Swirls of gold ran up and down the hilt and sheath, simulating rivulets of molten lava.

“Forgive me if I seem rude,” Marcus said, “but I cannot accept this. I do not know you well enough to accept something so fine from you. Even if I did - and I hope that you take no offense at this - I could not accept the weapon. After Agrippinensis, I swore that I would never use a weapon again, even to defend myself."

“Nonsense,” the old man replied, “as I said, I will accept no refusal. It is yours. Even if you never reverse this decision to never use weapons, it will make a beautiful decoration for a dwelling. Take it, General Ulpius.”

“But I have done nothing to make myself worthy of a gift of this quality, good sir. It is simply too much. This is a gift worthy of an Emperor, not a dishonoured warrior.”

“That is the beauty of a gift, my boy. You don’t need to have done anything to deserve it. Just make an old man happy and accept it gratefully. You just might need it someday. Ah,” he continued with a wink before Marcus had a chance to reply, “I believe this is where you wanted to go. It has been a pleasure travelling with you.”

Marcus scarcely had time to tuck the dagger into his belt before the old man virtually shoved him out of the wagon and onto the streets of Cologne.

***

It took Marcus only an hour to find his destination within the city. The Countryside Innwas, ironically enough, a squat, unassuming building sandwiched between a pair of run-down homes in the middle of a heavily developed area of the city. From the outside, it appeared that the building’s only saving grace was a humorous mural above the door depicting a cartoonish farmhand depicted in a sexually compromising position with a wide-eyed sheep. The inn’s interior was a different matter entirely, however. Well decorated, tasteful, and quiet, the inn’s main floor seemed to be little more than a sitting room, a well-stocked bar, and a staircase leading to the upper floor. A short, wiry, greasy-haired man stood behind the bar. Marcus approached the bar, glanced around furtively, and spoke to the bartender under his breath.

“I am looking for Vito. Where might I find him?”

The bartender didn’t even look up at Marcus’ face. “Nobody by that name here.”

“That’s a pity. I’ve come a very long way to see him. I have something for him,” Marcus said, sliding Domitian’s message across the counter with a slight smile.

With only a slight inclination of his head, the bartender glanced at the paper, then up at Marcus. He studied Marcus’ face for a second, then nodded and gestured to a door behind the bar. When he spoke again, it was with an air that was only slightly friendlier.

“This way, please.”

Marcus followed the bartender, closing the door behind them. The pair walked in silence down a set of stairs into the inn’s basement. Unable to further mask his confusion, Marcus broke the silence which had fallen between them.

“Where in Hades are you taking me?”

There was no reply forthcoming. Instead, the bartender pushed aside a cask of wine on the west wall of the basement. Seemingly at random, he tapped three of the wall’s bricks in quick succession, then pressed a fourth brick deep into the wall. As the brick slid into the wall, the wall itself - or rather, a door-shaped section of the wall - pushed inward, revealing a corridor beyond. The pair continued onward into the corridor, the door slamming shut behind them. Their trek soon ended, however, as the corridor opened up into a small chamber. The room was windowless, illuminated only by several candles placed strategically throughout the room. The only furnishings were a half dozen chairs set around a simple wooden table. The bartender motioned for Marcus to sit, and he complied.

“As you have undoubtedly guessed, I am Vito. You will wait here while I summon Domitian. There is nothing more you need know for now, save what Domitian himself might tell you.”

Without waiting for a response, Vito spun on his heel and departed. Kicking his feet up onto the table, Marcus leaned back in his chair and began to whistle an old marching cadence.

***

It took more than an hour for the basement room’s hidden door to swing open again. The door’s creaking caused Marcus to snap to attention, moving from his reclined position to half-sitting, half-crouching. His tension was unnecessary, however, as a familiar face stepped over the threshold and into the room. The tall, heavily muscled, clean shaven bald man was dressed in a simple worker’s tunic, but his commanding presence betrayed the obviously adopted image. Marcus grinned broadly, reaching out to eagerly shake the hand of the new arrival.

“Domitian Caelius,” he exclaimed with a booming laugh, “you old bastard, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Domitian smiled reservedly. “It has indeed been too long, my friend. You have my apologies for any discomfort you have incurred during your journey or while you have been waiting, but I have called you here on a matter of the utmost urgency. I apologize also for all the secrecy involved, but you will soon understand the need for a certain level of discretion.”

“I admit, my curiosity has been piqued…though I suppose that is obvious, else I would never have bothered travelling this far. So, what business requires the aid of a disgraced soldier? Perhaps you have a space on the gallows which absolutely must be filled, or require a buffoon for a travelling comedic troupe?”

“My friend, you are no more disgraced than I. What happened at Agrippinensis was a terrible tragedy which we both tried to prevent, as did Exentrius. We failed and have all been held accountable. It is now time for those of us who still draw breath to move on, and it is in that spirit that I have summoned you here. As for the particulars, those will have to wait until this evening. Upon news of your arrival, I contacted several of my associates to convene a gathering here in a few hours. In the meantime, I would daresay that your voyage must have left you parched. By all means, let us retire to a private dining room above and slake our thirst with some of the province’s finest wine.”

Marcus’ face flushed red, and he cleared his throat before responding hesitantly. His response was in part a measure of grief for Exentrius Molondranae, who had been his successor as the commander of the Legion 1 Minervia, and partly an instinctive response to the embarrasment of remembering his own personal problems. “Actually, old friend, I have resolved to no longer touch alcohol. In my grief following Lucia's death, I overindulged for some time, and have decided to avoid the problems that come with immoderation by avoiding such libations entirely.”

Domitian nodded sympathetically. “Forgive me, Marcus. Had I known, I would not have extended that offer.”

“Worry not. You had no way of knowing the ills that have befallen me of late.”

“Perhaps not, but I should have suspected. What happened to Lucia was terrible, and repercussions were inevitable.” A sly smile danced over Domitian’s face. “I believe I can make you a better offer than alcohol. Wait here for a moment.”

Domitian left the room, though he left the door slightly ajar. Marcus could hear Domitian and Vito in the hallway beyond, but their voices were too quiet for him to discern exactly what was being said. After a moment both Vito and Domitian re-entered the room, Vito dragging a bound and chained Sicambrii warrior behind him. Shoving the furious, snarling hulk into a chair, Vito nodded slyly at Marcus and left the room.

“This fellow,” Domitian said, “had the misfortune of drinking himself unconscious in the bar upstairs last week. One of Vito’s contacts identified him as one of the tribals responsible for sacking the residential areas of the city, and Vito decided to hold him for safekeeping. Consider his life a gift - a reward for your promise to attend our little gathering this evening.”

“You want me to kill him, then?” Marcus seemed nonplussed.

“Not kill him, of necessity, though you are certainly free to do so if such is your desire. Do as you will - enslave him, kill him, free him…it makes no difference to me. He is a gift freely given, but before you decide what to do with him do not forget that there is a very good possibility that he is one of the ones responsible for the murder of your innocent wife. One of the ones who took his dagger and plunged it,” Domitian pulled a dagger from the folds of his tunic and stabbed it into the table, “into her heart. Or maybe,” his voice dropped to a throaty whisper as Domitian crouched down beside Marcus, “maybe he is one of the heathen barbarians who held her down while she was tortured and raped. Listen to your heart, old friend. Does it tell you that you should allow this beast to live, or that you should visit upon him the rightful vengeance of a soldier - and a man - wronged?”

The warrior snarled and spat at Marcus, uttering a stream of guttural words so unintelligible that it was impossible to tell whether he was speaking Latin or some native barbaric tongue. Beady brown eyes filled with hatred glared out at Marcus from beneath the warrior’s filthy black hair.

Gesturing to the dagger buried in the table, Domitian continued his rhetoric. “In the end, whether or not he was directly involved in Lucia’s death is a moot point. He is our enemy. Given the chance, he would undoubtedly seize that dagger and take your life. Does he not deserve the same treatment from you?”

Marcus rose and turned his back on the prisoner. “I must confess something, Domitian. In addition to swearing off alcohol, I have made a vow not to raise a weapon in anger again. I will not kill this man. I cannot…not without violating a sacred vow. I have seen what comes from the implements of war, and it is not good.”

“And shall your slain wife receive no vengeance? Would you condemn her soul to wander the depths and breadth of the world, unable to rest in the comforting grip of Hades? They killed her, man! Do not fail her a second time! Do not fail us. You once paid homage, with me, to the Divine Lord of Battle, our Lord and Master, Mars. Will you now betray him by refusing to wield those same weapons that he has sanctioned for our use? Will you betray your friends, family, and Empire, and all to spare the life of this damnable barbarian?”

The familiar sensation of rage boiling the very blood in his veins twisted Marcus’ face into a cruel grimace. His voice echoed hollowly, devoid of all human emotion. “Release him from his chains. Do it now.”

“What? Why?”

“You said that his life was a gift to me. So release him, and leave the dagger where it is. I will not harm a defenseless man, but if he is truly the enemy you claim that he is, he will indeed snatch up that knife. So release him and let us see what he does.”

“Have you gone mad? You are unarmed! He will - “

“Do it now!” Marcus bellowed, cutting Domitian off in mid-sentence. Startled, Domitian swiftly obeyed, opening the lock which held the chains. The Sicambrii warrior burst into motion, snatching the dagger from the table and hurling himself at Marcus. Marcus whirled around with dazzling speed, smashing his backhanded fist into the warrior’s jaw with a sickening bone crushing crunch and knocked the dazed warrior to his knees. While his opponent struggled to regain his footing, Marcus delivered a powerful kick to his abdomen. The knife fell from his hand and slid across the floor. The warrior’s sudden lack of a weapon did not, however, stop Marcus’ attack. All semblance of sanity seemed to flee from him; his vision blurred as he rained down blow after blow upon the warrior. Domitian only watched on as Marcus beat the man. Even when the warrior had completely stopped moving, Marcus delivered over a dozen more blows to the his head before his frenzy finally subsided. He rose to his feet, kicking the warrior’s corpse one last time. The Sicambrii’s blood dripped off Marcus’ knuckles and face to form small puddles on the floor.

“And what of your vow now, Marcus?”

“Do not mistake my actions for a violation of my vow. I still shall not draw a weapon…but neither shall I stand idly by and allow the killers of innocent Romans to run free. Do not think me a pacifist, Domitian, unless you want to make a grave mistake. It is simply the manufactured implements of destruction that I now find myself unwilling to wield.”

Domitian smiled. “That is precisely what I wanted to hear, old friend. Come, let us get you cleaned up before the meeting. I think you shall appreciate our mutual goals.”

***

Day gradually gave way to night, and Marcus found himself once again accompanying Domitian to the secret meeting room beneath The Countryside Inn. This time, however, the cramped room was not empty. Three figures sat in the chairs around the table, and papers were strewn across the table’s surface. Marcus recognized Vito as one of the seated figures. The second figure was a massive hulk of a man, larger and heavier even than Domitian. He was clad entirely in black, though Marcus could spot the hilts of several weapons peeking through the otherwise seamless outfit. His dark hair was cut close to the scalp, and cold grey eyes stared unwaveringly at a particular sheet of paper in front of him. The man’s smooth skin - at least, what little of it was visible - was marred only by a scar which ran down the length of his face from his left temple to his chin.

“Marcus, I believe you have already met our compatriot Vito. Allow me to introduce our other companions. This gentleman,” Domitian said, gesturing to the large man, “is known as Vincenzo. And this fine lady to his right is Alexandra…a local Oracle of our divine lord Mars. It is her guidance, by and large, which has brought us here today.”

The woman Domitian introduced as Alexandra was a stunningly beautiful woman, and if beauty was a prerequisite of serving the Gods, she was well worthy of her divine profession. She was wearing a flowing white dress so simple and brilliant that it shone even in the darkness of that subterranean room. A mass of curly dark blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, and soft green eyes peered demurely at Marcus. Upon her introduction, she smiled and nodded demurely in Marcus’ direction.

“You are all familiar with Marcus,” Domitian said, addressing the group, “so I believe that no further introductions are required. Marcus, please take a seat and we shall attempt to satisfy your curiosity about why we have asked you here.”

“A wonderful idea,” Marcus said, “as I have begun to grow impatient waiting for my purpose here to be revealed.”

“Well then,” Domitian said with a hearty laugh, “let us put your curiosity to a rest once and for all. To get straight to the point and omitting all extraneous details, we are here because we all share a single purpose. For over a year now we have had to tolerate the unjust rule of a pack of traitors.” He grimaced at the word ‘traitors’, pausing his speech only long enough to spit on the floor in disgust. “And why have we had to bear such an indignity? Because the cowardly swine are backed by the muscle of filthy barbarians unfit to even wash the feet of the most lowly Roman citizens! These…creatures should consider themselves blessed if they meet with no worse a fate than to serve as our slaves, and yet on the very streets above us they bully and murder their betters every single day! And so it is that we,” Domitian’s voice dropped once again into a throaty whisper, “we are here to bring that to an end. Emperor Trajan has granted these fools clemency only because his legions are currently occupied in Dacia and he is worried that the barbarian horde would advance too quickly for him to crush their ranks before the advanced beyond this province. Enough, I say! It is time that we strike back in the name of our fallen comrades! By the gods, we are here to make them rue the day that they sided with that dog Julianus Vestatian!”

As Domitian’s last vitriolic word echoed and the room faded into silence, Vincenzo began to laugh. “And suppose that we carry through with what you suggest, and succeed at striking down the pustulent, carrion-swilling beasts that now rule this province. Who shall rule in their stead? Would you, Domitian, seek to don the mantle of rulership, or would you simply leave an empty seat in the governor’s chambers to await whatever warlord arises in Julianus’ stead?”

Vito slowly rose to his feet, smiling quietly. “That, gentlemen - and lady - is what brings us together today. Thanks to the divine wisdom of Mars channelled through Alexandra, not to mention the hard work of my associates, we have discovered a very important secret. It seems that the Sicambrii have finally tracked down and captured Antonius Ceresius.”

Marcus’ breath hitched in his chest. The possibility that Antonius Ceresius was still alive was hardly enough for him to bear - if there was a single man in the entire world that Marcus hated more than Julianus Vestatian, it was Ceresius. To be entirely truthful, Marcus placed as much of the blame for the province's current state of affairs on Antonius Ceresius' shoulders as he did on the shoulders of Julianus Vestatian. Vestatian was, after all, nothing more than a power-hungry tyrant. Nothing more could be expected of such a man than one could expect from a barbarian - Ceresius, on the other hand, had known well enough that he would not be qualified to assume leadership of Marcus' men at Agrippinensis, but that knowledge had not been enough to stop him from adopting a course of action which was nothing short of suicidal.

Seeming to not even notice Marcus’ discomfort, Vito continued his exposition. “Further, we have been able to discover where the former Governor is being held. Although an outright assault would prove disastrous, we believe that it would be possible to enact a rescue operation on a somewhat smaller scale. With the rightful Governor of this province free, it would be possible to marshal sufficient support amongst the people of our fair province to overthrow the usurpers who currently hold the reigns of power.”

Nodding sagely in agreement, Domitian broke into the conversation once again. “There you have it. The reason for our little conclave, if you will. Every one of you has been selected because you are the best at what you do. Vito has a wide network of informants; very little goes on in this province that he is not aware of. When stealth is required, Vincenzo is unstoppable. And as you are all undoubtedly aware, Marcus here is the most ferocious warrior in the known world. Not only that, but we are both seasoned veteran leaders of armies. With that sort of command experience and Alexandra’s connection to the will of the gods, we have the beginnings of a resistance capable of accomplishing our goals.”

“No.” Marcus rose to his feet, unable to conceal his anger any further. “You ask too much. Ceresius is as culpable in the province’s state of affairs as Vestatian. I shall not risk my life or the lives of any others in order to save his. The goal of ridding the world of the entire hated Sicambrii tribe is laudable, and I wish you luck with it. However, I have sworn a vow to never again draw a sword for the purpose of slaughter, and I shall not abandon a vow for the sake of one so unworthy as Antonius Ceresius.”

“I had heard that you have gone soft,” Vincenzo scoffed, “but I had not believed it. Now I see that the rumours are true - you are nothing more than a coward. Go. Run along, weakling. Perhaps the women of the city will find some room for you in their sewing circles.”

Very slowly, Marcus bent down until he was face to face with Vincenzo. When he spoke, it was in a low, threatening tone. “You would do well to watch your words more carefully, whelp. You may do well cavorting in the shadows, but here in the light I could crush your throat and choke the life out of your body. A coward is the man who strikes from the darkness, afraid to even show his face to his victim. Even without a weapon, I could look you square in the eyes while I choke the life from your body.”

“Gentlemen,” Alexandra said calmly, “please do not quarrel. As Domitian has said, we all share a common goal here. Marcus, please realize that no matter what Antonius Ceresius has done, he is the rightfully appointed governor of this province - and furthermore, he is the only suitable alternative to the current rulers. Once Ceresius has been restored to power, you will be able to petition the Emperor to have a new governor appointed, but we must take our plans one step at a time. Please, at least consider the long term ramifications of what you do next.”

“Well spoken, my lady,” Marcus replied. “However, rest assured that I have already examined my conscience in this matter. No matter how well intentioned any plan undertaken to remove the Sicambrii and Vestatian may be, I cannot condone the possibility of placing Ceresius back in power - even if it is only until the Emperor has the opportunity to replace him. Thank you for your invitation here, Domitian, but I am afraid that I must decline. However, you can rest assured that no matter how you all decide to proceed, I will keep what has been said here tonight in the utmost discretion.”

With that, Marcus turned and left the meeting.

***

After leaving Domitian’s meeting, Marcus found himself wandering the streets of Cologne for hours. Although he had once been intimately familiar with the twisting narrow streets of the city, his sense of direction had been marred by month after month of heavy drinking combined with the darkness of the night and the thoughts which were weighing so heavily on his mind. Before he realized what had happened, he was hopelessly lost in the poorly lit streets of the slum district. He had nearly lost hope of finding his way to a familiar location when he stumbled into a dead end street.

A bonfire was burning in a cul-de-sac at the end of the street. The light from the flickering flames illuminated four figures facing the fire, their backs to Marcus. Even from nearly fifty feet away, Marcus could see well enough to recognize the unmistakeable uniforms that they wore. The side-to-side red plumes jutting from their helmets, the banded iron armour, and the engraved vinewood staves the men held were the insignia of Centurions - a relatively minor command position in the Roman Legions, but one definitely not found amongst the ill-trained Sicambrii hordes. By the Gods,Marcus thought, what are Centurions doing in Cologne? Surely they know that wearing the uniforms of the Roman legions is a virtual death sentence in this city. He ducked into the arched entrance of the nearest building, hoping that the night’s shadows would shield him from sight until he could discern exactly what was going on.

“He thinks the darkness will hide him from our sight,” one of the Centurions said in a grinding, raspy voice. In the silence of the alley, the words echoed and carried themselves clearly to Marcus' ears.

“Surely he does not believe us to be so ineffectual,” said the second Centurion almost before the first had even finished speaking. "We would never allow an enemy to escape our notice so easily."

“His cowardice does not bode well for the future,” said the third, continuing the pauseless flow of conversation.

“Perhaps,” said the first Centurion without missing a beat, “but it is less than I had hoped from such a noble one.”

“Where is the mighty warrior who lead us to so many glorious victories?” asked the second.

“Lost to the sands of time, and the depths of drink,” said the third.

“It is as she foretold,” said the fourth.

The Centurions all fell silent simultaneously, leaving Marcus more confused than ever before. Who are these men,he thought, that they speak of me so familiarly? I know the voices, but fear that I cannot place them with faces. Surely they have served with me, though none who have ever served under my command would dare to speak to a commanding officer in such a manner. Resolving that further hiding would be futile, Marcus stepped out of the doorway and back into the fire’s glow.

“It does not behoove men - particularly military men - to speak of their superiors in such a manner,” Marcus said firmly. The Centurions did not reply. They did not even move. Stepping closer to the men, Marcus stopped only a few feet from them. The Centurions still did not move, but Marcus recoiled from the stench which surrounded them. It was a smell he was all too familiar with, one he had encountered far too many times in his life, both on and off the battlefield - the stench of death. Choking back the bile rising in his throat, he addressed the group again. “I would know your names, and why it is that your discipline has broken to the point that you speak as you do. Turn and face me!”

Silently, the Centurions did as Marcus ordered, turning to face him. Immediately, Marcus recoiled in horror, wishing that he had never approached them. Although their armour and clothing were largely intact, the men were not. Their pallid faces were torn and rotting; chunks of flesh hung where their jowls should have been, and maggots tumbled out of gaping wounds in their necks. Instead of eyeballs, the Centurions’ sunken eye sockets burned with dull red embers.

“He is demanding,” the first Centurion said with a horrifyingly twisted grin.

“He has earned that right,” said the second, the motion of his lips and teeth sending maggots and small worms spilling out of his mouth and a gaping wound on his neck. “Though you should know us well, Marcus Eranthan Ulpius, we shall introduce ourselves formally. We are those who you left behind. We are the True Ones, sworn loyal to the Empire…and to you. I am Mandrictrios, fallen Centurion of the Legion I Minervia. I fell under your command at the battle of Agrippinensis.”

“And I,” said the first with a bow and flourish, “am Ernatrus, who fell side by side with Mandrictrios, fighting the heathen hordes which now ravage this land.”

“I am Omnar,” said the third, “whose archers rained down death upon the fields of Agrippinensis. I fell last, forced to watch my comrades in arms cut down.”

“Our deaths were futile,” said the fourth. “My name is Petrix, and I fell in a charge against the numberless enemy. It was your order that sent me to my death.”

“It was his orders,” Mantrictrios said, “which sent us all to our deaths.”

“There is no blame which can be laid for that,” Omnar said. “We were and are soldiers. Death is our birthright.”

“But what of him? He should not still draw breath. He is undeserving,” said Petrix.

“Through no fault of his own does he still live. He fought side by side with us. His valour cannot be questioned. He is beyond reproach,” Ernatrus said.

“Yet his valour today can be questioned. Gone is his strength, his resolution, and his honour. The world moves on while he stands still. He has forsaken the Empire. He has forsaken his duty. He has forsaken us,” Mandrictrios said.

“I have forsaken nothing! Unhallowed beasts,” Marcus said, finally overcoming his shock enough to speak, “I am sorry if I have caused your souls unrest, but I fulfilled my role as best I could. Had Governor Ceresius not invoked his power of command, I would have lead us to victory!”

“He apologizes with one breath,” Petrix said.

“And absolves himself of blame with the next,” said Omnar.

“Please,” Marcus said impatiently, “do not speak as if I am not right here in front of you! If you truly were soldiers under my command, you should have sufficient grasp of courtesy to do that!”

“Begging does not become him,” Ernatrus observed.

“And he speaks of courtesy in our manner of address as if he were a woman,” Mandrictrios said.

“Perhaps we should oblige him,” said Omnar.

“I do not agree,” said Petrix, “but shall comply.”

The decomposing quartet all stared silently at Marcus, the embers in their eye sockets seeming to bore deep into his very soul. Slightly disconcerted by this latest turn in conversation, Marcus fidgeted nervously as he replied. “Thank you. Now…what is the meaning of all this?”

Mandrictrios laughed, sending dozens of tiny maggots tumbling out of the wound in his neck. “Has your mind dulled so much, Dux Legatus Legionis Ulpius? You have abandoned your sacred duty. It is your responsibility to slaughter the godless barbarians who defile our province, and yet you do not. It is your duty to avenge the fallen soldiers who fought by your side, and yet you do not. It is your duty to avenge your slain wife, and yet you do not.”

“Would you have me choose between two evils? I would happily lay waste to every damnable Sicambrii on the face of the world, but if doing so requires me to support Antonius Ceresius again then I cannot!”

“You lie to us,” said Petrix, “and would not avenge us even if Governor Ceresius was not an issue.”

“Yes,” Omnar said. “You have made a mockery of soldierhood by vowing to no longer use the weapons of war - you have made a mockery of all you once stood for.”

“A thinly veiled excuse,” Mandrictrios said, “for cowardice. It serves no purpose but to prevent you from fulfilling your duty.”

“It is a solemnly sworn vow,” Marcus hissed through his teeth, “made out of the pain of seeing the destruction that weaponry has brought down upon myself, my family, and my province. It is not some device devised to provide shelter in cowardice!”

“Say what you will,” said Ernatrus, “but you will not change the fact that this ‘vow’ is a sham. What of your vows to the Empire, the Legions, and the Governor? Do they count for nothing? How can you justify abandoning them, no matter what the moral issues at stake are?”

“And what would you have me do?” Marcus demanded.

The Centurions turned to face each other once again. Petrix remarked, “he asks our guidance.”

“He demands it,” Mandrictrios said.

“He needs it,” Omnar said.

“Perhaps we have misjudged him. He is no longer mighty or brave,” Ernatrus said.

“He is unworthy of the quest that most holy Mars has placed before him,” Petrix said.

“Agreed,” the other three Centurions said simultaneously. Without a further word the quartet advanced menacingly on Marcus, fanning out to surround him. Marcus’ legs felt as if lead weights were attached to them, preventing him from either running or fighting. As the Centurions closed in around him, Petrix hoisted his staff above his head. With a lightning fast blow he brought the staff down on Marcus’ head, knocking him into the darkness of oblivion.

Chapter IV

A crackling roll of thunder roused Marcus from his sleep, the vision of four ghostly Centurions still burned firmly into his mind. Glancing around groggily, he heaved a sigh of relief. Rather than laying in some slum alley he was cosily ensconced in his room at The Countryside Inn. Lazily rolling into a sitting position, he inhaled and exhaled slowly, allowing the thumping of his heart to slow to a normal pace. Rain pattered softly on the roof above him, the rhythmic ambience further helping to calm his nerves.

“Just a dream,” he muttered, “and nothing more. These dreams shall be the end of me, unless the fates conspire to be so first.”

Any reassurance which Marcus may have felt at his seemingly logical conclusion vanished as he lifted his left hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. A throbbing purplish bruise lay across his forearm, and a faint impression of the letters “SPQR” could be seen in the center of the wound.

“Hades take me,” his trembling voice whispered. “Senatus Populusque Romanus. The sign of the Legions. It cannot be! If this mark is from the vinewood staff of a Centurion, then they were not at all a vision but truly men torn from their graves by the power of the Gods to act as a conduit for their will…no, that cannot be. At most, this is the trick of some malign sorcerer seeking to rob me of my will by throwing me into mortal fear.”

While Marcus mulled over possible explanations seeking to reassure himself that the whole situation was nothing more than a bad dream, a loud knock at his door startled him to his feet. He cautiously approached the door, opening it just wide enough to see who his visitor was. Marcus was entirely unsurprised to find Domitian standing at the threshold.

“Domitian,” he said, opening his door fully. “Come in. I’m surprised you took this long to get here.”

“Although you seem unaware of it,” Domitian said in a puzzled tone, “I have been here already this evening. After you left the meeting it did not take us long to conclude our remaining business. Shortly after that I came here looking for you, but you did not answer when I knocked.”

Marcus nodded. “I was afraid you might say that. It seems I have had quite an adventure this evening.” Domitian gave Marcus a quizzical look, but Marcus simply shrugged and laughed weakly. “It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. You wouldn’t believe it anyway. On to business…I suppose that I should warn you your presence here is in vain. I will not aid any venture which seeks to save the life and restore to power Antonius Ceresius.”

“And what of this vow of yours, the foolish one about weapons? Have you at least reconsidered that, or is there no ground for discussion here at all? Come, Marcus, surely you must realize how utterly ridiculous it is. If you had become a pacifist, at least I could understand that - by the Gods, we've both seen enough violence in our days for a hundred lifetimes. However, you obviously have not renounced the acts of violence, just the tools of violence. I cannot understand that, Marcus, no matter how hard I try.”

“I have been reconsidering that vow," Marcus said, "and I think you are correct. It has come to my attention that it may have been made without giving due consideration to where my allegiances should properly lay...a fault made all the more severe by its sheer lack of consistency. Call it the byproduct of a shattered mind, if you will...I make no excuses for what I have said or dreamed up until recently. I was going through an odd period in my life..that period is over now.”

“So what of the people of this province? If not for Ceresius, would you be willing to shed blood with a sword to aid them?”

“I…I do not know. Perhaps.”

Domitian nodded solemnly. “You know as well as I do that there is only one way to aid the citizens we both hold so dear. You may not like Ceresius -”

“Not like him? Words cannot describe my contempt for the animal!”

Sighing heavily, Domitian laid his hands on Marcus’ shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. “There was no choice in the matter, Marcus. As Governor, it was well within his rights to invoke the power of command over our legions. He thought us invincible and had supreme confidence in his own ability to command. He was wrong, but that was beyond our control. We did our duty to the best of our ability and we were defeated on the field of battle.”

“We would not have suffered that defeat had he not assumed command. You know as well as I that our combined leadership would have led our men to crush the invading hordes.”

“That is only idle speculation, Marcus. Neither of us can say with absolute certainty that Ceresius’ command is what turned the tide of the battle. Instead of speculation, we must deal with the hand fate has dealt us. Rest assured that Ceresius will be brought to justice once order has been restored to the province. I do not believe that anybody in the Emperor’s court would oppose any petition to have him removed from power, and I would certainly lend my support to it.”

“I…I still don’t know, my friend. I am torn between my sense of duty and my sense of morality, and I do not know how the Gods would look upon me if I abandoned either.”

“That,” Domitian said with a smile, “is a problem with an easy solution. Let us adjourn to the Temple of Mars - I am sure that Alexandra would be more than amenable to arranging a consultation with us, even at this time of the evening.”

Marcus nodded thoughtfully. “I have no objection to that course of action. Perhaps the voice of one who acts as the messenger of Mars could aid me in resolving this moral quagmire.”

“Excellent! Let us depart now, under cover of darkness. The less who observe us, the better. Why draw attention where it is unwanted?”

Nodding his assent, Marcus slipped on his pair of boots and the two men departed.

***

Even at night, the sight of Cologne’s Temple of Mars was impressive. Two large braziers flanked the staircase which led inside, illuminating gorgeous mosaics depicting the God of War himself. Trudging up the stairs, Marcus and Domitian were met in a small antechamber by a sombre young man dressed in acolyte’s robes. The acolyte stood motionlessly, blocking their entrance into the rest of the temple.

“What business,” the young man asked, “brings you to the temple at this time of night? Our services are long over for the evening.”

“We have come seeking the aid of the Oracle,” Domitian said. “You may inform her of our presence, and allow us entrance to her chamber.”

“I am sorry, good sirs, but the Oracle is asleep. She will be available to see petitioners tomorrow morning. Please come back then, though I caution you that will should be prepared to wait. She is very busy these days.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” Domitian said. “We are very close friends of hers, and she will be very pleased to see us. If you turn us away, you can rest assured that your service here will not continue much longer.”

The acolyte looked both Marcus and Domitian up and down, as if he thought the sight of their clothing could help verify the veracity of Domitian’s claims. Having apparently come to the most prudent decision possible, the acolyte gestured towards a small silver donation bowl sitting on a table beside the door. Domitian reached into his purse and dropped several coins into the bowl, then set a single gold piece upon the table.

“For your discretion,” he said with a wink. The acolyte smiled and picked up the coin with a flamboyant bow.

“Please follow me,” he said, opening the doors to the inside of the temple. He led them through the spacious ceremonial room and through a door on the far side of the room which lead them to the Oracle’s chamber. Her chamber seemed both small and spacious at the same time, a testament to the skill of the architect. Muralled walls rose up to a dome, and torches inlaid into the walls provided light. A pool of water sat in the center of the room, and several chairs were set up around it. The acolyte gestured for Marcus and Domitian to sit, then hurried out of the room.

It took only a few minutes for him to return, escorting a very tired looking Alexandra. Her face immediately brightened upon seeing Marcus, and she waved the acolyte out of the room impatiently, closing the door behind him.

“My heart is warmed to see you here, Marcus. After what happened at the meeting this evening, I was afraid you might flee the city, never to be seen again. I trust that Domitian has not hauled you here against your will?”

“Not at all,” Marcus smiled. “Quite the opposite, in fact. We have come here to see if you can help me resolve an…ah, an ethical dilemma, I suppose.”

Alexandra stared deeply into Marcus’ eyes as if she were trying to peer deep into his soul and judge his motivations. “You are facing inner turmoil,” she said, “and want to know where your loyalties lie.”

“I suppose that much should be obvious,” Marcus said with a laugh.

“The good news is that I believe I can help you,” she said. “The bad news, however, is that you might not like what I say. Divine guidance is rarely specific, and rarely heralds positive news. You came here seeking clarity, and you may very well receive it, but it is just as possible that you will leave this place feeling more confused than ever.”

“Any assistance is better than none at all.”

“We shall see if you still feel that way in a few moments.” Alexandra sat in the chair beside Marcus, facing the pool of water in the middle of the room. Closing her eyes, she reached down and began swirling the water with her right hand. At first this motion produced only a small whirlpool, but it soon spread outward until the whole pool was nothing more than a rollicking mass of rapidly swirling water. As the water spun more and more quickly, Alexandra’s body began to shake and shudder violently. As she was wracked with spasms, Alexandra spoke in a deep, otherworldly voice. “From the pits of pain the warrior arises, locked in conflict with shades and shadows. The path before him is a crossroad, with death awaiting at every turn. He shall be judged eternally for his actions in this moment.” As she uttered the last prophetic words, she slumped backward in her chair, breathing laboriously. The pool’s water ceased whirling, smoothing over once again.

“Is she well?” Marcus asked Domitian, obviously more concerned for Alexandra’s welfare than with his prophesy.

“Oh, yes,” Domitian said with a slight chuckle. “She will be fine. Speaking with our divine Lord Mars is quite taxing, you understand. I believe the most pressing question right now is whether her guidance has helped you. Has it?”

“I…well, yes. It was terribly vague, but her guidance has provided me with sufficient impetus to come to a final decision.”

“And what is that?”

“I will join you in overthrowing Julianus Vestatian. Together we will cut a bloody swathe through the Sicambrii hordes and restore the rightful Roman rule to our province. Though I am loathe to lift a finger in support of Antonius Ceresius, I shall do what is required.”

“I’m glad that you’ve come to your senses,” Domitian said. “Wait here for a moment.” He stood up, walked to the door, and left the room, returning moments later carrying a wooden box under his arm. Presenting the box to Marcus with a flourish, he pulled the lid off to reveal a beautifully crafted and very familiar sword stored inside.

“Is that…” Marcus’ voice trailed off in amazement.

“Yes, it is. Marcus Ulpius, allow me the privilege of presenting you with the sword which served you faithfully for many years in the Imperial Legions. We have saved it for you, in the hopes that it may serve you just as well in the days to come.”

Cautiously and with an almost reverentially delicate touch, Marcus picked up the sheathed weapon in both hands. As his fingers grasped the hilt of the weapon, he felt as though he had been thrown back in time. The sound of heavy boots marching in time echoed in his head, followed by the memories of marching cadences. Turning it over in his hands, he smiled fondly at the memories the blade evoked. Although it had been many months since he had last seen the weapon, he was still intimately familiar with its every detail. His fingertips grazed over a dent in the sheath which had been left by an Egyptian soldier’s sword nearly a decade previously. “So many scars,” he whispered. “And now it’s time to add a few more.”

“Scars are good,” said Alexandra as she staggered to her feet. “They add character.”

Taking his eyes off his sword only long enough to confirm that Alexandra was sufficiently recovered to stand confidently, Marcus smiled grimly. “Perhaps it is as you say. Yes, perhaps. I hope you realize that we will all have accumulated a great deal of ‘character’ before this is all over.”

“I’ve never known you to shy away from a few scars,” Domitian said, clapping Marcus on the shoulder.

Marcus stepped away from Domitian silently, gazing up at a mural of Mars which towered over him. With one blazingly fast motion he drew his sword from the scabbard in a military salute, then dropped to one knee and proffered the sword to the image of Mars. Domitian and Alexandra exchanged quizzical looks, but Marcus quickly laid their unasked questions to rest when he spoke. “Before you, most holy Mars, and all the mighty Olympian assembly, and in the presence of these two witnesses I make this vow, foreswearing all others: I shall carve a bloody path through those who have usurped the rightful rule of this province. No trial or tribulation, no matter how great, shall stop me from restoring the proper governance of this land. Above all, this I swear: for every drop of innocent blood which has been spilled, I shall repay that drop with a bucketful torn from the hearts of those enemies who would rise up against me!”

As the last words of Marcus’ vow faded into silence, Domitian and Alexandra shared an approving nod.

“Come,” Domitian said to Marcus, “let us depart. Daylight will soon be upon us, and we have a great deal of preparation to undertake. Alexandra, there shall be another meeting tomorrow evening. I will have Vito contact you with the details.”

Chapter V

The next evening, Marcus arrived at the meeting room nearly half an hour before the meeting was to start. Domitian and Vito were already there, pouring over a stack of documents and what appeared to be maps of the city jail. His arrival must have startled the men, for as he opened the door Vito made a swift attempt to cover up the papers and Domitian reached for his sword. Seeing that the newcomer was one of their own, however, they relaxed and greeted him.

“Forgive our reaction,” Domitian said with a nervous laugh.. “We were not expecting you to arrive so early.”

“Do not worry,” Marcus said with a laugh. “There was no harm done. If anything, it is I who should be apologizing to you for breaking your concentration.”

“We were just confirming some last minute details,” Domitian said. “Nothing of any great consequence. I see you have wasted no time in donning your weaponry.”

Grinning, Marcus glanced down at his belt. Domitian was right; he had wasted no time in girding both his sword and the ornately designed dagger to his belt. “Indeed. Just like old times, eh?”

“Not entirely,” Domitian shook his head sadly. “Weapons are forbidden in the city, save for those used by the Sicambrii and city guards. You must be careful to ensure that the authorities do not see you bearing arms or they will be confiscated and you will be arrested.”

“They would try to do so, at any rate. Their results of such an endeavour would not be fruitful.”

“Yes,” Vito scoffed, “we all know what would happen. The streets would be awash in a river of blood. You would ride a wave of corpses to the heights of the governor’s palace and then you would crush Vestatian’s skull in your bare hands. Is that it, or did I leave something out?”

“You left out the part where I call upon the might of Vulcan himself and turn the entire city into a wasteland of ash and charred flesh,” Marcus said with an impish grin.

Vito laughed heartily. “Well, let’s try to keep a low profile for now, shall we? There will be plenty of time for ash, brimstone, and rivers of blood in the days to come.”

The joking between the men was cut short by Alexandra’s arrival. Despite the late hour, Marcus thought, she still looks perfectly composed. It was true, too. Although her work at the temple had undoubtedly kept her extraordinarily busy throughout the daylight hours, her flaring white robe was still immaculate and wrinkle free, and not a single sign of exhaustion marred her beauty. Marcus felt a brief flash of guilt as he realized how attracted he was to the stunningly beautiful Oracle; the guilt was quickly replaced by a stab of grief as thoughts of Lucia's smiling face danced in his head. Shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear away the emotional storm which raged within him, Marcus refocussed his attention on the world around him.

“It seems we have another early arrival,” Domitian said, still smiling. “I trust there was no difficulty getting here?”

“None at all.” Alexandra’s voice was warm and friendly, almost whimsical. ‘My acolyte is sleeping soundly in his chambers, firmly convinced that I am doing likewise.”

“What about guards? No offense, my lady, but I have difficulty understanding how you can make your way through the streets without at least a few chance encounters,” Vito said. Despite the obvious implication in the question, there was no trace of suspicion or disbelief in his voice.

Alexandra rolled her eyes. “I thought you had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the state of affairs around here, Vito. Surely it hasn’t escaped your attention that once darkness falls, every single one of the Sicambrii run to the nearest bottle? Even amongst our own fellow citizens the standards of the guards have become so lax that most of the sentries are sleeping at their posts.”

There was no argument to be found from Vito. He simply nodded in acknowledgement of the veracity of her response. Before allowing silence to fully descend upon the room, Alexandra turned to Marcus. Glancing down at the weapons which hung from his waist, she smiled. “Hello again, Marcus. It warms my heart to see that you have embraced your ideals with such enthusiasm. I was worried, though I am reluctant to admit it, that you might not have been so eager to do the will of the gods.”

“How could I do any less?” Marcus asked with a bow. “Please allow me to extend my most hearty thanks to you for your guidance. Had I not received it, there is a good possibility that I would have turned my back on those who need me most.”

A soft smile played across Alexandra’s face as she blushingly replied, “I cannot take credit for any guidance you received, but thank you nonetheless.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” a familiar voice said. Marcus, Domitian, Vito, and Alexandra whirled to see Vincenzo standing in a corner of the room. He seemed to regard the foursome with a mixture of bemusement and contempt.

“Vincenzo… I didn’t hear you enter,” Domitian said.

“I would hardly be deserving of my reputation if I had allowed you to hear me stumbling around like a clumsy oaf,” Vincenzo said, shooting a glance at Marcus, “as is the case with some of our number here.”

“Better to walk around boldly, unafraid to face danger head on than to skulk in shadows fearful of making a sound,” Marcus said with a wry smile, “lest your betters dispatch you with ease.”

“Fear of danger? Well that is an ironic accusation coming from one of the most renowned cowards in the entire Roman Empire,” Vincenzo said with a sneer. “And on that note, I see you are toting a pair of blades now. Your consistency is remarkable, but only in its lack of consistency.”

Faster than any eye in the room could track, Marcus very nearly tore his sword from the scabbard, bringing the blade’s tip to bear on Vincenzo’s throat. “Watch your words very carefully, boy! If you do not tread carefully, I shall make your death slow and agonizing. Before I am through with you, you will beg for the merciful release of death, but it shall not come…”

Alexandra stepped forward, mercifully interrupting Marcus’ tirade. Gently placing her hand over his, she slowly guided the weapon away from Vincenzo’s throat. She smiled and stared deeply into his eyes as she spoke. “Do not do this, Marcus. Remember, without unfettered cooperation our venture is doomed to failure.”

Without any sign of hesitation, Marcus gazed down into Alexandra’s eyes, meeting her gaze. Once again, Marcus felt the familiar pang of guilt as an inexplicable attraction pulled him towards Alexandra. “Although I cannot help but question this individual’s motives and purpose,” he said quietly, “you have steered my course well thus far. In this case, then, I shall yield to your will.”

“If you are all done with this spitting contest,” Domitian said, “I will suggest that we all take our seats. There is much planning to be done, and little time to do it in.” Sheathing his sword, Marcus nodded in acknowledgement and took his seat. Alexandra took the seat beside him, and all eyes turned to Domitian.

“Now,” said Domitian, “let us get right down to business. Since the last time we gathered here, several things have changed. First and foremost, we have now secured the full cooperation of all the members of this enclave. This means that we are now able to execute the first phase of our plan for the liberation of our province: we shall free Antonius Ceresius.”

Everybody at the table nodded in agreement except Marcus. Despite his sullen silence, the meeting continued uninterrupted. Vito picked a map of the city up from his pile of documents, spreading it open over the top of the table. Several locations on the map were circled darkly, and Marcus spotted several nearly illegible notations beside the circles.

“It has been brought to my attention that Governor Ceresius is being held in one of the lowest levels of the city prison,” Vito said, pointing at a circled location on the outskirts of the city. “Unfortunately, as I am sure you are all aware, the prison is currently under the sole control of the Sicambrii. Consequently, I have been unable to get any more specific information concerning his location or the strength of the guards watching over him. We will need a very carefully orchestrated plan of attack if we are to have any hope of recovering our target intact.”

“Fortunately,” Domitian said with a grin, “we have just such a plan. It requires great coordination, but I have tremendous faith in all of your abilities.”

“You are making the assumption that he is even still alive,” Marcus said. “That is not an assumption we should make. The Sicambrii have no reason to let him live – and if you believe that Vestatian is eager to keep a potential enemy breathing, then you do not understand the nature of our enemy.”

“He is still alive,” Alexandra said confidently, “though he shall not be for long. We must act quickly – such is the will of Mars.”

“I realize I have no authority to argue with an Oracle,” Marcus said, “but why do we even need Ceresius? It’s not as if his mere presence will grant some mystical impetus to our attempts to liberate this province. Emperor Trajan has granted Vestatian and his band of thugs clemency. In case you’ve forgotten, that means that even if we rescue Ceresius, we will not have the support of Rome!”

“The only reason that the Emperor granted Vestatian clemency was for the sake of convenience,” Domitian said. “He wanted to provide some stability in this province while ensuring that Vestatian did not further encroach on Roman territory. Once Emperor Trajan has completed his glorious conquest of Dacia, he will bring the full might of the Imperial Legions to bear on Vestatian. Imagine the glory which shall be heaped upon us if we liberate the province without the aid of his military might! Whether you like it or not, Marcus, we need Ceresius to do that, as a figurehead, if nothing else. The citizens of this province still see him as our legitimate Governor. With him at our side it shall be much easier to rally the men of the province to respond to our call to arms. He shall be the symbol of everything we stand for, and it is for that reason that we need him.”

Marcus sighed heavily. “Very well. While I do not agree that he is so necessary, there shall be no further opposition from me on the issue of his rescue.”

“That is all we can ask,” Domitian said with a smile. “Vito, please continue.”

“Gladly. As I was saying, Ceresius is being held in the prison here,” Vito gestured to the map again. “We shall infiltrate thusly: Marcus, you will escort Alexandra and Vincenzo into the prison. Domitian and I along with several of my associates will create a diversion here,” Vito pointed to a circle on the map marked with several blocks west of the prison, “to give you three an opportunity to enter the facility while most of the guards are distracted by us.”

“Even if most of the guards are distracted,” Vincenzo interrupted, “the prison will not be abandoned. We cannot simply stroll through the corridors unchecked.”

“Indeed not,” Vito said. “Marcus shall be dressed as a city guard escorting the Oracle through the facility. It is unlikely that any Sicambrii would have the nerve to challenge that story – which is where you come in, Vincenzo. You shall do what you do best: skulk in the shadows, striking down from behind those who would oppose Marcus and Alexandra.”

“So why do we even bother with this sham of a cover story? I can infiltrate more swiftly and silently without needing to worry about protecting unnecessary people. It would be easier if I carry out this mission by myself,” Vincenzo said.

“With all due respect to you and your abilities,” Domitian said in the most diplomatic voice he could muster, “you cannot do this by yourself. If you are spotted – which is a good possibility when you are escorting Ceresius out of the prison – you will absolutely require the martial strength which Marcus will furnish. Make no mistake - as good as you are with a blade, you cannot even begin to match Marcus’ talents.”

Shooting a dirty look at Marcus, Vincenzo sneered but did not dispute Domitian’s claim. Once he was sure that Vincenzo’s outburst was silenced, Vito continued laying out the plan of attack, handing Marcus a tube filled with several scrolls. “These are floor plans of the lowest levels of the prison. Memorize them, Marcus, and plot out what you believe will be the most efficient path to lead you to wherever Ceresius is being held. Our diversion will only keep the guards occupied for an hour at most – you must infiltrate, find Ceresius, and exfiltrate before that time runs out. You will face overwhelming odds in a head-to-head encounter with the returning guards, and we cannot risk that.”

A bloodthirsty grin spread over Marcus’ face. “I disagree,” he said. “I think that a bloodbath in Vestatian’s seat of provincial power would send a powerful message to the Sicambrii – namely, that following Vestatian will lead to a swift and bloody end.”

“That is one possible message such an action would send,” Vito said contemptuously, “but the more likely message the Sicambrii would receive is that there is opposition to them amongst the citizens – opposition which must be crushed. Not only would open conflict put you at risk, it would risk the lives of every Roman citizen in this city. Perhaps you desire to become a martyr, but I doubt the innocent civilians in this city share that desire.”

“What I think Vito is trying to say,” Domitian interjected, playing the role of diplomat once again, “is that we feel it would be safest for all concerned if this entire operation was to be carried out with a certain level of discretion. The time will obviously come when Ceresius’ absence is discovered, but if we have done our job properly then his disappearance from the prison will not be connected to us or any other Roman citizen.”

“So we leave the barbarians to puzzle out what happened…” Marcus’ voice trailed off into silence.

“While we get Ceresius safely stowed away in a secure location,” said Vito, finishing off Marcus’ sentence.

“I like it. It’s simple. Granted,” Marcus said with a morbid chuckle, “it lacks the satisfaction of a brutal bloodbath which leaves piles of corpses in our wake, but I suppose it shall have to suffice.”

“Now,” Vito said, “let us finalize some concrete details…” He began to spell out the plan’s minutiae, causing the assemble figures to huddle closer around the maps and documents in a manner which dragged the more mundane part of the meeting to drag out for a further hour.

* * *

The next evening, Marcus found himself once again being ushered into Alexandra’s private consulting chamber. This time, however, she was prepared for his arrival and was waiting for him with a patient smile. As the acolyte escorting Marcus bowed and left the room, Alexandra rose to greet him.

“Good evening, Marcus,” she said. “I must admit I was pleased to hear that you would be coming by this evening, though I confess that I am slightly confused. Did we not agree that we should keep a low profile for the next two days? We cannot risk somebody seeing us together just yet.”

“Indeed we did agree to that,” Marcus replied. “However, I felt that the risk was necessary. I need to talk to you, and I wanted to make sure that we spoke in private before our … mission.”

“I see. Please, sit and make yourself comfortable.” Alexandra guided Marcus to a seat, then sat in the chair beside him. “Now, what is this all about? I can’t imagine that you are having difficulty acquiring a guard’s uniform.”

“No, no,” Marcus said, stifling a laugh. “I picked that up shortly after our meeting adjourned last night.”

“Really? How did you find one so quickly?”

“Through the most direct means possible. I walked around the city until I spotted a sentry of roughly my size, and then I lured him into an alley and slit his throat. It took some time to clean the blood off the armour, but I believe it will now pass at least a cursory visual inspection.”

“You… you did what?” Alexandra was incredulous at Marcus’ admission.

“I did what needed to be done,” Marcus said. He sounded almost dismissive of Alexandra's shock. “While it pains me to be responsible for the death of a Roman citizen, I take solace in the knowledge that he was far from an innocent civilian. He was acting in an active paramilitary role, directly supporting our avowed enemies.”

“Your reasoning is flawed, Marcus. You make the assumption that this man had a choice in his service. How do you know that he was not a citizen loyal to the Empire who was forced into service by the invading Sicambrii?”

“I do not deny,” said Marcus with a sigh, “that many innocent civilians have been forced into service by those barbarous creatures which now pollute our lives. However, while it is obvious that some basic civil positions are being forcibly filled, there is no reason for any loyal Roman citizen to take up arms in support of the Sicambrii. Please keep in mind that this man is amongst those responsible for jailing and even executing those citizens who have dared voice their opposition to the Sicambrii. Even if he did not personally chain dissenters or heft the executioner’s axe in his own hands, he is still morally and legally guilty of treason. Once the Sicambrii invaded he could have assumed a post which did not involve the use of force against his fellow citizens, but he did not. Consequently his execution was a just act, as was stripping him of his uniform – a uniform which he had disgraced.”

“I am pleased to see,” Alexandra said, smiling, “that you are eloquent as well as strong. I had been told that was the case, but it is always pleasant to see such a combination in any man. As it happens, I agree with you. I just wanted to be sure that you could justify your actions.”

“Why? I’m afraid that I don’t see why that matters. If my actions are just, then why should I be required to justify them? More to the point, why would you feign moral outrage at my actions?”

“Whether you like it or not, Marcus, you have been chosen by the Gods for a very important role. That role will entail many responsibilities … many burdens. I wanted to provide a small test of your abilities; that is why we asked you to obtain the uniform on your own. Surely it has occurred to you that such a task would be well within our enclave’s scope of power.”

“Yes, the thought had occurred to me. I simply dismissed it, however, because the task was so trivial that I never believed it would be used as a test of my abilities. At any rate, this issue is neither here nor there.”

“Of course. What is it that you have come here to discuss?”

“I have a request to make of you, Alexandra.”

“There is no need to dance around the issue,” Alexandra said with a warm smile. “Whatever you need, just ask. I cannot guarantee that I will grant your request, but I will certainly take it under advisement. You have earned that much confidence from me.”

“Very well.” Marcus took a deep breath before jumping straight into a speech he had obviously prepared in advance. “When the time comes for us to infiltrate the city prison and liberate Ceresius, I would prefer it if you remained here. While I understand that you are an integral part of our cover story, I am sure we could concoct a new story which did not require you. My concern –”

“You think I would be more of a liability than an asset,” Alexandra interrupted.

“Well, to be perfectly honest, yes. Although I have no doubts about how well your beauty will distract our enemies, it is my understanding that you have no combat experience. It will be difficult making our escape protecting Ceresius – it will be doubly so if we have to protect you as well.”

Alexandra mulled over Marcus’ statements, carefully weighing her response. “I understand your concerns, and perhaps I can allay some of your fears. It is true that I have no combat experience, but I am a highly trained healer – not to mention that I am a channel for the divine Lord Mars. My function in our mission goes far beyond being a simple distraction.”

“Even so, please consider my proposition. I am certain that we can find a more effective means of deploying your skills.”

“Marcus, why does my role concern you so much?”

Marcus sighed heavily. “How much of my history are you aware of?”

“Probably more than you think,” Alexandra said. “Between visions sent to me from Mars and Vito’s own extensive file on you, I probably know you better than even your closest confidantes.”

“That is what I expected,” Marcus said with a nod. “So I assume that you know the details of how I lost my wife?”

“I am.”

“Alexandra, I cannot bear the thought that I might bring death to another… particularly another who shares so many qualities in common with Lucia. If a fellow combatant dies, then that is simply the cost of being a warrior. If I must give my life for our cause, then that is the price I will pay. But if a beautiful, intelligent young woman is cut down in the prime of her life, then I will bear the guilt of causing not only the loss of an innocent non-combatant, but also the guilt of causing an affront to the gods themselves. Mars would not, I imagine, take kindly to me being directly responsible for the death of one of his servants.”

“Ah, Marcus, I am sorry. I should have anticipated this,” Alexandra said. She reached out and took his hands in hers, her smooth hands gently encompassing his own larger callus ridden fingers. “I promise you this, “she whispered, her gentle green eyes meeting Marcus’ world weary blue eyes, “ I shall take no action which will needlessly endanger my life. Although my role may require me to be in or near combat, any injury I may sustain will be nobody’s fault by my own. I will stand by your side, secure in your ability to protect me, and if you fall in battle I will fall with you. You are the champion of Mars now, Marcus, and the honour of the God of War’s esteem is not placed upon your shoulders lightly.”

Nodding, Marcus rose from his seat. “Thank you, Alexandra. I held no misconceptions about my chances of dissuading you from this venture, but you have certainly allayed the worst of my fears. It would probably be best if I made a hasty departure now, lest my lingering presence draws too much attention. I shall see you two nights hence, then, at the appointed location?”

“You shall.”

Marcus bowed, then left the temple as swiftly as discretion allowed.

* * *

Two nights later Marcus found himself creeping through the streets of Cologne, solemnly decked out in the armour of a city guard. He kept mostly to the shadows –a simple enough task, given how few homes in that area of the city maintained torches along the street. It didn’t take very long for him to arrive at his destination, a darkened alley facing the rear of the city prison. Alexandra was already waiting, crouched behind an empty barrel. She perked up as soon as she saw him approach.

“Marcus,” she said a sigh of relief. “I was starting to worry that you wouldn’t make it.”

“I would not miss this for the world,” he replied with a grim smile. “And I must confess that it feels good to be able to carry weapons openly again, without fear of reprisal from the Sicambrii.”

“The look does suit you,” Alexandra said with an admiring half-smile. “I can only imagine the fear you must strike into the hearts of your enemies when adorned in your full battle armour.”

Marcus’ smile twisted cruelly. “Before this evening is over I will strike terror into the hearts of our enemies even without my old uniform.”

“So you shall. There will be a great deal of heathen blood spilled tonight.”

“Indeed. Now,” Marcus said, “where is Vincenzo? Our window of opportunity will open soon, and I will not have us lose it.”

“I am here,” Vincenzo’s voice came from the darkness. Both Marcus and Alexandra turned to see Vincenzo standing in the alley, cloaked so deeply in the shadows that he was scarcely visible even when they stared straight at him. “Domitian and Vito are preparing their little uprising. It should be ready any minute –”

Sure enough, Vincenzo was interrupted by the faint sounds of shouting several blocks away, followed by the unmistakeable clanging of metal on metal. Within moments a dozen Sicambrii dashed out of the prison, running towards the noise. Only two guards were left standing outside the building’s rear entrance. Marcus gestured for Alexandra to remain where she was and for Vincenzo to follow him in the darkness. Vincenzo vanished into the shadows while Marcus strode up to the prison’s entrance confidently. As he walked into the flickering torchlight surrounding the door, the two Sicambrii guards confronted him.

“Hey, you!” The first guard’s Latin was heavily accented and broken. “Why you here? Go fix noise! That way! Go!”

“I would,” Marcus said slyly, “but don’t you think you two would be better suited to such a task? You are so mighty, while I am merely tiny.”

“You are truly weak,” The second guard said sagely, “but no. We guard door. You go help fix noise.”

“As you command,” Marcus bowed deeply, slipping his hand over the hilt of his sword unnoticed. As he rose up from the bow, he drew his sword with tremendous speed, lashing the blade outward at the first Sicambrii guard. The sword bit deeply into his neck, severing flesh and bone with ease. Before the second guard could react to his comrade’s sudden death, a dagger slipped out of the darkness behind him and was thrust downward between his collar bones. The blade tore through the guard’s carotid artery, causing the man to topple over lifelessly. Moving quickly, Marcus and Vincenzo dragged the corpses back into the shadows of the alleyway.

“It looks like we’re set,” Marcus said, motioning for Alexandra to join him again. “Alexandra, I shall trust you to guide us to where Ceresius is being held – let us hope that Mars’ guidance does not fail us now. Vincenzo, follow hidden behind us. We may need you watching our back. Remember our cover story: I am escorting the Oracle to see the prison warden. It’s a flimsy cover, but it should hold up long enough for us to get close to any guards who would challenge it. If and when that happens, kill without hesitation. I will protect you, Alexandra, but please try to keep out of the way if fighting erupts. We get in, find Ceresius, and get out. Are we all clear on what our roles are?”

Both Alexandra and Vincenzo nodded in affirmation. Marcus exhaled deeply, then motioned for Alexandra to follow him. Vincenzo disappeared into the shadows once again while Marcus and Alexandra approached the door. Opening the portal cautiously, Marcus peeked around the corner to make sure that no unexpected company waited inside. Apparently satisfied, he flung the door open wide and guided Alexandra inside.

The air inside the prison was cold and clammy. Every facet of the building was oppressive, from the dark grey stone walls to the flickering torches which never seemed to provide quite enough illumination. Marcus suppressed a shudder at the sight of the narrow corridors which stretched out before him; it had been almost six years since he had last been in the prison, and no detail of the building had changed. Of course, his last visit had been under considerably different circumstances; he had been there to interrogate a soldier accused of desertion.

Closing her eyes, Alexandra lifted her right hand palm up out in front of her. She uttered a prayer to Mars under her breath. As she recited the holy words her hand began to shudder and shake, and her entire body jerked to the right.

“This way,” she said to Marcus, gesturing to the hallway to his right. Marcus nodded, following by her side. The prison was a complex system of corridors, staircases, and dead ends, but Alexandra strode confidently through the hallways, allowing herself to be guided by Mars every time they came to an intersection. The building was eerily quiet; Marcus had half-expected an aural assault from wailing prisoners and screaming guards, but instead found that only the rise and fall of his footsteps and soft swishing of Alexandra’s robes broke the silence. “Why is this place so abandoned?” Alexandra asked, finally shattering the tense quiet which had fallen between them. When Marcus did not reply, she continued talking nervously. “It’s not that I want to meet any Sicambrii down here, of course… I mean, obviously if we did see any you would be able to handle them, but we didn’t see many leave the building when the riot started, and I don’t see or hear any other prisoners –”

“I doubt we will see any prisoners in here besides Ceresius,” Marcus interrupted. “I’ve been thinking about it since we got in here, and I’ve never seen one of the Sicambrii take a prisoner. And if Antonius Ceresius is the only prisoner being held here, there would be no need for any more guards than those we’ve already seen. Now, I don’t want to seem rude, but I believe silence would be the better part of discretion for the time being.”

The two continued in silence for several minutes before Alexandra spoke up again. “So the Sicambrii don’t take prisoners? You don’t mean that they … they kill everyone? Even criminals or soldiers that surrender to them? That’s absolutely barbarous!”

Marcus held up a finger to his lips, hoping the gesture would silence Alexandra. He was growing more fond of her with every passing hour, but he did not wish to endanger their mission by making too much noise. Unfortunately, precisely the opposite of his intended effect occurred. Alexandra let out a blood curdling scream and collapsed to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. Marcus immediately dropped to one knee and grabbed hold of her, desperately trying to figure out what had happened. The shaking quickly subsided, however, and aside from a pallid white colouring and a small trickle of blood dribbling out of her left nostril seemed recovered.

“I… I am fine. It was just… an unimaginable terror shot through my mind… Something is terribly wrong, Marcus. We must move quickly.” Her voice quaked as she spoke, betraying her protestations that she was fine.

“Are you certain that you can move?” Marcus asked, gently wiping the blood from her upper lip. “We can rest for a minute if you require.”

“No, we cannot rest. I’ll be fine. Ceresius is near here… through the door at the end of this hallway, actually. Let’s go.” Alexandra struggled to her feet, holding on to Marcus’ arm for support. When she was able to steady herself and stand on her own again, they continued on their way. Because of Alexandra’s advice that Ceresius was so close, Marcus was on his guard more than ever before. His caution seemed unnecessary, however – the last few dozen feet of the corridor were as abandoned as their entire path had been. The corridor ended in a small closed wooden door. Gesturing for Alexandra to stand back, Marcus drew his sword and pushed the door open, then stepped inside the room cautiously.

The visual and aural assault which Marcus had been expecting finally presented itself. Inside the small stone room was little more than a table. Strapped to the top of the table was Antonius Ceresius. He was much the same man he had been the last time Marcus had seen him – tall, thin, and grey haired. Antonius had obviously seen better days; he was haggard and only semi-conscious, though wailing horribly, and freshly inflicted wounds covered nearly every inch of his body. A short, bald, fat Roman man stood by the table holding a vicious looking blood splattered hooked dagger in his hand. His head snapped up as Marcus entered the room, obviously annoyed that his torture session had been interrupted.

“Who in Hades are you,” he sneered, “and what are you doing here?”

Striding into the room until he was standing across the table from the torturer. Glancing down at Ceresius’ body, Marcus addressed the man. “This is a Roman citizen. You do know that torture of Roman citizens is strictly forbidden, do you not?”

“Fortunately,” the torturer said with a sneer, “I am not bound by the Emperor’s laws. This facility is under the jurisdiction of the Sicambrii, and I am acting under their orders. Now piss off.”

“Well,” said Marcus with a slight smile, “I’m afraid that I have some bad news.”

“And what is that?” the arrogant little man asked.

Before the torturer could even finish his question, Marcus hefted his sword over his head and brought the blade down on the man’s head. The blade’s edge smoothly slashed through his skull, cleaving the man’s head in half and sending a greyish splash of brain matter up into the air.

“Sicambrii orders have no authority here,” Marcus said as the torturer’s body crashed unceremoniously to the floor. Wiping blood and brain matter off the blade of his sword with the tattered rags Ceresius wore, Marcus sheathed his weapon and loosened the leather straps which held Ceresius to the table. “Come on, wake up,” Marcus said, impatiently slapping Ceresius in hopes of raising him. When it swiftly became obvious that such an effort was in vain, Marcus picked Ceresius up and hoisted him over his shoulder. Turning around to face Alexandra, he gestured to the door. “I think it’s time we depart. Have you seen Vincenzo since we came in?”

“I’m still following you,” Vincenzo said, stepping into the room. “Not that I’ve even been needed here.”

“Well, let’s just get out of here,” Marcus said.

“Agreed,” said Alexandra, placing one hand on Marcus’ shoulder to steady him under Ceresius’ weight. The trio made the fastest possible exit they could, carefully weaving their way through the maze of corridors and staircases to find the door they had entered through. It took several minutes to reach their destination, moving through corridors which were all still completely abandoned. Marcus heaved a premature sigh of relief as they reached the prison’s rear door.

The trio quickly filed outside. Waiting at the foot of the stairs leading up to the prison was a dark-haired man with a half-smile on his face. A distinctive jagged scar across his forehead was more than enough to allow Marcus to identify him as Roberto Mangius, one of Julianus Vestatian's lieutenants.

“Marcus,” he said. “I should have expected you would try something like this. Subtlety really isn’t your specialty, is it? I would have thought that the whole Agrippinensis debacle would have taught you to change your tactics. Idiot.”

“Roberto, you pathetic little worm. Do you really think you stand even the slightest chance of stopping me?” Marcus asked.

“I do. There are a dozen Sicambrii coming this way as we speak. The riot they were trying to break up mysteriously dispersed, and now they’re thirsty for blood. I don’t need to defeat you myself, just hold you off long enough for them to get here.”

Marcus nodded at Vincenzo. Taking the hint, he leapt over Roberto’s head, dashing off towards the approaching Sicambrii. Dropping Ceresius at Alexandra’s feet, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Keep an eye out for Sicambrii. If Vincenzo can’t stop them, I’ll need you to run – I’ll take care of this… obstacle.”

Drawing his sword, Marcus charged down the staircase to meet Roberto. Alexandra crouched beside Ceresius’ body and began uttering a prayer to Mars as Marcus and Roberto’s blades clashed at the foot of the staircase. Roberto was quick, weaving back and forth in front of Marcus, making quick jabs with his blade. Marcus, however, was just as agile, dodging Roberto’s thrusts and replying with vicious slashes.

“Give it up,” Roberto spat as their blades clashed together. “You aren’t going to beat me. Surrender now and I’ll grant you a quick death.”

Marcus laughed.

“Fool,” Roberto said. “You should have learned that we are unstoppable. We’ve already taken your wife and your army from you … must we now take this new woman of yours?”

“Never,” Marcus growled, slashing out at Roberto and knocking him backward a step as their blades clashed together ferociously, “mention my wife again.”

“Why not? Does it strike a nerve? Do you know how she died? I was there, you know. Oh, she squealed as we –”

Roberto grunted as Marcus hammered a flurry of blows against his sword in response to Roberto’s ill-conceived provocation. Roaring with rage, Marcus pressed his attack faster and harder, until all Roberto could see was a silvery blur extending from Marcus’ arm. One particularly powerful blow knocked Roberto’s sword from his hand, and before Roberto realized what had happened Marcus’ sword was at his throat.

“On your knees,” Marcus said. Roberto complied, his gaze darting around nervously. Marcus struck out one last time, his sword tearing through tendons, muscle, and bone, ripping Roberto’s head clear off his body. The severed extremity bounced to the ground with a horrifying thud, and Marcus turned to Alexandra. “Come, Alexandra. Let’s get moving.”

* * *

Back in the safety of the hidden meeting room beneath The Countryside Inn, Cersius’ body was laid out on the table, naked save for his ragged pants. Weeks of torture at the hands of his captors had left gaping wounds across his entire body. The torturer had obviously been very experienced and very thorough. Alexandra had pulled a chair up beside the table and was gently washing dried blood out of Ceresius’ wounds. Marcus leaned against the wall, watching Alexandra work. He nodded silently to Domitian, who quietly entered the room.

“What kind of condition is he in?” Domitian asked Marcus.

“Not good. Alexandra is confident that she can save him, but I’m not so sure. The man has taken many beatings, and has been subjected to some particularly brutal torture. Even if those physical wounds can be healed, I’ve seen stronger men than him psychologically shattered by less trauma.”
"We don’t need him to be perfectly sane. Physically intact should be enough. That’s all a figurehead is, after all. A physical presence. A face for our movement.”

“Indeed,” Marcus said. “And what of your side of the mission? I trust that casualties were not too severe?”

“They were acceptable. Two of Vito’s contacts were killed, but everyone else made it out alive. Vito is upstairs right now. Where is Vincenzo? I never saw him coming in, but that’s hardly unusual. He’s the kind of fellow you only see when he wants to be seen.”

“Vincenzo hasn’t made it back yet. When we left the prison, he provided a distraction by slowing down a group of returning Sicambrii.”

“I see,” Domitian said. “Don’t worry about him, then. He doesn’t like leaving witnesses behind. He’ll be back once he is satisfied that the job is completed.”

“How long do you think it will take for the Sicambrii to seek retribution?”

“Quite some time, I would imagine. Even once Ceresius’ absence is discovered, I don’t believe that Vestatian will allow the Sicambrii the privilege of open retribution. I suspect we’ll see an increase in the number of innocent civilians being roughed up in alleys and some late-night raids on random homes, but Vestatian is smart enough to realize that he is already on thin ice when dealing with most of the populace. Open hostilities would only serve to hasten a rebellion, particularly when he knows he cannot prove that Ceresius was not merely killed by some overzealous barbarians in the prison.”

“So,” Marcus asked hesitantly, “what do we do next? We have our figurehead, we have our war council, and we have our mission…we’re a military without an army.”

“Then,” Domitian said with a sly grin, “I say that it’s high time we get ourselves an army.”

“From where?”

“Look around you, Marcus. Nearly every single man, woman, and child in this province is just looking for an opportunity to pick up a sword.”

“Speaking of which,” Marcus said, “where exactly are we planning to get swords, bows, arrows, armour, and siege engines?”

“We will improvise. We will steal. We will make them. We will do whatever needs to be done.”

“Good,” Marcus said with a smile. “I’m beginning to think that we may just survive this whole mess.”

“Maybe. Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I need to get out of here. I’ll leave control of this situation to you. We will have another meeting here one week from tonight to discuss our options.”

Nodding, Marcus and Domitian clapped each other on the shoulder. As Domitian left the room, Marcus pulled a chair up beside Alexandra and sat down.

“There will be war over this,” he said.

“Over this?” Alexandra asked. “No, not over this. War was a foregone conclusion long before we ever freed Ceresius. This is just going to speed things along, that’s all.”

“Aye,” he replied. “I suppose you’re right. Many people will die.”

“I know,” Alexandra said, her voice shaking.

“I suppose you would,” Marcus said with a reassuring smile. “What else has Mars revealed to you?”

“Very little. Very little indeed.”

Marcus absent-mindedly reached over to Alexandra, gently caressing the nape of her neck. Sighing contentedly, she set aside the sponge she was using to clean Ceresius’ wounds.

“There will be war,” Marcus said distantly. “There will be war, and we will win.”

* * *

A cool breeze ruffled Marcus’ hair and shook the branches of the grove of oak trees which towered over his head. Despite the absence of a moon in the night sky, illumination did not seem to be a problem. Neat rows of trees stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction, their brilliant green leaves a sharp contrast to the surrounding darkness. Looking around, Marcus marvelled at the sheer scale of the scene which spread out before him.

“It’s an impressive sight, isn’t it?” A soft female voice called out to him, seeming to whisper in his ears from every direction.

“Who’s there?” Marcus glanced around cautiously, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. Fortunately, the voice’s owner proved easy to find; the slender brunette stepped out from behind a tree in front of Marcus. “Lucia,” he said sadly. “So this is a dream, then?”

“Yes,” she replied, “and also no. You are in a state which neither asleep nor awake, in a place which is both existent and nonexistent.”

“Please do not vex me by speaking in riddles, Lucia. Is this a dream, or some sort of wretched sorcery?”

“You must learn to open your mind, my beloved. This place where you stand –the ground beneath your feet, the trees, even the very air you are breathing –is neither dream, sorcery, nor reality. It is Hades, realm of the great Lord Pluto.”

“But why have I been brought here? I wasn’t even wounded tonight, let alone killed.”

“To be perfectly honest,” Lucia said with a smile, “I’m not certain of exactly why you’re here, either. All I know is that I am to meet you here and take you to your destination.”

“And what destination is that?” Marcus sighed in exasperation.

“I don’t know that either. The only thing I do know is that I was to greet you here, to provide a familiar face for you and to help alleviate any anxiety you might feel at these unexpected surroundings. I hope that I have succeeded in this much, at least.”

“You have,” Marcus said, “at least to the extent that any face can alleviate anxiety in a place like this. I do hope you will understand that it is still quite disconcerting.”

“Of course. Now, we have quite some distance to cover, so we had best get moving.” Lucia motioned to the path before them. As they walked, an unnerving silence fell between them. It was Lucia who finally broke the silence. “So… I see that you and this Alexandra woman - the Oracle of Mars - are starting to develop feelings for each other.”

“What?” Marcus’ voice nearly broke in shock. “We’re not... I mean, the two of us… we’ve been working together, but no—”

“Relax, beloved,” Lucia said with a sweet laugh. “I never expected you to remain alone forever. You have grieved long enough, and I hold no ill will toward you for wanting to love again.”

“I … well, thank you,” Marcus stammered, “but Alexandra and I have a strictly professional relationship. Nothing untoward has ever transpired between us.”

“Perhaps not yet,” Lucia said, still smiling gently. “But it will. I’ve been keeping an eye on the two of you, and there is no mistaking that you have already begun developing feelings for her. Surely even you can recognize that.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so… but she is a member of the priesthood of Mars. She has a divine calling. Surely she would never abandon that.”

“There is no reason she would need to abandon her calling, Marcus. She is not a true Priestess, but rather a commoner imbued with the abilities of an Oracle. And whether you realize it or not, she is already developing the same feelings for you which you are developing for her. Ah, here we are.”

Marcus had been so engrossed in his conversation with Lucia that he not noticed the forest’s segue into a large, open forum. Marble steps led the pair up into the forum, a spacious room flanked on all sides by viewing galleries. The galleries were filled with a veritable sea of faces, some familiar and others foreign. A large stone chair sat at the far end of the forum, occupied by an imperious, dispassionate man dressed in the uniform of a Roman General. Marcus did a double take as Lucia escorted him close enough to the general that Marcus could recognize his features.

“Lucia, is that who I think it is?” he whispered.

“Yes, Marcus. It is your fathers, Julius Ulpius… in fact, it was he who recommended that Pluto initiate these proceeds.”

“What proceedings, exactly?”

No more of a reply than a helpless shrug was forthcoming from Lucia. She escorted Marcus the rest of the way through the forum., stopping several feet away from the chair where his father sat. Bowing to Marcus’ father, she made a hasty withdrawal from the forum floor and into the nearest gallery. Once she had cleared the forum, Julius stared Marcus up and down, then raised his hand to signal for silence – a redundant gesture, as the galleries were already silent and motionless.

“Marcus Eranthan Ulpius,” Julius said, his voice resounding authoritatively throughout the forum, “you stand before me charged with the crime of abandoning your duty to the Empire of Rome. How do you plead to these charges?”

“Most respectfully, not guilty,” Marcus said, shocked. “I have not committed such an offence. May I ask, father, what specific matter this trial represents?”

“You may not. You will also refer to me as Arbiter; any familial bonds which may exist or have existed between us are not relevant here.”

“Yes, Arbiter,” Marcus replied, remaining calm in spite of the rebuke.

“Prosecutor,” Julius called. A tall, lanky, pale man stepped out of the shadows behind Julius’ chair. “Proceed with your case,” Julius said without a trace of emotion.

“Yes, Arbiter,” the prosecutor said. “Marcus Ulpius, it is the charge of this court that you have abandoned your duty to the Empire of Rome. Did you or did you not recite the following vow eighteen years ago when you were recruited as a soldier in the Roman Legions: ‘I vow to uphold the laws and beliefs of the Roman Empire; I vow to give my life in battle before I flee from the enemies of the Empire’?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And was it or was it not you who was appointed general of both the Legion 1 Minervia and the Legion 30 Victrix before the Battle of Agrippinensis?”

“I was, though, in truth – ”

“Please refrain from speaking out of turn. Answer only my questions; you shall have the opportunity to defend yourself soon enough. Now, is it true that the legions you commanded were defeated at Agrippinensis?”

“No,” Marcus said, thrusting his chin out defiantly.

“Please elaborate, General Ulpius. Is it your contention that the Legions 1 Minervia and 30 Victrix were victorious at Agrippinensis?”

No,” Marcus said. “It is, however, my contention that the legions commanded by me were not defeated. Since Governor Ceresius exercised his right to command those legions you mentioned, it follows naturally that I was not in command. I believe the question which would elicit the response you seek is: ‘Were you a member of the legions commanded by Governor Ceresius which were defeated at Agrippinensis?’”

“Very well,” the prosecutor seethed. “Were you a member of the legions commanded by Governor Ceresius which were defeated at Agrippinensis?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And after that defeat, were your enemies granted clemency for their attack on you, and then subsequently were granted the power to rule the province of Germania Inferior – power granted directly by the Emperor himself? I remind you to limit your answer to a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.”

“Yes,” said Marcus.

“General Ulpius, one last question: is it or is it not true that you are now a member of an insurgency group whose sole purpose is to overthrow the legitimate new government?”

“It is true.”

“Arbiter,” the prosecutor said, turning to face Julius, “I submit to this court that General Ulpius has implicitly admitted to guilt of the offence he is charged with. It is his sworn duty to uphold the edicts of the Emperor; the Emperor commanded that General Ulpius’ former enemies become the legitimate rulers of the province of Germania Inferior; General Ulpius has admitted to actively seeking the destruction of that government, in direct contravention of the Emperor’s orders. He is thus guilty of abandoning his duty to the Empire of Rome.”

Julius shifted and leaned back in his seat, contemplating the prosecutor’s words. Finally, he set his attention upon Marcus and spoke. “What do you say in response to this, Marcus? Remember that your life – indeed, your very soul – rests upon your defence of statements and actions.”

I will say this,” Marcus said, “and this only: overthrowing the government of Julianus Vestatian is no violation of my duty to the Empire. Now, Arbiter, you know full well that I am by no means a skilled orator, so I beg the court’s indulgence as I try to elaborate in my most humble way. I contend that the government comprised of Julianus Vestatian was not established by the Emperor’s will, but only his words. It is no secret that Emperor Trajan’s legions are in Dacia on a mission of conquest, and were thus unable to provide support to the provincial legions during the Sicambrii revolt. By negotiating a peace with Vestatian and instating him as Governor of Germania Inferior, the Emperor is able to preserve the safety of Roman citizens until his legions return from Dacia and crush the Sicambrii hordes. By taking action to restore the province’ original and rightful government, I am embarking upon the only course of action which will in fact, fulfill my duty. An argument could very easily be made that I abandoned my duty over the course of the year between my defeat at Agrippinensis and my decision to take up arms against the Sicambrii. However, I have rectified the errors of those days by taking up arms and solemnly re-committing myself to those ideals I vowed to uphold so many years ago. Therefore, honoured Arbiter, I submit to the court that my actions against Julianus Vestatian's government most emphatically does not constitute a breach of my duty to the Emperor.

Julius sat silent for several minutes after Marcus concluded his speech. Finally, apparently finished mulling over the arguments before him, he spoke. “Marcus, your defence has merit. In fact, I must confess that you have swayed me – I believe that your involvement in the actions against Julianus Vestatian and the Sicambrii are justified. Consider yourself a free man, and go forth with my blessing.”

“Thank you, Arbiter,” Marcus said with a slight bow.

“Oh, my boy,” Julius said with a smile, “make me proud, and make those bastards rue the day they crossed swords with you.”

Before Marcus had the opportunity to respond to his father’s encouragement, he felt an intense pressure rush up in his brain with the speed of lightning. As the pressure built up in his skull, Marcus’ vision blurred and faded to black. Before unconsciousness claimed him, Marcus felt the ground beneath give way and the wind whistle past his ears.

Chapter VI

Over a week had passed since Marcus and Alexandra had freed Antonius Ceresius from the Sicambrii prison when Domitian called another meeting in the hidden room beneath The Countryside Inn. As always, Marcus arrived early enough to find Vito and Domitian deep in discussion. Both men nodded to acknowledge his arrival, but made no pretense of intending to abandon their conversation. Antonius Ceresius was also present, propped up haphazardly in a chair leaning against the wall. He had made considerable progress in his recovery over the last several days, mostly thanks to Alexandra’s considerable healing skils, but a full recovery was still a long time coming for him. Much to Marcus’ annoyance, Antonius had healed enough to speak both coherently and at great length. Fortunately, his inability to walk more than a few feet under his own power made it easy for his long-winded speeches to be avoided. In fact, since Antonius had regained consciousness Marcus had not spoken more than a handful of words to him. In his efforts to continue what had become a proud tradition over the last few days, Marcus took a seat across the room from Antonius, pulling himself up beside Vito and Domitian.

“...which should supply us with at least another six hundred troops,” Vito said, gesturing at a map of the province which was laid out on the table in front of him.

“Ill trained troops at best,” Domitian said. “Armed with little better than stones and pointy sticks. We need an alternative to militia - how many legionaires do you think still survive from 1 Minervia and 30 Victrix?”

“No more than five hundred,” Marcus said, unapologetically breaking into the conversation. “And to be perfectly honest, I would be truly surprised if even that many survive. Many of them will have gone into hiding, and undoubtedly a great number have been killed or captured in fights with the Sicambrii since Agrippinensis.”

“Agreed,” Vito said. “Still, even if we can find two hundred, that should be enough. The best use of trained soldiers will be to train the militia as well as possible. We must keep in mind that we will have no more than a year to train the militia well enough to challenge the Sicambrii - and many of our units will have less time even than that. Any longer, and the Sicambrii will inevitably discover us, and we would be thwarted before our army can be properly assembled.”

“Indeed, it will be quite a challenge,” Domitian said with a heavy sigh. “My primary concern is going to be maintaining an aura of stealth around our training camps. It would be devestating if some traitorous fiend hoping to gain the favour of Julianus Vestatian let word of a training camp slip to the Sicambrii.”

“That is an issue we will have to deal with when the time comes,” Vito said. “For now, we will -” Vito paused as the door creaked open quietly. Alexandra slipped inside, looking sheepish at what she perceived as her late entrance. Vito continued: “ - for now, we will get this meeting started.”

“My apologies,” Alexandra said, “if I am late. I see you have all arrived before me...unless Vincenzo has yet to arrive?”

Domitian shook his head sadly. “Unfortunately, there has not been any word from him since our raid on the prison last week. I fear by this time that the worst has happened, and that we will not see Vincenzo again.”

“I thought that might be the case,” Alexandra said, “for Mars has not revealed his fate to me, and I have not even heard rumours of him on the streets.”

“Perhaps we should consider relocating our meetings,” Marcus said cautiously, “just in case Vincenzo has been captured and becomes...indiscrete under questioning.”

“If that was to be the case,” Vito said, “this room would have been raided by now. In any case, I do not believe that Vincenzo would allow himself to be tortured for any significant length of time. He would either end up breaking free or simply resigning himself to death.”

“Still,” Alexandra said, “perhaps in this case discretion is the better part of valour. We do not know Vincenzo’s fate, and we cannot know with certainty what he would or would not say under torture.”

“Has Mars revealed any danger in our immediate future?” Domitian asked Alexandra.

“No,” she replied, “but it is worth bearing in mind that our Divine Lord of Battle does expect us to be on our guard against many dangers, and would not necessarily avoid testing us for the simple sake of testing us.”

“Of course,” Domitian said. “However, I tend to agree with Vito in this situation. If the Sicambrii were to raid us, it would have happened already...and even if they have been just biding their time, we are as prepared as we possibly can be for a surprise onslaught. Let us take our chances; fate has been kind to us thus far.” After waiting a moment to ensure that there were no objections, Domitian continued. “Now, to the subject at hand: we need to raise an army if we hope to oust Julianus Vestatian and the Sicambrii from power. That much, I suppose, is obvious. We have begun to formulate a plan which will allow us to do this, but any suggestions would be welcome. Vito?”

“Of course,” Vito responded to Domitian’s prompting, clearing his throat and moving his map to the center of the table. “As I see it, our best course of action is twofold: we must find any surviving members of the provincial legions, and we must recruit and train militia. As you can see, I have marked off travel paths for each of us on this map. Our missions will be to follow those paths, setting up training camps and recruiting as many people as possible.”

“What about veterans of all legions?” Marcus asked. “We may only be able to find several hundred who served under Domitian and I, but we should be able to find many more who have served with us in the past, or who have served with other legions and retired here. Even if they are not all suitable for combat now, they should provide an excellent source of training instructors.”

“Good idea,” Vito said. “While we’re at it, we’ll also need to find as many blacksmiths as possible. Any recruit can whittle a branch down into a spear, but it requires special skill to create swords, shields, and armour...all of which we are going to need if we hope to overthrow the Sicambrii.”

“Even if we are able to find and fully train enough men to rebuild the provincial legions,” Alexandra said timidly, “will it make a difference? Fully trained, battle seasoned soldiers were no match for the Sicambrii at Agrippinensis. What makes us think that even the best trained and best armed militia we can muster will stand a better chance?”

“Because this time,” Marcus said, casting an insolent sneer at Antonius, “we will ensure that we have competent leader ship for our men. We shall make use of proper military tactics instead of rushing good men headlong to their deaths without concern for the consequences. Our downfall at Agrippinensis was not our training or our numbers, but the incompentent halfwit who decided to lead the battle.”

“Spurious fool,” Antonius said disdainfully. “Had your men been half the warriors that you vaunted them to be -”

“If you say one word,” Marcus growled, “just one single word which could even be construed as injurious toward those good men who you marched to their deaths, I will put you to the blade and make you die a more painful death than that torturer could ever have devised for you!”

“Insolent bastard! I am your superior, appointed by the Emperor himself. You owe me your loyalty, and I shall not stand by while you threaten me!”

Marcus laughed, a cruel and horrifying laugh. “Pathetic fool, you shall stand by for anything I say you shall stand by for. You have no authority here.”

“You owe me your fealty, damn you!”

“I,” Marcus said as he rose to his feet, “owe my fealty to no man! Not anymore. Not since that day. You are nothing more than a figurehead now, and your orders hold no weight here. I suggest you become accustomed to that fact.”

“Hold, Marcus,” Domitian said in an attempt to maintain a diplomatic atmosphere. “There is no need for us to be at each other’s throats. Antonius, what Marcus says is the truth. Your orders and demands hold no sway here. You are to serve a very specific function for us; you can choose to either accept that function and be the figurehead of our movement, or we can return you to where we found you. We have not been as forthcoming with your purpose as we should have been, and for that I apologize. I shall correct that error now: you, Antonius Ceresius, are to serve as a figurehead for us. You shall provide a public face and presence for us, and in that manner and that manner only shall you help us overthrow the Sicambrii. Once we have accomplished our goal, and order has been restored to our province, Marcus and I will petition the Emperor to have you put on trial for your egregious oversights at Agrippinensis. You will not hold power again, but that does not mean that your life will be horrible - in fact, if you cooperate with us, I think you will find that your life will become quite comfortable.

“To answer your question, Alexandra, I agree that we face many difficulties in the days to come, even if we can train and equip an army without being noticed by the Sicambrii. That is one of the issues we hope to begin to resolve this evening.”

“I have a suggestion,” Marcus said. “What if we utilize guerilla warfare? We could prove to be far more effective against the Sicambrii if, instead of rushing headlong into their walls of spears, we conducted swift, organized, small scale attacks against their forces. At the very worst, we would be able to seriously whittle down their numbers before facing them army to army. We will also suffer losses, but if the element of surprise is on our side, then we will have a far better chance of winning this war.”

“I agree,” Vito said. “While it is inevitable that we will have to face Vestatian and the Sicambrii on open ground eventually, there is no reason we should not do our best to weaken their numbers beforehand. However, perhaps we are putting the cart before the horse. While it is good to have some general ideas of how to handle the Sicambrii, we should spend our time tonight focussing on building an army of our own.”

“Indeed,” Domitian said. “Here is the plan which we have formulated thus far: Marcus and Alexandra shall travel west from Cologne, stopping at every city, village, and hamlet to recruit every able bodied and willing man. I shall travel south, doing the same, and will eventually reach Germania Superior. The General of their provincial legions is an old friend of mine. I believe that it will be possible for me to convince him to lend the strength of his legions to add to our own. Vito will travel between Cologne and Xanten, recruiting, maintaining his intelligence networks, and formulating long term strategies. We have a number of veteran legionairres who are willing to head east and recruit there - Marcus, one of those veterans has specifically asked to follow you. It seems that he fought under you at Agrippinensis, and has a particularly high opinion of your abilities.”

“I cannot say that I can blame him for holding my abilities in high regard,” Marcus said with a grin, “but please tell me that this isn’t just some unseasoned standard bearer who has laid hands on a sword and hopes to seek fortune and glory on the battlefield. I really don’t need that sort of accompaniment.”

“Unfortunately,” Domitian said with a hint of a smile, “that is exactly what he is. Well, not exactly what he is...he was actually a seige engineer. He also says that despite never participating in hand to hand battle, he is quite good with a sword. He gave me an impressive demonstration, and I think that he will prove to be an asset for you. I know that he is quite eager to prove himself to you - it seems that you are virtually his idol.”

“Lovely,” Marcus rolled his eyes. “Well, if he is travelling with me he will quickly become either a skilled warrior or a corpse.”

“Is that what will happen to me, too?” Alexandra teased Marcus.

“I’m sure that we can find a better position for you than on the battlefield or in the grave,” Marcus said with a laugh.

“I have no doubt about that,” Vito said with a sly grin.

“Perverts, both of you,” Alexandra said, unable to hold back her laughter any longer.

“Not at all,” Marcus said. “Just pragmatic. There are far better positions, even in the military, for an Oracle. Besides, I have absolutely no intention of risking your life on the battlefield."

"Indeed," Domitian said. "Now, can we get back to the subject at hand? This matter is of some urgency, after all."

"Absolutely," Marcus said. "I think this plan is a good start. What sort of time frame do we have for recruitment, and will we need to train those men that we have recruited?"

"Yes, you will need to train them," Vito said, "but I recommend that you delegate such duties wherever possible. If you encounter veterans of the legions, set them to work as instructors. Set up training camps as far from civilized settlements as possible. Feel out the political situations in the towns you encounter. Remember that the safety of the training camps will rely almost entirely on how well you can protect the knowledge of their existence. If some backwoods villager with allegiance to the Sicambrii hears of a training camp near his village, it is a safe bet that the Sicambrii will be marching to raze the camp to the ground before night falls. I leave the details of arranging proper security to your discretion, but do be careful."

Marcus nodded. I shall not let another innocent die,he thought, under the blade of a traitor. Not on my watch. If necessary, I will kill every single Sicambrii sympathizer that I find. Such a creature would be better off dead than alive anyway.

"These maps will serve you well," Domitian said, sliding a scroll case across the table to Marcus, "as will the letters inside. Governor Ceresius here has signed several copies of a letter which states that you and Alexandra are acting as representatives of his will and serve the best interests of the Roman Empire. They should serve to provide legitimacy to you should any doubts arise."

Marcus opened the scroll case and peeked inside. Sure enough, the case was filled with the series of papers which Domitian had described. "Good," he said. "Is there anything else which we will be needing?"

"No," Domitian said. "The conscript who will be joining you, a fellow by the name of Dahmus Constantine, will meet you at the west city gate tomorrow afternoon. You and Alexandra will have the morning to prepare for your journey. This gold," he said, sliding a coin-laden purse across the table, "should be sufficient for you to pick up any supplies you need. I suggest you leave immediately after meeting Dahmus; if you travel without stopping, you should reach the village of Alealnar in less than a week. I recommend you attempt to set up the first training camp near there. We shall meet back here in one year; that leaves you with three hundred and sixty five days to recruit and train your men - no more, no less. If any of you have any questions, I suggest that you ask them now. The next time we meet will be to plan our final assault on the Sicambrii."

The members of the assembly exchanged glances with each other, each one waiting for the other to ask for details. No questions were forthcoming, however. The path which was laid out before them was all too clear. The only questions which any of them could ask were the questions which none could answer. After several minutes of sitting in silence they all stood up in unison and left the room wordlessly.

***

Alexandra and Marcus met early the next morning, spending several hours combing through the city's market district looking for the supplies that they knew would be required. By the time the sun had finished its daily climb to the center of the sky, the pair had managed to purchase a cart and two horses, and enough supplies to fill the back of the small cart. Once they were satisfied that they would need no further purchases, they decided to head for the city's west gate to find their travelling companion.

It took very little time for Marcus and Alexandra to find Dahmus. As Domitian had assured them, the tall, heavyset soldier was waiting for them at the city gates. He was astride a small brown horse, and wore a bulky cloak which barely managed to conceal the bulge of a shortsword strapped to his back. He nonchalantly approached Marcus and Alexandra as they neared the gate.

"Good day, Sir and Madam," he said, bowing his head to them. "I believe that I am the gentleman whom you seek. It is my most humble pleasure to be travelling with you both."

"Drop the pretentious act," Marcus said gruffly. "Neither of us are nobles, and if you act like we are you will draw unwanted attention to us."

"I understand," Dahmus said.

"Understand this," Marcus said. "These are the rules you shall follow if you want to travel with us: you will do nothing which attracts unnecessary attention. You will, at all times and for all decisions, defer the final judgement in those decisions to me. You will not speak out of turn when others are present, and you will limit your side of our conversations to simple pleasantries or questions directly related to the job at hand. I have been told that you are good with a sword; while I am pleased to hear that, do not imagine that you will find many opportunities to put your skills to the test in the weeks to come. You will draw your weapon when I tell you to, and never before. We may not be wearing uniforms, but we are legionairres nonetheless, and you shall damned well obey my every command. Do you understand?"

"Y...yes sir."

"I'll say this once," Marcus said with a sigh, "and once only. Do not call me 'sir'. That's one of those things which will draw unwanted attention to us."

"Of course, si....I mean, yes. I understand."

"Good. Now, adjust that bloody cloak of yours. A child could spot the sword under there, and while I do not believe the Sicambrii to be even half as perceptive as the average Roman child, I believe it would be indiscrete for us to take the chance."

Nodding, Dahmus adjusted his cloak to better hide the weapon underneath. When it was done well enough to suit Marcus' tastes, Marcus nodded and gestured to the gate. Dahmus maneuvered his horse into position beside Marcus' cart, and the three of them set a leisurely pace to the gate. The caution of adjusting Dahmus' cloak seemed to be in vain; just as when Marcus had entered the city, half a dozen Sicambrii guardsmen were lounging around in the general vicinity of the city gate. Most of them were lost in what appeared to be some sort of tribal drinking game, and the remaining guard was keeping only a disinterested gaze on the traffic going in and out of the city.

Damned tribals,Marcus thought, letting a wave of disgust wash over him as he observed the Sicambrii. We could probably march an army through the city gates right now and they wouldn't do a damned thing. Hell, if we gave them a few bottles of whiskey, they would probably help us unload the supply wagons. How that bastard son-of-a-whore Vestatian manage to motivate them enough to form a cohesive army and train them in basic tactics is beyond me.

"So, Dahmus," Marcus said in a deliberate attempt to snap himself out of his reverie, "Domitian told me that you served under me at Agrippinensis...as a siege engineer, I believe."

"Yes," Dahmus said. "In fact, I served under your command in the Legion 1 Minervia for a full year before Agrippinensis. I was responsible for maintaining a ballista, but I always believed that my abilities would be better served in a more direct combat capacity."

"Why is that?" Marcus asked. "And please, do not tell me that it's an issue of glory or honour. Honour on the battlefield is a concept greatly exaggerated by poets and housewives; once you have experienced drudging through muddy fields for hours on end only to end up embroiled in battle with thousands of enemy troops who wish for nothing more than to tear you limb from limb, you will have an entirely different view of the glory of the battlefield, I assure you."

"No, no, no," Dahmus said. After a pause, he continued. "Well, yes, but not in the way you think. I realize that the battlefield is not so romantic a place as poets would have us believe, but the glory of surviving a battle and returning home laden with the spoils of war is unmistakeable. You'd be surprised at how little treasure remains on a battlefield after the infantry and cavalry has looted it. And then the looks on the faces of the local women as you parade through town with your trophies...that's something you just don't get when you're a siege engineer."

Marcus was unable to restrain his laughter. "Let me make sure I understand you," he said between peals of laughter. "You want to be in the infantry...for the women?"

"Yes," Dahmus replied as if that desire were the most natural thing in the world. "What's wrong with that?"

"Good gods, man," Marcus said, finally letting his laughter taper off. "Why not just take your pay and go to a brothel? With what you make from a month's service patrolling the outer stretches of the province, you could easily get a handful of whores to express any kind of awe you want."

"Whores?" Dahmus said scornfully. "Whores are not my style. They're not...they're not real. Sure, they'll say or do anything that you want them to do, but not because they want to do it. When I want someone extolling my virtues as a warrior, I want them to do it because I am a skilled warrior, not because I'm lining their purses with a few coins. And it's not just women. Everyone looks at you differently when you're a hero."

"Not just women, eh?" Marcus jested. "Maybe you aren't very well travelled, but the last time I checked, whores come in both sexes. Come on, man, let's be reasonable. Do you have any idea of the pain and tribulations that an infantryman has to go through just to get a single hero's parade? It is by and large a thankless job, and once those very few parades end most people tend to forget your glorious deeds before the sun rises the next morning. You are far better off taking a job like the one which you had. Find some other way of gaining the admiration you seek."

"That's funny," Alexandra said. "I never saw you as the sort of person who would advocate the use of prostitutes, Marcus, nor did I see you as the sort of person who would advise someone against taking their chances on the field of battle."

"Only when the situation warrants it," Marcus said with a smile. "With all due respect to our companion here, I am still not certain that his motivations are entirely appropriate. If the thought of missing out on glory is enough to even give him pause about his newly chosen occupation, then I am not certain that he will be entirely reliable in the heat of battle. And, for the record, I was only joking about the prostitutes."

Alexandra shot Marcus a look of amused reproach. "Should he not be free," she said with a smile, "to choose his own occupation? I'm sure that there was a time when you were just as inexperienced; had someone not taken a chance on you, you would never have become the warrior that you are today."

"I'm not sure about that," Marcus said with a devilish grin. "I've always been very experienced. In battle, I mean."

"I'm sure you did," Alexandra said as Dahmus trained in vain to stifle his laughter. "Innuendo aside, I do think you should give Dahmus a chance."

"Of course," Marcus said. "I have every intention of giving Dahmus the opportunity to prove himself. Since he has not yet backed down, despite my cautions, I assume that he has the courage of his convictions."

"I do," Dahmus interjected. "Have the courage of my convictions, I mean."

"You were not directly addressed, recruit! Do not speak," Marcus said, "unless either myself or the lady Alexandra speaks to you."

"Go easy on him, Marcus," Alexandra said, gently placing her hand on Marcus' arm.

"I am going easy on him," Marcus said. "We must operate with military discipline if we are to have any hope of succeeding at our mission. If I were not going easy on him, I would have beaten him for the infraction of the code of conduct that I laid out for him - and I do not rule out the possibility of such a punishment should he commit a similar infraction in the future."

Alexandra nodded, though she obviously did not agree with Marcus' views on discipline. Marcus felt his stomach sink a little as he noted the obvious disapproval she felt. Why does her disapproval affect me so? Perhaps,he mused, Lucia was right. This sort of feeling would not persist if she were only a travelling companion.

Silence overtook the trio as they marched ceaselessly on down the westward road from Cologne. The city slowly faded into the distance behind them as the afternoon wore on into dusk. When the sun's light was almost completely extinguished, Marcus decided that the three of them should find a place to stop and rest for the evening. Heavy forests covered both sides of the narrow road, making it difficult to find somewhere to stop which would not require them to block the road. After nearly half an hour of trudging onward trying to find a place to camp for the evening, Marcus pulled back on the reigns and brought his and Alexandra's horses to a stop. Dahmus followed suit, watching Marcus carefully. Marcus gestured into the distance, indicating a beaten path which lead from the road into the forest.

"What is it?" Alexandra asked.

"I smell smoke from this direction," Marcus replied. "The trees are thick, but I'd be willing to wager a gold coin that there's some sort of abode not far down that path. Since there do not seem to be any other places for us to stop and camp around here, perhaps we could convince the owner of the dwelling to give us shelter for the evening?"

"Perhaps," Alexandra said, "but what if they refuse? Do we continue travelling in the dark?"

"That is the beauty of our position," Marcus said. "We need only tell them of our goals and the cause which we serve. If they are loyal citizens of the Empire, then they shall give us shelter."

"And if they are not?"

"Then they are traitors," Marcus said, "and they shall meet the fate that traitors meet. Either way, we end up with shelter for the evening."

"So you would simply kill them, even if they are not active combatants?"

"Yes, I would...but I doubt that will be the case, Alexandra. You know as well as I do that most of our fellow citizens hate the Sicambrii as much as we do. I'm sure they will jump at the chance to help us. There's only one way to find out."

With no sign of an objection from Alexandra, Marcus directed the horses to turn down the rough path which lead in the presumed direction of the dwelling. Because the path was too narrow for him to follow beside Marcus and Alexandra's cart, Dahmus was forced to follow single file behind them. The path twisted and turned for several hundred feet, finally opening up into a spacious clearing. As Marcus has predicted, a small cottage occupied the center of the clearing, and small puffs of smoke rose from the chimney. The signs of rural life were everywhere around the house - a small coop filled with chickens sat alongside the house, and an axe was buried in a chopping block not far from that. Marcus pulled the horses to a stop and jumped down from the cart.

Marcus approached the cottage door, followed by Alexandra and Dahmus. He knocked on the door with three loud, clear, resounding thuds. It took only a few seconds until the door was pulled open by a tiny child. She seemed to struggle with the weight of the door, but finally opened it enough to peek up at her visitors, her brown eyes sparkling out from below a thick mass of curly brown hair.

"Can I help you?" She asked, the sweetness of her voice bringing a smile even to Marcus' battle-scarred face.

"Is your father - " Marcus' question was cut off by a large, heavyset man scuttling to the doorway and pulling the girl aside.

"Daria! I've told you a thousand times," he scolded her, "never answer the door for strangers!"

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said, her lower lip quivering.

"It's ok, honey," he said, bending down to hug his daughter, "but don't do it again, OK?"

As the girl nodded, Marcus' head snapped up. He had been sure that he recognized the large man's voice, and he had finally placed it.

"I'll be damned," he said with a grin. "Do my eyes deceive me, or is this Centurion William Ilona standing before me?"

"It's just William these days," the man said, standing up and turning to face Marcus. "I have been - by the gods! General Ulpius? But...I'd been told that you died at Agrippinensis!"

"In a way, I did," Marcus said. "But I stand before you a new man. Or, perhaps more appropriately, a new version of my old self. I must say that I am glad to see one of my former soldiers here - I have a favour to ask, and I'm afraid it is quite urgent."

"Of course, General. Please, come in. You're welcome to stay here and help yourself to anything you require. Let me get you and your companions some drinks."

"Thank you for your hospitality, William. I hope our imposition will be of no trouble," Marcus said, following William into the cottage. Although it was small, the main room of the cottage was cozy. Several seats were set around a small dining table, and the various accoutrements of family life were scattered around the room. A tall, raven haired woman sat at the table, holding Daria close to her, still suspicious of their visitors. Alexandra and Dahmus followed close on Marcus' heels, allowing the door to fall shut behind them. "William, please allow me to introduce my companions. This fine lady here is Cologne's Oracle of Mars."

"Please, call me Alexandra," she said, curtseying to William.

"And this fellow," Marcus said, gesturing to Dahmus, "served with us at Agrippinensis, though he was one of the fortunate few serving with the seige engines."

"Ah...a rock-chucker, eh?" William said with a laugh.

"Ballista operator, actually," Dahmus said with a bow. "Though I have had a change of occupation since then. I am now a proud infantryman. You can call me Dahmus."

"Well," William said, "it's always good to see someone make the leap to becoming a real soldier. Congratulations. So, Marcus, Alexandra, and Dahmus, please allow me the pleasure of introducing my wife Talia," he gestured to the woman seated at the table, "and I believe that you've already met my daughter Daria. Please, sit."

Marcus and his companions sat at the table, and William set out the drinks he had promised - glasses of some sort of thick, almost stiflingly strong wine. After a few minutes of exchanging petty small talk, Marcus took a deep breath and dove straight into the issue which had brought him there.

"William," he said, "I told you that I have a favour to ask of you, and I must ask it now."

"Of course, General. What would you have of me?"

"First," Marcus said with a gentle smile, "stop calling me General. We're in an informal enough setting. You should feel free to call me Marcus. Second, I believe that this may be an issue best discussed in private. I am unsure that your family wishes to hear what I have to say."

"With all due respect, Marcus," William said, "anything that you have to say can be said in the presence of my family."

"If you wish," Marcus said. "I'm sure you are well aware of the oppression which the Sicambrii have thrust upon us. They and those bastards led by Vestatian have ravaged this land."

"Aye, I'm well enough aware of the damage those bastards are wreaking," William said in disgust. "They've been taxing us to the hilt. Hardly a week goes by without some bloody goon patrol knocking on my door, threatening to raze my home to the ground if I don't hand over every single piece of gold I own. Just yesterday they came by, demanding more 'taxes'. At this rate, I'll never have enough coin to feed my family properly."

"That's exactly what I'm speaking about," Marcus said. "Their rule cannot be tolerated any longer...which brings me to my point. We are representing a movement in this province - a movement which seeks to rebuild the old provincial legions and to crush the Sicambrii. We're seeking trained soldiers who can help us train more conscripts, and I would have you join us."

William stared down into his drink for a long moment, contemplating what Marcus had said. Finally, he responded: "I am sorry, Marcus, but I must refuse. Like you, I wish to see the Sicambrii suffer and be removed from power, but I have other obligations now. Ever since our loss at Agrippinensis, I have decided that my family must be my first obligation. We have built a comfortable home here, and have a good life. If I go off to fight the Sicambrii again, then who is to say that I would survive? I wish you the best, and still extend my offer of shelter for the evening, but I do not believe I can help any further than that."

"Is there no way I can persuade you?" Marcus asked.

"I'm afraid not," William said.

"I am very sorry to hear that," Marcus said, "but I will respect your wishes, so long as I know that you hold no sympathies for the Sicambrii."

"Sympathy?" William spat on the floor. "I want nothing more than to see every one of those damned tribals hang, but I must take care of my family. Speaking of which, the hour is late and my family should be getting some sleep. Let me gather some blankets for you. I'm afraid that accomodations are quite cramped, so you shall have to sleep in this room here."

"That will be fine," Marcus said with a disappointed smile. William disappeared into the next room, then returned with a small pile of neatly folded blankets. He handed them to Talia, who spread them out on the floor, neatly arranging them so that the three could sleep comfortably without the risk of incidental misbehaviour between one of the men and Alexandra. As she went about her work, Marcus and William chatted back and forth with more small talk. Finally, when the blankets were arranged to Talia's satisfaction, Talia and William bid their visitors good night and retired to their bedroom. With no further reason to avoid sleep, the trio blew out the lamp which was providing them with light, then curled up underneath their respective blankets for a restful night's sleep.

Chapter VII

The next morning, Marcus was woken by a gentle poking at his shoulder. His eyes gradually fluttered open to see Daria crouched by his head, staring curiously at him. He rubbed his eyes, blinked, and then smiled at her.

"Good morning, little one," he said. "Isn't it a little early for you to be awake?"

"No," she said. "I'm a big girl. I can be awake any time when the sun is shining."

"And I guess that means that all of us have to be up then, too, right?" Marcus asked with a quiet chuckle.

"Yep! Everyone should be up now," she said enthusiastically, "'cause the sun's up and the birds are chirping and the horses are all snuffly, and, and, and -"

"Yes," Marcus said. "I see your point. It's a beautiful day, and everyone should be enjoying it, right?"

"Uh-huh," she said with a smile.

"Well," he said with a grin, "why don't you go wake my friends and your parents up? I'll wait here!"

"OK!" she exclaimed happily, and ran off to do exactly that. Marcus propped himself up on his elbows, watching with a small amount of glee as Daria latched onto Alexandra's shoulder and shook her until she woke. Alexandra and Marcus shared a knowing smile as Daria moved on to wake Dahmus, and then ran off to her parent's bedroom, presumably still intent on waking every single person in the household. Moments later Daria emerged from the bedroom, dragging her parents behind her. William glared at Marcus.

"So I gather you think we should all get up and greet the morning, eh, Marcus?" He grumbled.

"It was Daria's idea," Marcus said, "but I thought it sounded just fine." Daria beamed a bright smile at Marcus.

"Well, next time - " William was interrupted by a heavy-handed thudding at the door. Glancing around the room nervously, he ushered Daria and Talia into the bedroom, then cautiously opened the door. Marcus slipped his dagger into the back of his belt as the door swung open to reveal half a dozen towering, unwashed Sicambrii men. The smell of whiskey radiated from them, wafting into the room along with an unpleasant combination of dirt and body odour. "Is there something I can do for you," William asked, "or are you just standing there for fun?"

"Tax collection," the leader of the Sicambrii group growled.

"That can't be," William said. "I paid my taxes yesterday. There is nothing more to give."

"You didn't pay us," the leader said with a vicious smile, baring his blackened half-rotted teeth to William.

"Look," William said, "let's discuss this outside." The Sicambrii obligingly stepped aside, letting William step out into the yard. Marcus followed close behind, gesturing for Dahmus and Alexandra to stay put. Marcus followed William into the center of the home's front yard. His stomach sank as he realized the inevitability of the violence that was to come; the Sicambrii circled Marcus and William, grinning widely and viciously.

"You pay now," the leader said, his spirit of cooperation apparently exhausted.

"I've told you," William said, "I have nothing more to pay. Another squad of you goons was here just yesterday. They took my last copper piece."

The Sicambrii grunted amongst themselves in their native tongue, until the leader burst out laughing. Turning to face William again, the leader grinned. "My men say if you do not pay, we should take payment...you have a pretty wife. A few hours with her..."

"Never mention the name of my wife again," William said, turning red with rage. Suddenly, Daria skipped out of the front door of the house, skidding to a stop in front of the Sicambrii leader. With a sweet smile she held a small green apple up to the Sicambrii leader as a wordless offering. The Sicambrii leader's grin widened as he stared down at Daria. William lunged forward, trying to grab his daughter and pull her back, but he was too late. The hulking Sicambrii's hand shot out from his side, his dirt-stained fingers closing around Daria's tiny neck. With no more effort than it had taken Daria to lift up the apple, the Sicambrii hoisted Daria into the air with one arm.

"Maybe you can find some money now," he said, his grin widening even further.

"Please, let my daughter go," William pleaded, his voice rapidly changing from hostile to terrified. "She has nothing to do with this, and nothing to do with you. Do not hurt her."

"Give us our money, and we'll leave her alone," the Sicambrii replied.

"Please, there is no money to give," William's begging became more urgent as he watched his daughter struggle against the Sicambrii leader's iron grip, her pale face reddening with every passing second.

"Let the girl go," Marcus said, "and we'll give you the money you want. We have some, and we will cover his taxes. Just let the girl go."

"Silence!" The Sicambrii roared. "We will get to you in a minute. You didn't think we were going to overlook taxing you, too?"

"Let her go," Marcus said, "and I promise you that you will get everything you deserve. All that and more."

"I'm bored now," the Sicambrii leader said. "The money now, farmer, or your daughter dies."

"I've told you! There is no money! I'll...I'll get some, though. You just need to give me a few days," William pleaded desperately.

"Money is needed now. No money," the Sicambrii said, "no girl." With a single swift motion the Sicambrii leader whipped Daria to the side, snapping her neck with a sickening crunch. An inhuman grin decorated the Sicambrii leader's face as he dropped Daria's lifeless body to the ground.

The grin did not last long, however. Marcus was already in motion, drawing the dagger from the back of his belt and hurling it at the Sicambrii leader. The jewelled blade flashed and sparkled as it flew through the air, burying itself deep in the man's throat. A gurgle was the only noise that the man could make before he fell to the ground beside Daria, blood pooling around the hole in his throat. Still in motion, Marcus rushed forward and plucked the dagger from the Sicambrii's throat. The rubies embedded in the dagger's pommel glowed with an inner fire which shone brightly through the splatters of blood which still dripped down the hilt. The blade seemed to move of its own volition, pulling Marcus with it as he dodged to the left and slashed downward, piercing the dagger through the ribcage of the next barbarian's chest and rending his heart apart. William wasted no time either; he sidestepped to his right, yanking the wood-chopping axe from the chopping block and rushing straight at the third Sicambrii, screaming viciously. Marcus' vision blurred as he withdrew the dagger from the Sicambrii's chest; the pommel rubies glowed even more brightly now, and the sensation of being guided by the dagger increased tenfold. Ducking and weaving, he slashed out over and over again, feeling the dagger slice into the flesh of the next two barbarians as he dodged blows from their warhammers. William hacked away at the corpse of the Sicambrii that he had killed, every blow further fueling the rage which drove him. He was so engrossed in utterly destroying the Sicambrii's body that he nearly did not see the hammer hurtling towards his head. Reacting just in time, he dropped to his knees and let the hammer whistle over his head. He heard a sickening splattering sound as he rose, but he paid it no heed. His axe swung upward and buried itself in the chest of the final Sicambrii. The axe tumbled from his fingers, and he stumbled over to where his daughter lay.

William dropped to the ground, picking up Daria's body and cradling it in his arms. Tears streaked down his face, and his body was wracked with sobs. He looked up at Marcus, desperate to see some sort of support; however, Marcus' attention was not focussed on William, but rather several feet behind William. His expression was one of sheer horror. Afraid to see what Marcus was seeing, William nevertheless slowly turned around to look at the point where Marcus' gaze was fixed. William's heart skipped a beat; he yelped in despair as he beheld the sight of his wife laying in a crumpled heap on the ground. Her neck was twisted back at an unnatural angle, and the impression left behind by a Sicambrii warhammer was visible from several feet away. Alexandra stood at the cottage's doorway, her face drained of all colour.

"She...she chased after Daria," Alexandra whispered. "We tried to stop her, but she was too quick...by the time we saw her move, she was halfway out the door..."

With an sobbing scream, William charged at Alexandra. Marcus stepped forward quickly and pulled William back. "It wasn't her fault, William," he said. "The Sicambrii did this. This is what we are fighting, old friend...this sort of barbarity is inhuman."

"My wife," William sobbed, collapsing onto the ground again. He pounded his fist into the ground. "My daughter! They did nothing to deserve this! We wanted nothing more than to live in peace...nothing more than that."

"I am sorry," Marcus said. "These atrocities...they are horrid. I lost my wife in the same way. They came into the city, and she never stood a chance."

"They will pay for this," William growled, the grief in his eyes transforming to rabid hatred. "Every last one of those godless bastards will pay the price for what has transpired today. Last night you offered to have me join you. Does that offer still stand?"

"Of course it does," Marcus said. "But I will not ask you to decide just yet. You need to grieve for your family, William. You will be no good to either us or their memory if you act without considering the consequences of your actions. That is a lesson which I know all too well."

"I will grieve," William said, slowly rising to his feet and staring Marcus in the eyes. The unmitigated rage and hatred which dwelt in William's eyes was enough to make even Marcus' blood run cold. "In my own time, I will grieve. That time is not now; now is the time for vengeance. My family will be watching us from the gloried Elysium fields, and I will not let them down. We shall bury Daria and Talia, and then we shall continue on with your mission."

***

True to his word, William did not allow his grief to interfere with Marcus' mission. After spending the afternoon burying his wife and daughter while Alexandra conducted burial rites, he joined Marcus and Alexandra in the seat of their cart to journey onward. He spent most of the following days staring into space as the cart slowly wound its way down the narrow stretch of road west. When they stopped to camp in the evenings, he would wander away from the others to grieve in solitude, but he never once burdened his companions with his pain. Four days and nights were spent this way: Marcus and Alexandra quietly appreciating their rapidly deepening feelings for each other, William trying to deal with his grief, and Dahmus spending every permissible moment extolling his wonder at the glory of Marcus' battle skills. Finally, on the fifth day after they had left William's home, a village was spotted in the distance.

"William," Marcus asked, "do you know the name of this town?"

"Unless I'm mistaken, this is Alealnar. It's only a small settlement, but it should serve our needs well - it is populated wholly by Romans, and the last time I spoke to somebody who lives there, they were all said to be loyal to the former governor; they chafe and suffer under the reign of the Sicambrii as much as anyone in the province. I suspect we should find little difficulty in recruiting soldiers here."

Marcus nodded, staring solemnly at the small community laid out in the distance before them. It was still little more than a spot on the horizon, but plumes of smoke could be seen billowing from the town.

"Does this village," Marcus asked in a concerned tone, "have a blacksmith that you know of?"

"Not to the best of my knowledge," William replied. "Why do you ask? I was under the impression that we were not arming the populace with swords, but rather with spears. A blacksmith should not be necessary for simple spears."

"No, we don't need a blacksmith," Marcus said. "It's that smoke which concerns me. There are only two things that I know of which could produce smoke thick enough to be visible from this distance. If it's not a blacksmith, then it's -"

"Fire," Dahmus whispered fearfully. "That's the smoke of a burning building."

Marcus cried out to the horses, urging them on at full speed. Dahmus followed suit, digging his heels into his steed's flanks. The cart rumbled and shook under Marcus, Alexandra, and William as the horses surged forward, pulling it far faster than its makers had ever intended it to go. Even at such a speed, it took them nearly an hour to reach the village. The closer they got, the more clearly they could see the turbulent scene of the village. Several homes were ablaze, and horsed riders ran amok, chasing men and women between the buildings and through the streets. Handing the reigns over to William, Marcus reached behind the cart's seat and rummaged around urgently.

"By the gods, what are you looking for?" William asked, desperately trying to control the horses and the bouncing cart.

"This," Marcus said with a bloodthirsty grin as he pulled a bow and quiver out from behind the seat. Pulling the lid off the quiver, he drew several arrows and handed them to Alexandra. "As soon as I let one fly," he said, "give me another." Alexandra nodded, watching nervously as Marcus nocked the first arrow and pulled the string back. She quietly uttered an invocation to Mars as Marcus took aim at the closest rider - still two hundred feet away. He let the arrow loose from the bow, snatching another from Alexandra's hand and nocking it before the first arrow had even finished its flight. The arrow flew straight and true, and the targeted rider tumbled from his horse to the ground, pawing at the shaft buried in his shoulder. Marcus released the second arrow at the same man, and when this arrow struck the target ceased flailing completely and slumped down on the ground. The cart quickly bore down on the village, and with very little surprise, Marcus recognized the riders as Sicambrii warriors. Releasing three more arrows in quick succession, Marcus scored two more hits on another rider, knocking him to the ground. "Can you handle a bow?" Marcus asked William.

"No," he shouted, still desperately trying to control the horses.

"Then just stay with the cart and protect Alexandra," Marcus said, throwing the bow into the back of the cart. "Dahmus! Cover the perimiter! If any of these damnable barbarians escape my reach, kill them!" Nodding in acknowledgement, Dahmus pulled away from the cart, circling around the nearest buildings. Marcus pulled his sword from the sheath and crouched on the cart seat. As the cart pulled up beside another Sicambrii rider, Marcus leaped from the seat with a deafening war-cry. In a dazzling display of acrobatic skill, Marcus swung his sword in a downward stroke which literally split the rider in two as he landed on the horse's back. Shoving the still-bleeding lower half of the rider to the ground, Marcus swiftly regained control of the horse, pulling it to a stop in the middle of the village square. Raising his sword over his head, he cried out to the remaining Sicambrii riders. "Heathen cowards! Does the slaughter of innocents satisfy you? Do you have the courage to face a true warrior?" He bared his teeth in a dramatic pause. "Make peace with your heathen gods, for today - this very hour - is to be the end of your miserable lives!"

His words had the desired effect. The remaining Sicambrii riders - three of them - pulled their horses into the village square, circling Marcus like vultures. His grin widened even further, twisting his blood-splattered face into a grotesque mockery of human expression.

"Don't be shy," he said, seething hatred glittering in his eyes as he beheld the Sicambrii one at a time. "You won't get a chance to kill me if you stay so far away. You see this?" He held his blade out at arm's length, letting the sunshine glint off the exposed shaft of the weapon. Droplets of blood still fell to the ground from the blade. "That blood came from one of your friends - maybe even a relative. Do you not have the strength of character to avenge your fallen kin?" The Sicambrii continued to circle him, but did not move any closer. "That's what I thought," Marcus said in disgust. "What character you lack, I do not. Every one of you will die today. Now, fight!"

Unable to restrain themselves further, two of the Sicambrii riders charged at Marcus. He readied his sword with his right hand, and reached behind his back, grasping his dagger but not drawing it until the riders were nearly upon him. With a single smooth motion he drew the dagger and plunged it into the first rider's neck, plunging his sword into the ribcage of the second rider at the same time. The force of the riders' inertia caused them to impale themselves on the weapons, and knocked Marcus to the ground. As he fell, he felt a burning pain in his right shoulder, followed by a jarring impact with the ground. His weapons slipped from his grip as Marcus rolled and collapsed into a heap. He staggered to his feet, dazed and disoriented, just in time to see the third rider charging at him. Shaking his head to clear his vision, Marcus leaped to the side, dodging the rider's axe swing. In the few seconds reprieve which were granted to him as the rider pulled around for a second charge, Marcus reached down to pick up his sword from the ground. His fingers would not close around the weapon, however, and a bolt of pain shot up through his right arm. Glancing down, he saw the worst - his shoulder was bleeding freely, staining his shirt a dark red. With no time to react to his injury, Marcus instead grasped the sword in his left hand, swinging upward instinctively as he felt the rider approach. The blade sunk into the horse's neck, causing the beast to topple forward, throwing the rider to the ground. Marcus lurched forward before the rider had the opportunity to stand, hacking downward at the prone form. His blade sunk into the rider's neck, cleaving his head cleanly off his body. Panting in exhausting, Marcus fell to the ground unceremoniously. With what seemed like supreme difficulty, he forced himself to a half-standing, half-crouching pose as his companions came rushing to his side.

"Marcus! Your shoulder," Alexandra said, gently running her fingers over his wounded shoulder. "We need to get back to our cart. I need to clean and wrap this wound right away."

"I'll survive for a few minutes," Marcus said, slowly steadying himself and regaining his balance. Dahmus stood nearby, ready to lunge forward and provide support if Marcus gave even the slightest hint of falling.

"You didn't save any for me," William said, kicking the corpse of the beheaded Sicambrii in the ribs.

"What would you have done," Marcus said with a shaky laugh, "throw yourself on their weapons? You are not armed, William, save for your staff - and that would hardly be a match for these fallen warriors. It would just bounce off their empty skulls."

"That is a situation which is easily corrected," William said. He bent down and picked up an axe which had fallen from the grip of one of the now-deceased raiders. "It's not pretty," he said, turning the weapon over in his hands, "but it will do for now."

"I'm glad to see you have your priorities straight," Marcus said. "But has it occured to you that perhaps you should check the homes," his voice rose to an angry shout, "which are burning down around us?" William stepped back in shock, unable to even stammer a reply. "Perhaps," Marcus continued, his voice dropping to a throaty growl, "you should do that now. Rescue any trapped citizens. Dahmus will give you a hand."

"Marcus," Alexandra said as William and Dahmus dashed off to carry out Marcus' orders, "do you need to be so harsh? I know that you need to maintain a strict discipline, but you never told them that they had to check those homes. Why shout at them?"

"I shouldn't have needed to tell them," Marcus snapped. "They have both served in the legions. They should know what to do instinctively."

"They are not mind readers, Marcus," Alexandra said with a patient smile. "Come, let us get your wound taken care of."

There was no time to bandage his wound, however. As William and Dahmus fanned out, each taking charge of entering burning homes in the hopes of rescuing people trapped inside, more villagers began to file out of the homes which had escaped the flames. They glanced around nervously, as if trying to assess the newcomers to their village. As the crowd of people gathering began to swell into the village square, one villager strode forward to stand before Marcus.

"Good day, newcomers. You will forgive me, I hope, if I do not hail you as our saviours just yet, but I would like to know your names and your purpose here."

"I am Marcus Ulpius," Marcus said. "This lady here is Alexandra, Cologne's Oracle of Mars. Those gentlemen over there are William Ilona and Dahmus Constantine. We are here representing the interests of the province of Germania Inferior on behalf of its rightful governor, Antonius Ceresius."

"Antonius Ceresius is dead," the villager said with a hint of distrust in his voice.

"That is a common misconception," Marcus said. "In reality, he was merely misplaced. If you require proof, I have a copy of a letter signed and sealed by Ceresius himself back in our cart. I'd be more than happy to show it to you, though I would ask that you give Alexandra a chance to take care of this rather gaping gash in my arm first."

"Fair enough," the villager said with a smile. "My name is Tamanash Vaeldos. I am the leader of this village, if indeed any of us could be termed the leader."

Alexandra took Marcus by his uninjured arm and lead him to the nearby spot where William had pulled their horses to a stop. Marcus peeled his shirt off, wincing as the cloth brushed against the tender wound. While Alexandra set to work cleaning and bandaging the deep cut, Marcus rummaged through his possessions with his free hand until he found the scroll case which Domitian had given him back in Cologne. Reaching inside the case, he pulled out one of Antonius Ceresius' official letters and handed it to Tamanash, who perused the document with great interest. When he had finished with the letter, he handed it back to Marcus.

"Let Pluto strike me down and carry me to the furthest reaches of Hades if I am wrong, but the letter does appear to be genuine. So the Governor is alive, after all. Please forgive our lack of trust...there are many who seek nothing more than to plunder us of what few resources remain here. Strangers are viewed with skepticism."

"That is hardly surprising," Marcus said. "If I were in your position, I cannot say that I would do differently. I hope you understand that we are only here to help."

"And what kind of help do you offer, I wonder? Your display in the square was impressive, I'll grant you that - but I have a suspicion that a man who can fight like that has little purpose in life beyond mere combat."

"You are correct, in a manner of speaking," Marcus said. "Combat is what drives me, and it is a great part of what brings me here. But it is not my only purpose - fighting is nothing more than a means to an end; it is a poor man who uses fighting as the end itself."

"Then what is the end which you seek to bring about through fighting?"

"That," Marcus said, "is something which should be discussed in private. You said that you are the leader of this village; if there are any others who hold some degree of power or importance in your community, I suggest you gather them and arrange somewhere for us to meet."

"We can meet in my home," Tamanash said. "It doubles as a town hall when necessary. I'll gather the appropriate people and meet you there in two hours. It's the large house on the west side of the village square. You can't miss it."

"Good."

"What shall we do about the homes which are ablaze?"

"Let them burn," Marcus said bitterly. "And let the ruins stand. They will be a reminder of what we all need to fight against."

***

Before attending his meeting with Tamanash, Marcus gathered his companions around their horses.

"This," Marcus said to them, "is the situation: I have arranged a meeting with the leaders of this village in two hours. I would like you all to come with me, and we need to make an impressive showing if we hope to convince them to join us in our fight against the Sicambrii. Dahmus, William, and I will all dress in full battle uniforms. Alexandra, please wear your most official-looking robes. Once inside, none of you are to speak unless I or one of the villagers addresses you directly. Are there any questions?"

"Do you want us to carry weapons?" William asked. "I understand, of course, the need for proper armour and accoutrements, but would bearing arms not be considered to imply hostility?"

"Yes, I want you to carry weapons - Dahmus, you bring your sword and shield, William, your vinewood staff, and I will bring my sword and a short spear. Nobody draw weapons unless I command it. Do not concern yourself with whether or not the villagers will perceive us as hostile. They have seen that we are their allies - tell me, William, would you rather see allies who are capable of a show of tremendous force, or allies who are impotent and weaponless?"

"I understand," William said with a smile.

It took the group nearly an hour to dress fully, but the time was well spent. By the time the men had finished fiddling with the complex systems of belts, loops, and buckles which held their armour together, Alexandra had been completely dressed and ready for nearly half an hour. The sight of the four of them was awe-inspiring; Dahmus and William wore similar sets of banded iron armour, red-crested helmets. Marcus wore similar armour, though his was as much a work of art as it was a protective device. Complex designs were inscribed up and down the interlocking iron plates; everything from Mars' blessings to depictions of battle campaigns which Marcus had been involved in were represented. A thick black and purple cloak flowed around the armour, signifying his rank as a general. He gripping a short spear in his right hand much like a walking staff, with the spear's tip pointed at the sky. His sheathed sword hung from above his left hip, and his dagger was placed in a similar position on his right hip. A dazzling golden helmet covered most of his head, designed in the shape of a demonic visage. The helmet shielded nearly all of Marcus' face; all that was visible were his eyes, nose and mouth, each visible under slits which had been cut specifically to accommodate Marcus' facial features. Alexandra was dressed in flowing white robes trimmed with black cloth. The black trim was decorated with bright red lettering which formed prayers and invocations to Mars which ran up and down the robes. Once he was sure that everyone was fully dressed, Marcus inspected each of them individually.

"Perfect," he said with a grin as he circled around each of them. "If this doesn't convince our friends here that the might of the Roman Empire still extends into our fair province, nothing will. Come, let us go to to the home of this Tamanash Vaeldos. Do not rush; I want to make sure that we arrive on time for the meeting, but not before the village leaders are all assembled."

True to his word, Tamanash's home was hard to miss. It was easily twice the size of the surrounding village, and its profile dominated the west side of the village square. Unlike domiciles of similar size in larger cities, no visible security force was present; no fence surrounded the property, and no guards were patrolling the grounds around the building. I suppose that is just a part of living in a village,Marcus thought with a combination of disgust and intruige, but it is a part of life we shall have to rid them of. If this village, or even a single home in this village, were properly fortified, it would help discourage raids like the one we rode into earlier..in the worst case scenario, it would at least help save a life or two.

Marcus strode confidently into the home, pushing the front doors open forcefully. His cloak billowed around him, swirling around his legs and spear as if it had a life of its own. Dahmus, William, and Alexandra walked behind him in a triangular formation. As the group strode into the room, four men whirled around to face them. Tamanash and his fellow village leaders had already arrived, and had been standing in the home's foyer waiting for the newcomers. All four men's faces drained of colour as they saw Marcus and his companions enter the room; just as Marcus had intended, their appearance in full battle regalia had produced the perfect combination of shock and awe.

"G-gentlemen," Tamanash stammered. "Is there something we have done to deserve this sort of entrance? Forgive me for saying so, but we are not accustomed to outsiders storming around with weapons and armour as if they own everything they see."

"You could have fooled me," Marcus said with a sly smile, "or were those not armed raiders that I defended your village from just a few hours ago?"

"Point taken," Tamanash said with a nervous laugh. "Please, allow me to introduce these gentlemen: this is Varan Brijae," he said, gesturing to a tall, lanky man. "And this is Tallur Vanda," he gestured to a short, stocky, balding man. "And this is Dionnus Mandagal," he gestured to the remaining man, who was thoroughly average in height, stature, and looks. The three men bowed their heads to Marcus deferentially. "Gentlemen, this is Marcus Ulpius, a representative of Antonius Ceresius, the former governor of this province. He is accompanied by Cologne's Oracle of Mars, William Ilona, and Dahmus Constantine - both fine soldiers, I have been assured. Now that we have been introduced, shall we get down to business?"

Marcus nodded.

"Very well. May I ask you gentlemen to leave your arms in here? My apologies, but I do not believe that weapons of war belong in my home."

"No," Marcus said, gesturing to his companions to indicate that they should not surrender their weapons. "We will not leave our weapons behind. Rest assured that they shall not be put to use," he said, "but neither shall they be abandoned. We are soldiers, and soldiers need to be prepared for battle at any moment."

"Of course," Tamanash said. "Please come with me."

Tamanash lead the assembled group through the halls of his home and into a large meeting room. A table was already set up and waiting for them, with eight chairs seated around it. Everyone took a seat except for Marcus, who stood looking over the group with a pensive expression.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, gentlemen," Marcus said. "I'll try to keep this meeting short and make my purpose clear without any unnecessary small talk. After today, I think it should be clear to everyone in this village that we have a common enemy: the Sicambrii." The village leaders shot glances between themselves, but kept silent. Marcus continued: "For too long, the Sicambrii have pillaged the cities of this province. For too long, they have killed our fellow men, raped our women, and robbed our treasuries. For too long have we stood idly by and watched these barbarians, lead by Julianus Vestatian, destroy our lives. It is time for us to take our province back."

"Time for us to commit suicide, you mean," Tallur muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Marcus asked sharply. Nobody spoke up. "Please, don't be shy, gentlemen. If you have a thought or question, let me address it."

"Fine," Tallur said. "I said that opposing the Sicambrii is suicide. They are simply too powerful for us to defeat - even the Emperor's legions would be hard pressed to battle them and win."

"Is that so?" Marcus asked. "I don't agree. I think that we can defeat them if we are willing to take the risk - I wouldn't be here if I thought otherwise. You all saw me slaughter the Sicambrii who raided your village today. They are not gods; they are men. Men bleed, and men die."

"We are men, too," Tallur said. "And we are not warriors. The Sicambrii spend every minute of every day fighting. They fight each other, they fight animals, and they fight us. We simply cannot compare to them."

"Indeed," Marcus said, "they are experienced warriors. They are fearsome foes, I'll grant you that. Many of them have seen battle, and those who have not spend most of their time preparing for the moment when they do face foes on the field of war. They are not invincible, however; in fact, they do not even wear armour. An untrained boy in a suit of armour can survive an axe blow. Without armour, that same axe blow will sever bones and flesh. That means that the only failing of any of you on the field of battle is lack of training; there is an easy solution for that."

"What would you have us do," Varan asked, "set up a training camp in the middle of the village?"

"That is exactly what I would have you do," Marcus said. "We would be more than happy to help you set it up, and instruct you in the proper techniques of battle. One of my men will stay behind and act as a permanent instructor; more recruits would be sent here to train as we found them."

"Such a training camp would not survive long," Dionnus said. "You're a military man, Marcus. You know full well that the Sicambrii do not send out small raiding parties over long distances; there is a settlement not ten miles northwest of here where over two hundred Sicambrii men, women, and children live. More than half of that number are warriors; if a training camp is set up, they will learn about it and our village will be razed to the ground in a matter of days."

"I see no problem," Marcus said. "Just an obstacle. They would kill innocent Romans for maintaining a militia training facilty which is perfectly legal in the Roman Empire? Then we do to them what they would do to us. Tonight, myself, Dahmus, and William will ride to this Sicambrii settlement - by the morning, the settlement will no longer be a problem."

"You'll be killed!" Tamanash exclaimed. "I have no doubts about your abilities, Marcus, but you don't seem to grasp the sheer number of warriors involved."

"Don't I?" Marcus asked. "I'll tell you what. My men and I will ride out this evening. If we are successful in slaughtering the Sicambrii in question, will you agree to setting up the training camp?"

"You won't succeed," Tallur said defiantly.

"That wasn't what I asked," Marcus said. "Will you agree?"

The villager leaders leaned in toward each other, whispering quietly. After a moment's discussion, Tamanash nodded his assent. "Very well," he said. "We have an agreement."

"Good," Marcus said with a smile.

The villager leaders stood, pushing their chairs back from the table. Marcus watched them leave the room, then turned to his companions.

"Marcus," Alexandra said, "I think we need to talk. I have some reservations about this plan."

"I thought you would," Marcus said. "But I need a moment first. Dahmus," he said, leaning down to address Dahmus directly, "I have a mission for you. Follow Tallur. Make sure he does not leave the village, and let me know if he does anything suspicious. I don't entirely trust him, and I don't want to risk him warning the Sicambrii."

"Of course," Dahmus said. "But do you really think he's a Sicambrii loyalist? I wouldn't have thought such a thing would be possible amongst Roman citizens."

"I don't like the thought of it either," Marcus said with a sigh. "But something about him just doesn't ring true. Keep an eye on him; be subtle, but don't let him leave the village. If he tries, kill him."

"Understood," Dahmus said. He pushed his chair back, stood, and left the room as hastily as discretion would allow.

"William," Marcus said.

"Yes?"

"Prepare our horses and supplies. We'll need oil, flint, my bow and arrows, and whatever else you think is appropriate for the sort of siege we are going to undertake."

"Yes, sir." William stood up and left in the same manner as Dahmus.

"Now, Alexandra," Marcus said, "how can I allay your concerns?"

"I'm not certain that you can," she said. "Marcus, you're not just talking about killing enemy combatants. If that were your only goal, then I would have no objection at all. But you're talking about killing women and children. I don't think I can condone that."

"You serve the God of War, Alexandra. More than that, you're his voice in this part of the world. What does he tell you?"

"Nothing at all," she said fearfully. "That's part of what concerns me. I have no idea what the divine will of Mars is on this subject."

Marcus sighed heavily. "This is one of the aspects of war which nobody likes, Alexandra. Most of the time it is never spoken about; soldiers do not like telling tales of innocents who fall under our blades. Normally I would despise the thought of killing an innocent, but sometimes certain situations arise where there is no choice. I believe this is one of those situations."

"But -"

"Let me put a situation before you," Marcus said, interrupting Alexandra. "Suppose that we managed to conduct this mission and kill every Sicambrii warrior without killing a single noncombatant. What do you think would happen to the women and children who survive? Five years from now, or ten, or twenty...would the children whose fathers we kill simple let that offense pass, or would they exact retribution?"

"They would seek retribution," Alexandra said.

"Indeed. Not only that, they would recruit everyone they could find to help them. They would march on Rome, killing every Roman citizen in their path."

"But," Alexandra said, "aren't you just perpetuating a circle of violence? You - and I, for that matter - are acting out of our own desire for revenge. When will it stop?"

"I don't know," Marcus said with a shrug. "I'm not a philosopher, Alexandra. I don't have the answer to those questions. All I can think of is what needs to be done now...and what needs to be done now is what we are going to do this evening."

"It just seems wrong," Alexandra said, her eyes reddening with restrained tears.

"I know," Marcus said, embracing Alexandra. "I know. This is the price we must all pay in war."

Chapter VIII

Pulling his horse back from a thundering gallop to a near-stop, Marcus signalled for William and Dahmus to do the same. The three men were still dressed in their battle gear, though William and Dahmus had discarded their helmets; Marcus had rightfully pointed out that the bright red plumes would be visible from a great distance, even in twilight. The horses they rode were burdened down with an almost comical abundance of weaponry, from spears and axes to Marcus' bow and arrows. Grasping his horse's reigns in one hand, Marcus gestured for his companions to stop. He surveyed the land around them with a careful eye. Nearly a mile back, the thick woods which had surrounded the road gave way to a sprawling landscape overgrown with brush and foliage. Trees still dotted the roadside, but with less and less frequency as the road marched on.

"I see smoke ahead," he said as William and Dahmus pulled up beside him. "This must be our destination. Come, let us find somewhere to hide our horses; we go the rest of the way on foot."

The men dismounted in unison, guiding their horses off the road and into the nearby brush. Fortunately, plenty of foliage was available to serve as cover. The trio tied their horses to a tree thirty feet off the road, hoping that the surrounding terrain and plant life would serve to shield the mounts from sight, then began to gather up their weapons.

"Are you ready to make these bastards pay, men?" Marcus asked. William and Dahmus nodded enthusiastically. Savage grins painted both of their faces. "Good. Remember, do not speak unless absolutely necessary. We're going to need to scout the perimeter before we do anything. No matter how tempting the prospect, we cannot simply charge into the middle of their settlement and start hacking away at everything that moves. Keep in mind that we will be outnumbered more than seventy to one, so please do not attract any attention just yet. Are there any questions?"

"Just one," William said. "When do we get to spill some Sicambrii blood?"

"Soon enough," Marcus said. "Once darkness falls. Now, if there's nothing else?" The lack of reply served Marcus as an affirmative response. Motioning with his head in the direction of the Sicambrii encampment, Marcus slipped into the bushes quietly, taking great care to disguise his presence as thoroughly as possible. It was a testament to his remarkable prowess at this sort of covert scouting that he could move with any sort of silence at all while burdened with not only heavy armour, but also a bow, arrows, his sword, dagger, and a spear. His companions followed, making only slightly more noise despite being just as heavily burdened. They half-marched, half-crawled through the brush for what seemed like an eternity before the Sicambrii settlement finally came into sight.

The settlement was smaller than the village of Alealnar, though not significantly so. Unlike the Roman village, however, the Sicambrii settlement was composed of haphazardly constructed huts. A huge bonfire was already burning in the centre of the settlement, and even from his perch nearly four hundred feet away Marcus could see Sicambrii gathered around the fire. The racous noise of their dancing and shouting was easily audible, and the heady smell of roast pork wafted on the gentle breeze.

"Perfect," Marcus whispered to his companions. "We've caught them in the middle of a feast. In a few hours, they will be so drunk that we will be able to cut them down without them even realizing what is happening."

"What do we do in the meantime?" Dahmus whispered in response.

"We wait," Marcus whispered, setting his spear and bow down. "And we watch. If any of the barbarians wander away from the village, we can kill them, but in the meantime we wait for the opportune moment."

"You mean like those two?" William whispered, pointing at two Sicambrii who were stumbling away from the settlement in their direction.

"Do you think they've spotted us," Dahmus asked quietly, "and are dispatching guards to stop us?"

"No," Marcus said. "Not unless the Sicambrii have begun to embrace the love which dare not speak its name. Those two are obviously looking for somewhere to...get romantic, if you will."

"So what do we do? They're coming this way," William whispered. "Do we just run out there and kill them?"

"Not unless you want me to put an arrow through your ass before you take your first five steps," Marcus said. "No, we shall let them come to us. Back up. Come on, move into the shadows." Marcus picked up the weaponry which he had laid upon the ground and slowly creeped backward, never taking his eyes off the pair of the Sicambrii. William and Dahmus followed suit, waiting tensely as the couple slowly approached. Marcus grasped his spear lightly, gesturing silently for William and Dahmus to do the same. An eternity seemed to pass as the drunken couple stumbled their way towards the trio, pausing every few steps to grope and kiss before stumbling on further. Finally, the couple came to a stop within a few paces of Marcus and his companions. Marcus looked at William, then at Dahmus. They were both watching him intently, awaiting his signal. He nodded to them, and without a single word the three men charged from their position amongst the bushes, brandishing their spears at waist level. The Sicambrii, totally engrossed in their romantic interlude, did not even see the men approach. Their deaths came quickly as the spears thrust upward and into their bodies. Marcus' spear tore into the Sicambrii man's throat, snapping his head back with the force of the blow. William's blow skewered both Sicambrii, piercing through the woman's back, through her stomach, and into the man's chest. Dahmus' aim with his spear was shaky; a blow intended to pierce the Sicambrii man's heart instead sliced through the muscles in his chest, skipping along the bones of his ribcage. Dahmus lost his footing and plunged down to the ground, swinging his weapon with him. The spear's backstroke drove the tip into the female Sicambrii's shoulder. The couple dropped to the ground, dead before they even had the opportunity to utter a sound. Pulling his spear free of the entangled corpses, Marcus creeped back into the bushes, indicating that he expected both Dahmus and William to follow suit.

"Shouldn't we retrieve their bodies?" Dahmus asked once they had retreated to suitable cover.

"I don't think it will be necessary," Marcus said. "Do you see the way they collapsed on top of each other? They're far enough away from their brethren that, even if someone should spot their bodies on the ground, the natural assumption will be that they are...occupied."

Marcus was correct; over the next several hours, no more Sicambrii had approached their position, or even left the settlement. As the time gradually passed, the trio was able to watch the Sicambrii pass out around the fire, one by one. Those who did not pass out by the fire retreated to their respective huts, and by the time the settlement was engulfed in the darkness of the night, there were no traces of conscious life remaining in the settlement.

Slowly edging closer to the settlement, Marcus nocked an arrow in his bow. Once he had crept to within roughly two hundred feet of the nearest Sicambrii, he signalled to his companions.

"Stay close," he whispered, "and do not make a sound. When I give the signal, kill every one of these damned barbaric heathens. Try to do it silently; if they wake up and fight back, this will take far longer than it has to."

Taking great care to be absolutely silent, Marcus slowly drew his sword from its sheath. The orange glow from the nearby fire glinted off the polished blade, casting shadows across Marcus' face. William and Dahmus followed suit, drawing their swords quietly from their sheathes. When he was certain that the group was prepared for the task before them, Marcus grinned savagely, and gestured at the settlement with his sword.

"Kill them all," he said. Marcus scuttled forward, trying to remain as well hidden as the shadows would allow. Closing in on the nearest Sicambrii man, Marcus dropped to his knees and plunged the blade of his sword into the man's throat. The force of the blow was enough to sever the man's head from his body and force the blade several inches into the ground; a spray of blood erupted from the wound, coating both Marcus and his sword. The grisly shower did not slow Marcus down at all. He pulled his sword from the ground and moved on to the next unconscious man. A quick downward chop was all that was required for his sword to slice through the man's neck, severing muscle and bone. Marcus continued his grisly foray, stepping from body to body, slicing, chopping, and stabbing until he was covered nearly from head to toe in the blood of the Sicambrii men he had killed. He was morbidly pleased with how smoothly the assault was proceeding; after nearly half an hour, he had personally slain forty men, and estimated that seventy five had been killed in all. This is how Odysseus must have felt, Marcus thought,as he and his friends leapt from the wooden horse and stalked through the streets of Troy.

Any pleasure Marcus was feeling about their progress was quashed by the sound of a scream coming from one of the nearby huts. He whirled around instinctively to face the source of the sound to see an enraged Sicambrii warrior standing several feet away, standing outside the doorway of his home. The warrior charged directly at Marcus, brandishing a waraxe. Desperate to silence the warrior, Marcus stepped forward into his charge, dodging to the side in order to avoid the warrior's axe while thrusting his sword upward into the warrior's belly. Marcus averted his gaze just in time to avoid the horrid onslaught of entrails which spilled from the hole in the warrior's stomach. Although he had succeeded at silencing the warrior, a quick glance around the settlement confirmed that he had been too late to prevent the man's war-cry from waking his compatriots.

"Ah, damnable fates!" Marcus exlaimed in horror, watching as the Sicambrii laying around the fire began to stir and rise. Well,he thought,it's too late to abandon the mission. If we run for cover, they will stop us. I suppose there is no alternative but to resign ourselves to outright conflict.

Switching from his two-handed grip on his sword to a single-handed grip, Marcus drew his dagger with his left hand. Lunging forward, he hacked and slashed at the drunken Sicambrii warriors, who were still struggling to gain their footing. His hands acted independently, weaving a constant pattern of attack on two seperate fronts. Five more Sicambrii fell under his blades before any of the warriors near him had even managed to stand. A noise behind him caused Marcus to whirl around with a vicious war-cry, raising his sword above his head, poised to strike downward. The sight of a child standing before him forced him to hesitate; the tiny, unkempt boy stared up at Marcus in disbelief, utterly unable to comprehend what was happening around him. In the fraction of a second that Marcus hesitated, William lunged in from his position fighting a warrior several feet nearby. William showed no trace of the mercy which had stayed Marcus' hand, and his blade pierced through the child's shoulder, running cleanly through the body and out the child's back. Rather than simply pulling his sword straight out of the wound, William forced his sword upward in a sharp movement. The weapon erupted upward through the boy's collar bone, causing him to drop straight to the ground in an unseemly heap. William gave Marcus a quizzical look; he had obviously seen the hesitation in Marcus' eyes, and had not understood it. Marcus pretended that he had neither hesitated nor noticed William's puzzled look; he twisted to his left to hack at another warrior, but before he could drive his sword into the man's flesh, a hot flash of pain ran through his right shoulder. He did not need to look to realize that Alexandra's careful stitching was not holding up well to his strenuous activity.

Marcus leapt back into the relative safety of the nearest hut's doorway. He quickly and unceremoniously wiped blood off the blades of his weapons with his cloak, then sheathed them carefully. Reaching around his back to pick up his bow, Marcus dropped to one knee in the doorway, setting his quiver down beside his knee. With speed befitting an expert archer, Marcus swiftly nocked an arrow and drew the bowstring back. Uttering a quiet invocation to Mars, he let the arrow fly, picking up and nocking another arrow before the first had even struck its intended target. Releasing five more arrows in quick succession, Marcus watched five more Sicambrii men and women fall to the ground under the deadly hail. As he nocked his next arrow, he took a fraction of a second to assess his companions' respective situations. William was apparently having the time of his life, hacking one warrior limb from limb while simultaneously dodging wild blows from a Sicambrii woman. Dahmus was having a worse time of it; he was surrounded by three armed warriors and a single child who had somehow managed to heft a battleaxe which was nearly twice as large as he was. Without a second thought, Marcus released two arrows at the warriors battling Dahmus. The warriors fell, only to be replaced by three more from the chaotic crowd which was milling around the bonfire.

The battle raged in this manner for nearly three full hours; for every barbarian who fell under sword or arrow, two more seemed to spring up to take his place. Marcus had run out of arrows, and was forced to resort to wielding his sword in his left hand as he waded ankle deep through corpses and a veritable river of blood, hacking awkwardly at man, woman, and child as he tried desperately to maintain his footing. When he had been fighting so long that his legs felt as if they were made of rubber, and he could hardly support his own weight anymore, William delivered a stunning blow to the last standing Sicambrii warrior, dropping the man onto a pile of his fellow warriors, a torrent of blood rushing through the gash in his throat.

Wiping blood from his sword once more, Marcus sheathed the weapon and laughed. The sound was an almost unearthly howling which was soon joined by similar laughs from both Dahmus and William.

"That," Marcus said between howls of laughter, "is how battle is done!"

The laughter gradually tapered off, leaving the three men standing amidst heaps of corpses. Each of them was covered in blood from head to toe; most of it belonged to the fallen Sicambrii warriors, but there was undoubtedly some Roman blood mixed in the crimson mass. Wiping his brow with one hand, William left behind a streak of blood and grime which was arguable worse than what had been there originally.

"So," William said with one last grisly giggle, "what do we do now?"

"Did you bring the oil and flint as I instructed you to?" Marcus asked.

"Of course," William replied.

"Then burn it. Burn everything to the ground, and leave these damnable corpses to rot in tomorrow's sun."

***

The trip back to Alealnar was marked by an uncomfortable silence between William and Marcus, and a constant stream of chatter from Dahmus. William seemed to be weighing and judging Marcus mentally; he had obviously decided that Marcus' split-second hesitation in battle was something which bore serious consideration. Dahmus, on the other hand, was overjoyed at having finally experienced what he called "the thrill of battle". He seemed intent on recounting every instant of the battle from his perspective to Marcus and William, seemingly forgetting that the two men had both been present at the incident in question. Marcus heaved a sigh of relief as the village finally came into sight; dawn's first rays of sunlight were beginning to peer down on the village, illuminating the battle-weary travellers in a golden glow. Since there was no source of water on the road back to Alealnar - save for the Sicambrii settlement's well, which was now little more than a pile of ash and collapsed stones - the men had not even bothered with the pretense of cleaning off the blood and muck which covered every inch of their bodies.

Alexandra was waiting at the outskirts of the village, her eyes fixed on the road before her. She leaped to her feet as she saw the men approach; several children from the village were sitting beside her, just as eager to witness the arrival of the soldiers as Alexandra. Their excitement quickly mixed with wonder and a little fear as Marcus and his companions came close enough to be properly seen.

"Marcus," Alexandra said, breathlessly approaching his horse, "what happened? Is it..."

"It is done," Marcus said, gazing down at Alexandra with a tired smile. "Those Sicambrii will not trouble this village again. Where is Tamanash?"

"I am here," Tamanash said, stepping out from behind a house. "I must admit, I almost didn't believe it when my daughter came dashing into our home, screaming that you were back here in one piece...although, by the Gods, it looks like 'one piece' may not be entirely true."

"No," Marcus said with a laugh, "it is true, though I trust that you will make some sort of bath available to us at the earliest convenience. Although none of us have suffered more than minor wounds, our appearances have suffered some temporary setbacks. We may be left with a few scars after today, but we are certainly in much better shape than the Sicambrii."

"You killed them all?" Tamanash asked incredulously. "Tallur will not be pleased. Do you know that he approached me after you three left last night and told me that he thought we should send a rider ahead to warn the barbarians? It seems he is of the mind that it is better to garner favour, and hopefully protection, from the barbarians, rather than to fight them. I do not agree with him, but I must say that he did make one good point: the Sicambrii will eventually discover what has happened, and they will seek retribution."

"Perhaps," Marcus said. "Yes, perhaps they shall. That is why we will set to work on constructing a training camp here, so that you will be able to defend yourself should that day ever come."

"Of course," Tamanash said. "When will you want to begin, by the way?"

"As soon as possible," Marcus said. "In fact, if you would be so kind as to oblige us by providing a bath right now, we should be able to begin as early as this afternoon."

"That will not be a problem," Tamanash assured Marcus. "In fact, I would ask that you accompany me to my home - you are more than welcome to bathe there. I would first ask you one final question, if I may."

"You may," Marcus said.

"What would you have us do about Tallur?"

"Do you believe that he intends to betray us to the Sicambrii, or just that he wants us to avoid open hostilities?"

"In the end," Tamanash said, "is there a difference?"

"I suppose not," Marcus said. "I will entrust the situation to your capable hands, Tamanash. We will stand by any decision you make. Now, if you would be so kind..."

"Of course. Follow me, please."

Tamanash lead the way to his home, and the three soldiers were soon surrounded by an entourage of villagers rushing out to see the returning heroes. The men smiled and waved at the villagers, but did not dismount from their horses until they had arrived at Tamanash's home. For all three men, the dismount was less of a graceful step-down, and more of an exhausted flop to the ground. The soldiers followed Tamanash into his home, maintaining a dignified stride despite being so exhausted that they could hardly stand. The reward was well worth the difficulty, however; the bath in Tamanash's home was far more luxurious than one would normally expect from such a small town. It was spacious enough for half a dozen people to comfortably bathe simultaneously; a frescoe depicting a gladiatoral contest decorated the west wall, though the heavy steam which pervaded the room obscured the artwork somewhat.

"I'll leave you gentlemen to it," Tamanash said. "Do not worry about making a mess. The room is cleaned on a regular basis."

As Tamanash left the room, Marcus began to unbuckle the heavy armour which weighed him down, carefully placing it on the floor. His weapons and boots soon followed, their blackish blood-encrusted surfaces standing in sharp contrast to the white tile of the floor. As he pulled off his tunic and tossed it beside his armour, Marcus began to laugh. His hands were still covered in dried blood and muck, leaving a bizzare glove-like illusion in comparison to his pale forearms which had been completely protected from the splattering blood. William and Dahmus turned to see what Marcus found so amusing, and both found it just as funny when they uncovered similar effects on their own body.

As his laughter gradually subsided, Marcus finished disrobing and slipped into the bathwater, groaning softly as the heated water began to ease the aching pain in his body. He carefully checked the stiches in his right shoulder, ensuring that none of them had been too severely aggravated in battle. Although the flesh around the threading was ragged and slightly red, none of the stitches had popped open. It will still heal just fine,Marcus thought with no small degree of satisfaction as he slid down into a relaxed reclining position in the bath.

"General Ulpius," Dahmus said as he slid into the bath, "I know this may not be the appropriate time for such a question, but what is your plan for teaching these villagers to be warriors? They aren't particularly accustomed to the sort of life they would encounter in the legions, and we hardly have the time to prepare them adequately to fight the Sicambrii."

"That," Marcus said, his eyes still closed as he relaxed in the warmth of the bath, "is the beauty of our duty here. We don't need to train them to be full time members of the legions. We do not need to create professional soldiers. Though it may seem crass to say so, our primary purpose here is to train these men well enough to deliver a blow or two in the heat of battle, then serve as fodder to slow down the enemy forces."

"While we mow the bastards down by any means necessary," William said with a grin. His grin faded as he added: "Those of us who have the testicular fortitude to kill our enemies, that is."

Marcus' eyes snapped open at the pointed insult. "Is there some concern in particular you wish to bring to my attention, Centurion?" He asked, placing heavy emphasis on William's low rank.

"As a matter of fact, there is," William said.

"Then just say what you mean to say," Marcus said. "Do not dance around the issue."

"Very well. I think you've gone soft, General. You hesitated on the field of battle, when you saw that child. Your nerve faltered, and you paused. You were able to recover, but such hestitation is what costs lives in battle."

"Yes, I hesitated to kill a child. I admit that," Marcus said, "with no small amount of pride. Certainly, hesitation costs lives in battle - but the sort of bloodthirst which has begun to overcome you costs souls. Women and children had to die, and more will have to die in the days to come. I understand and accept that, but I don't like it. I certainly don't enjoy it."

"How can you not enjoy killing any and every Sicambrii man, woman, and child on the face of the earth? They killed your wife, just as they killed mine. You cannot tell me that you are not affected by the all-consuming urge to revel in the deaths of the enemy."

"The children did not kill my wife. Nor did the women, for that matter. Do not mistake my distaste for killing innocents for pacifism, William. If you want to compare kill counts, I'd be willing to lay down a dozen gold coins that mine would outstrip yours by far. I have slaughtered, and will continue to slaughter, each and every Sicambrii warrior that I can."

"You have fallen prey to the clutches of philosophy," William said with a sneer. "Are you sure there isn't a little Greek blood flowing in those veins of yours?"

"If you insult your superior officer again," Marcus said, only half-jokingly, "there will be Roman blood flowing out of that neck of yours. Besides, philosophy really isn't so bad. An officer without regard for philosophy is like a sword without a soldier; deadly and powerful, even beautiful, but utterly lacking conviction or direction. Useless, in other words."

"You can keep your philosophy," William said. "As long as I can keep my sword wet with Sicambrii blood."

"Oh, there's little doubt that you'll be able to do that," Marcus said. "But what of it when every last Sicambrii is laying dead before you? What will you do then?"

"I don't know," William replied. "I haven't really had a chance to think about that."

"Well," Marcus said, "now you will."

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious? We need somebody capable of training villagers here. Dahmus, skilled as he may be, lacks experience in battle and thus the perspective necessary to properly train recruits. I cannot take the position, for I must journey on down the road, finding more recruits to send to you - hopefully also some veteran soldiers who are willing to pick up the sword once more. That leaves just you."

"And this has nothing to do with punishment for daring to question you?"

"Nothing at all. I'm not passive-agressive, William. Trust me when I say that if I decided to punish you, you would not be soaking comfortably in a bath right now. You would be in a much less comfortable position. Now come, we've had enough of this luxury for now. We all have jobs to do."

A wave of blackish flecks of dried blood and dirt flowed off of Marcus' body as he rose out of the bath, leaving him clean and the water stained reddish-brown. Picking up a clean robe from a convenient hook on the wall, Marcus slipped the white garment around his body, then picked up his blood-encrusted and filthy equipment. Dahmus and William reluctantly followed suit, leaving the bath water behind them opaque.

"Grab your gear and follow me," Marcus said. "It's time we get started with what we came here to do."

Leaving the room, Marcus found Tamanash in the hallway, intently studying a sculpture of a legionairre which decorated the corridor. He turned to face Marcus as the door swung open.

"Ah, Marcus," he said. "You are finished, then?"

"Finished with one task," Marcus said with a hint of a smile. "But, as is the fate of every soldier, we complete one task only to move on to the next."

"Indeed," Tamanash said. "I was just thinking the very same thing, actually. You know, this statue has decorated my hall for nearly a decade now. I've never really thought about it before, but given the circumstances, I thought it would be well advised for me to truly consider the requirements of a soldier. Dedication, fortitude, strength, charisma; I see all these things in you, and to a lesser extent in your companions. Perhaps it is just a trick of the eyes, but I cannot see it in this statue. Moreover, I cannot see it in myself."

"Those are not qualities innate in most people," Marcus said. "Do not be discouraged if you cannot perceive them in yourself. They will only become apparent through training. That is what we are here for. You'll see those qualities in yourself soon enough."

"Yes, I suppose I will." Tamanash's voice seemed filled with resignation. He began to walk away from the statue, gesturing for Marcus to follow. "I should probably tell you," he said as they walked down the corridor, "that I've come to a decision regarding Tallur."

"Good," Marcus said. "May I ask what it is?"

"He's a risk to us - a risk to our safety. He hasn't betrayed us yet, to the best of my knowledge, but it is inevitable that he will do so. I believe we should take preemptive action and execute him. Not only will it take care of him, but it will act as a deterrent against any other potential traitors."

"That is a bold decision," Marcus said. "One that was not easy to come to, I am sure. When will the execution take place?"

"As soon as you are able," Tamanash replied.

"When I am able?" Marcus laughed, turning to Dahmus and William. "Did you hear that, men? He thinks we'll do the dirty work for him."

Dahmus and William burst into laughter, causing a confused look to cross Tamanash's face.

"I don't understand," Tamanash said. "Why is that funny?"

"Tamanash," Marcus said, still smiling, "you seem to have missed the point regarding me telling you to make your decision about Tallur. You are the leader of this village. You need to make the decision, and carry through with it."

"You mean I must execute him myself?"

"Not necessarily," Marcus said. "You can, if you so choose, delegate the task to one of your subjects. We are soldiers, Tamanash, not civilian law enforcement. Executing Tallur would be beyond our scope of duties. It is your duty to take care of civil affairs. I realize that this village has not had a proper civil government instated, and that you are unaccustomed to dealing with the usual buerocracy which accompanies such a government, but you must become accustomed to it if you are to be the civil coordinator of the province's legionnaire training facility in addition to this village."

"You mean..."

"Yes," Marcus said with a laugh. "But surely this isn't a surprise, Tamanash. You had to know that we would need someone capable of organizing the civilians, and you must have known that only a civilian would qualify for such a position."

"Well, I suppose that the thought had occurred to me -"

"Good. Unless you have some objection to the notion, I suggest that you accept the position."

"Of course I am willing to accept the position - it is a tremendous honour, and I thank you for it."

"Don't thank me just yet," Marcus said with a wry smile. "I don't think you realize just how much work will be involved. The population of this village is soon going to swell tremendously, and the surrounding area will be dedicated to training soldiers. I will be leaving William here as the officer in charge of the training facilty. He will oversee construction of the necessary barracks and equipment, storage of weapons, training, and any other duty related to the military operation of this place. You will need to work closely with him; if questions of jurisdiction arise, I would like you to cede authority to him. Otherwise, you're basically on your own. Make sure the village runs smoothly, and that our training doesn't attract too much attention from the Sicambrii."

"I understand," Tamanash said breathlessly, his trembling voice betraying his anxiety at the thought of his new duties.

He really doesn't understand,Marcus thought. Not yet, anyway. But he will. He will serve this position, and our new army well.

"Good," Marcus said. "Now, if I may ask for two more favours..."

"Ask away," Tamanash said.

"The three of us need someone to clean our weapons, clothes, and armour," Marcus said. "They can be handed off to young men; tell them it is a preemptory exercise that will serve as part of their training. The second favour is that Dahmus, Alexandra, and I will need somewhere to rest for the evening, so that we can continue well rested on our mission tomorrow."

"Consider both favours granted," Tamanash said with a smile. "I have extra rooms here, and you are free to stay as long as you wish. I will have my cook prepare a feast for the morning, so that we can send you off not only well rested, but also well fed."

Marcus nodded silently, his mind already racing with the prospects which faced him; he was unsure what to expect in the days to come, but knew there was only one way to fulfill his mission. The open road it is,he though. And may all the Olympians safeguard us in the days to come.

Chapter IX

The gates of Cologne were a welcome sight to Marcus and Alexandra as their horse-drawn cart slowly rumbled its way to the city. The past year had been a busy one for them; after leaving Alealnar, they had pushed forward through the rest of the province of Germania Inferior, setting up two more legionary training camps. When they had not been busy setting up the camps, they had spent their time alternating between recruiting new conscripts, and finding legionairres who had survived the battle at Agrippinensis. Marcus was confident that even by the most conservative guess, he had personally sent over four thousand men to the various training camps, and had convinced nearly one hundred and fifty veteran soldiers to join their cause. When he was not busy with these duties, he spent time with Alexandra; over the course of the last several months they had fallen deeply in love, and rode atop their cart hand-in-hand, not even bothering to disguise their affection for one another.

Despite these welcome developments, not all had gone smoothly for them. Dahmus, their stalwart companion, had been killed in a Sicambrii ambush some two months ago, and a collection of new scars decorated Marcus' body - most visibly, a jagged white knot of scar tissue which ran across his forehead. Physical scars were supplemented by emotional wounds; the unmentionable atrocities which Marcus and Alexandra had been forced to witness on the road left pain which was destined to last far longer than the simple agony of torn flesh. However, despite these setbacks, Marcus still rode high in his seat, proud of the accomplishments which he and Alexandra had wrought thus far.

As their cart rode through the city gates and into the streets of the capital city, Alexandra gazed around with trepidation.

"Marcus," she said, "does something seem amiss to you?"

"I can't place my finger on it, but yes," Marcus said. "The streets seem a little quiet. Perhaps it is just our nerves playing tricks on us. We haven't been inside the walls of a city this size in months, after all."

"Perhaps," Alexandra said, though she was obviously still uneasy. "But perhaps not. Is it my imagination, or does it seem that there are virtually no Sicambrii warriors out on the street? I recall that when we left, you could barely take a step without running into one of the brutes."

"It does seem as if there are fewer of them," Marcus said as he discretely took note of every person on the streets around them, "and those that remain seem to be slightly more docile now. Of course, that may be a simple matter of perception - it has been some time since we have been faced with warriors who are not intent on killing us where we stand. At any rate, we should hurry back to the temple. Once I am sure that you are safe inside your chambers there, I will seek out Vito and Domitian. They will be anxious to hear from us, no doubt."

"You do not need to stow me away like a sack of old clothes," Alexandra said condescendingly. "I realize that you worry for my safety, but you do not need to watch over me every second of every day."

"I do worry," Marcus said quietly, unfazed by Alexandra's irate attitude. "Alexandra, we are in the middle of a war here. It may not be declared yet, but blood has been spilled and will continue to be spilled until we have wiped the scourge of the Sicambrii from the face of this province. Suppose one of these warriors, or even just some Sicambrii sympathizer, should realize who you are? If I were not there to protect you - "

"Very well," Alexandra said with a sweet smile, cutting Marcus off mid-sentence. Marcus couldn't help but feel that this was her way of brushing him off; she acted like this whenever he became a little overprotective of her. She paused for a moment, shaking her head as if to clear away her annoyance at Marcus' attitude. When she spoke again, it was in her usual sweet and considerate tone of voice. "I understand, Marcus. I really do. I just want to make sure you're not thinking of me like some sort of defenseless child that needs constant supervision."

"Ah, beloved," Marcus said, squeezing Alexandra's hand. "You know that I do not think of you like a child; I think of you as a precious jewel, one which I would give my life to protect. Please, allow me to ensure that you arrive at the Temple safely, and that the proper accomodations are arranged."

Alexandra smiled and nodded. Giving her hand a final squeeze, Marcus turned his full attention to directing the horses to the Temple of Mars. The trip did not take long, and Marcus and Alexandra were soon inside the Temple, speaking with the High Priest of Mars - an elderly, gentle man named Monale whose white beard and bald head did nothing to disguise the fact that he had once been a powerful warrior. His gentle demeanour was countered by an unmistakably muscled build, and rough calluses on his hands revealed that his life had not been free from hardship.

"Oracle!" He exlaimed, somewhat shocked at seeing Alexandra escorted into his office. "And...I'm afraid I do not know your companion. Unless...no, it cannot be! General Ulpius? I thought you were killed in battle at Agrippinensis!"

"I am not half as dead as my enemies would like me to be," Marcus said with a grin. "Though I confess that I have probably bled enough to kill half a dozen men since Agrippinensis. No matter how strong or resilient I have become in my old age, my skin never seems thick enough to turn away a blade. I suppose that my collection of scars makes that obvious."

"A small price to pay," the priest said with a hearty laugh. "But I digress. Tell me, Alexandra, where have you been these past months? You simply vanished one morning, and we feared the worst. After all, it wasn't like we could have just consulted our Oracle to find out where you were."

"Your point is well taken," Alexandra said with a giggle. "And I am terribly sorry for having left so suddenly like that, but I am afraid that I was called off on a mission of some urgency; a mission which, I must add, was most vehemently supported by our Divine Lord Himself. Who am I to ignore the will of a mighty General, and how much moreso when that General has the will of the Gods behind him?"

"Am I to take it then," the priest said, weighing his words carefully, "that General Ulpius is the General to whom you referred?"

"Yes."

"And what mission was it that you were forced to undertake on such short notice that you could not even leave so much as a simple note to let me know where you were going or what you were doing?"

"With all due respect," Marcus broke into the conversation, "I am not entirely certain we can divulge the full details of our activities. At least, we cannot do so without certain assurances of secrecy from you."

"You have any assurances you require, General Ulpius," the Priest assured Marcus. "Trust me when I say that I have come to trust the Oracle's guidance in any and all matters, and that if she tells me she has undertaken a mission with the blessings of the Most Holy Lord Mars, then I have no doubts about the veracity of her claims. I will not divulge a word of what is said under this chamber, even under threat of torture or death. Such is the nature of my dedication both to the Lord of Battle and to this woman who is so dear to me."

"Believe me when I say that you may be forced to keep your word under not just the threat of torture or death, but the experience of same," Marcus bristled slightly at Monale's intimation of closeness to Alexandra - a closeness which his voice seemed to imply had been the consequence of more than the relationship between Priest and Oracle. Marcus was not ordinarily a jealous man, but something about Monale had set him on edge. "Nonetheless, I do not question your convictions. Tell me, what are your feelings towards Julianus Vestatian and his Sicambrii underlings?"

"I despise them," the Priest said. "Vestatian is a coward who abandoned his fellow Romans and lead heathens in a fight which slaughtered Mars' favoured children. What does that...ah." The Priest nodded, suddenly understanding. "You seek to overthrow them? That is what this mission of yours has been about, correct?"

"Yes," Alexandra said. "We have been raising an army, one which will soon strike out at Vestatian and his Sicambrii minions."

"I see," the Priest said. "Since that is the vision of Mars, I applaud your initiative in taking action. Tell me more about this army. How many men do you have? Do you believe it has the strength to be a viable opposition to the Sicambrii?"

"For obvious reasons," Marcus said cautiously, "I cannot give you full details of our army. Plausible deniability, you understand - I would not wish to burden you with knowledge which could make you an appealing target for our enemies. In fact, we would not have come here at all, save for the fact that we require discrete shelter for the time being."

"You shall have it, of course," the Priest said without any trace of hesitation. "I ask only one favour of you."

"Anything within my power," Marcus said.

"Allow me to stand beside you on the frontlines when the time for battle comes," the Priest spoke the word 'battle' with a nostalgic sparkle in his eyes. "I am old, and have little life left in me. I wish for nothing more than to die on the field of battle with a spear in my hands."

"Consider it done," Marcus said with a smile. "We will not turn away any man who wishes to fight."

"Excellent. May I ask when I will be able to perform my duty? I do not want to be caught unprepared."

"Do not worry," Marcus said. "You will be contacted with the details when it is time for battle."

"Of course, of course," the Priest said. "Come, I shall show you to your chamber, General Ulpius. Oracle, I trust these venerable halls are still familiar enough to you that you can find your old chambers?"

"I doubt I shall have any trouble with that," Alexandra said with a bright smile.

***

After having been shown to his room in the Temple of Mars, Marcus bade his host farewell and, after stowing his clothes and weapons in his closet, went to Alexandra's chambers. He knocked lightly on the door, then slipped inside. Alexandra was already waiting for him, seated on a small chair facing the door.

"You're late," she said with a smile.

"I apologize," Marcus said, "but it took me longer than I expected to extricate myself from the clutches of the Priest. He is quite eager to know all he can about our movement."

"You cannot blame him, can you? For as long as I can remember, he has told tales of his glory days in the Emperor's Legions. I think he longs to be a soldier again, waging war on the field of battle rather than performing clerical duties in a temple on the outermost fringes of the Empire. I hope you indulged him, Marcus."

"Not as much as he would have liked to be indulged, I'm sure. For obvious reasons, I only answered him in vague generalities - after all, until I meet with Domitian and Vito, even I do not know the full details of our forces. To be perfectly honest, I'm not entirely willing to divulge many of the details I do know, even to someone you trust so much as Monale. Such indiscretion is never a good idea, even when the disclosures are made to someone we trust."

"You are so utterly obsessed with this mission of ours," Alexandra said with a soft laugh. "I love that about you. Your dedication, I mean. We've been travelling together for months, and I do not believe that anything short of the Gods themselves could stop you."

"Then we should be happy that the Gods are on our side," Marcus said. "Now, I don't mean to just be rushing out on you, but I think that I should check in with Domitian and Vito tonight. I know they would appreciate hearing from us, and I will rest easier knowing that our plans for dealing with Julianus Vestatian will be one step closer to fruition."

"I know," Alexandra said. "Go and speak with Domitian and Vito, if they are in town. Hurry back."

Marcus smiled gently, reaching out to caress Alexandra's cheek. Although he said nothing, his steadfast gaze into her eyes conveyed the message more succinctly than words ever could have: he would be back. He reluctantly turned to leave, facing an inner battle where his duties were weighed against his desire to linger with Alexandra. It was only with great difficulty that duties triumphed on that occasion, but he did force himself to hurry out of the temple. He made his way through the streets as quickly as he possibly could without raising suspicion. Some things will never change, he thought as he hurried along the streets. I still feel naked without my sword at my side. Even in the darkest of times, when I had fallen to the greatest depths of depression and temporarily abandoned my duty, I still felt naked without my sword. Ah, well. Soon enough, I shall be able to walk armed through these streets with impunity - no more need to rely on daggers tucked in the folds of my clothes for my defense. Soon enough indeed.

He was about halfway to The Countryside Innwhen a voice resounding from atop a flight of stairs gave him pause. Looking up, Marcus saw a ragged and dirty young man standing in the entryway of a store, calling out to a rapidly growing crowd.

"...and we will not take it anymore! They invaded our cities," the young man continued, his voice rising to a fevered pitch. Mutters of assent echoed through the gathering crowd. "And when they did, we sat idle. They burned our homes, and when they did, we sat idle. They raped our wives, and when they did, we sat idle. They imprisoned our brethren, our friends and neighbours, and when they did, we sat idle. We shall sit idle no more!"

The damned fool,Marcus thought, is going to get himself killed - along with half of his audience. Only half, if he's lucky. These doubts did nothing to dissuade Marcus from taking a position to the side of the crowd, leaning against the side of a building across the street from the ranting urchin. If he is going to stir them into a riot,Marcus thought with a morbid smile, I should at least be here for it. To limit the death toll, if nothing else. Besides, street urchin though he may be, he is obviously no stranger to oration - and stirring up anti-Sicambrii sentiment can do little to hurt our cause.

"Take up arms, my brothers and sisters," the young man cried, "and strike out against those who strike at us! Look! Even now they come! They come to silence us, my friends!" Sure enough, half a dozen very angry Sicambrii warriors were wading through the crowd towards the young man. They either did not notice the hostility they faced, or did not care about it. The young man continued his rabid tirade uninterrupted: "Will you be silenced?"

"No!" was the unanimous chorus from the crowd. With a wicked grin, Marcus bent down and picked up a large rock from the side of the street and hurled it at the nearest warrior. The projectile connected with the man's head, knocking him back a step and opening a small, bleeding gash across his forehead. That should liven this crowd up a little,Marcus thought.

The warrior cried out in pain, shoving aside the nearest citizens as he tried to wipe the flowing blood away from his eyes. The efforts were in vain, however, and his temporary blindness prevented him from warding off the flurry of blows which fell upon him from the enraged Roman citizens. Marcus smiled viciously, slipping his hand into the folds of his tunic and pulling his dagger free. Moving effortlessly through the throng of furious citizens, Marcus quickly came face to face with the second Sicambrii warrior. Having seen the fate of his fallen compatriot, the warrior had readied his weapon, a massive double-edged sword. Two Romans had already been cut down by the hacking weapon, but Marcus swiftly ducked beneath the blade's arc, shuffling in close to the warrior's body. An upward thrust of the dagger caused it to slip under the warrior's rib cage; Marcus jerked the weapon to the left, widening the already mortal wound enough that he was able to shove the dagger further into the warrior's body - so deeply, in fact, that Marcus' arm was covered in blood and viscera up to his forearm as he withdrew the dagger. The warrior's body dropped to the ground, the man still writhing in agony as he was trampled beneath the feet of the rioting crowd.

Continuing to slip through the crowd, Marcus made his way to the steps where the would-be leader of the riot still stood. The young man's jaw was agape at the dizzying violence of the scene before him, as if he was unable to comprehend what was actually happening. Taking the man by the arm, Marcus pulled him down from the steps and into a nearby alley. A quick glance back at the crowd was all Marcus needed to ensure that the remaining Sicambrii warriors were still occupied with fighting against the crowd.

"Idiot boy," Marcus said, slapping the young man hard enough to jolt him out of his reverie. Marcus' hand left behind a purplish imprint of smeared blood across the young man's cheek. "You are lucky that I was here to save you. I suppose that Vito put you up to this, eh? Stirring up a riot in the streets...that sounds like his work."

"Wha...what? Who is Vito?" The young man's voice was trembling, almost broken with fear. Marcus stared intently into the boy's eyes, then burst out laughing as a slowly-dawning realization overtook him.

"You really don't know? Don't tell me that this little uprising was strictly your idea."

"Well, yes. I mean, no. That is...I didn't intend for a riot to break out. I just wanted people to see the horrors that they've seemed to block out. The suffering in this city, and throughout this province - people are ignoring it."

"By the Gods, I would have never thought it possible." Marcus sighed heavily. "Very well, boy, pay close attention, because I'm not going to repeat this. People have indeed noticed the horrors you speak of, and something is being done about it. Ill-timed and poorly conceived revolutions will not help the cause, I assure you."

"What? I don't know what you...are you going to do anything to stop this? If more guards get here, these people will all be arrested - or worse, killed!"

"I know," Marcus said. "And I'm going to deal with this situation, but first I have one more thing I need to tell you. Meet me at The Countryside Inntomorrow at noon. If you don't know where it is, ask around. It's hard to miss. Tell nobody where you are going or who you are meeting. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes."

"Good. Now get out of here." Thankful to be free of the situation, the young man ran off down the alley away from the riot. Marcus turned to face the tumultuous crowd, quickly assessing the situation. Surprisingly, the crowd had managed to kill all but one of the remaining Sicambrii warriors, and was now mostly engaged in celebration of their victory. Wasting no time, Marcus leapt up to the stairs where the young man had incited the riot. "Good people," he cried out, his voice carrying over the nearly deafening roar of the crowd, "you must disperse immediately! Away to your homes, all of you, and speak of this no more! Disperse!"

The crowd slowly and reluctantly complied with Marcus, gradually dispersing into the alleys and nearby streets. Marcus followed suit, disappearing into the nearby alley as nearly a dozen Sicambrii guards began to dash towards the remaining rioters. Marcus believed that he had escaped unnoticed, but unbeknownst to him he had been spotted by a familiar face. The bald head of Monale, the priest of Mars, shone in the sunlight from his perch on the second floor of a home across the street from Marcus' escape route. He glared down at Marcus' form as it shrunk into the distance and darkness of the alley.

***

After the riot in the streets, Marcus decided against continuing on to find Domitian and Vito. Instead, he took a winding route back to the temple, checking over his shoulder periodically to ensure that he was not being followed. After nearly two hours of this zig-zagging through the streets and alleys, Marcus finally slipped into the rear door of the temple and made his way to Alexandra's chambers. He knocked softly on the door, and Alexandra opened her door so that he could enter.

"Marcus," she said, slightly confused, "I did not think you would be back here so soon. Did your meeting with Domitian go well, or was he unavailable?"

"There hasn't been a meeting yet. There was a bit of a disturbance on the way to the inn. Things got a little messy."

"Oh," she said. "I assume that you are unharmed?"

"Completely undamaged," Marcus said as he lifted his arms over his head and whirled around so that Alexandra could see the truth of his statement. "Though I cannot say the same for the unfortunate Sicambrii who tried to break up the gathered crowd, or for the few citizens who got in their way."

"'Unfortunate' Sicambrii? You almost sound like you're developing some compassion for them."

"Not in the slightest. I was speaking from a strictly objective point of view. Death - painful death, at that - is rarely considered fortunate. I, of course, consider it quite fortunate that I was nearby to aid in their misfortune."

"You didn't kill a Sicambrii in public," Alexandra asked, "did you?"

"No," Marcus said with a wicked grin. "I killed one and seriously injured another. Technically, I was quite helpful in inciting the violence of the riot, so I suppose you could say that I indirectly killed them all, though I do not have the hubris to claim that lofty honour for myself."

"Marcus," Alexandra said, shaking her head sadly. "Marcus, Marcus, Marcus. What if you were spotted by a Sicambrii loyalist? You are still very much a figure in the public eye, Marcus. If you are even suspected of still being alive - let alone being responsible for inciting a riot - you would be tracked down, arrested, and executed for treason!"

"I know," Marcus said. "However, I am not worried. I cannot imagine that I was spotted by any Sicambrii loyalists who still draw breath, and even if I was, I would have been nothing more than a single face in a crowd of many faces. Recognizing me and tracking me down would certainly not be considered foregone conclusions."

"Which is not an excuse for such careless public action," Alexandra said. "I do not wish to seem crass, but you are a very important figure in our plans. If you avoid getting involved in a public disturbance, and thus avoid getting spotted doing so, and a few innocents die as a result while you survive...some would say that is an equitable tradeoff, given how many thousands of other innocent lives lay in the balance of the coming months."

"An important figure? Is the only reason you want me alive," Marcus said quietly, "because I am an integral part of the plans to overthrow the Sicambrii?"

"No," Alexandra said. "There are other reasons, of course. You know full well what they are, Marcus. My feelings for you...our feelings for each other...I believe they are obvious enough to not need mentioning."

"I know," Marcus said with the slightest hint of a smile. "It was a bit of morbid humour on my part to suggest otherwise. I realize that my survival is very important to the welfare of all the citizens of this province, just as yours is, or Domitian's is, or Vito's. But how can I weigh the value of my life against the value of the life of any of those who were on the street today? I'm sure that our little revolution would stagger on without my help, but how much damage would be done to the widows or orphans left behind in the wake of interference from the Sicambrii? How much potential suffering would have to result before it is pragmatic for me to risk sacrificing myself for the greater good? How much is my life worth, compared to that of any other citizen in this city?"

"I didn't think you were much of a philosopher," Alexandra remarked.

"I'm not," Marcus said. "As of late, I have, however, become very sensitive to the suffering which I see everywhere I go. All around us, people suffer and die for all sorts of reasons...if I were more cynical, I would wonder what use our efforts are. Fortunately, I am no longer so cynical as I once was, thanks in large part to you." Alexandra stared intently at Marcus, but his stone-faced expression gave no clue as to his intentions. Marcus continued: "Alexandra, it is through your grace that I have begun to come to grips with the world again. Yes, I realize that my own efforts have been partially responsible for overcoming my grief, but I seriously doubt that I would be half the man I am today without your influence over me. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me, just by being exactly who you are."

"You do not need to thank me for anything, Marcus," Alexandra said, breaking into a brief pause in Marcus' monologue. Tears of joy were began to well up in her eyes. "And I do hope you know that I feel much the same way. You have brought joy to my life that I never realized was possible before I left these insular walls."

"That joy," Marcus said, "that very joy is what I'm getting at. What I'm trying to get at. That is...well, there's only one possible way for me to say this, so I'll just get to it. I love you, Alexandra. I don't know what will happen in the days to come, but I do know this: I have already drawn tremendous strength from you, and it is that strength which has carried me this far. I do not...I will not, and cannot, hide what we have from the world. I want you to be my wife, Alexandra. I want us to face the challenges of life together, regardless of how difficult things may get...I want that strength of ours, and that joy, to shine through to the rest of the world. I have been thinking about a question we were pondering many months ago, when we were in Alealnar. The problem we faced was how to keep the cycle of violence between ourselves and the barbaric hordes which plague these parts from continuing, and I did not know.

"I know the answer now: the answer is not military might, for although we may crush their bodies, bodies are mere flesh and blood. They heal and they grow, and even if they are destroyed, the spirit lives on in the hearts and minds of the deceased's brethren. It is thus that military might is not the answer. The answer that I struggled so hard to find is this, and this only: love. All the swords, the spears, the shields, and the polished armour in the world are fundamentally limited by their violent nature; they only beget more violence. Love, on the other hand...love begets love. When we stand side by side before the Sicambrii, clad in the glory of our full battle regalia, our victory can only be temporary. When we stand before them as a shining beacon of hope and love...it is then that our victory shall resound throughout the ages. Will you do me the ultimate honour, Alexandra, by becoming my wife?"

Alexandra sat in stunned silence for a full minute. The tears which had been welling up in her eyes soon gave way to a shocked laugh. Finally, she responded with a single syllable: "Yes."

Chapter X

Marcus was overcome by a strong feeling of deja vu as he crossed the threshold into The Countryside Inn; it had been more than a year since he had first entered the establishment, and it seemed like nothing had changed. The inn's foyer was unchanged - a few patrons sat scattered through the room, most dead drunk despite the early hour. Just as I entered this room on the verge of a major milestone in my life so many months ago,Marcus thought, I enter it today on the verge of another such milestone. It is hard to believe how much I have changed over the past year - I have gone from being a pathetic drunk staggering through alleys, wishing nothing more than to live my life unnoticed to becoming a proud and mighty General once again. Not only that, but the grief which threatened to consume me has been replaced by love once again. Not that I do not still grieve for Lucia, in my own way - I suspect that I always will, and that she will be with me for the rest of my life. However, Alexandra has filled in me a void which I had thought would never be filled again. Perhaps the old man who rode with me from Xanten a year ago was right...amongst Gods and men, I must still be blessed and loved by those who matter most.

Striding boldly through the foyer, Marcus made his way to the bar. A familiar face was found there, peering out over a jug of wine. Vito set the jug down on the counter as Marcus approached, greeting him with a warm smile.

"Ah, my friend," he said, "it is good to see you again. I could use your services...come, smell this wine. It just arrived from the vineyard an hour ago, and I'm not entirely certain that it's the sort of beverage I would care to serve to our customers."

Marcus leaned down over the jug and sniffed at the liquid inside. At first, he wasn't entirely sure what Vito was getting at - though strong, the wine seemed to be of reasonable quality. It was only after he took a second whiff of the wine that he detected a very slight almond undertone to the scent. Marcus pulled back quickly and stared at Vito in shock. He knew full well that the kind of almond smell he had detected in the wine had only one source - cyanide.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Marcus said quietly, "but unless I am mistaken, the nutty aftertaste of this particular vintage would not agree with our customers. I'm sure the city guard would be more than happy to take it off your hands, however - their standards are much lower when it comes to fine wine."

"That was just what I was thinking," Vito said with a smile. "Well, now that we have that settled, please come with me. I believe I have what you're looking for downstairs."

Bowing his head slightly, Marcus followed Vito as he placed a cap on the wine jug and stepped through the door behind the bar. As they had done over a year ago, they walked down the stairs in silence, neither saying a word until they were safely inside the secret meeting room in the inn's basement.

"I confess that I wasn't entirely certain you would make it here today," Vito said breathlessly as he hastily lit several candles to provide them with light. "I heard news of a bit of a scuffle in the streets nearby last night - a fellow of your description was mentioned as featuring prominently in the ensuing chaos. I was afraid that you had been scooped up by the constabulary in the aftermath."

"It's good to know that my reputation precedes me," Marcus said. "It's true that I was involved in the incident you refer to, but I managed to make it to safe harbour without being noticed."

"Obviously. Given that several Sicambrii warriors were killed in the streets, it is highly unlikely that your head would still be attached to your body if you had been captured. Vestatian has been cracking down on suspected traitors for the last few months, executing anyone if so much as a spectre of a doubt is placed on their loyalty. I think he has heard that Emperor Trajan's campaign in Dacia is beginning to wind down; he wants to be able to present at least a passable facade of a dissension-free province should the Emperor decide to turn his watchful eye this way."

"Indeed," Marcus said, "for if the full might of the Imperial Legions were brought to bear on this province, Vestatian's Sicambrii army would be crushed under the imperial boots. However, we digress: on the subject of yesterday's debacle, we will be host to the incident's instigator in a few hours. I instructed him to make his way here at noon; I believe he will make a useful addition to our forces."

"Do you think it was wise to trust him with the location of our little centre of operations?"

"I think he can be trusted," Marcus said. "You weren't there, Vito...at least, I didn't see you there. This boy was spouting some pretty vitriolic stuff. There is no love lost between him and the Sicambrii, and I think he would jump at the chance to strike out at them."

"Good," Vito said. "Because if he betrays us, all we have worked for could end today."

"It won't," Marcus said. "Now, to business - has Domitian returned from his excursion south? I believe that we should all sit down and compare notes - figure out what our options are, and how many men we will have at our disposal."

"He is in the city," Vito said. "He arrived back here last week, shortly before our operatives who travelled west from Cologne returned. It seems that you are the last of us to come back...I hope that is because you have good news."
"I do," Marcus said. "And I will reveal all in due time. When can we have Domitian here?"

"I will dispatch a messenger," Vito said. "I am sure that Domitian will be able to get here within the hour."

Sure enough, it took little more than half an hour for Vito's dispatch to bring Domitian to the inn. He strode briskly into the basement meeting room, greeting Marcus with a wide grin and firm handshake.

"Good to see you back here, Marcus," he said. "I see that the fates haven't exactly been kind to you."

"Ah, I take it that you refer to this," Marcus said, gesturing to the jagged white scar which ran across his forehead. "Actually, I consider it a blessing from the Gods - you should have seen what happened to the one who gave me this little decoration."

"I'm sure he is buried beneath an unmarked rock somewhere in the wilderness," Domitian laughed.

"Several rocks, actually. Not to be entirely crass, but his death was not swift, nor did his corpse end up in a single piece."

"It's good to hear that you enjoyed yourself, Marcus. I trust that you were able to actually accomplish some work while you were gone."

"Indeed so, though we were not as successful as I would have hoped." Marcus reached into a pouch at his side and withdrew a handful of carefully rolled up papers. He spread them out over the table, one at a time. "As you can see, Alexandra and I were able to set up a total of three training camps in the western reaches of the province, and referred approximately three thousand and five hundred potential recruits. I have sent dispatches to each of the training camps this morning, asking for full status reports from each camp. If all has gone well and the Sicambrii have not managed to destroy any of the camps, they should all prove to be valuable resources. Just before you arrived, I was explaining to Vito that I have also recruited a young man from within the city here who may or may not prove to be an asset."

"From within the city? How is it," Domitian said, "that you did not know of him already, Vito?"

"By all accounts from my men, it seems unlikely that this boy shall be of any true significance. More likely he is simply a rabble-rouser with a few friends who despise the Sicambrii. There are dozens of such men in the city. I cannot possibly be expected to keep track of them all, or to anticipate which of them may be charismatic enough to start a minor riot," Vito snapped back.

"Relax, my friend," Domitian assured Vito. "I am not blaming you for anything; however, I do place trust in Marcus' assessment of this boy's character. If he really can be an asset to us, then it surprises me that your operatives throughout the city have not made at least a cursory note of him."

"Everyone," Vito said with a sigh, "and I do mean everyone in this province, hates the Sicambrii. Many of them have banded together in quasi-militia groups. My operatives have noticed and catalogued dozens - perhaps hundreds - of such groups. Some of them have been approached as potential recruits; others have been passed over as innefectual or inappropriate for military service. Still others, I am sure, have managed to escape our notice completely. If this boy," he said, stressing the word 'boy' heavily, "proves to be a potential asset to us, I am sure we will be able to embrace him with open arms. I simply wish to make it clear that the chances of that happening are slim, to say the least."

"In other matters," Marcus said, attempting to smooth over the tension which had arisen, "how has your own journey fared, Domitian?"
"Much like yours," he replied. "Successful, though not so successful as I would have liked. I supervised the development of two training camps, and sent roughly fifteen hundred men - both new recruits and veterans, you understand - to train there. I suppose that is the best result I could have hoped for in that regard; my failure was found in Germania Superior. I spoke with General Vesaevus, leader of the provincial legions VII Augusta and XXII Primigenia. He has offered us six hundred men from XXII Primigenia, but no more than that - and those men will only be available to us if we are able to send him a dispatch when they are needed, and will be available to us for no more than three months. The General asked me to send his apologies to you, Marcus, and convey his wishes that he could be of more assistance, but their forces are apparently quite busy quelling their own barbarian uprisings."

"Still," Marcus remarked, "six hundred men is no small commitment. I know Vesaevus well, and trust that he will not send us inexperienced troops. We will receive six hundred seasoned veterans - that sort of force is one to be reckoned with, even if they take some time to arrive. So we have a total of roughly five thousand men so far, plus the six hundred from Vesaevus and any that Vito and his men have been able to raise in the cities and the eastern reaches of the province?"

"Yes," Domitian said.

"My men in the east have been able to raise and train two thousand soldiers in all. A total of seven thousand men, plus Vesaevus' troops, will be at our disposal."

"I'd be more comfortable with five times that number," Marcus said. "Do you believe it is even possible for us to triumph with so few men? There were two full legions - over ten thousand men - at Agrippinensis, and we were defeated there. Granted, Ceresius' influence played a major part in that defeat, but those were still ten thousand well trained, seasoned soldiers. Even with perfect tactics and a well trained militia, I have serious reservations about our ability to defeat the Sicambrii horde."

"My men have conservatively estimated Vestatian's current army at roughly twenty five thousand warriors," Vito said. "They have more than replenished their numbers since Agrippinensis, but I believe that we can still find certain advantages."

"Such as what?" Domitian asked.

"I can think of any number of advantages," Marcus said. "The Sicambrii still do not know about our army - even if Vestatian himself has grown suspicious of our plot, and there is no proof to believe he has, he has no idea how many of us there are, or where we are based out of. That gives us the element of surprise.

"The Sicambrii are also spread thin through the province. While a head to head encounter between our armies would be ill-advised, a series of simultaneous concentrated guerilla strikes at Sicambrii forces throughout the province would provide us with an excellent opportunity to cull out some of our opposition."

"Perhaps," Domitian said, "but their forces will rally together eventually, and a head to head battle between our forces is inevitable. Do you believe it is possible for us to reduce their forces sufficiently to make such a battle feasible?"

"I believe so," Vito said, "but it will not be a simple matter. Following strikes such as Marcus describes, it will be necessary for us to root out the Sicambrii fortified in our cities. Even if we can do this in just Xanten and Cologne, it would provide us with a tremendous advantage. They will have nowhere to flee to, no walls to hide behind. We will be able to rout them and run them down like dogs."

"That still leaves us with the problem of a large scale battle," Domitian said. "Even if we manage to reduce their total numbers to fifteen thousand, how can we hope inexperienced militia troops to win a battle against experienced warriors who outnumber us more than two to one?"

"I agree that a fight would likely be impossible to win in such circumstances," Marcus said. "I can only conclude, then, that we would be best served by not confronting the Sicambrii on their own terms."

"What do you mean?" Domitian asked.

"The Sicambrii are experienced at fighting face to face, swinging axes and hammers and the like. We are Romans, not barbarians like that - we can augment our forces with siege weaponry. Catapults, ballistae, and onagers will help us slaughter the Sicambrii before they are able to strike out at us. If we are able to draw their army to the location of our choice, we can have the middle ground between our forces soaked in oil to be lit as they charge at us. I am sure that we can concoct any number of strategies which will help level tilt the battle to our advantage."

"So what should we do next?" Domitian asked.

"I suggest that we send riders through the province," Vito said, "to determine approximate sizes and locations of the major Sicambrii encampments. That knowledge will allow us to coordinate assaults to our greatest advantage. If we send my best men on the swiftest horses we can acquire, then they should be able to scout and return in roughly two months - three months if they encounter severe difficulties."

"Agreed," Domitian said. "I understand that our group has acquired a sizeable treasury over the last year?"

"Yes," Vito said. "More than enough gold to serve our purposes."

"Good," Domitian said. "Use whatever coin is necessary to equip these riders fully. Tell them that we will require their reports in three months time, and have them depart at first light tomorrow. After that -"

Domitian was interrupted by a knock at the meeting room's door. Holding up a finger to order the silence of Vito and Marcus, he nodded to Vito, and then at the door. Vito stepped backward to the door, a pair of knives appearing in his hands as if from nowhere. He opened the door a crack, spoke a few hoarse whispers to whoever was on the other side of the portal, and then relaxed.

"Your friend is upstairs," Vito said to Marcus.

"What are you waiting for? Send him down," Marcus said. "And don't bother protesting. Look, if you think that he's useless to us, or could prove to be a liability or a traitor, then feel free to kill him. It's not like there isn't blood on all of our hands already. Just hear the damned boy out. He was willing to fight for our cause; I think we owe him at least a few minutes of our time."

Although Vito was reluctant, Domitian nodded his assent to Marcus' suggestion. With an exasperated grunt, Vito turned to the still-cracked open door and whispered orders to the person standing beyond. It took only a minute for the door to swing wide open once again, and a familiar grubby little ragamuffin stepped through. Marcus noted - with a certain amount of distaste - that the boy had not even made an effort to bathe or clean up since the day before. Ah, well,he thought, at least he managed to show up without attracting the attention of half of the city guard.

"First of all," Domitian said, addressing the young man, "tell me your name."

"Andrenius Vallium," the boy said, obviously in awe of the men standing around him. His awe was well-founded; only a day earlier, he had been wandering the streets of Cologne, looking for an opportunity to cause some trouble for the Sicambrii. Now he was in a hidden meeting room, faced with the two men who had been the most powerful military leaders in the province through most of his adolescent years.

"Andrenius," Domitian said, turning the name over in his mouth as if looking for some hidden meaning in the syllables. "It has come to my attention that you have been causing a bit of a stir in the streets lately; I refer specifically, of course, to the riot in the streets yesterday.

"Judging from the look on your face, I'm going to assume that you know who I am. I'm sure, then, that you also have an inkling of what exactly myself and such an esteemed figure as Marcus Ulpius are doing here. Assuming that you are able to connect those two bits of knowledge in the most logical manner possible with the current political underpinnings of this province, I believe it should be no stretch of the imagination to say that you have some idea of what we are doing here. Would I be correct in that assessment?"

"You're planning a revolt," Andrenius proclaimed, "aren't you?"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking," Domitian said with a small laugh at the boy's childlike enthusiasm. "To be more precise, we are reconstituting the defeated legions which comprise this province's military in order to defeat the heathen barbarians who have unlawfully seized control of the reigns of power. We shall then reinstate the province's rightfully appointed governor, Antonius Ceresius. Needless to say, the sort of stunt that you pulled yesterday does not make our job any easier."

"I'm sorry," Andrenius said. "If I had known, I would never have stirred up trouble."

"No apologies are necessary," Marcus said. "In fact, I believe that things may have worked out for the best. You had the charisma necessary to draw a good crowd; that sort of ability is all too lacking in most people. You could prove to be a useful part of our plans, if you are willing to submit to our orders."

"And what if I'm not willing to do so?"

"Obviously," Vito said, glaring at the boy from his corner, "we cannot allow a loose arrow such as yourself out into the streets."

"I'm sure that veiled threats are hardly necessary," Domitian said. "But to be perfectly blunt, my associate Vito is correct. Despite what you may or may not think of yourself, in terms of the fate of this province, you are expendable. You can make a solemn vow to submit to our command now, before ourselves and the very gods themselves, or you will end up as the main dish of the city guards' meal."

"A fitting companion to that wine you showed me earlier," Marcus said with a laugh.

"Y...you don't need to threaten me at all," Andrenius stammered. "Look, guys, I thought that my loyalty would be perfectly clear to you; I've been waiting for an opportunity like this all my life. However, if you need me to swear my allegiance, then that is what I shall do.

"I swear," Andrenius continued, dropping down to one knee before Domitian, "by all the Gods and all my ancestors that I will abide by any and all commands given to me by the members of this honoured assembly, my loyalty unswaying even unto my death."

After carefully watching Andrenius' oath, Domitian seemed to size the young man up, trying to determine whether or not he could be trusted. Apparently deciding in the affirmative, he addressed the lad: "I'm glad to hear it. Now, I want you to go back to your home. Mention nothing of what has transpired here today to anybody, no matter how much you trust them. You will be contacted if you are needed."

Andrenius nodded and left the meeting room silently.

"Do you really believe we can trust him?" Vito asked.

"Yes," Domitian replied. "His hatred of the Sicambrii is genuine, as is his desire to aid us. Whether or not he will be useful to us is another matter entirely; that I cannot say. But we can trust him.

"Moving on to other matters," he continued, "do we have any other business to discuss, or shall we adjourn for the day?"

"Actually," Marcus said, "I do have one piece of business which I think should be brought to your attention. Entirely unrelated to the rebellion, actually, but important nonetheless."

"Well, just spit it out, man," Domitian said.

"Of course. As you are well aware, Domitian, I have spent a great deal of time with Alexandra over the past year. What I'm not sure you know is that during that time, we have developed a very serious relationship...serious enough, in fact, that just last night I asked for her hand in marriage."

"I see," Domitian said, obviously taken aback by the news. "Did she accept?"

"Yes."

"Good. That is excellent news, Marcus."

"Pardon me for saying so," Marcus said, "but your words do not match your attitude. Do you believe it is an unfit match?"

"Not at all," Domitian said. "Quite the opposite, in fact. She is a remarkable woman, Marcus, and you are extremely lucky to have her. I'm just a bit surprised, that is all. I suppose that since I never saw the gradual development of the relationship, this is all just a bit of a surprise. You seemed to be little more than friendly acquaintances the last time I saw you both together."

"It seems that love blooms in the most unexpected places," Marcus said with a shy smile. "I knew there was an instant attraction between the two of us, of course, but I suppose that I tried to deny it. I was still very much grieving for Lucia back then, but I eventually realized that I had grieved as much as I was able to, and that it was time to move on with my life."

"This is wonderful news indeed," Domitian said with a smile. "Tell me, have you two discussed when the ceremony will take place?"

"Not in any great detail," Marcus said. "I have, however, given some consideration to the event. It seems to me that it would be best if we did it as soon as possible, before the inevitable large scale conflicts with the Sicambrii. The risk that I will die in battle is, as always, a grave one, and I would not wish to go to Hades having failed to fulfill my promise of marriage."

"Indeed," Vito said, breaking into the conversation impatiently, "but do you really consider it so much better to marry her and then die the very next day? Or perhaps you will marry her only to have her wind up as collateral damage in a Sicambrii attack. Do you think that you will be able to bear that grief, having lost two wives to the Sicambrii? Do you honestly believe that this marriage will not interfere with your ability to lead men and fight on the field of battle, Marcus?"

"Will I be able to concentrate on the task at hand if I am worried about the safety of my wife, you mean? Yes," Marcus said without hesitation, "I will. And although I realize that my death in battle would cause Alexandra considerable pain, she has told me she is willing to accept the risk. And if she is killed as a result of our mission," Marcus' voice dropped to a savage growl, "then I have nothing but pity for the Sicambrii, because every last Sicambrii man, woman, and child shall die a very slow and very painful death."

"Enough of this speculation," Domitian said dismissively. "This is not a time for such morbid thoughts. Come, Marcus, and we shall make arrangements to have the ceremony conducted as soon as humanly possible."

Placing his arm around Marcus' shoulder, Domitian lead him out of the room and to stairs leading up to the bar. As they passed up the stairs and into the bar, Marcus was filled with a sense of dread. Two very large Sicambrii warriors were standing by the doors; the larger of the two was hammering a poster into the wall. As the pair stepped through the door behind the bar, the second, smaller Sicambrii caught sight of them immediately. He cried out to his companion in their native tongue, and the pair drew battleaxes from sheathes on their back. The smaller warrior strugglingly addressed Marcus in broken Latin.

"You come with us," he said. "Come now and we no hurt."

"Gentlemen," Marcus said as he nonchalantly picked up a full bottle of whisky from the bar, "I am afraid that is an option. Further, it is obvious that 'you hurt' is a foregone conclusion; 'you hurt', of course, means that you will be the ones hurting, rather than us."

"Huh?" The Sicambrii grunted.

"It means that you're all dead men. You just don't know it yet," Marcus said with a wicked grin. Before the slow-witted warrior was able to decipher just what had been said, Marcus hurled the bottle at the larger warrior. The bottle struck the warrior square in the forehead, shattering into a thousand shards and soaking the large man. Blinded by the mixture of alcohol and blood which dripped into his eyes, the larger warrior staggered backward a step while Marcus picked up a torch from the wall. The torch quickly found itself tumbling through the air in the same trajectory as the bottle had, and when it struck the warrior the alcohol lit ablaze immediately. Screaming in agony, the blazing Sicambrii fell to the stone floor, trying in vain to roll around enough to put the flames out. Domitian picked up a large wooden club from under the bar and leapt over the counter, catching the smaller warrior by surprise. Distracted by the immolation of his companion, the warrior never even had the opportunity to deflect Domitian's blow. The club arced through the air, connecting with the warrior's forehead with a solid clunking sound. The warrior's knees buckled beneath him, and he fell to the ground without further struggle. Marcus cooly strode over to the burning warrior, who was still flailing in pain on the floor. Looking down at the still-burning body, he stomped down hard on the warrior's head, his boot carrying enough force to crush the warrior's skull with a sickening splat. Before Marcus' singed boot was pulled back, the warrior ceased struggling and slumped back lifelessly on the floor.

"Get some water," Marcus said to Vito. Domitian hurried to the inn's front doors and quickly barred them shut. "Put him out, and take care of the body. Domitian, is your one dead?"

"No," Domitian said. "But he's going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up. I suggest we get him in chains in the basement for interrogation. What is it that they were putting up on the wall?"

Marcus was already standing in front of the poster, blocking Domitian's view. He ripped the sheet of paper from the wall, laughing as he turned to Domitian. "It looks like I'm a wanted man," he said. Reading from the poster, he pronounced: "Reward! Two hundred pieces of gold for the body of the traitor Marcus Eranthan Ulpius. Dead or alive."

"What? I thought you said that nobody saw you at that riot," Domitian exclaimed, obviously worried about this turn of events.

"I didn't think I was. You know, this just infuriates me."

"I would think that being wanted would do that," Vito said as he carefully poured a bucket full of water of the still-smouldering corpse that Marcus had set aflame.

"No, not at being wanted. I knew it would happen eventually. They're only offering a two hundred gold piece reward for me - that's what upsets me most. Two hundred pieces of gold? Come on...I'd think I'm worth at least a thousand."

"The reward doesn't matter," Domitian said gravely. "Someone knows who you are, Marcus. That puts us all at risk. We need to be extremely careful."

"Yeah, careful...I know. But still...two hundred gold? Two hundred!"

"Shut up about the gold!" Domitian shouted.

"Relax," Marcus said. "We can handle this. It's a complication, nothing more."

"I know," Domitian said, relaxing slightly. "I know. We'll take care of it, but that doesn't make the situation any less seriously. The first thing I suggest you do is go and find your beloved wife-to-be. Move her out of the temple and bring her to a safe place. We can make arrangements with loyalists on the outskirts of the city to provide you both with secure lodging. We will go get her right now together, and I will escort you to the appropriate safehouse.

"In the meantime, Vito, take care of cleaning up this mess and shackling our guest. If he wakes up while we are gone, feel free to have a little discussion with him. Find out everything you can, starting with who provided the information about Marcus that prompted this poster."

"Consider it done," Vito said with a wicked grin. "I've got a few new...conversation aids that I'm looking forward to trying out."

"Just don't kill him," Domitian said with a laugh. "Now, Marcus, we had best get moving."

Marcus nodded, doing his best to pull the collar of his tunic up enough to disguise his face. Hold on, Alexandra, he thought. We'll be there before you know it. Hopefully before anyone else knows it, too.

Chapter XI

Cologne's Temple of Venus was a small, unassuming wooden structure which stood in stark contrast to the nearby Temple of Mars. The latter was a veritable fortress of stone and a model of efficient and beautiful architechture, while the former was little more than a hastily erected one-room wooden hut capable of holding ceremonies involving up to twenty people. The price of living on the frontier,Marcus reflected as he strode through the door of the tiny temple. Love tends to take a backseat to war, and the architecture reflects that. Just as well, I suppose. If we were to hold the wedding in a temple the size of Mars', we would draw unneeded attention.

The wedding had taken only three days to arrange; the local Priestess of Venus was more than pleased to conduct the ceremony, though she had insisted on the inclusion of the city's Priest of Eros. A wedding was, as she had said, a joint venture between the Goddess of Love and her son, and the ceremony should reflect that relationship appropriately. Domitian, who had planned the affair, was not pleased at the thought of including more people than absolutely necessary; any wedding was bound to draw attention, and the fewer people involved, the less attention the wedding was likely to draw. Still, since the ceremony could not be conducted properly without the assent of the Priestess of Venus, Domitian was forced to assent to the plan. Nonetheless, he did manage to keep the attendance at the ceremony to an absolute minimum - the only invitees beyond the clergy and bride and groom were himself, Vito, and the High Priest of Mars. Domitian had not even been eager to invite the latter guest, but had done so at Alexandra's insistence. Since the Priest had been her closest friend for most of her adult life, Alexandra had no intention of having a wedding without him present. In fact, she had told Domitian that she would have preferred Monale to perform the ceremony, but Monale had refused - wedding ceremonies were not exactly the specialty of a priest of the War-God.

The inside of the temple was as unassuming and sparse as the outside. Three rows of simple wooden benches flanked both sides of a path leading from the temple's door to the simple altar at the opposite end of the room. A three-foot tall marble icon of Venus decorated the altar, along with an open leatherbound tome, which presumably contained all the pertinent rituals for the Goddess of Love. The Priestess, a shapely brunette with piercing green eyes, was already present, content with biding her time until the ceremony by uttering quiet invocations to Venus from behind the altar. She was so utterly engrossed in her prayer that she did not even acknowledge Marcus as he walked through the temple doors, looking extremely uncomfortable in his formal legionary uniform. He had not worn the dress uniform in several years, and the added stress of wearing the uniform under a bulky robe - to disguise it from the sight of nosy passers-by on the street - had caused him to break out in excessive sweat. He pulled the bulky robe from his shoulders and, once he had used it to wipe the sweat off his brow, tossed it aside behind one of the wooden benches at the rear of the temple.

"You look like you've seen more comfortable days," Domitian said as he slipped through the temple doors. Unlike Marcus, Domitian had not elected to wear the complex dress uniform of a high-ranking officer in the legions. Marcus briefly wished that he had the luxury of more comfortable clothing, but assured himself that the temporary discomfort would be outweighed by the look on Alexandra's face when she saw him in the impressive outfit - he was even more striking in a dress uniform than he was in the standard battle uniform of the legions.

"I have seen more comfortable days," Marcus said with a laugh. "Between the heat, the added robe, and the obvious stress of the day, I could probably flood the Tiber three times over with my sweat."

"Of that I have little doubt. I remember how heavy those damnable uniforms are. I don't envy you for wearing it."

Their conversation was interrupted by a tiny man walking through the doors of the temple. Marcus was not a tall man by any means, but the newcomer scarcely came up to Marcus' chest. Nonetheless, he carried himself with confidence, his flowing red robes swirling around him with every step he took. An embroidered arrow covered the right sleeve of his robes from shoulder to elbow. The Priest of Eros,Marcus observed with an inner laugh. I thought he'd be taller.

"Gentlemen," the priest said, sizing Domitian and Marcus up. "Which of the two of you is the bride, and which the groom?"

"I am the groom," Marcus said with a laugh. "The bride has not yet arrived. And, to spare you from a further faux pas, the bride in this wedding is a woman."

"Oh," the Priest said, his cheeks burning with embarrasment. "I beg your forgiveness, gentlemen. It's just that the last time I was to perform a wedding and only two men were in the temple, it was because -"

"Yes, we get the point," Domitian said. "Perhaps you would care to consult with the Priestess? We would like this ceremony to be quick and simple. We won't take up much of your time."

"Of course, because I have so many other duties to attend to," the Priest said sarcastically, rolling his eyes for added effect.

"Something like that," Marcus said. "Ah, it looks like the rest of our party has arrived."

The Temple's doors swung open once again, and Vito stepped through, followed by Monale, and Alexandra. Marcus' jaw dropped slightly as he beheld Alexandra; while he looked good in his dress uniform, she was nothing short of absolutely stunning in her simple white robes. She had obviously spent a great deal of time that morning in preparation for this moment; her hair was carefully styled to frame her high cheekbones and beautiful green eyes, and a light blush set off her ordinarily pale skin. Marcus stepped towards her, taking her hands in his and gazing deep into her eyes. "My love," he whispered, able to speak only through a tremendous force of will, "you are absolutely perfect."

"No more so than you," Alexandra whispered back, obviously just as much in awe of his appearance as Marcus was of hers.

"It's not that I want to rush you two," Domitian said with a broad smile, "but I believe that the officiators are ready for you."

The Priestess of Venus was standing in front of the altar, watching the couple with an approving eye. The Priest of Eros stood behind the altar, carefully waving a thurible full of incense over the altar's surface. Domitian, Vito, and Monale all took their seats on benches in the front row of the temple, leaving Marcus and Alexandra to stride up the aisle together. Their slow procession lasted only a matter of seconds due to the size - or lack thereof - of the temple, but set to the sopranic chanting of the Priest of Eros, the short procession was impressive nonetheless. When the pair stood before the Priestess of Venus, she smiled softly at them and began the service.

"Beloved couple, we are gathered here in the sight of friends, family, and our divine mistress of love, the mighty Venus. It is through her grace that we have come to consencrate this relationship."

"May her grace resound throughout the ages," every member of the assembly recited simultaneously.

"Marcus Eranthan Ulpius, do you swear to to cherish this woman, to protect her with your very life, and to watch over her for the rest of your days?"

"I do," Marcus said solemnly.

"Alexandra Anillae Pliandres, do you swear to cherish this man, to obey him with all your heart, and to watch over him for the rest of your days?"

"I do," Alexandra said.

"And do you both swear to obey the edicts of the Goddess of Love, regarding her for all time as mistress of the domain of your wedded bliss?"

"We do," the couple answered.

"And do you vow to foreswear the errant arrows of Eros, reserving your love for each other and no others?"

"We do," the couple answered.

"Then," the priestess declared with a kind smile, "by the divine power of our shared Lady of Love, I declare that you have entered the sanctity of wedded bliss. As a token of your commitment, I ask that your rings be presented."

Domitian stepped forward from the bench, pulling a small bag out of his pocket. Loosening the bag's drawstring, he shook the contents into the palm of his hand and handed both Marcus and Alexandra a ring. Taking the simple, unadorned gold band, Alexandra slid it onto Marcus' left hand. Marcus took the ring he was given, a slightly more elegant gold band adorned with a glistening ruby, and slid it onto Alexandra's left hand.

"Congratulations," the Priestess declared. "You are man and wife."

A wide smile spread across Marcus' face, and he leaned down to kiss Alexandra. As their lips brushed together, however, a loud crash caused Marcus' head to snap up towards the door. He hardly had time to blink before seeing half a dozen Sicambrii warriors surrounding a Roman man walk through the open space where the door had once been. The door laid on the floor, felled by a blow from the lead Sicambrii warrior's axe. The warriors hovered near the door, axes drawn, watching as the broadly grinning Roman man stepped between them and strode into the temple. He stopped halfway between the door and the altar, silently grinning at Marcus.

"What in the name of all the Gods," Marcus growled, stepping in front of Alexandra, "do you think you're doing? Who in Hades do you think you are to bring heathens into this sacred place? And drawn weapons...it is a capital offence to carry weapons into a temple - drawn weapons on consencrated ground are an affront to the Gods!"

"I," the grinning Roman said, "am Nicholas Claudius. Don't be embarassed if the name doesn't ring a bell. You've never met me. I, on the other hand, am very familiar with you. You are the traitor Marcus Ulpius, who is currently wanted on charges of treason and sedition.

"Now, as far as the weapons go, you will note that I have no weapon myself. It is only my associates here who carry them, and I'm sure that Governor Vestatian will punish them accordingly. That is beyond my concern. I am here to arrest you, and I hope that you will come without a fight. Of course," he said with a sly grin, "if you were to put up a fight, I'm sure it would provide an amusing spectacle. You are unarmed, after all, and I have a dozen more guards waiting outside these doors."

"If I come with you," Marcus said, mulling through the possibilities, "what guarantee would I have that you would allow everyone here to leave safely?"

"You would have no such assurance," Nicholas said. "The only assurance that I will give you is that if you do not come peaceably, every one of them will die today."

"That's not good enough," Marcus spat. "You will provide them safe passage out of this Temple, and will not touch a hair on their heads. If you do this, I give you my word that I will come without a fight."

"You're not in a position to negotiate," Nicholas said. "We have you outnumbered and you are unarmed. What possible incentive could you give me to make such an agreement?"

"You know of my skills in combat," Marcus said, taking two steps toward Nicholas. His expression was calm, almost serene despite his unmasked fury, and was disorienting enough that Nicholas reflexively took a step back in fear. "So I'll let you know how this will happen if you refuse to agree to my terms. I will knock you to the ground before any one of those warriors has the opportunity to take even a single step. Then I will seize an axe from one of your little bodyguards, wrenching it from his very grasp. The rest is quite simple, really; I'll kill each and every single one of your warriors, and then drag your unconscious body to a cellar somewhere. I won't kill you immediately, of course. That wouldn't be nearly strong enough punishment for the offences you have committed here today. Instead, I will give you a whole new definition of the word 'pain'. It will take you weeks to die, and by the time I am through you will be nothing but a shattered husk, and maybe, just maybe, when I've decided that you've suffered enough at my hands, I'll slit your throat and send you to the eternal judgement of the Dread Lord Hades. I doubt he will be so kind as me. That is your incentive to bargain with me. That is the bargaining chip I hold.

"Of course," Marcus continued, "maybe you think I can't do it. Maybe all the stories you've heard about me have been nothing more than myths. Maybe I'm not really an invincible warrior with the strength and speed of a dozen men. It's possible, of course. Then again, maybe the stories are true. Do you really want to take the chance?"

"Perhaps," Nicholas said after a long pause, his voice trembling slightly, "it would be permissible to acquiesce to your demand. It is, after all, nothing more than a token gesture. We have neither need or desire for those others gathered here."

"Swear to it," Marcus said, "by the fate of your very soul."

"I swear," Nicholas said, "that if you come peacefully, none of those here shall be harmed."

"The Gods will hold you to that," Marcus said. "They do not take lightly vows which are sworn in the sanctity of a temple."

"I do not make such a vow lightly. Now, no more dallying. Let's go."

"Alexandra," Marcus said, turning to his bride, "please go with Domitian, Vito, and Monale. They will take you to safety. Don't worry about me. I'll be back soon, and I'll find you."

"I won't abandon you," Alexandra said, tears streaking down her face.

"You don't have a choice," Marcus whispered to her. "If we fight, there's a good chance that none of us will survive. Just trust me, Alexandra. There is no prison on this planet that will keep me from you."

Without any further discussion, Marcus motioned for Domitian to guide Alexandra to the exit. She was wracked with sobs as the four of them - her, Domitian, Vito, and Monale - made their way to the exit. As they walked down the aisle, Nicholas stepped to the side, motioning for his warriors to do the same. Begrudgingly, the Sicambrii parted to form a path leading out of the temple, but one warrior was not willing to let what he perceived as easy prey walk away. The warrior snaked his hand out and grabbed Alexandra by the shoulder as she walked past him, holding fast to her robes. Alexandra cried out in surprise; Nicholas, who had been watching the whole affair, wasted no time in taking action. He drew a dagger from its sheath at his side and stepped behind the offending warrior. The warrior never noticed Nicholas until it was too late; Nicholas' dagger slid across the warrior's neck, slicing through skin and muscle. The only sound the warrior was able to utter as he released his grip and fell to the Temple floor was a garbled gurgling.

"Nobody is to touch these people," Nicholas shouted at the warriors. "They are not who we are here for, and the next one of you who makes any sort of a move to harm them will meet the same fate as your friend here!"

With the Sicambrii warrior's grip released, Domitian took Alexandra by the arm once more and lead her outside. Monale and Vito followed close on their heels, leaving Marcus alone in the temple with Nicholas and a group of very angry looking Sicambrii warriors. Seemingly from nowhere, Nicholas produced a pair of shackles and tossed them at Marcus' feet.

"Put them on," he said. "For your safety, of course. There are disturbing rumours circulating that you've killed a few of these warriors' companions, and that's set them on edge. We wouldn't want there to be any risk of them misinterpreting a move you make, would we?"

"I have no fear of the Sicambrii," Marcus said with a tranquil smile as he placed the shackles around his wrists. The steel shackles closed with a heavy click. "You, on the other hand, should fear them. Do you really believe that your master's hold over them is anything but tenuous? They'll turn on you as quickly as Vestatian turned on us."

"That's Governor Vestatian to you," Nicholas said with a self-righteous sneer. "Now shut up and come with me. Walk beside me and don't make any sudden movements, and I'll give you my word that none of my warriors will harm you."

***

The lowest level of the city prison was a depressingly familiar sight to Marcus. The maze of intersecting narrow corridors was still dimly lit and silent. The only real difference, as far as Marcus could tell, was that the prison was now heavily guarded by Roman soldiers loyal to Julianus Vestatian.

By the looks of it, Marcus though grimly as he was forcibly shoved down the hallway, Vestatian has stationed half of the city guard here. Fighting my way out will be nearly impossible.

Just outside the door of the prison, Marcus had been publicly stripped of all clothing, and bound in both arm and leg shackles. It was only after he had suffered such public humiliation that he had been forced to shuffle his way through the corridors and down the stairwells of the prison under the watchful eye of five soldiers. The Sicambrii had been turned away at the prison doors, forbidden by Nicholas from even entering the building. Marcus surmised that the warriors had only been used to arrest Marcus because they had no qualms about desecrating a temple by openly bearing weapons inside. No Roman would dare to risk offending the Gods by comitting such a blasphemy.

After stumbling and shuffling his way through the halls of the prison for what seemed like hours, Marcus' guard detail stopped outside a cell. Two more soldiers were already waiting there, and the cell's door was made of heavy wood reinforced with iron. Five deadbolts and three padlocks topped off the already virtually impenetrable door; it took the soldiers guarding the cell nearly a full minute to unlock and open the portal. When the door swung wide open, Marcus was roughly shoved inside, tumbling head over heels into a crumpled heap on the bare stone floor. The door slammed shut behind him, followed by the clanking and clicking of closing deadbolts and locks.

The inside of the cell was pitch black; the only source of light was a tiny crack separating the bottom of the door and the floor, and the crack let in only enough flickering torchlight to reveal its presence. I can't see my hand in front of my face in here, Marcus thought. Of course, since my hands are bound behind my back, I wouldn't be able to see them right now, even if the room were lit as bright as day. I suppose that Vestatian learned his lesson when we rescued Ceresius; he is taking no chances whatsoever that I might possibly be able to escape this time. Not that it matters. There is neither prison nor jailer in all the Empire capable of holding me for long. I'll be out of here in a matter of hours.

The estimate of an escape time of several hours turned out to be grossly inadequate for Marcus. It took him nearly half an hour just to regain his footing in the dark; every time he tried to stand up, his feet would get tangled in the chains of the manacles which bound his feet together, or he would simply become disoriented in the utter darkness of the cell and simply fall on his backside again. The lack of any sort of handhold or irregularity in the cell's walls did nothing to help him stand up; more than once, he fell back against the wall, struggling to prop himself up against it. Each time he did so, his back slipped against the smooth stone wall and he promptly fell to the ground once again.

Once he had finally managed to bring himself to his feet once again, it was another struggle entirely to bring his hands out from behind his back. With more than a little exasperation, Marcus finally realized that the only way to accomplish the feet was to fall to the floor once again, and then tuck his knees into his chest and slip his manacled arms below his feet. A momentary tangle of the chains which bound his arms and his legs pinned Marcus in the fetal position; it was only through swift and agile maneuvering that Marcus managed to prevent himself from being trapped in that awkward and inelegant position. With his arms at their rightful position in front of his body, Marcus once again began the struggle to rise to his feet.

His efforts seemed in vain; even in the more mobile position he had succeeded in forcing himself into, the cell was simply sealed to the point of being impenetrable from the inside. Marcus carefully slid his fingers along the seam between the door and door frame, hoping to find some crack, no matter how miniscule, which might enable him to somehow pop the door's hinges, but no such crack was to be found.

It was after six hours of this careful fingertip search of every inch of the cell's door and walls that Marcus finally realized he had little choice but to accept his situation for now. As if the Gods themselves had heard Marcus' silent resignation, the locks on the other side of the door began their series of clicks and clanks. Marcus dropped to the floor in the corner of his cell, feigning helplessness. The door swung wide open, and Marcus was nearly blinded by the onslaught of the torchlight - after so many hours in nearly complete darkness, the flickering light was as blinding as the sun. As he blinked and squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the new light, Marcus was able to barely make out the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway of his cell. His eyes gradually adjusted to the torchlight, and the silhouette began to come into focus. Detail by detail, the form became apparent - first the black and purple toga, then the jet-black hair, and finally the distinct facial features. Marcus recognized the man immediately.

"Julianus Vestatian," he growled through clenched teeth. "I didn't think you would have the testicular fortitude to see me face to face."

"I'm not sure why you would think that," Julianus said in a quiet, almost soothing voice. "Surely you don't believe I have anything to fear from you? No, I just wanted to see how the mighty have fallen. From a respected Roman General to a traitorous rabble-rouser forced to resort to trying to stir up riots in the streets; I must say that I expected better of you, Marcus.

"We used to work together quite closely, and my opinion of you was high. Your constant stream of blunders at Agrippinensis did much to detract from that opinion, and finding out that you've been conspiring to overthrow the rightful government of this province...well, Marcus, I must say that I'm terribly disappointed."

"You use the term 'rightful' loosely, Julianus. You have no more right to govern this province than a dog in the street does."

"Quite the contrary," Julianus said with a restrained smile. "The Emperor himself has given me official sanction to govern this province. You should know that, Marcus. The sanction of the Emperor is the next best thing to the Gods themselves coming down from Olympus and handing me the keys to the governor's office."

"Don't make the mistake of believing that you have divine mandate," Marcus hissed. "The Gods have not placed their blessing upon your leadership, and it is because of that that your position will be nothing more than temporary."

"Ah, yes," Julianus said with a laugh. "My informant mentioned to me that you've got plans for some sort of revolution brewing. Let me assure you, Marcus, you will fail. A few disgruntled citizens with pitchforks will not be able to overthrow me."

"What makes you think that the revolutionaries need to overthrow you?" Marcus asked with a deep belly laugh. "A few well placed words, and here I am, in your presence. What makes you think I won't kill you where you stand?"

"Kill me? Surely you jest. Perhaps the last few years have driven you mad, but let me tell you this: there are more guards in this prison than you know. If you make a single ill-conceived move, you will be struck dead before you know what has happened."

"I'm sure I would be. But so would you," Marcus said with a vicious grin. With no further warning, he leapt at Julianus, swinging both of his chained hands in unison. His fists smashed into Julianus' chest, knocking the dictator aside into the wall. The lunge, unfortunately, knocked Marcus off balance. Julianus recovered his feet before Marcus was able struggle against the manacles which bound him so awkwardly. Julianus kicked Marcus in the stomach as he scrabbled to regain his footing. Marcus collapsed, groaning in pain.

The noise of the scuffle brought three soldiers to the cell's doorway, weapons drawn. Julianus waved them off with a flick of his wrist. The soldiers reluctantly retreated to their positions outside the cell, leaving Julianus and Marcus alone once again. As the soldiers' forms retreated out the door, Julianus dropped to one knee and smashed his fist into the back of Marcus' head. Marcus' head smashed against the floor with the force of the blow, the contact making a sickening splat-thud sound and leaving behind a splatter of blood.

"You just don't get it," Julianus spat, "do you? You've lost, Marcus. All your talent, all your skill, and all your strength were simply not enough to defeat me. You are a relic of a bygone age. No matter how hard you try, you will never be anything more than a failure."

Marcus laughed, a hollow ringing sound. "Perhaps I am, Julianus. Perhaps I am. But when I stand over your broken and bleeding corpse and survey the smoking ruins of everything you think you have accomplished, I will let you die with a single thought: the betrayal of your Gods and your people was all in vain. You have doomed yourself to an afterlife of pain and suffering, Julianus, and for what? A few years of ruling some backwater province of the Empire?"

"Shut your mouth," Julianus yelled, driving his fist into the small of Marcus' back. "Bloody peasant," he said, standing and attempting to regain some of his composure. "The lesson you need to learn is that the Gods of Rome are no longer relevant to our lives. Get some rest tonight, Marcus. You'll need it. Tomorrow you will have a very special guest visiting you. A guest who specializes in...shall we say...teaching lessons to traitors."

***

While Marcus was subjected to the horrors of Cologne's city prison, Alexandra was being subjected to an entirely different kind of torture on the opposite side of the city. After escaping the temple, Domitian lead her, as well as Vito and Monale, to an established safehouse near the city walls. The owners of the home, a friendly and compassionate older couple, had left the party to their own devices in the home's den, while they retired to the kitchen to prepare some refreshments for their guests. Vito and Monale sat in matching chairs in one corner of the room, wearing twin expressions of dejection on their faces. Alexandra sat in the centre of the room, sobbing uncontrollably while Domitian did his best to calm her.

"Alexandra," Domitian said, summoning his best compassionate voice, "please do not cry. I'm sure Marcus will be fine - he's probably already slaughtered that beast Nicholas and escaped captivity."

"And what if he hasn't? Or what if he tried," she wailed, "and died trying to escape?"

"That won't have happened," Domitian assured her. "The Sicambrii are heathen brutes, but unless I miss my mark, they will be ordered - under pain of torture and death - to bring Marcus to the Roman authorities alive."

"Indeed," Vito said, breaking out of his apparent trance. "Julianus Vestatian will want him to suffer the indignity of a public execution for treason, no doubt."

"And how is that better?" Alexandra cried.

"It is better," Domitian said, "because it means that Marcus is still alive. As long as Marcus is still alive, we have the capacity to plan a rescue for him."

"You must be mad," Monale said, staring at Domitian in shock. "Surely you don't mean to break into the city jail to rescue a traitor? That would be suicide."

"Marcus is not a traitor," Domitian said. He made no attempt to disguise his incredulity at Monale's statement. "He is fighting on the side of the Gods, under the instruction of the Lord of Battle. Surely you know that."

"I realize that Mars and the entire Olympian host hate the heathen barbarians with an all-consuming passion," Monale said. "But they also value honour, integrity, and loyalty to the Empire. I do not agree with, or even like, Governor Vestatian's rulership. The way he seized and maintains his power is inexcusible. However, the rumours I have heard are that Marcus is head of some sort of conspiracy to overthrow Governor Vestatian - who is, by the rightful order of the mighty Emperor Trajan, the lawful ruler of this province."

"You know," Vito said with a grindingly insinuative tone, "I'm wondering how Vestatian's forces knew where Marcus' wedding was taking place. Domitian, you took very strict precautions to keep it a secret."

"I've been wondering the same thing," Domitian said, staring at Monale. The Priest cast his eyes to the ground, shifting nervously from side to side in his seat. "Someone obviously leaked the information to the authorities. I know it was not myself. I also know it wasn't Alexandra, Vito, or Marcus. Surely no member of the clergy would divulge such information to the authorities, knowing that the sanctity of the Goddess of Love's Temple would be shattered as a result of that disclosure?"

"I...I cannot speak for the other clergy," Monale said in a quivering voice. "But I would not approve of any action which might would desecrate a holy place."

"That doesn't exactly sound like a denial to me," Vito said. "Tell us, Priest - did you or did you not leak information about the wedding ceremony to the authorities?"

"I did nothing to betray the Empire," Monale said, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.

"Say yes," Vito growled, rising to his feet, "or no. Did you betray Marcus?"

"I...I may have let some information slip to the commander of the city guard," Monale said with a cringe. "But I assure you, I would have done nothing to put Marcus in danger -"

"Oh, I'm sure that will be of great comfort to him," Domitian said, glaring angrily at Monale. "You are a damned fool, Monale, and entirely unworthy of the divine office you bear. Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"I've saved the province from civil war," Monale said without raising his gaze from the floor. His voice trembled, betraying the fact that even he doubted the veracity of his statements.

"No," Vito said, placing his left hand on the back of Monale's neck. An almost threatening calm seemed to overtake him. "You've done far worse than that. You have betrayed everything that you are supposed to stand for, Monale. You betrayed Marcus' trust, sacrificing the sacrosanct confidentiality of your position as a priest to serve your own political goals. You have put us all in danger, including Marcus' bride - one of your own fellow servants of Mars. Perhaps worst of all, you have forsaken the Olympian Lords and virtually sworn your allegiance to the heathens."

"I didn't -"

"You did, and you must answer for that" Vito said, still utterly calm. Moving with incredible speed, Vito clamped his right hand onto Monale's jaw and twisted the priest's head to the side with a vicious jerking motion. A sickening crack resounded loudly as his head twisted around nearly one hundred and eighty degrees; Monale's body twitched twice, and then dropped lifelessly to the floor.

"Vito," Domitian said breathlessly, "what in Hades do you think you're doing? Have you gone mad?"

"He was a traitor," Vito said with a shrug. "His punishment fits his crime."

"He was a member of the priesthood," Domitian said. "Do you wish to bring the wrath of the Gods themselves down upon us?"

"No such wrath will ensue," Alexandra said. Her sobs had subsided for the moment, but her voice was still shaky. "Vito is correct; Monale had forsaken the priesthood the instant he betrayed Marcus to the authorities. Now, we have something far more important to worry about at the moment. We need to rescue Marcus."

Domitian and Vito gathered around Alexandra, ignoring the fallen body of Monale for the time being. All three knew that freeing Marcus from the city prison would be a virtually impossible task, but they were firm in their resolve that they would stop at nothing until Marcus was returned to their midst.

Chapter XII

Two full days in the tiny, dark cell had left Marcus nearly delerious. The door to his cell had not opened since Julianus Vestatian had left - not even to deliver a meal. Marcus was beginning to suspect that his fate would be to starve to death in the prison long before he would have a chance to escape. He had, of course, continued his attempts to find some sort of weakness in the cell which could be exploited to his advantage, but to no avail. Finally, a combination of exhaustion, starvation, and sensory deprivation threw him into a fit of vertigo, knocking him to his back. He laid there for hours, staring at the darkness above him which obscured the ceiling.

The door to his cell was so thick that he could hear only the faintest traces of noise in the corridor beyond; at any given time the conversations between the guards in the corridor echoed inside his cell as nothing more than distorted whispers. Time seemed to all but stop, suspending Marcus in an eternal cocoon of darkness and pain, his only company the voices which seemed to echo from every direction around him, muffled and distorted that they sounded more like the nonsensical rantings one might expect from the maddened spirits of the nether reaches of Hades than conversations between bored soldiers. In a vain effort to stave off the effects of his sensory deprivation, Marcus tried to focus his mind by tapping his fingers rhythmically on the floor.

Tap, tap, tap,he thought. When I get my hands on that bastard Vestatian, I'll disembowel him with my bare hands and strangle him to death with his own intestines. When he's finally ceased breathing, I'll rip out that black heart of his, roast it over an open fire, and feast upon it. After that -

After that,I'll do what? His head seemed to be spinning faster and faster. The thoughts slipped from Marcus' mind as soon as they were even formed. I'll eat the heart...no, I already went over that. Something about the kidneys, maybe. No, that wasn't it.

Marcus' grasping at the elusive thought was interrupted by the clicking and clanking of the door locks opening. Now's my chance,he thought eagerly, it must be him! I'll eviscerate him with my bare kidneys, and strangle him to death with his...no. No, that wasn't it. Damn it!

The aggravation Marcus felt about not being able to remember the proper order of his planned revenge on Julianus Vestatian was misplaced, however. The door to his cell swung wide open to reveal a figure that was most decidedly not the Governor. Instead of the largish man wearing opulent clothing, the door frame was filled - or rather, partially filled - by a small man whose head was totally bare. Simple black clothing hung from the man's gaunt frame, and a similarly simple black bag was held tightly in his right hand.

"You must be Marcus," the man said, his voice surprisingly smooth and relaxing.

"I am," Marcus said in a hoarse whisper.

"My name is Luskilos Vaishallas," the man said. "I'm sure you were told that I would be coming. I'm here to have a bit of a talk with you. I know that your throat must be absolutely parched by now, so let me assure you that I won't force you to speak more than absolutely necessary. In fact, I'll be more than content to do the vast majority of the talking myself. Who knows? By the time we're finished with our little chat, you may very well have learned how to better appreciate the simple sound of silence.

"Guards, please bring our guest to the room down the hall. It's been specially prepared for us, but I doubt that my friend Marcus is quite capable of walking under his own power at the moment."

Luskilos stepped aside and allowed three Roman soldiers to enter the prison cell. Two of them grabbed Marcus by the arms, hoisting him upright and holding him steady. The third looked Marcus square in the eye, obviously ashamed at his duty.

"Please, General," the third guard said quietly, "do not struggle. We have no choice here, and none of us wants to harm you. Make it easy on all of us, I beg of you."

The warning turned out to be unnecessary. Luskilos had been right; Marcus was not even capable of standing under his own power at that moment. The very thought of struggling against two soldiers would have been laughable, had Marcus the strength to even utter a laugh. The soldiers followed Luskilos, half-carrying and half-dragging Marcus down the corridor of the prison and into an awaiting room.

The room was sparsely decorated; indeed, with the exception of a single large wooden table placed squarely in the centre of the room, the chamber was entirely devoid of any sort of furnishings. Four ominous-looking chains hung from the corners of the table, each with its very own steel manacle attached to the last link.

"Remove his shackles," Luskilos directed the soldiers. "Come on, hurry it up. I haven't got all day to do this, you know. Good. Now place him on the table. Gently, now. Make sure that he's hooked into each of those restraints. We don't want him flailing about, do we?"

Once Marcus was securely fastened to the table, the guards filed out of the room. Their trepidation and shame was obvious; they didn't know what was going to happen to Marcus in that empty room, but they knew it wasn't going to be good. I can hardly blame them, Marcus thought as he tried to tug at the restraints which held him spread-eagled on the table. They have little choice in serving Julianus Vestatian. They are just city guards, after all. If they refused to serve or tried to flee the city, they would be hunted down and killed. Not that my sympathy is going to keep me from hunting them down and killing them one by one once I have been released, of course; it may, however, influence me to give them a quick death.

"I trust that you are comfortable," Luskilos said.

"Pluto take you," Marcus muttered, still too weak to speak at a normal volume.

"I have no doubt that he will," Luskilos said with a laugh. "Each in his own time, eh? This is not, however, my time, Marcus. This is your time.

"I really regret that I must do this to you," he said, setting his black bag down beside Marcus and peering inside. "A chance to practice my art is, of course, always welcome, but I have always had a healthy measure of respect for you. It is a shame that your distinguished career has been reduced to this."

Reaching inside the bag, Luskilos pulled out a device no larger than a dagger, but considerably more narrow. A pointed steel shaft lead up to a corkscrew-style twist, topped off with a simple wooden handle. He turned the device over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. When he showed the device to Marcus, his eyes seemed to glint with sadistic glee.

"Do you recognize this device, Marcus? No, I suppose you wouldn't. It is of my own creation; a point of personal pride, really. You see, this needle pieces through skin and flesh, boring straight through to the bone below." Luskilos placed the sharpened tip of the device against Marcus' forearm. With an effortless twist of his wrist, the narrow shaft of the device burrowed through the muscles of Marcus' arm. Marcus cried out in agony, nearly drowning out the sickening grinding sound of the device first scratching, and then digging into the bone below. Luskilos continued to twist the device, forcing the twisting part of the shaft into Marcus' arm. With every twist, the shaft was driven deeper and deeper into the bone and muscle, eventually bursting out of the opposite side of Marcus' arm. Surprisingly, very little blood trickled out of either end of the skewer, but that curiosity was lost on Marcus. In truth, the entire world was lost on Marcus at that point; his perception had dissolved to little more than a haze of pain penetrated only by Luskilos' continued speech.

"Interesting," Luskilos continued. "Most people have passed out by this point in the proceedings. That's good. I've never been able to keep someone conscious though the second phase of my little invention."

Straining his eyes to peer down at his arm, Marcus saw Luskilos attaching a metal bar of some sort to the tip of the device's shaft. The bar slid up the metal shaft until it pressed flat against the bottom of Marcus' arm. With one sharp, vicious twist of the bar, Luskilos pinched Marcus' arm so tightly that Marcus thought the entire appendage was going to be torn in two. His suspicions were not entirely incorrect, either; Luskilos grabbed both bars and jerked them ninety degrees towards the ceiling.

The entire world seemed to slow to a crawl as his forearm shattered in half; even as the agony exploded through his entire body, he was able to feel shattered shards of bone piercing through his skin. Marcus screamed and thrashed about, but to no avail. The chains which held him to the table were too strong for him to break, even if he had been able to focus on the effort rather than the pain. Luskilos' voice still drifted through the haze which seemed to have engulfed every one of Marcus' senses.

"Amazing," he said. "Utterly amazing. I'd congratulate you, Marcus, if I thought you were in any condition to understand just what the congratulations are for. The kind of pain that I'm putting you through is beyond anything most people could ever imagine, and yet you're still conscious.

"Your resilience, of course, means that I am going to have to see exactly how far I can push you. Are you ready for the next step in our little experiment?"

Marcus sputtered incomprehensibly in reply.

"You'll have to speak up," Luskilos said. "You mouth and throat are undoubtely filled with blood and bile, so it may take a bit of effort to spit that out."

"I said," Marcus gurgled, barely managing to clear his throat, "that I'm goi...I am going to tear you limb from limb."

"Please spare me the threats," Luskilos said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Consider yourself lucky. Julianus sent me here to interrogate you, but we both know that you're not going to part with any information no matter how much I torture you. Keeping that in mind, I am able to skip past all of the usual useless interchanges that would normally take place in this sort of situation. Believe me, this would be much more of an inconvenience to you if the torture was accompanied by the continual litanies of me asking you for information, and you refusing to give it. I'd like to think that my methods spare us both rather a lot of trouble and headaches.

"Now that you've seen a device of my own creation," Luskilos continued, reaching into his black bag, "I think it's time for us to pay homage to the classic tools of my trade."

As the pain in Marcus' body began to dull from a roaring agony to a dull throb, he was able to focus his vision sufficiently to watch Luskilos withdraw a small hook from his bag. Luskilos ran his fingers over Marcus' ribcage, delicately searching for a point directly below his solar plexus. Having found what he was looking for, Luskilos placed the tip of the wickedly curved hook against Marcus' skin. He gently pressed down on the implement, forcing the barbed tip to bite into Marcus' flesh without actually piercing through the skin. He rocked the hook back and forth, carefully watching Marcus' expression to see how much pain was being inflicted. Apparently unsatisfied with the look on Marcus' face, Luskilos drove the hook through skin and muscle with a well-practiced thrust. When the hook was buried deeply within Marcus' stomach, Luskilos twisted the hook from side to side, alternating between sharp yanks on the tool and slow rotations intended to inflict the most pain imaginable.

Marcus screamed again, the primal force of his cry startling even Luskilos. The white haze which clouded his eyes intensified, drowning out his entire field of vision until the world slipped away beneath him.

***

The world slowly reappeared to Marcus as the blinding pain which had wracked his entire body faded into nothingness. As the solid white film which had enveloped his senses gradually parted, Marcus came to the dawning realization that his surroundings had changed dramatically over the last several seconds. Instead of a dingy, grimy room in the deepest bowels of Cologne's city prison, Marcus found himself standing in the centre of a structure of mind-boggling dimensions. The polished marble floor beneath his feet stretched out in every direction to the outermost limits of his range of vision - white granite walls and columns rose straight up from the floor hundreds of feet into the air. The massive room was topped in a brilliant white dome ceiling. The farthest end of the room contained a massive brazier which radiated enough heat to warm the entire room, the flickering glow of the brazier's flames casting dancing shadows across the gargantuan statues of the entire pantheonic host which stood behind it. The scent of incense hung in the air, and the faint sounds of revelry seemed to echo from every direction.

This must be a Temple dedicated to all the Gods,Marcus thought as he gazed in awe at the almost unimaginably huge structure which surrounded him. But where could it be? Even Rome, in all its glory and strength, has no such temple as this. This architecture, this sort of scale, is far beyond anything that even the most brilliant architects in the Empire could conceive of. No nation in the civilized world is capable of creating something like this.

Dare I even consider the possibility, Marcus thought as a bewildering suspicion overtook him, that these are the halls of the most hallowed Olympus? Could this be the domain of the architects of the very universe? He dismissed the possibility as an errant fancy. No, it cannot be. My body still lies on that damned slab under the watchful eye of that rat Luskilos. Even if this truly is Olympus, I would surely bear the wounds that have been inflicted on me. My body is whole and unbroken, ergo this can be nothing but a dream.

The thoughts which raced through Marcus' mind were interrupted suddenly. A bolt of lighting shot down from the ceiling with a thundering boom; as the sizzling missile struck the temple floor, it did not fade into nothingness. The brilliant white light hung in the air, gradually shrinking and convalescing into a human form. Gentle pulses of light radiated from the half-formed figure, each pulse bringing the form closer and closer to solidity. Marcus' heart hitched in his chest as the radiant form slowly transformed into an all-too-familiar shape - the unmistakeable form of Alexandra stood in front of him, gazing at Marcus in disbelief. She gaped silently at the scene before her, as if her mind was simply incapable of processing what she saw.

"Marcus," Alexandra said, turning the name over in her mouth as if it were a foreign word, "can this really be you? But where...where are we? I thought you were taken into custody by Julianus Vestatian's goons."

"I was," Marcus said. He stepped closer to Alexandra, carefully examining every detail of her face as if he thought it possible to find some hidden clue there which might unravel the mystery before him. "I mean, I still am in their custody. I cannot explain this, unless it is a dream."

"If it is a dream," Alexandra said with a shy smile, "then it is one which we both share, my love. When you were taken, Domitian and Vito took me to a safehouse. We began to make a plan to rescue you, and I retreated to meditate on the issue, hoping to gain some guidance from Mars. The next thing I knew, I was here.

"Have your captors been treating you with decency, Marcus? I know they are savages, but I have been trying to gain some semblance of comfort from the thought that you are being kept safe in captivity."

"I have been treated as well as can be expected," Marcus said. He considered divulging the full details of his torture to her, but decided against it; if by some chance he was really communicating with her rather than dreaming, it would do nothing but cause her pain for her to learn of his treatment.

"That is a small measure of relief," Alexandra said as she wrapped her arms around Marcus, embracing him tightly. "A very small measure, but it is some relief nonetheless.

"There is some bad news on our end, however. It turns out that Monale is - or rather, was - the one who leaked information about your location to the city guard."

"I trust that he has been dealt with appropriately," Marcus said, returning Alexandra's embrace and clasping her as close to his chest as was humanly possible without harming her.

"He is dead," Alexandra whispered. "Vito killed him."

"I would have expected no less. No more of this talk, however. Who knows how long we will have here together, my beloved wife? We should not waste it with idle chatter."

"Beware that you do not confuse this temple with a Bachannal," a booming voice said from behind Marcus. Whirling around carefully to ensure that Alexandra stayed behind him, Marcus was confronted by a massive man. Standing nearly ten feet tall, the man was a veritable tower of muscle covered in thick plates of iron armour. Behind him stood two other giants, a clubfooted male dressed in the simple garb of a blacksmith and a matronly woman with a warm smile. Despite the shock that came as a natural consequence of seeing such unnaturally large creatures, it took only a second for Marcus to overcome his shock and recognize the beings for what they truly were.

"My Lords Mars and Vulcan," he said as both he and Alexandra dropped to one knee before them, "and Lady Vesta. Forgive me for an ill-phrased remark, for it was not my intent to -"

"Yes, yes, yes," Mars said with a hearty laugh. "I know you meant no offense."

"My Lord," Marcus said, keeping his eyes carefully downcast, "may I ask if this place is truly -"

"Olympus? Yes," Mars said, obviously unconcerned with the social niceties regarding interrupting another who is speaking. "You have found your way to the hallowed home of the Gods - or rather, you have been brought here by our will."

"May I ask what we have done," Marcus said, "to deserve such an honour? I have failed you in your quest for me to vanquish Julianus Vestatian and the Sicambrii from the province of Germania Inferior."

"Nonsense," Mars said. "You haven't failed me - far from it. In fact, you are in a very advantageous position right now."

"I must most humbly disagree," Marcus said. "My Lord, I am captured - beaten and broken, barely able to move."

"True," Mars said with a hint of a smile. "But Julianus Vestatian has crossed a line which no Roman citizen should ever cross. First, he defected from the Empire, making himself a traitor. As if that sin were not great enough, he then enlisted the aid of heathen barbarians to allow him to come to power and crush the innocent Romans beneath his feet. That is all bad enough, but his sins extend further yet. He has forsaken us and given himself over to the worship of the heathen barbarian gods. It is for all these offenses that we chose you to be the vessel of our wrath against this man.

"Now, he has taken his deceit and treason one step further. He has violated the sanctity of a temple. He has made burnt offerings of Roman flesh to the heathen gods. Finally, he has begun making plans to destroy our temples in Germania Inferior and replace them with temples to the heathen barbarian gods. This shall not stand.

"It is for these reasons that we have decided to take somewhat of a more direct interest in your quest. We have decided that our intervention is necessary, for it is time to strike fear into Julianus Vestatian's heart. He thinks himself invincible; it is time to rob him of that delusion."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Marcus said, his eyes still downcast, "but how might I be of further service in this regard, most Divine and Holy Lord of all Battles?"

"First of all," Mars said with a bored sigh, "you can stand up and look me in the eye. Then you can quit referring to me by such ridiculous titles. You have been chosen as our champion, Marcus - you have earned the privilege of calling us by our names.

"As far as how you can strike a little fear into Julianus' heart, it is quite simple. You are going to escape from your unjust bondage and raze the city prison to the ground."

"But how -"

"How will you do it? You'll do it by being quiet for a minute," Mars said, "and letting my colleagues explain the details of our plan to you. Vesta, if you will?"

"Of course," Vesta said with a motherly smile. She stepped forward, offering a plain brass chalice to Marcus. The chalice was obviously designed to be used by humans, and looked ridiculously tiny in Vesta's hands. "Drink this, and your wounds will be healed and some of your strength restored. Unfortunately, it cannot restore you to your ideal fighting form, but it will at least give you a fighting chance."

Taking the chalice from Vesta, Marcus examined the liquid inside. It was entirely unlike anything Marcus had ever seen before - a viscous golden fluid which smelled faintly of honey and wildflowers. He breathed deeply, and then took a careful sip of the drink. The effect was electrifying; a pulse of energy swept through his entire body, calming and easing every muscle in his entire body. He tilted the chalice back, swigging the remaining liquid in the cup in a single draught. Alexandra grabbed hold of Marcus' shoulder, struggling to hold him upright as the effects of the liquid washed over him. The Gods simply watched the scene; Mars remained utterly impassive, but Vesta and Vulcan both seemed slightly bemused.

"Is this heavenly medicine the famed ambrosia, the nectar of the Gods?" Marcus was panting with exertion, struggling with the aid of Alexandra to remain standing. The golden liquid in the chalice had relaxed his entire body so completely that it took almost inhuman effort to even speak.

"Not quite," Vesta said. "Although it is close. It is, in fact, a medicine I have brewed specifically for you, and ambrosia was one of the ingredients involved. Obviously we could not give you ambrosia in its purest form - no matter how strong you are, without divine blood flowing in your veins, the chances of you surviving the consumption of true ambrosia would be slim."

"When you awake," Mars said, "your body will be entirely restored. I'm sure you are asking the obvious question right now, which is what good healing your body will do when you you are chained on a table in the lowest level of a prison, naked and completely unarmed."

"Marcus," Alexandra said, "you told me that your captors have been treating you well! I would hardly consider being strapped down naked to a table and being beaten an appropriate way of treating a captive."

"Actually," Marcus said, "I never told you that I've been treated well. I said that I was being treated as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. As far as Julianus Vestatian and the city guards are concerned, I am a traitor - most traitors are executed immediately after being captured. I'd say the fact that I'm still alive bodes well, given the sort of treatment most people in my position could expect.

"Besides, from what I've been able to discern from our gracious hosts here, what fate has in store for my captors is far worse than the treatment I have received so far."

"Indeed," Vulcan said, stepping forward to address Marcus and Alexandra, "and that is where I come in. Marcus, you have a tool which will help you accomplish the task we have set before you - a tool which I gave you quite some time ago."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Marcus said with a frown. "Begging your forgiveness, but I've never met you in person before today. I'm sure that meeting the God of the Forge would be an experience I would have a hard time forgetting."

"Don't be so sure." Although Vulcans' mouth moved, it was the voice of an old man which Marcus heard. "Our shapes and voices are not static; they change according to our needs. Sometimes you can share a ride with an old man, and unknowingly be in the company of one of the Gods."

The absolute absurdity of the whole situation suddenly struck Marcus, and he broke into maniacal laughter. Just my bloody luck, he thought. I was sitting in a caravan for days on end with the God of the Forge, for Hades' sake, and I was so absorbed in my own damned guilt and petty self-pity that I didn't realize he was anything more than a babbling old man.

"So when you said that I was still loved by those who truly matter," Marcus managed to say between fits of laughter. Unable to compose himself again, he let the sentence trail off into another burst of laughter.

"I meant that the Gods have been keeping a closer eye on you than you thought," Vulcan said. The mighty God of the Forge didn't seem in the least bit put off by Marcus' uncontrollable laughter; undoubtedly, the ancient deity had witnessed similar scenes countless times before. Indeed, it seemed unlikely that one of the most powerful creatures in the universe would be terribly surprised by any sort of reaction that a mortal had. Shock and surprise certainly were not the sort of reactions that befit supreme beings.

"Truth be told, we - and I mean all of us in Olympus, not just the three of us that you see now - have been keeping an eye on you for your entire life. The three Fates told us when you were born that yours was a destiny that would shape the world, and they were correct. Each of us has taken varying degrees of interest in you as you have progressed through your life. Juno and Vesta watched over you as an infant; Minerva constantly strove to provide subtle care for you as a child, and Bacchus and Venus absolutely loved your teenage years.

"As a young soldier, you garnered the attention of Diana and myself. She was somewhat taken with you; believe me when I say that she doted over you, praising every battle you were involved in, and celebrating every accomplishment. Your distinguished career in Germania Inferior eventually captured the attention even of mighty Jupiter; now, you have the undivided attention of every single one of us. Your role in the fate of the Roman Empire, and the fate of the very world itself, is more important now than it ever has been before."

"I don't understand," Marcus said. "The fate of the world? I know that much of the fate of this province of the Empire depends on me, but surely Julianus Vestatian is not such a great threat to the whole of the Empire, let alone to the entire world."

"You are partially correct," Mars said. "Vestatian is not the greatest threat that the world faces right now. However, the events that he has set in motion already begin to threaten the stability of the world. His success in conquering Germania Inferior has spurred the tribals in other provinces to plan mass revolts of their own; the heathen forces are mostly disparate right now, but it is only a matter of time until the guidance of their inferior deities is able to counsel them to undertake the obvious course of action. A united front from the barbarians means that a serious threat to the safety of the Empire will be formed; Rome itself could be razed to the ground by the beasts."

"Surely you jest," Marcus scoffed. "Barbarians destroy Rome? The very idea is laughable. Rome is invincible!"

"It is just that sort of attitude which will lead to Rome's downfall if you are not careful," Mars said. "And if the barbarians can conquer Rome, who knows how far their influence could reach? If the Roman Empire could be defeated, then no other nation would stand a chance against the barbarians - Egypt, Assyria, Greece...none of these nations would be able to stop a united barbarian advance.

"Your actions to destroy the Sicambrii rule of Germania Inferior must be swift and decisive. Julianus Vestatian is little more than a minor obstacle in the grand scheme of things; if he falls but the Sicambrii still rule the province, nothing will have been acomplished."

"So why bother striking fear into his heart now? If he really is such a minor figure in the grand scheme of things," Marcus asked, "why bother with him? Why not just make my escape and direct our forces to slaughter every Sicambrii man, woman, and child that we can find?"

"He is a minor figure in the grand scheme of things," Mars said, "but for now he is important. The Sicambrii chafe under the rule of a Roman. They view Romans with the same distaste that Romans view them with, and they do not believe that he should hold power. If you strike fear into Julianus Vestatian's heart now, his fear will be apparent to the Sicambrii. They may try to remove him from power, in which case an internal power struggle in the tribe will erupt. Alternatively, they may simply become restless and not quite as eager to obey his orders. Either way, a decisive advantage will be granted to you."

"Fair enough," Marcus said as he contemplated Mars' prophetic words. "But that still leaves me with one major question: how in Hades do I raze the city prison to the ground? Even if I manage to somehow free myself from the manacles which hold me and fight my way through all the guards and escape, bringing down a building of that size and construction is virtually impossible to do without some heavy-duty equipment."

"That is where I come in," Vulcan said with a grin. "And your answer comes in two parts. First, escaping your bonds will be quite simple. It seems that all the manacles have developed some very serious structural problems; it will take very little effort to shatter them into little more than dust. There are some advantages to being complete Lord and Master of all things forged," he added with a wink.

"Razing the building to the ground is also going to be a relatively simple matter - for you, anyway. Mercury is off on an errand right now; he is transferring an item from your domicile into the little black bag of that maggot Luskilos. A gift you received from a certain benevolent deity, if you remember."

"The dagger," Marcus said with a laugh. "I should have known. It has exhibited some odd behaviour when I have used it. I should have suspected that it was truly of divine origin."

"Yes, you should have. However, its advantages go far beyond a small increase in your combat effectiveness. When you leave the prison, plunge the dagger into the wall of the building; don't worry, it will be easier than it sounds. I'll be able to sense when the dagger has embedded itself in stone, and when that happens, I will use it as a focus to channel some of my...less pleasant power."

"By the most holy blessings of all the Gods," Alexandra whispered. "You're not going to do what I think you're going to do, are you?"

"I suspect that I'm going to do exactly what you think I'm going to do," Vulcan said calmly. "Marcus, you're going to want to run as quickly as you can once the dagger is embedded in the wall. You'll have very little time to escape before the building shakes itself apart. The entire building will be nothing more than a smoking crater."

"What of the surrounding homes? There are innocent Romans living in them who have done nothing to deserve being crushed by falling rock or burned in the ensuing conflagrations," Marcus said.

"Do not worry about them. I will be very precise; the building will be utterly annihilated, along with everyone inside, but the nearby homes and buildings will be fine. Relax, Marcus. If you can't trust the Gods, who can you trust?"

"Now, Marcus," Mars said before Marcus had a chance to reply to Vulcan, "it is time for you to return to the mortal world. You too, Alexandra - and try not to worry about your husband. He is more than capable of doing what we ask in this matter."

Alexandra and Marcus embraced, holding each other tightly. They knew that they needed to savour the moment; this would be the last time they would have a chance to see and touch each other before Marcus was placed in mortal danger. Their loving embrace was the last thing either of them felt in the halls of Mount Olympus before the entire world dissolved around them in a haze of brilliant white light.

***

Marcus returned to consciousness with a gasp; his entire body was wracked with painful spasms. Luskilos was still hovering over the table, watching Marcus intently; he was apparently unaware of Marcus' temporary jaunt to the halls of Mount Olympus.

"...and so I'm sure you'll understand when I move on to burning you why I left that particular treatment until after the acid," Luskilos was still babbling on about the various intricacies of inflicting pain on a human being, utterly oblivious to the fact that the wounds he had already inflicted upon Marcus had already vanished.

With a sudden burst of strength, Marcus lashed out at Luskilos with his right hand; the chain and manacle which bound the arm to the table shattered with ease, breaking into tiny shards of iron which fell to the ground as Marcus snatched Luskilos by the throat. A quick jerking motion from side to side produced a horrific snapping sound from the base of Luskilos' skull; as his spinal cord shattered and severed his brain stem, the torturer's body dropped from Marcus' grip to the floor, as limp as a rag doll.

"Damned fool," Marcus growled. "I've listened to your rantings for long enough"

It took little effort for Marcus to free himself from the remaining three sets of chains which held him down. As Vulcan had promised, the implements shattered and fell to pieces with only the slightest effort. Once free, however, it took a nearly superhuman effort for Marcus to lower his feet off the table and onto the ground. His body was utterly drained of strength, and the hunger pangs which tormented him were almost insurmountably strong. It was only with the aid of one hand bracing him against the table that Marcus was able to peer into Luskilos' black leather bag. Sure enough, sitting on top of a small pile of torture implements was the familiar golden-handled, ruby encrusted dagger which had been given to him so many months ago. With an unsteady hand, he pulled the dagger out of the bag, clutching it close to his chest as he whispered a quick prayer to all the Olympian Gods.

The prayer was interrupted by a crashing thud at the door. The wooden door shook and shuddered under an apparent blow from the outside, but the portal held. A second thud shook the door even more violently; splinters flew and cracks appeared along the door frame. Marcus released his grip on the supporting table, struggling to remain upright as he pulled his body into a combative stance. A third and final thud at the door forced it from its hinges, knocking the entire door to the floor. As the door landed on the ground, a large black-clad figure leapt through the opening, stopping only feet away from Marcus. The figure's reaction to seeing Marcus standing there was not what Marcus was expecting - the man reached behind his head and pulled off the black scarves which obscured his face. The scarves fluttered to the ground to reveal a familiar, grinning face which Marcus had never expected to see again.

"Who were you expecting," Vincenzo said, "Cleopatra?"

Chapter XIII

"Vincenzo," Marcus said. He staggered back a step, grabbing hold of the table to steady himself again. "I thought you were dead."

"I nearly was," Vincenzo said. "Now, are you planning to put some clothes on, or is this whole standing around naked and trembling thing just your way of trying to seduce me?"

"I don't have any clothes," Marcus said, rolling his eyes. "Even if I did, I'm not sure that I've got the strength to put them on. You don't have any food on you, do you?"

"Of course," Vincenzo said with a snorting laugh. "I always make a habit of carrying a royal feast in my back pocket. Do you want the roasted lamb or the pork?"

"If you don't quit being a jackass," Marcus said, "then I'll carve you up and have you for dinner." Marcus made a half-hearted little carving gesture with his dagger.

"And that makes me feel so frightened. In fact, I'd probably only feel more threatened if you could actually stand under your own power."

"Even if I'm as weak as a six year old girl, I can still outfight you."

"Keep talking," Vincenzo said, "and maybe you'll convince yourself of that. Now, come with me. I think one of the door guards was about your size, and I'm sure I saw a storeroom down the hall with something to eat. Probably mouldy bread and dried-out meat, but you look like you're ready to accept anything."

Since he was too weak to argue any further, Marcus simply followed Vincenzo out the door. Walking proved to be more of a challenge than Marcus had expected - he had known that the days of hunger and confinement had left him in a weakened state, but he hadn't imagined the sheer strength of will that he would need to move. He settled for a jerking stagger which alternated between bracing himself against the wall and weaving left and right in an almost drunken tilt.

As Vincenzo had predicted, one of the two soldiers who had been standing guard outside the torture chamber was nearly identical in stature to Marcus. Both of the guards had been laid neatly against the wall, slumped over to look like they were dozing off. In fact, had Marcus not pushed them aside and seen the puncture wounds at the base of their skulls, he would never have known that they were dead.

"Nice clean kills," Marcus remarked as he stripped the clothing from the smaller of the two guards. "Small wounds; looks like you pierced straight into their brainstems. They died too quickly to even fight back. But how in Hades did you get behind them to deliver that kind of a blow? They were guarding this room; their backs should have been to the wall."

"This is a pair of bored sentinels that we're talking about," Vincenzo said. His voice was as matter-of-fact as if he had been talking about his breakfast. "They were easy enough to distract. One their backs were turned, the blows were easy enough to deliver."

It quickly became apparent to Marcus that he would only be able to don the soldier's tunic and pants; the armour was far too heavy for him to wear in his weakened state. A pity, he thought, for I'm sure that the armour would come in handy. Still, it's better to make due with what I can manage than to fret over the things I cannot change.

"This is a good start," Marcus said as he pulled the tunic on over his head. "Now that I'm clothed, can we find that food you mentioned? Once I've got a little food in me, we should have no trouble fighting our way out of here - even with your limp-wristed antics."

"Those 'limp-wristed antics' were good enough to get me in here to save your ass," Vincenzo said. "Of course, if you'd prefer, I can call for the guards and leave you to fight them alone. We wouldn't want me getting in the way, now would we?"

"No need for that. I'll let you fight with me - no sense in me hogging all the glory for myself. Besides, I have a feeling that you'll want to see what I've got in store."

"You mean falling over and clawing at the guards' kneecaps? Yes, I'm sure that will be a fearsome tactic. They will undoubtedly fall on their own swords rather than face the possibility that you might end up drooling on their boots."

"Unless you want me drooling on your boots, I suggest you lead on to the storeroom you mentioned earlier."

"Fine," Vincenzo said with a sigh. "It's this way."

The storeroom Vincenzo lead Marcus to was little more than a tiny closet whose shelves held a few crusty loaves of bread and jugs of dirty water. The culinary inferiority did not dissuade Marcus from grabbing the nearest loaf of bread and tearing ferociously into it with his teeth, wolfing down bite after bite of the nearly black substance and washing it down with swigs of water which smelled like it had been sitting in the closet for years.

"Tell me," Marcus said between frenzied bouts of chewing and swallowing, "how many guards did you kill on your way in? I need to know how many we'll need to take care of to get out of here."

"Just the two that were guarding the room you were being held in," Vincenzo said.

"Just two? How did you sneak past the others?"

"Do you realize that prison duty is considered the lowest possible position for those few Roman soldiers who still serve Julianus Vestatian? None of the guards here are terribly motivated to be alert. It was a minor matter to sneak past them; since I was able to get by them without catching their attention, I didn't see the need to kill them. Why draw attention where it is unwanted? Piles of corpses in the halls would raise an alarm so massive that the place would be swarming with Sicambrii so quickly that I wouldn't have even the most remote chance of rescuing you. You may not understand the concept, but sometimes discretion is the better part of valour."

"Spoken like a true assassin," Marcus mumbled through a mouth filled with half-chewed bread. "Anyway, it just means more for me to kill. Good.

"So, what have you been doing for the last year? The last time I saw you, you were charging headlong toward a group of Sicambrii warriors - throwing caution and discretion to the winds. How'd that work for you?"

"Not very well," Vincenzo said. "I survived the fight, but barely. I killed four of them before suffering enough wounds that I was unable to fight any further. I made a strategic retreat to my home, bandaged my wounds, and spent most of the next year in recovery. I bear scars from that day, and have been looking forward to getting the chance to repay them.

"Of course, once I had healed enough to be able to fight again, I went to the inn to find you, Domitian, and Vito. It turns out that you had all left town, apparently forgetting all about me."

"We didn't forget about you. We just thought that you had died in battle," Marcus said.

"I'm sure you did. I'm sure my funeral was very impressive," Vincenzo said hopefully.

"I'm sure it would have been," Marcus said, "if we'd had one."

"You didn't even have a ceremony for me? You didn't even get a priest to mumble a few words of prayer to guide my spirit through the afterlife?"

"No."

"What if I'd actually been dead? I could have gone for all eternity without any sort of remembrance or monument! You would have just let my sacrifice be in vain!"

"I guess it's lucky that you weren't dead, eh?"

"You," Vincenzo sputtered, unable to even finish the sentence.

"Oh, relax. You know full well how urgent our mission to overthrow the Sicambrii is. There isn't always time to say a prayer for every person who may have died in battle. It's unfortunate, but true."

"What if you had just been left to die in this prison? What if I hadn't come to rescue you? Would you have expected some sort of ceremony to honour your life?"

"I'd like to think so," Marcus said, "but I certainly wouldn't be angry if such a ceremony never took place. Look, Vincenzo, you need to understand the big picture here. This battle for Germania Inferior has only just begun. Many more people are going to die, and if we stop to have a funeral for each and every single one of them, our defeat will be assured. When the battles are over and won, when we have taken back control of what is rightfully ours - it is then that we will have the opportunity to mourn for our dead."

"I guess that's fair," Vincenzo said. "But if you think I die again, you'd bloody well better at least say a prayer. Seriously, if I really do die and nobody takes a second to grieve for me, I'm going to come back and haunt you for the rest of your days. I'll make your life such a living hell that you'll long for whatever was happening in that room to happen again.

"While I'm on the subject," Vincenzo said hesitantly, "what did happen in that room? I mean, it looked like a torture chamber, but I've never seen a torture chamber where the victim isn't at least strapped down, and every time I've witnessed someone get tortured, there were inevitably some sort of wounds afterward."

"There were wounds, and I was strapped down. It's a long story, and I don't think you'd believe me if I told it to you. If you really want to hear it, I'll tell you once we're out of here. For the time being, I think we have better things to do," Marcus said as he finished wolfing down the last loaf of bread from the shelves. He took a long draught from one of the jugs of water and rose to his feet. This time his strength didn't waver; Marcus knew that he would need to expend his energy wisely, however, for whatever strength he had gained from the bread would not last forever.

"The stairs are this way," Vincenzo said, motioning to his right. "Move quickly and quietly, and maybe we can get out of here without causing a huge disturbance."

Three Roman soldiers walked around the corner before Vincenzo had even finished speaking. They were almost entirely engrossed in a joking conversation, but not engrossed enough to prevent one of the guards from spotting Marcus standing in the middle of the corridor. The shocked look on his face was enough to confirm that he knew exactly who Marcus was, and where Marcus should have been.

"Or not," Vincenzo said with a disgusted sigh.

Marcus twirled his dagger in his hands, flipping it over and holding it by the blade. The soldier who had recognized Marcus seemed to recover enough from his shock to warn his companions. The world seemed to move in slow motion as Marcus hurled the dagger through the air at the first soldier. Tumbling end over end, the blade shot through the air, stopping only when it buried itself to the hilt in the soldier's neck. He gurlged incomprehensibly, clawing at the weapon lodged in his throat even as he dropped to the floor. The other two soldiers, who had remained utterly oblivious to the world until that point, reacted with surprising speed. Both drew shortswords immediately, dropping to their knees to assess the situation.

They're better trained than the Sicambrii, Marcus though with a small amount of satisfaction. Good. I'd hate to think that the quality of our legions had diminished since Agrippinensis. Of course, I just threw my weapon away, leaving myself unarmed in the face of two armed attackers. Maybe it's my skill that has declined, rather than theirs.

Fortunately, Vincenzo was at no loss for weaponry. He drew a shortsword and leapt forward to engage the pair of remaining soldiers. Slipping past Vincenzo, Marcus tumbled into a somersault, snatching his dagger from the throat of the fallen soldier as he tumbled. Vincenzo managed to mount a simultaneous defense against both soldiers, parrying every blow that the two soldiers aimed at him. He could not, however, manage to slip past their combined guard, leaving the three men in a standoff of clashing steel. Marcus regained his feet as he snapped out of the tumble, twisting around backward to slip his dagger into the niche of the second soldier's armour where the side plating met the underarm. The blade slipped between the armour's plates and pierced the soldier's flesh, forcing the hapless man to whirl around, hoping to face his attacker. Marcus instinctually ducked the soldier's blow, and Vincenzo took advantage of the sudden opening in the soldier's defenses. He parried another blow from the third soldier, and then slashed his sword downward into the second soldier's skull. Fragments of his skull and brain matter splashed up from the wound, splashing over Vincenzo and the third soldier in a grisly spray. Marcus grabbed the third soldier by the throat while he was still reeling from the visceral reaction to the grey matter which had splashed him. Yanking the soldier's head backward, Marcus drew his dagger in a straight line across the man's exposed throat. Marcus' dagger sliced through soft tissue and veins, cutting the soldier's throat straight through to the bone. The soldier's limp body fell to the ground lifelessly, landing haphazardly across the bodies of his fallen companions.

"Damn," Vincenzo said with a laugh. "Just like old times, eh?"

"Not quite," Marcus said. "Give me a week to rest and regain more than just a hint of my former strength, and then it will be like old times. With me in my weakened state, it's more like equals fighting side by side, rather than a glorious warrior and his unimpressive sidekick."

"And which of those two am I?"

"If you have to ask..."

"Well, maybe the 'glorious warrior' would prefer being left to his own devices to fight his way free of this place," Vincenzo said with a smirk.

"Like I said before," Marcus said, "I think I'll allow you to share the glory of this conquest."

"That's the second time you've referred to what we're doing as something other than a simple escape," Vincezo said. "Just what do you have up your sleeve, Marcus?"

"I don't have anything up my sleeve," Marcus said with a smile. "However, I do have a surprise planned that will, if everything happens as has been foretold, strike fear into even Julianus Vestatian's heart."

"I take it that it's better off if I don't ask too many questions."

"That's a good attitude to take. When we make it to the foyer of the building, follow my instructions very carefully, and everything should go smoothly. Now, where did you say those stairs are?"

"Just up the hallway and around the corner," Vincenzo said. "It's unguarded, and will take us right up to the ground floor. From there, I suspect we'll be in for something of a running fight. The place was crawling with guards when I snuck in; I was able to avoid them, but with you in your present state I don't think that will be an option."

""I'm sure you're right," Marcus said. "But it doesn't matter. These are the same miserable sons of whores that have done their best to hold me here after my wedding was invaded and the Temple of Venus was desecrated. That they will die at my hand is a foregone conclusion."

"I don't think you quite understand," Vestatian said, leading Marcus down the corridor in the direction he had indicated. He peeked around the corner and, satisfied that no guards were waiting to hack them to tiny bits, indicated for Marcus to follow him. "There are probably a dozen guards waiting in the foyer; we'll likely have to fight our way through half a dozen just to get to there. At any point along the way, if an alarm is raised, we could have as many as fifty seasoned Roman soldiers rushing in to take us down. This isn't going to be easy."

"No," Marcus said. "But it's going to be fun."

Shaking his head with a mixture of bemusement and mild disdain, Vincenzo held up his hand, gesturing for Marcus to stop beside a simple wooden door. Vincenzo placed one hand firmly on the hilt of his shortsword, and gave the door a gentle push inward. As the door swung open, Vincenzo slipped through the crack, eyes wide open and looking for danger. Several seconds later, he reached through the doorway into the hall, beckoning for Marcus to follow him. Marcus complied, shoving the door aside and stepping into the stairwell. The stairs were narrow and steep, and Marcus had to stop several times to catch his breath. The seemingly epic climb came to an end several floors later, after what seemed like an eternity climbing step after step after step.

Vincenzo stopped at an unmarked door, placing his ear against it to listen to the noise in the hallway beyond.

"How do you know -"

"Keep quiet," Vincenzo whispered. "I've got a good memory. This is the floor we're looking for - trust me on that. Now shut your mouth. If anyone on the other side of this door hears you talking, we'll be dead before we even clear the doorway."

Fortunately, no soldiers were waiting on the opposite side of the door; Vincenzo slipped through unnoticed, followed by Marcus. The pair crept slowly through the apparently abandoned hallway, stopping every few feet while Vincenzo listened for signs of guards. They proceeded through the halls in this way for nearly ten full minutes before Vincenzo pulled Marcus into a nearby alcove.

"The foyer is just ahead," he whispered to Marcus. "We've made it this far without seeing anyone, so it's probably safe to expect that we either managed to perfectly hit the changing of the guard, or that most of the level's guards will be waiting for us in the foyer. Be on your guard, and keep that little girly-knife ready for action."

"Believe me," Marcus said with a grin, "this knife is going to see far more action than you can possibly imagine. Just remember, when I tell you to run, you run. You're going to want to get the hell out of this building as quickly as possible."

"I look forward to it. In the meantime, I'll take the lead here. You follow me and mop up whoever I can't handle."

"All of them, in other words."

"We'll see," Vincenzo said. "Just don't screw this up, or we're both dead. Ready?"

"Ready."

Inhaling slowly, Vincenzo drew his shortsword and dagger. He whispered a prayer to Mars, and then stepped out of the alcove. He dashed down the hall and into the foyer beyond. Marcus followed him, though slightly more cautiously.

The foyer was a fairly unimpressive room, distinguished from the others only by virtue of its high arched ceiling and the large portrait of Julianus Vestatian which hung over the double doors of the entrance. Immediately after entering the room, Marcus knew he was embroiled in the middle of what was bound to be a massive battle; a quick headcount was enough to estimate that there were at least ten soldiers in the room. Vincenzo was already fighting two men, and half a dozen more were converging on him. The remaining guards rushed at Marcus, swords drawn. Marcus didn't shy away from their advance, choosing instead to brace himself in a low crouch. As the two soldiers closed in on him, Marcus leapt forward at the first, slashing at the soldier's stomach. The blow was one that would have been innefective, had it been delivered by any other man wielding any other weapon. The dagger's blade skipped across the metal bands of armour covering the soldier's abdomen, seeming to not even scratch the surface of the steel. The contact with steel, however, caused the rubies which encrusted the dagger's pommel to glow with an unnatural light; seconds later, the soldier's armour literally fell to pieces, dropping around his ankles like a pair of pants with severed drawstrings. The soldier stopped his attack, staring down at his destroyed armour with a mixture of shock and horror while Marcus twisted around with amazing speed, driving his dagger straight through the soldier's ribcage and into his heart. He pulled his dagger free from the soldier's body before the man even began to fall to the ground, twisting around behind the soldier's body to use him as a shield, keeping the rapidly dying man between himself and the second soldier. A rough shove against the body was enough to force the first soldier's corpse on top of the second soldier. The unexpected crash of his compatriot's body into his was enough to knock the second soldier off balance; Marcus took advantage of this momentary opening to leap forward and thrust his dagger into the second soldier's eye. The dagger slipped through the soldier's pupil with a sickening popping sound, then continued on its trajectory until the hilt of the dagger pushed against the soldier's cheekbone. Yanking the dagger back with a quick jerking motion, Marcus let the second soldier collapse onto the floor, grasping at his eye and screaming in pain. A forceful kick to the temple silenced the man's cries, however, knocking his head to the side at a horribly unnatural angle and snapping bones in the neck with a satisfying crunch.

Any victory Marcus may have felt was short-lived, however. The yelps and cries of the two fallen soldiers attracted the attention of several of the soldiers who were attacking Vincenzo. While Vincenzo desperately battled five soldiers, three rushed at Marcus. He engaged the three soldiers, dodging and parrying every thrust and blow. The battle had become a sickening version of cat and mouse - Marcus and Vincenzo could do nothing but duck, twist, and weave to avoid the blows from the soldiers who vastly outnumbered them. As usual, Marcus was able to land a killing blow before Vincenzo, though only by a matter of seconds. A desperate downward thrust drove Marcus' dagger between the collarbones of one of the soldiers. The blade slashed through skin and muscle, severing an artery. The man barely had time to react to the shock of the blow before he fell to the ground unconscious, blood spurting from the wound in spasmodic jets. As that soldier was felled by a blow from Marcus, Vincenzo's shortsword hacked through the knee of one of the soldiers he was battling. As the unfortunate man dropped to the ground, Vincenzo swiftly dropped to one knee to slash his throat.

The rest of the battle was a blur to Marcus. His strength waned more and more as he strove to keep up the frenzied pace of his blows, but he fought on against the gnawing pain and hunger. One by one, the Roman soldiers fell to the blows which he and Vincenzo rained down upon them. As the last soldier fell, Marcus dropped to his knees, puffing and panting with exertion. His vision was little more than a field of blurred shapes and colours, and every limb in his body was so weak that he felt he would never move again.

"Nicely done," a voice came from behind Marcus. "Unfortunately, it will be the last accomplishment in your distinguished career. A pity, too...the career of a venerated General ended in shame, executed in a prison riot."

"Nicholas Claudius," Marcus said, forcing himself to his feet with an almost unimaginable effort. His eyes narrowed to slits, bringing the world into focus once more. "I thought you would have fled the city by now."

"Fled the city? Why would you ever have a silly notion like that?"

"Because those who know my reputation," Marcus said, slowly turning to face Nicholas, "know that I mete out swift and brutal justice to those who betray the Empire and the Gods. Your death is going to be very painful."

"I'd really take that more seriously," Nicholas said, "if you were able to stand without trembling."

"That's what I said," Vincenzo said.

"Vincenzo, get out of the building. I'll take care of this pathetic whoremonger."

Reluctantly obeying Marcus' command, Vincenzo backed out of the prison doors and into the street beyond, leaving Marcus and Nicholas facing off in the prison foyer.

"Surely you can't think you'll beat me in a fight," Nicholas said. "And even if by some chance you do, you cannot believe that you'll make it out of here alive. There are guards everywhere - I'm sure a contingent is on the way to this room right now. They will cut you down -"

"They will try. They will fail."

Without further discussion, Nicholas thrust his sword at Marcus, forcing him to leap backward to avoid the blow. Marcus' foot struck a corpse of one of the fallen soldiers, knocking him off balance and forcing him to fall to the ground. As he lay on his back, struggling to find the strength to regain his footing, Nicholas stepped over him, placing one foot on either side of Marcus' body. Looking down at Marcus, he grinned wildly, and brought his sword down with a plunging motion, aimed right at Marcus' heart. Marcus was able to bring his dagger up from his side to deflect the blow, struggling hard against Nicholas to keep his sword from its intended target. With one final heave, Marcus knocked Nicholas' sword aside, losing control of his own dagger at the same time. While Nicholas' sword fell to the ground nearby, Marcus' dagger flew through the air, tumbling end over end until it slammed into the foyer wall. The words of Vulcan echoed horrifically in Marcus' head as he watched the dagger bury itself into the wall. I'll be able to sense when the dagger has embedded itself in stone, and when that happens, I will use it as a focus to channel some of my...less pleasant power. The pommel-rubies in the dagger began to glow a bright, pulsing red.

Lashing upward with his balled-up first, Marcus smashed Nicholas' knee. As the warrior groaned in pain, Marcus' fist swung upward, crushing his opponent's testicles. Nicholas toppled over with a pained grunt.

With the last ounce of strength in his body, Marcus pulled himself to his feet and ran towards the prison doors. He flung himself down the building's steps, hearing a terrifying roar behind him as his body passed over the threshold. A wave of searing heat blistered his exposed skin, and the force of a powerful explosion knocked him through the air. His body landed hard against a home across the street, and the last thing Marcus saw before he sunk into unconsciousness was the molten inferno which had engulfed the prison.

***

"Wake up! Come on," the voice said, though it was little more than a far-off and distorted mumble in Marcus' mind. "Blasted fool, wake up!"
The voice slowly took on greater and greater clarity, gradually becoming recognizable again. Marcus groaned, opening his eyes slowly. He bolted upright, startled when his open eyes were greeted with darkness.

"I'm blind," he said, glancing around in every direction in the vain hope of seeing anything.

"You're not blind," Vincenzo's voice echoed from the nearby darkness. "We're in the back of an alley, and it's the middle of the night. Don't even try to see anything; you won't be successful."

"What happened? The last thing I remember was being in the prison, fighting soldiers..."

"I'm not sure how you did it," Vincenzo said, "but that surprise you said you had in store turned out to be one hell of a surprise. Not three seconds after you stepped out of the prison door, the entire building was rocked by a massive wave of destruction. The entire structure was reduced to a pile of flaming rubble with incredible speed.

"You were knocked out in the blast. I grabbed you and carried you into the alley here, just in time to avoid the soldiers and onlookers who rushed into the streets to see what happened. So, tell me: how did you do it?"

"I didn't. I may have been instrumental in helping it happen, but I didn't do it," Marcus said. "The credit for what happens belongs to someone far greater than I."

"Who would that be?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Marcus said. "Come on, we'd better get moving. It's only a matter of time before Julianus Vestatian finds out what happened here, and mobilizes the Sicambrii to find out who is responsible. We won't want to be found in this alley when they start combing the city."

"I've been thinking about that," Vincenzo said, "and I think we should head to The Countryside Inn. It's our best bet of finding sanctuary. But before we go, you have to tell me how you caused that inferno. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that you made a pact with one of the heathen gods to deliver that sort of a punch."

"Not one of the heathen gods," Marcus said, struggling to his feet. He braced himself against a nearby wall with one hand and continued to glance around in the hopes of finding some trace of light. "The only pact I made was with Vulcan himself, the Lord of the Forge. It was his power that levelled the prison. Now let's get moving."

"Vulcan? Huh," Vincenzo said, pondering this tidbit of information. "I should have suspected as much. Very well, come on. Keep hold of this bit of rope, and I'll lead the way."

A piece of rough rope was thrust into Marcus' outstretched hands. Almost simultaneously, the rope jerked to Marcus' left, pulling him along with it. Rather than resisting the tug of the guiding strand, Marcus followed compliantly. The procedure of tug-and-follow lasted for only a few minutes before the alleyway opened up into a dimly lit street. Flickering torches set along the sides of the rows of homes provided enough light for the pair to get their bearings and throw the guide-rope to the side. Looking up and down both directions of the street, Vincenzo tapped Marcus on the shoulder and nodded to the north. Marcus nodded his assent, and the pair strolled down the street together. They looked ordinary, even casual, carrying themselves with an affected air of boredom specifically designed to make them easily overlooked by casual observers.

The trip to The Countryside Inn was long and laboured; Marcus and Vincenzo had to stop frequently, ducking into back alleys and side streets to avoid being spotted by people milling about the streets. When they finally arrived at their destination, Marcus was exhausted to the point of passing out. His stumbling pace was maintained only through the grace of being kept awake by Vincenzo's ocassional jabs. Stepping through the doors of the inn, Marcus collapsed into the nearest chair, managing to find enough strength to prop himself up against the wall in a half-seated position. When the bartender caught sight of Marcus and Vincenzo seated at the table, he rushed to their side.

"General," he said quietly, glancing around to make sure that none of the other patrons were listening. "You've managed to escape from the prison. I was wondering how long it would take."

"Too long," Marcus said with a forced laugh. "But now that I'm out, I'm hoping you can give me some assistance finding my wife. She should be with Vito and Domitian, probably locked away in a safehouse somewhere."

"I'm sorry, sir," the bartender said. "I am not privy to such information."

"Don't lie to me," Marcus said. "Vito is no fool. He knows that this is the first place I would come after making an escape. I find it difficult to believe that he wouldn't have left instructions for me, should I arrive."

"I really can't divulge the location of any safehouses," the bartender said. "Even if I knew of them, the purpose of a safe house is that its location is a secret. The best I can do is provide a room for you and your companion, and send a message to Vito. I'm sure he'll be here within the hour."

"That isn't an option," Marcus growled. The ferocity of the statement was undercut by the fit of spasmodic coughing that followed. "Tell us where the safehouse is, or I'll carve you open and strangle you to death with your own entrails. If Vito has a problem with you divulging the information to me, just tell him that I ordered you to give me the information. The last time I checked, a General outranks a bartender."

"Fine," the bartender said with a resigned sigh. "They aren't far. Six blocks east, three north. Fourth house on the right - you'll see a small eagle carved into the left side of the door frame. Knock three times; a woman will answer. Tell her you're there for Marellus. She'll know what you mean."

"See? That wasn't so hard," Marcus said, "was it?"

"We're going to need a horse and cart," Vincenzo said. "I don't think he's in much of a condition to keep walking."

"Shut your foul mouth," Marcus said. "I'm fine. I can walk."

Marcus tried to stand up, but his legs buckled under his own weight.

"Maybe a cart wouldn't be a bad idea," he said with a weak smile. "But make it quick. We need to get to the safehouse as soon as possible."

"No problem," the bartender said. "In fact, I'll take you there myself. That way, the cart won't be left sitting in the middle of the street."

"Good," Vincenzo said. "Let's go."

The bartender waved to the barmaid, who was circling the room like a listless hawk. She waved back and took a position behind the bar.

The trip from the inn to the safehouse was mercifully short. In order to accommodate Marcus' exhausted form and keep him out of sight of errant observers, he was laid prone in the back of the cart under a pile of blankets, left to bounce around every time the vehicle hit a loose cobblestone. Fortunately, the cart finally pulled to a halt and the blankets covering Marcus were tossed aside. Vincenzo offered him a hand, pulling Marcus out of the cart. The bartender said his farewells and rode off down the street, leaving Marcus and Vincenzo in front of the safehouse. The two approached the door, Marcus half-walking, half-carried by Vincenzo, and knocked three times. As the bartender had told them, an old woman answered the door. She stared up at Marcus silently.

"We're here for Marellus," Vincenzo said to the old woman. She stared at them for a moment longer, looking them both up and down. Finally, she turned into the house, waving for Marcus and Vincenzo to follow her. She silently led them down a set of stairs into the home's basement, unlocking the sturdy wooden door at the foot of the stairs. When the door swung wide open, she ushered them into the room beyond. The room was small and sparsely furnished, but the furnishings were the last thing on Marcus' mind when he took notice of the room's occupants - Domitian, Vito, and Alexandra were all seated in the middle of the room. Alexandra gasped when she saw Marcus. She rushed over to him, embracing him tightly.

"Marcus," she whispered into his chest. "How did you get here? We were planning to mount a rescue for you..."

"I had a little help," Marcus said quietly. "Tell me, beloved, while I was gone, did you have a dream -"

"About us meeting on Mount Olympus," Alexandra exclaimed, turning her head upward to stare lovingly into his eyes. "Yes, I did. I thought I was just a dream. I never dared to let myself hope that it was real."

"It was real," Marcus said. "And I would love to tell you all about it, Alexandra. However, I hope you won't think it terribly rude if I just drop to the ground and collapse. It's been a very long couple of days."

Alexandra replied with a smile, leading Marcus by the hand to a small cot in the corner of the room. He collapsed onto it with a heavy thud, the strength in his body completely expended. Before he was entirely lost to the oncoming rush of unconsciousness, Marcus sensed rather than saw Alexandra sit on the cot beside him. The last sensation his conscious mind felt was her taking his hands in hers and holding them tightly.

***

It was nearly a full day before Marcus awoke again, feeling refreshed and strong for the first time in days. After consuming enough food to nearly make up for the fare he missed while imprisoned, he joined his wife and companions to discuss their situation. The four men and one woman sat crowded around a small table in the corner of the safehouse's basement.

"Have any of the scout riders returned from their missions yet?" Marcus asked.

"No," Domitian replied. "I doubt that we'll see any of them for at least a few weeks. You've only been gone a few days, Marcus - not months. Little has changed."

"Except for reports of what happened to the city prison," Vito added with a smile. "And even those reports are terribly vague. All we can tell for certain is that where a prison once stood, there is now little more than a pile of molten rock and bits of rubble. What exactly happened?"

"The will of the Gods happened," Marcus said, staring intently into the cup of water in front of him. He rubbed his hand over the rough patches of stubble which had accumulated on his cheeks over the last several days. "It was a little something to stir up some fear in Vestatian's heart, nothing more."

"Nothing more? The building is completely obliterated," Domitian exclaimed. "Your escape would have been enough to strike fear into our false Governor's heart."

"No," Marcus said. "My escape would have been enough to strike annoyance and anger into his heart. An escape alone would have done nothing to further our cause."

"And what good did destroying the prison do," Vito asked, "exactly? Aside from bringing attention to our little movement, of course - which, if you recall, is exactly what we wanted to avoid!"

"Believe me," Marcus grinned, "the attention we have garnered is exactly the sort of attention we want. Think of it - first Vestatian sees the complete and utter annihilation of a major institution in this city. An institution which ostensibly holds a potentially great threat to his rule, no less. His immediate reaction will be that the destruction of the building is a divine omen."

"And since he's begun to worship the Sicambrii's heathen gods," Alexandra said with a dawning realization, "he will believe that it is a sign that he is favoured by the Sicambrii gods, who have favoured him with the destruction of an enemy."

"He won't think twice about the fact that some of his men were killed," Marcus said, "because that's exactly the sort of thing you might expect from the heathen gods. As far as Julianus Vestatian is concerned, I am deceased."

"So," Domitian asked, "how will that strike fear into his heart? If he thinks that you are dead and that he is favoured by his new masters, wouldn't that inspire him to become even more controlling and vicious towards the Roman populace?"

"Yes," Marcus said. "And no. He should be lulled into a sense of complacency - feeling that he is invincible. That is the time we shall strike fear into his heart."

"How do we do that?" Vito asked.

"It should be as simple as letting him know that I'm alive and well," Marcus said, his grin expanding wider than ever. "Maybe he'll catch a glimpse of me as his procession parades through the streets one day, or maybe he'll catch a glimpse of me on the balcony of his mansion one night, watching him as he tries to sleep. That will be enough to rouse his suspicions; once he hears of members of the city guard being found violently slaughtered on the city streets, he'll be terrified."

"He'll think that your spirit has returned to wreak vengeance on him," Domitian said with a laugh.

"Either that," Marcus said, "or he'll think that I'm the child of a God, invulnerable to all harm, and set on killing him at all costs. It's a win-win scenario."

"Good," Domitian said. "For now, I think we should -"

Domitian was interrupted by the sound of yelling and splintering wood from the floor above them. The men all leapt to their feet instinctively, looking in every direction to see if they could find the source of the sound. The yelling continued with increasing volume, followed by the shrill, piercing scream of the elderly housekeeper.

"Weapons," Marcus urged Domitian. "Do you have weapons? A sword, a dagger, an axe - even a pointy stick? Anything at all that we can use to defend ourselves?"

"Yes," Domitian said, rushing across the room and flipping open a large wooden chest. Stacked neatly inside was a veritable treasure trove of weaponry - half a dozen swords, a few daggers, some small metal darts, and more. Marcus grabbed two of the shortswords, flipping and twisting them around in his hands as if it was his second nature. Picking up a sword for himself, Domitian handed Vito and Alexandra each a dagger. The yelling intensified as it approached closer and closer to the basement door; after the deadbolt prevented the yellers from entering, the door shuddered violently under the weight of a hard kick. Marcus calmly took a position facing the door, standing back just far enough that the door would not hit him if it swung open. He balanced on the balls of his feet, holding both swords at the ready.

"Those voices sound like they belong to Sicambrii warriors," Marcus said. "How did they find us?"

"There's only one possibility," Vito said. "They must have found out the same way you did."

"I sincerely hope that you haven't entrusted all of our valuable secrets to the keeping of men who are so easily swayed into divulging such sensitive information," Marcus said dryly. "Open the door."

"Are you insane? If I open the door," Vito said, "they'll get in!"

"If you don't open the door," Marcus growled, "they'll break it down and get in anyway. I'd rather fight them on our own terms, rather than theirs."

With a resigned shrug, Vito reached over and pulled the deadbolt back. Almost immediately, the heavy thud of another kick knocked the door wide open. Marcus leapt forward, thrusting out with his right hand at the first figure in the doorway. The dawning realization that the door had actually been knocked open came a fraction of a second too late for the unfortunate warrior; he saw neither Marcus rushing at him nor the sword which tore into his neck with such force that he was nearly beheaded.

The death of the lead warrior did nothing to slow down the advance of the Sicambrii behind him. The corpse was knocked into Marcus by another of the warriors; as the unexpected force of the body crashed into him, Marcus stumbled back a step. That stumble was the only opening that the Sicambrii required - by the time Marcus had thrown the corpse to the ground, four warriors had pushed their way into the room and stood watching the room's occupants with their weapons ready. More warriors waited beyond the room's doorway, glaring menacingly as they brandished their battleaxes. The largest and fiercest-looking of the Sicambrii in the room gestured at Alexandra and growled a few words in the Sicambrii tongue.

"What in the name of the Gods did he just say?" Marcus shouted.

"He said," Vito told Marcus, "that they're looking for your wife. He also mentioned that the rest of us are to be killed."

"You speak," the largest Sicambrii said in a slow and rumbling pidgin Latin, "our language? It does not matter. By order of our Governor, we are here to arrest the woman. Anyone who stands in our way is to die."

"Oh," Marcus said, feigning resignation. "Well, if you've been ordered to take her, I suppose you should take her. But first," his voice said, taking on a hardened homicidal edge, "you're going to have to come through me."

As his last word tumbled out of his mouth, Marcus brought both of his shortswords up and slashed out at the nearest Sicambrii warrior. The first sword sliced clean through the warrior's wrist, severing the man's hand from his body. He opened his mouth to scream, but not before Marcus' second sword cleaved upward into his jaw. The blade ripped through muscle and bone, literally cutting the warrior's face off. The warrior's body fell to the ground, writhing in agony which could not be given voice. Without a pause, Marcus dropped to one knee and brought his lead sword down in a brutal slash. The razor-sharp blade tore into the largest Sicambrii's thigh with all the ease of a knife cutting into warm butter. Even as that blade was hacking into the warrior's thigh, Marcus's second sword thrust forward into his chest, piercing the ribcage and slicing through internal organs, finally erupting through the warrior's back. The tip of the sword severed vertebrae, breaking the warrior's spine and dropping him to the ground.

While Marcus had busied himself dealing with the two warriors he had felled, Domitian and Vito had taken care of the remaining two warriors in the room. All four warriors were now laid in the middle of the basement floor; the largest of them, the one whose spine Marcus had severed, was still alive and writhing in pain. Marcus pulled his sword from the body of the still-living warrior and rose to his feet, letting his gaze fall on the doorway. The remaining Sicambrii warriors hesitated on the threshold, astonished at how quickly their comrades had been overcome. With a baleful glare, Marcus stared at the Sicambrii and tossed his swords aside. The weapons fell to the ground with a hollow clank as Marcus balled his hands into fists and brough them to chest level.

"Come on," he screamed at the Sicambrii. "Or are you cowards? Will you stand by and watch me kill your friends, or will you take action?"

The appearance of a warrior of Marcus' stature standing unarmed before them was more than enough to provoke the remaining Sicambrii into action; the four warriors rushed through the narrow doorway one at a time. As the first warrior came close to Marcus, he lashed out with his axe. Marcus ducked the blow and delivered a stunning punch to the warrior's stomach, causing the man to double over in pain. It took only a fraction of a second for Marcus to grab hold of the warrior's head in both hands, twisting it violently to the side with enough force to snap his neck and nearly tear his head off. Twirling around to the right of the now-dead first warrior, Marcus snapped a vicious kick at the second warrior's kneecap. The kick connected, shattering the kneecap and stopping the warrior in his tracks. Marcus yanked the warrior's axe from his hands, twisting it free of the warrior's grip and swinging it in an upward arc from the ground to between the warrior's legs. The warrior, who could no longer be called a man in the conventional sense of the term, stared down at the axe buried between his legs with a look of detached shock. Marcus kicked the warrior in the chest again, knocking him backward against the third warrior. The third warrior was knocked off balance for a moment, just long enough for Marcus to get a solid hold on the man's shirt. He threw the warrior headfirst into the nearest wall, crushing the man's skull against the stone surface and letting the corpse fall to the ground with an undignified thud. Without knowing why, he instinctively tumbled down to his right. As he fell to the floor, he felt rather than heard the fourth warrior's axe whistle over his head. Marcus leapt to his feet again, grabbing the warrior's arm with his left hand and driving his right fist into the warrior's wrist. The warrior yelped in pain and dropped his battleaxe. Marcus kicked the axe across the room, leaving the fouth and final warrior standing defenseless in the middle of the basement, staring helplessly at Marcus, Domitian, and Vito.

"Do you understand Latin?" Marcus asked. The warrior stared at Marcus silently. "Vito, can you translate for me?"

"Of course," Vito said. "What do you want me to tell him?"

"Tell him that if he cooperates with us, we'll treat him well and let him go. If he doesn't cooperate, he will die a very slow death."

Vito uttered a long string of words in the gutteral Sicambrii language. The warrior barked more of the harsh words back at Vito.
"He says," Vito said, "that he won't cooperate with us. He'd rather die than betray his people."

"That's exactly what's going to happen to him," Marcus said with a mirthless laugh. He stepped in front of the Sicambrii, standing only inches away from the warrior's face. "Tell me, warrior, who ordered you to capture my wife?"

Vito translated the sentiment for the warrior, who replied only by staring blankly at Marcus. Rolling his eyes in frustration at the warrior's stubbornness, Marcus punched the warrior hard in the stomach. The Sicambrii man wheezed and doubled over momentarily, but quickly returned to the same blank-gazing stance in front of Marcus.

"Who sent you?"

Once again, Vito translated and received no answer from the warrior. Marcus slammed his fist down in a chopping motion against the juncture of the warrior's neck and shoulders. The impact of Marcus' fist against the bundle of nerves drove the warrior down to his knees, yelling in agony. Once again, he recovered quickly and returned to his blank-gazing stance.

"Listen to me, you half-witted sack of excrement," Marcus growled, "I'm not in the mood for games. In the last two days, I've gone through more than you can possibly imagine - now tell me who sent you, or suffer my wrath!"

Again, Vito translated and received no answer. Marcus gestured for Domitian to hand him a dagger, and Domitian complied.

"Hold him," Marcus instructed Domitian and Vito. "And extend his right hand. Vito, tell him that if he doesn't cooperate, he'll begin losing his fingers, one at a time." Domitian and Vito did as Marcus instructed, grabbing hold of the warrior in a steely grip. Domitian wrestled the warrior's right hand up to Marcus' waist level while Vito uttered Marcus' threat in the Sicambrii tongue. This time, the warrior began to jabber quickly as Marcus set the edge of the dagger against the base of his index finger.

"Hold," Vito said to Marcus. "He says he's willing to talk. He doesn't want to lose his fingers for some damnable Roman - the Captain of the city guard. That's who instructed them to find and capture Alexandra. It seems that the Captain, upon hearing of your escape from the prison, decided that the best way to find you would be through your wife. They also...oh."

"Oh, what?" Marcus asked, his voice turning cold and hostile.

"You don't want to know," Vito said.

"If I didn't want to know," Marcus growled, "I wouldn't have asked you. Now tell me what he said. Everything."

"He said that they were given orders to...to have their way with Alexandra before bringing her to the captain."

"What did you say?" Marcus' voice quaked with rage.

"I told you that you didn't want to know."

With a cry that fell somewhere between sheer, unmitigated rage and total disgust, Marcus thrust his dagger into the Sicambrii warrior's eye socket with so much force that the blade not only buried itself to the hilt in the warrior's skull, the hilt itself crushed the bone that it was forced to grind against. The blade pierced so far into the warrior's skull that the dagger's tip sliced into the man's brain. The warrior's life drained out of his body in a second, causing his knees to buckle and his corpse to fall to the ground.

"Marcus," Domitian said, trying his best to be diplomatic, "I know that the Sicambrii are our enemy, but didn't you promise that you would let him go if he cooperated?"

"I'm not holding him here against his will anymore," Marcus said, shooting a furious glance to Domitian. "If he wants to get up and leave, that's his choice."

"But," Domitian said, "he's dead."

"That's not my problem, is it? Like I said, I'm fulfilling my purpose. He's free now. Tell me, Domitian, when I was captured, did you make sure to recover my posessions from my room at the inn?"

"Yes," Domitian said. The colour had drained completely from his face. He had never seen Marcus so wild-eyed and furious before, and obviously didn't like the sight. "We have it stored down here...the chest over in the corner there holds everything. There wasn't much - just your armour and sword, and a few pieces of clothing."

"That's all I need," Marcus said. He flung the chest open wide and pulled out his sword and battle armour. With a smoothly practiced hand, he began to don the armour, closing the elaborate clasps and buckles in a flash, finally girding his sword onto his belt when the armour was properly in place.

"Marcus, tell me you're not planning on doing what I think you're going to do," Vito said.

"I would," Marcus said, storming out of the basement and up the stairs. Domitian, Vito, and Alexandra followed close on his heels. "But I'd be lying. I think I'm going to do exactly what you think I'm going to do."

"But -"

Stopping at the top of the stairs, Marcus whirled to face Vito. "But what? Will we just stand by," he shouted, "and let the Captain of the damnable city guard get away with this? They sent a few Sicambrii this time - next time it will be an army! By the Gods, I expect the cowards to come after me - I am their enemy. But if you think I will stand by and let them hunt my wife, then you are seriously mistaken. It's time that Ceresius learned exactly what he's dealing with. It's time for every single member of the city guard to meet a very painful death, along with whoever tries to stop me. Now, are you coming to help me, or are you planning on standing in my way?"

"If you're set on this insane course of action," Domitian said with a heavy sigh, "we'll support you. Just give us a minute to get our gear."

"No. I'm going there now. Get your gear and catch up. I won't be hard to find. Just follow the trail of blood and corpses."

Chapter XIV

Polonius Auroram, the Captain of Cologne's city guard, reclined in the seat behind his desk with a heavy sigh. Over the preceding six months, his job had become almost exponentially more difficult. Riots broke out on the city streets with increasing frequency, only to be violently dispersed by the Sicambrii guardsmen whom the Governor had given virtually free reign over law enforcement in the city. The violence of the barbarians served only to further enrage the populace, which lead to more riots, which were broken up with more violence from the Sicambrii. The vicious cycle showed no good end in sight - in fact, things had taken a very violent turn for the worst lately with the reappearance of Marcus Ulpius. Rumours circulated the streets about an underground syndicate dedicated to overthrowing Governor Ceresius, and the recent capture of Marcus had only added fuel to the fire of the rumours. The complete and utter destruction of the city prison had put the entire city on edge; terrified whispers carried alternating speculations that the destruction of the prison was the wrath of the Olympian Gods and some sort of sign from the Sicambrii Gods - the complete lack of information about the circumstances surrounding the destruction of the prison did nothing to alleviate concerns on either side of the rumour mill. Fortunately, Polonius felt that answers would be forthcoming shortly. Only a matter of hours earlier, he had dispatched several units of Sicambrii warriors with orders to find Marcus Ulpius' wife at any cost. The destruction of the prison corresponded too closely to the capture of Marcus for the two events to be unconnected, and if anyone could shed some light on the events, it would be Marcus' wife. She is, after all, Polonius thought, not only the wife of Marcus Ulpius, but also the Oracle of Mars. If anyone knows what is going on in this city, it will be her.

"I'm sure they'll be back soon, sir," said a voice on the opposite side of Polonius' desk, snapping the Captain out of his reverie. The voice belonged to the Seargent of the Night Watch; he had been sitting opposite Polonius for nearly a full hour, going over routine reports and paperwork.

"Huh? What did you say?"

"The Sicambrii you sent to retrieve Mrs. Ulpius, sir. I said that I'm sure they will be back here at any moment. You seem preoccupied with something, and I can only assume that their mission is what is of such great concern to you."

"Yes," Polonius said. "Well, let's hope so. The Governor himself is watching us very closely, and if we don't bring him some answers by the end of the night, he'll have both our heads on pikes outside the city walls."

As if on cue, three hollow knocks resounded throughout the room. The Seargent stood and whirled around, startled by the noise at the door. With a nod from Polonius, he strode to the door and slid open the peephole. He looked through the small opening, then addressed his superior officer.

"It's Gualdamanus, sir. Shall I let him in?"

Captain Auroram nodded impatiently, and the Seargent slid open the door's deadbolts. As the last deadbolt was pulled open and the Seargent pulled the door open a crack, a large roundish object flew through the opening and rolled across the office floor, leaving a sickly trail of brownish-red liquid behind.

"Gualdamanus," the Seargent whispered fearfully. His hand immediately dropped to the sword at his side, attempting to pull the weapon from its scabbard. Such efforts were futile, however - the door was flung open violently, revealing an apparition barely recognizable as Marcus. Dried and drying blood covered him from head to toe, dripping from the ridges of his armour and the blade of his sword. His eyes glowed inhumanly, and a twisted smile decorated his face. Marcus leapt forward as the door swung open, hacking viciously at the Seargent. His blade nearly took the Seargent's head off, cleaving through skin and muscle right down to bone. Marcus kicked the door shut behind him and slammed one of the deadbolts shut, then advanced on the unarmed Captain Auroram. He stopped several feet away from the astonished officer, levelling his sword at the man's throat. The captain recovered from his astonishment enough to comprehend what was going on around him, and stared up at Marcus in shock and dawning recognition.

"M...Marcus Ulpius. But you're -"

"In prison? Hardly," Marcus said with a look of wild savagery in his eyes.

"What is going on? You wear the uniform of a General," the Captain said, "but you were stripped of your rank after your army was defeated at Agrippinensis."

"I was stripped of nothing by anyone with true authority," Marcus spat. "Julianus Vestatian declared all soldiers who did not swear fealty to him to be stripped of rank, but the word of a traitor carries no sway with my lawful appointment."

"I would be careful who you call traitor," Captain Auroram said. "You are the one who has been convicted of treason against the lawful provincial government, while Governor Vestatian has been granted authority to rule from Emperor Trajan himself."

"You know as well as I do that Vestatian was only given that authority because the Emperor's Legions were not available to crush his forces. Vestatian is a traitor, pure and simple - as are you for supporting him. Your time of reckoning has come."

"Do your worst," Captain Auroram said with a laugh. "I'm not afraid of death, and if you kill me, hundreds more await to take my place."

"Who said anything about killing you? There are worse fates," Marcus said, "than dying. And I wouldn't place too much faith in that estimation of the numbers of the city guard...it seems that their numbers have been culled."

"What?"

"Surely you didn't think that your guards let me in here willingly, did you? It is their blood that stains my skin, and it shall soon be mingled with your own.

"You know, the funny thing is that I was tempted to give you and your men a chance to surrender, even after I was arrested and tortured under the watchful eyes of your subordinates. Can you think of what may have happened in the last few hours to make me change my mind about that?"

"I...I'm not sure what you mean," Captain Auroram stammered.

"I think you know exactly what I mean," Marcus said. "Think hard. What could possibly have transpired that might enrage me sufficiently to have me decimate your forces and confront you in this matter? What could be the cause of a man's fury that he is willing to take such a chance?"

"Your wife," the Captain whispered. His knees weakened and nearly buckled as he realized that his plans had been discovered. "You know we ordered her to be captured."

"Ah, so you do know what I mean. Yes, Captain, my wife. Here's a funny fact about me: I don't mind that Vestatian has ordered me captured or killed on sight. I wouldn't even be surprised if a dozen Sicambrii broke down my door in the middle of the night, looking to take me into custody. We are enemies - that is what enemies do. Even the torture I endured at the hands of your men...even that I expect. Such is the life of a soldier.

"But my wife," Marcus growled, "is not a soldier. She is not part of any conflict, save that she stands by my side. Even worse for you, she is a member of the Olympian clergy - an Oracle. You had to know that, Captain. She is the only Oracle in the city, after all. Now, put that pathetic, tiny little brain of yours to use, Captain, and answer me this: what should be done to the man ordered the rape and capture of an innocent woman - a woman who is not only pure and innocent, but a member of the clergy, and the wife of a soldier loyal to the Roman Empire? What fate would you expect such a man to meet?"

"Execution," Captain Auroram said gravely. He had not realized the severity of his conduct until that very moment. Ordering Alexandra's capture had seemed a natural course of action, and giving the Sicambrii permission to have their way with her had seemed like the best way to raise their interest in performing their duties.

"Execution? Yes, that is one possibility," Marcus said. "However, I will not be so kind as that. No, that would be far too easy for you. I have a much, much better idea."

Marcus stepped backward until he was beside the corpse of the Seargent of the Night Watch. He knelt down by the corpse and pulled the Seargent's dagger from his belt, keeping a careful eye on Captain Auroram to ensure that the officer did not attempt to escape or reach for a weapon.

"My idea, you see," Marcus said, slipping the dagger into his belt and retrieving a length of rope from a pouch at his side, "is to enact a sort of poetic justice. Tie yourself up with this rope. If you don't do it, and do it properly, then I will. Trust me, you don't want that."

He tossed the length of rope at Captain Auroram. Burning with humiliation, the officer did as Marcus instructed and tied himself to his chair, pulling the knots tight. It was a difficult and awkward job, but he was able to perform it with admirable dexterity.

"Good. Now," Marcus said, approaching the restrained officer, "my idea is quite simple. What is the most appropriate punishment for one who gives his men an order which violates all sense of moral conduct that can be imagined? The obvious answer - obvious to me, at least - is that the offending organ should be removed."

Captain Auroram's eyes widened as he realized what Marcus had in store for him, but it was too late. Marcus grabbed hold of the Captain's jaw and held it fast, forcing the Captain's mouth open wide. The officer struggled with all his might, but his restraints held fast as Marcus inserted the dagger he had retrieved from the deceased Seargeant into the Captain's mouth. The screams which Captain Auroram uttered were horrific, but were garbled and distorted by the blood which filled his throat as Marcus slowly and carefully sliced out the Captain's tongue. When he was finally satisfied that the organ was nearly removed, Marcus set the dagger down on Captain Auroram's desk and reached into his mouth, getting a firm grip on the Captain's tongue. He yanked the small muscle outward, ripping the last remnants of flesh free of his mouth. The pain of the amputation quickly forced the Captain into unconsciousness.

After carefully positioning Captain Auroram's body so that he would not choke on his own blood, Marcus picked up a sheet of paper and quill pen from the Captain's desk. Dipping the pen into the small pool of blood which had accumulated on Polonius' chest after dripping down his chin, Marcus set the pen to paper and began to write:

'Governor' Ceresius:

You should have realized no cage can hold me. I'll be

seeing you very soon.

--M.

When he was satisfied that the note would achieve the desired reaction, Marcus slapped Captain Auroram repeatedly until the officer awakened with a start. The Captain tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled gurgling noise.

"Now, now, Captain," Marcus said quietly, "you should relax. You don't want to wear yourself out - we aren't finished yet. I've written a little message here for our beloved Governor. See that he gets it, and ensure that we never meet again. If I ever see you again, Captain, I will make you suffer in ways that you would never have imagined."

With that, Marcus lifted Captain Auroram's left hand and placed it atop the sheet of paper containing his message to the Governor. Snatching the dagger up from the desk, Marcus plunged it through the Captain's palm with enough force to drive the blade through his hand, the paper, and several inches into the desk below. Captain Auroram's body shook and shuddered with the pain; tears flowed freely down his face, and muffled sobs found their way past his lips, each sob spraying a fine mist of blood out of the officer's mouth.

"What in the name of Jupiter almighty," Domitian's voice came from behind Marcus, "have you done, Marcus?"

"Not nearly enough," Marcus said, rising to his feet and turning to see Domitian and Vito standing at the door, weapons drawn. "But it's a start."

"Remind me never to anger you," Vito said, the sight of the carnage in the room shocking even his jaded eyes.

"Don't worry about angering me," Marcus said with a laugh as he stepped over the body of the Seargeant of the Night Watch. "Just do not order abominations against those I love, and you'll never need to worry about these sorts of scenes."

"Somehow, I doubt this is the most gruesome sight any of us are going to see over the next few months," Domitian said. "Come, Marcus, let us leave this place before we are discovered. We have relocated Alexandra to a new safehouse, and have much to discuss."

***

The new safehouse Domitian had alluded to was little more than a tiny shack at the outskirts of the city. Probably just as well,Marcus reflected. If it was anything else, it would likely draw unnecessary attention. Nobody is going to be suspect that a simple wooden shack could be the headquarters of an organized movement dedicated to overthrowing Julianus Vestatian.

The interior of the shack was just as tiny and cramped as the view from the outside had suggested. In fact, the structure consisted of little more than two tiny rooms barely large enough to hold the people who waited inside. Alexandra and Vincenzo were in the second room; Marcus rushed to Alexandra and embraced her, hardly noticing Domitian and Vito entering the building hard on his heels. Marcus kissed Alexandra, brushing aside an errant lock of hair which had fallen across her cheek.

"Forgive me for taking so long," he whispered as the kiss finally came to a conclusion. "I trust that Vincenzo was able to keep you well-guarded in my absence?"

"No forgiveness is needed, beloved," Alexandra said with a half-smile. "After what happened at the other safehouse, I expected that you would be occupied for several hours. And yes, we did manage to reach here unnoticed, so my safety has not been an issue."

"Nor shall it be," Marcus said. "I've ensured that nobody will come after you again. I believe that the Captain of the Guard has been shown the error of his ways in trying to hunt me down through my loved ones."

"Don't be silly, Marcus. Of course people will still come after me - the Sicambrii and Romans loyal to Julianus Vestatian both. It's just that they will do so indirectly - they will come after you, which is the same as coming after me. But I have accepted the risks that come with being your wife, and I am capable of defending myself if need be."

"Of course. I didn't mean to imply that you are defenseless, only that I would never stand by and watch while my most cowardly enemies try to harm you."

"Listen, it's not that I want to interrupt," Vincenzo said, "but I do think we have some business to take care of here."

Everyone gathered around the table in the shack's second room, awkwardly forcing themselves into chairs which were so tightly between the table and the room's walls that little room was left to breathe. When they were all seated as comfortably as was possible under the circumstances, Vincenzo tossed a small leather pouch onto the centre of the table.

"I found that at The Countryside Inn. It seems that the first of our scout riders has returned from his mission in the province with a report of Sicambrii encampment locations and approximate troop strengths."

Reaching for the leather satchel, Domitian reached inside and withdrew a small stack of parchment. He flipped through the sheets one by one, taking careful note of the columns of figures and hastily drawn maps.

"Was the rider himself at the inn," Domitian asked Vincenzo, "or did he leave this in our meeting chamber?"

"Actually," Vincenzo said, "neither. I saw no trace of the rider amongst the corpses in the room, so I assume that he was not present when the Sicambrii attacked. The pouch was actually on the body of the bartender - presumably, the rider gave it to him after returning from his mission. The bartender, no doubt, was planning to give Vito the information at the next possible opportunity."

"He must have just returned this morning," Marcus said. "Had he been there yesterday, he would have given me the papers to pass along when I stopped there on my way to the other safehouse."

"We must take advantage of this information right away," Vito said. "Who knows whether the Sicambrii took note of it when they interrogated the bartender? If they know that we have sent out scout riders, then it will take only a small leap of logic for them to conclude that we have an attack force which is ready to be deployed. If they know that, then they will move their encampments...or worse, they could set up ambushes for our men and wipe us out even as we were hoping to take them by surprise and do the same thing to them."

"It seems unlikely that the Sicambrii are aware of the contents of this pouch," Domitian said. "Most of them can barely speak Latin, let alone read it. And if they had found the notes, they would have taken them to Vestatian."

"Just because the notes were not found, we cannot conclude that the Sicambrii are not aware of their contents," Vito said. "That satchel was not sealed, and so the possibility exists that the bartender read the notes before the Sicambrii attacked. If he was tortured to the point of revealing the location of our safehouse, who knows whether or not he was forced to reveal our battle plans? He may not know any of the specific details, but if he leaked out the information on these sheets of parchment, details of our exact battle plans will be irrelevant. We will lose any semblance of the element of surprise. We cannot afford to let that happen."

"I don't think we should be hasty," Marcus said. "Granted, if the Sicambrii who attacked the inn discovered that we sent out scout riders, there will be tremendous negative consequences for us. However, if we rush to attack on the off chance that they are aware we are coming, we will suffer those same consequences. "

"I'm afraid I don't follow you," Domitian said.

"We can all acknowledge that it is highly unlikely our forces will completely eradicate any or all of the Sicambrii encampments, correct?"

"Yes," Vito said.

"Of course," Domitian said. "At best, they'll be performing attack and run operations. Quick strikes to soften up the Sicambrii's total numbers."

"Well, any survivors of those attacks are likely to immediately rush to the nearest encampments of their fellow tribals, correct?" Without waiting for an answer to the rhetorical question, Marcus continued: "We only know where one encampment is. If we attack them and they warn the other encampments at this point, none of our other forces will be able to make so much as a single attack. The full weight of the Sicambrii forces will be dispatched to Cologne, and our movement will be crushed before it has the opportunity to fully manifest itself."

"So what do you recommend?" Vito asked.

"I recommend that we stay the course; there is no need for us to be overly hasty and leap into decisions which we are not prepared to make. We should run on the assumption that Julianus Vestatian has not heard of our operations yet, and act accordingly. When the rest of our scout riders return - which should be in the next week or two - we will dispatch the necessary orders to our training camps, as we had originally planned. In the meantime, we can make a concerted effort to reduce the strength of the Sicambrii and Vestatian loyalist presence in both Cologne and Xanten. That way, when the time comes for a full scale rebellion, our losses will be minimized."

"And what do you suggest we do," Domitian said, "if Julianus Vestatian has heard of our plans? If the Sicambrii were able to extract that information from our operative at the inn, then one of our units will be in jeopardy."

"Indeed," Marcus said. "You were a military leader, just as I was, Domitian. You know what risks are acceptable and what risks are not. On the off chance that Vestatian does know we were investigating these particular Sicambrii encampments, he'll likely simply assume that we were planning to attack the encampments that our rider investigated. There's no proof that he has any idea of the full extent of our forces, so he will likely do little more than ambush one unit of men. In that situation, we would lose a few Centuries - at worst, a full Cohort. Less than five hundred men, at any rate - are those not acceptable losses if they lead to our victory? If we press an attack now, we may tip our hand to Vestatian regarding the full strength of our numbers, and if that happens then everything we have worked to achieve could quite conceivably be lost."

"I don't like the idea of losing any more men than absolutely necessary," Domitian said, pondering the dilemma, "but Marcus is right. We must be prepared to accept certain casualties, even if it seems a little cold-blooded. Those men who attack the Sicambrii encampments our rider investigated will be doing so with the full knowledge that they may be walking into a trap, and they will do what they must for the safety and security of our province."

With an exasperated sigh, Vito dropped back into his chair dramatically - or rather, he would have dropped back dramatically if it were not for the fact that in the cramped space of the tiny room, all Vito accomplished was banging his head against the wall. He's not used to being overruled, Marcus thought. But I suppose that it's time he gets used to it. Domitian may be the leader of this movement in principle, but I am the military leader - the General once again. That leaves me in charge of the decisions that truly matter, and I will not have my subordinates undertaking courses of action that I believe to be foolhardy.

"Well," Domitian said, "I suppose there is little more for us to discuss tonight. Vito has made arrangements for us to have quarters in an establishment which he assures us is secure. Vincenzo, I believe that tomorrow morning you should acquire a horse and ride to Xanten. You'll have your work cut out for you there."

"Xanten? I have no desire to go to that flea-ridden hole in the ground," Vincenzo delcared vehemently. "Send some damned peasant to take care of the Sicambrii there. Surely there can't be too many of them."

"We have no choice, Vincenzo. Marcus is required in Cologne, and you are the only other one who can single-handled work towards culling the Sicambrii's numbers."

"Actually," Marcus said as an idea dawned on him, "I believe there may be another possibility. Do you remember the little ragamuffin who started that riot in the street a few days ago? What was his name? Andrenius, I think. We mentioned to him that we might be able to find some use for him and his friends. This could be the perfect opportunity to put them to use."

"Consider it done," Domitian said. He sounded taken aback - he had obviously forgotten completely about Andrenius in the confusion of the last few days. "If, that is, you believe this boy and his friends will be able to have any sort of significant impact on the Sicambrii in Xanten."

"I do," Marcus said. "I lived in Xanten for some months after the defeat at Agrippinensis - long enough to see the Sicambrii who came to occupy the streets. There are several hundred, but certainly not nearly as many as there are in Cologne. The boy seems to be sincere in his hatred of the Sicambrii - sincere enough that his hatred may be enough to overcome any lack of martial ability on his part. And in a worst case scenario, if they get caught, they really know absolutely nothing about us or our operations. Even if the Sicambrii torture them for days on end, they will be able to divulge nothing except for some vague statements about soldiers in Cologne who ordered him to go to kill Sicambrii warriors. They'll think him and his friends mad."

"I'm going to side with Marcus again here," Domitian said. Vito didn't seem quite as upset at this prospect as he had at Marcus' earlier suggestions. "The boy and his friends will be dispatched to Xanten tomorrow morning to do whatever damage they can do."

"I never thought I'd say this," Vincenzo said, "but Marcus isn't completely wrong. It's a good idea. Then again, I suppose that everyone has to get one right once in a while."

"Something like that," Marcus muttered.

"So," Domitian said, "Vincenzo, you and Marcus will be responsible for thinning the numbers of the Sicambrii in Cologne, starting immediately. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Without a problem," Vincenzo said with a smile. "I'll start as soon as we get out of these cramped quarters."

"While Vincenzo prefers to work under the cover of darkness," Marcus said, "I prefer to fight in the light of day. I'd rather see the look in my victims' eyes when they see their death rushing on than shove a dagger through their back and run away. On that note, I believe that Alexandra and I shall retire to the quarters Vito has secured for us, and I shall begin my work in the morning."

"Good," Domitian said. "In the meantime, Vito and I shall get to work planning the proper distribution of troops for our assaults. We'll meet again in two weeks to discuss our final plans."

Everyone nodded their assent at the plan, eager to get out of the cramped shack without any further delay. As they all prepare to leave, Vito distributed small sheets of parchment amongst everyone - small maps and written directions to a nearby inn, along with room numbers for everyone.

Chapter XV

It was nearly noon when a procession of half a dozen brown-robed figures weaved through the crowds in front of Cologne's city forum. The marble steps of the grand building were littered with people - Sicambrii guards mixed with Roman guards, all standing at attention in front of the doors of the forum, while everyday citizens milled about in the square beyond the steps. The crowd was buzzing with conversation which brought the noise in the area to a dull roar; this was the day that Julianus Vestatian had decided to venture forth from his governerial palace to meet with his advisors in the forum. The pomp and luxury surrounding Vestatian's parade had drawn people from all over the city and surrounding countryside; some had come to criticize the governor for such presumptuous spending of the provincial treasury (the criticism, of course, was delivered in hushed whispers, lest it be overheard by the wrong ears). Others had gathered to witness the grand event, laying aside any political beliefs in order to allow themselves to simply revel in the sights. It was amidst this chaotic blur of bodies and noise that the processional of men dressed in simple, hooded robes was able to elude notice.

When the robed processional finally reached the steps of the forum, the men began to ascend toward the building above. As might be expected, several of the guards stepped forward to block the progress of the robed figures; the Sicambrii guards reached for their axes, but the Roman guards waved the barbarians off, stepping in front of the processional in an attempt to resolve the situation without bloodshed. The snarl of disapproval from the Sicambrii head guard was loud enough to be heard by the crowd at the bottom of the step, drawing more than a few curious glances.

"I am sorry, sirs," the lead Roman guard said, "but we cannot allow you into the forum. The proceedings inside are private."

"By matter of law," said the hooded figure at the front of the procession, "all proceedings in a forum are open to Roman citizens. We have the right to voice our concerns and hear the plans of our governor."

"I am not a legal scholar," the Roman guard said, "and such things are not my concern. All I know is that I really cannot allow you access to this forum today. You see those Sicambrii behind me? Those blasted barbarians have orders to kill anyone who even approaches the door - and they are not bound by Roman law. If you try to enter the building, they will slaughter you. By the Gods, let us avoid unnecessary bloodshed."

"Unnecessary bloodshed? Yes, I would like to avoid that," the first robed figure said. "But necessary bloodshed? That is something I can agree with."

Before the puzzled Roman guard had the time necessary to decipher the cryptic remark, the robed figure's arms burst out from beneath the rough brown cloth which covered his chest. Polished blades glinted briefly in the sunlight before a pair of daggers sunk into the Roman guard's chest. The robed figure ripped the daggers out of the wounds, whirling around the guard's body to engage the second Roman guard. The Sicambrii, still standing idly at the top of the stairs, roared out a few phrases in their rough, heavy tongue as they seized hold of their axes. Their bravado was in vain, however: while the first robed figure was busy dealing with the Roman guards, the second robed figure in line reached into his robe and withdrew a handful of flat metal objects. His hands were reduced to a blur as he hurled the objects through the air at the Sicambrii. One by one, the flat metal discs found their targets as if guided by the hands of the Lord of Battle himself. Razor sharp edges sliced deep into flesh and bit into the bone beyond, cutting the throats of several of the Sicambrii warriors. The remaining disc cut straight into the skull of the remaining Sicambrii warrior, burying itself almost wholly in the man's head. In a matter of seconds, the Sicambrii warriors were all reduced to little more than a pile of corpses on the ground. It took scarcely longer than that amount of time for the first robed figure to deal the killing blows to the last of the Roman guards. In a flash, before most of the people in the square below had realized anything was happening, nearly ten men lay broken and bleeding on the steps of the forum. The robed figures slowly turned to face the suddenly silent crowd; the first figure slipped his figures back beneath his robe and drew back his head in a dramatic gesture.

The sunlight dazzled Marcus briefly as he pulled the hood back, but he recovered from the light's assault quickly enough that nobody noticed. He addressed the crowd with a booming voice.

"My fellow citizens of the Empire of Rome: hear me and ponder my words carefully! For too long have we toiled under the burden of foreign heathens! Our rights as citizens of the Empire have been crushed; we have all seen the results of the leadership of our so-called 'Governor'! Innocent men, women, and children are killed in the streets for offences so grave as daring to look at a Sicambrii guard in the wrong way.

"If you wish to remain nothing more than a footnote on the pages of our province's history, then I suggest you all return about your business without giving today's events a second thought. If, however, you wish to drive the Sicambrii to their knees and recapture what is rightfully yours - if you wish to escape from the yoke of slavery and oppression - then take up arms and follow us!"

"Follow you? Are you not the one," a voice called from the crowd, "who lead our armies to the crushing defeat which gave power to the very barbarians you rail against?"

"Yes," Marcus said as the voice was given shape. An old man stepped from the crowd and onto the lowest step of the forum's staircase. "Yes, I am General Marcus Ulpius. It was under my command that our legions were defeated at Agrippinensis, and it is under my command that they have been rebuilt - with the help of two other very familiar faces. I believe these gentlemen need no introduction."

At their cue, Domitian and Antonius Ceresius pulled down their hoods and acknowledged the crowd with a small bow.

"I am sure you all recognize these men for who they are: Legatus Domitian Caelius, Commander of the former Legion XXX Victrix, and Governor Antonius Ceresius, the rightful Governor of our beloved province. It is through their aid, and the aid of many of our fellow citizens - those who still remain loyal to the Empire - that we have been able to gather here today. Whether you join with us or not, know this: our armies have been assembled, and are gathering even as we speak to crush the Sicambrii forces throughout the province. It is only a matter of time until the rightful rule of law is restored to our fair land. You need only to ask yourself a single question: when the time comes to reclaim everything that is yours, where will you be? Will you fight on the side of the interloper - the usurper Julianus Vestatian and his horde of Sicambrii miscreants? Or will you fight on the side of justice, on the side of everything a true Roman holds dear - will you join with us today and fight back against those who have stolen your birthright?"

Marcus punctuated his last words with a thundering war-cry, reaching into his robe and tearing his sword free in one smooth motion, waving it above his head as if the simple sight of his blade would rally the people before him. Regardless of how overly dramatic the gesture was, it seemed to draw the attention of the people. A hearty cheer of approval rose from the crowd, nearly loud enough to shake the foundations of the city forum.

"That went well," Domitian leaned down and whispered into Marcus' ear.

"So it seems," Marcus said. "But it's easy to gain cries of approval. We'll see what kind of resolve our fellow citizens have shortly.

"My friends," Marcus continued, raising his voice above the din of the crowd, "I must ask for your attention for a moment longer."

The crowd fell silent again, listening intently for Marcus' next words. Marcus grinned eagerly, pleased with the control the crowd exhibited.

"As you all know, our would-be Governor is attending a meeting here, in this very building today! I'm sure our cries have not gone unnoticed, and it is likely that he is preparing to take flight even as we speak. Should we let him go?"

Screams of 'no' rose from the crowd, accompanied by a great deal of fist-shaking and baring of teeth.

"Then," Marcus said, his voice dropping to a hushed half-growl, "I believe we have our work set out before us. Gentlemen, I charge you with this task: riot in the streets! Kill every Sicambrii warrior that has dared to set foot in our city! And as for those cowardly Romans who have sided with Julianus Vestatian and the Sicambrii, I tell you this: offer them the choice to surrender - the choice to rejoin the ranks of their fellow citizens. If they refuse, kill them."

The cheers of approval from the crowd quickly changed to screams of fury and wrath as the hundred-odd citizens began to unleash the pent-up frustrations which had built up over the last months. An unfortunate pair of Sicambrii warriors, drawn by the noise and spectacle of the gathered crowd, wandered into the square. The enraged Romans grabbed hold of the pair, dozens of hands snatching the men and tearing them limb from limb. The Sicambrii could do nothing but scream in pain under the assault as the Roman hands tore through skin and muscle, literally ripping the warriors apart. The grisly scene lasted less than a minute before the two warriors were reduced to nothing more than a messy pool of skin, bones, and blood splattered across the square.

The slaughter intensified the citizens' blood lust; they split into several smaller crowds, each departing down a different street, screaming to draw the attention of more Sicambrii and calling the rest of the city's citizens to arms.

"This may have been a mistake," Vito said to Marcus, drawing his hood back and watching the last rioting stragglers make their way into the bowels of the city. "They are out for blood and destruction; the city may suffer because of it."

"Not at all," Marcus said with a touch more confidence than he actually felt. Truth be told, he hadn't been sure of the wisdom of the plan initially. "We do, after all, have it from good authority that the citizens of our beloved city will be able to discern between those who deserve to be destroyed and those who should be spared."

The sixth robed figure reached up and pulled down the low-drawn hood. Alexandra's hair spilled out over her shoulders as the rough hood finally released its grip on her head. She was watching the proceedings with a confident eye, unshaken by the violence of the crowd.

"Mars himself commanded us to perform his will, Vito," she said. "Unless you are so arrogant as to dispute the wisdom and foresight of the Gods, I think you would do well to place your faith in their guidance."

"I would never disparage the commands of Mars," Vito said with a trace of annoyance in his voice. "However, it seems to me that the possibility of collateral damage seems high, given the enthusiasm our compatriots have displayed thus far."

"Whatever the collateral damage may be," Marcus said, "we shall deal with it. What is most important now is that the Sicambrii in the city are dealt with - and since our presence is required here, there are none who can deal with the other Sicambrii save the citizens of the city."

"Speaking of which," Domitian said, "we should get inside and do what we came to do. There is a very real chance that Julianus Vestatian has already found some method of escape. If we wish to strike down the foul creature here and now, it would help if we were actually present for the task."

"Agreed," Marcus said. He shrugged his robe off, letting the simple brown garment fall and pool around his feet. The bright sunlight beat down on him, reflecting off his highly polished armour and transforming him into a column of dazzling white light. The rest of his entourage followed suit, shrugging off their robes and standing at attention in their beautifully polished armour - all except Alexandra, who stood at ease in her typical flowing white robes.

Marcus whirled about to face the giant oak doors of the forum, sheathing his sword as his black-and-purple cape fluttering around him dramatically. He strode confidently to the doors at a steady pace; despite the urgency of their task, his movements were unhurried and dignified, befitting a warrior of his status. The tremendously heavy doors did not even slow Marcus down; his palms slammed into them and forced them open, revealing several very frightened-looking Roman guards. Seeming to not even give the guards a second though, Marcus strode into the foyer of the portal, stopping in the centre of the room. He glanced around him at the sentries in the room, who were exchanging nervous glances and keeping their hands on the hilts of their weapons.

"You have one chance to survive this day," Marcus said, addressing the four guards. "You can fight by our sides and live, or you can draw your swords against us, and you will die. Make your choice now."

Three of the four guards dropped to one knee, casting their gazes down upon the ground in shame at their inability to even fight against Marcus. The fourth guard, looking considerably peturbed at the weakness of his friends, drew his sword from its sheath and screamed at his companions.

"Who in Hades do you think you are? Will you bow down before this traitor, swearing your swords and your lives in his service, or will you fight on the side of our lawfully appointed ruler?"

"Be silent, Cassius," one of the kneeling guards said. "You know as well as any of us that Vestatian has no right to rule; we serve him only because there is no other choice. These men are fighting on the side of true justice...or would you rather set aside your ideals in exchange for the favour of a real traitor - one who has abandoned his people in favour of the damnable Sicambrii barbarians?"

"I'll make this very easy," Marcus said, drawing his sword from its sheath once more. The weapon seemed to take on a life of its own as it tore forth from the sheath at an amazing speed, seeming to the naked eye to be little more than a silvery-grey blur of iron. The blade came to a rest with its point outstretched towards the standing Roman soldier, the tip of the weapon hanging in the air in absolute stillness. "Attack me, if you dare, good Cassius. Your death will be quick, I assure you."

With a vicious war-cry, Cassius leapt at Marcus, swinging his sword in a wide, lazy arc towards the utterly still General. Time slowed to a near standstill as Cassius' blade inched closer and closer to Marcus, and still Marcus did not move. It was not until the blade was nearly upon him that Marcus dropped down to a low crouch, letting Cassius' blade whistle cleanly over his head. Before Cassius had enough time to realize that his blow had not been landed, Marcus rose upward, swinging his shortsword upward in both hands with all his strength. The edge of Marcus' sword slipped between the bands of Cassius' armour, penetrating deep into the soldier's chest. Cassius' eyes widened in shock as his sword slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground with a clatter that seemed almost unreally loud amidst the complete silence which had engulfed the room. A trickle of blood escaped from the corner of Cassius' mouth, followed by a pained gurgling.

"Off with you now, Cassius," Marcus whispered to the dying soldier. "Into the waiting arms of our Lord Pluto. Your fate is in his hands now.

"As for the rest of you," Marcus said as he wrestled his sword free of the entangling bands of metal, "I suggest you go to the streets and join your fellow citizens. Fight the Sicambrii for the good of your people; if you meet any others who felt forced into their service, as you did, give them the same opportunity which I gave you. If they wish to fight against the Sicambrii and the traitor Vestatian, let them join us in the call to arms. If they do not accept the offer of rebellion against the Sicambrii, kill them."

The three remaining soldiers rose to their feet and bowed their heads to Marcus in acknowledgement of his leadership. Two of them hurried out of the forum and into the streets; the remaining guard stood before Marcus, staring at him nervously.

"What is it?" Marcus asked impatiently.

"It's just...well," the guard stammered nervously, "General Ulpius, I had heard that after Agrippinensis you fell victim to the flaws of the flesh, and that you were no longer the mighty warrior I had served under so long ago. It is good to see you in fighting form again, sir."

"Indeed," Marcus said with a hearty laugh. "It's good to be back in fighting form. Now run, soldier! We have a mission to carry out."

The soldier nodded his acknowledgement and ran out the door, following close on the heels of his fellow guards. Marcus shook his head bemusedly, turning to his companions with a smile on his face. His smile died quickly as he beheld the looks on the faces of his friends; every single one of them looked as if they had witnessed the most horrifying spectacle of their lives. Marcus opened his mouth to ask them what the matter was which startled them so, but was interrupted before he even had the chance to speak.

"Who in the name of all the spirits," an all too familiar voice cried from behind Marcus, "dares to disturb the ruling council of this province, assembled by the command of its rightful ruler?"

"One who has been wronged by the traitor who dares to proclaim leadership of this province," Marcus said in a booming, almost unrecognizable voice. He didn't even turn to face the speaker. He didn't need to. "One who has, for far too long, sat by and endured your pathetic, stumbling attempts at leadership. One who has come at the command of the Gods themselves to rid the world of a puny, half-witted, sad excuse for a human being," Marcus slowly turned to face a very red-faced Julianus Vestatian and a dozen armed Sicambrii warriors. Marcus grinned widely at the look of shock on Vestatian's face.

"Surprised to see me, you slow-witted farce of a human being? I thought you might be," Marcus said, his dark grin slowly spreading to his eyes. "But not quite as surprised as I expect that you shall be when I tear that ugly little head of yours from your scrawny neck."

"How dare you speak to your Governor that way," Vestatian sputtered. "And how dare you wear the uniform of the Legions? You have dishonoured the soldiers you served with, Marcus. You are no longer a General. You are not even a Roman citizen anymore...you are a traitor. Very soon, you shall be a dead traitor whose name shall never be spoken again, save as a whispered cautionary tale told by parents to their children, warning the sons and daughters of the Roman Empire to never be so arrogant as to overreach their grasp."

"Those are brave words," Marcus said, "for a man who has not only betrayed his people for the counsel of barbarians and heathens, but who has also betrayed the very Gods he is supposed to serve. When the dust has settled from the clashes that shall arise in the days to come, we shall see who stands where in the eyes of the Emperor and the Gods. While one of us shall indeed become a cautionary tale for the generations who shall follow us, it shall not be me."

"Fool," Vestatian spat. "You shall die here today. Men, kill these intruders."

Turning on his heel, Julianus Vestatian stormed out of the foyer, leaving his Sicambrii entourage behind him. The warriors glared menacingly at Marcus and his companions, their battleaxes raised and ready to fight. Well,Marcus thought, best not to disappoint them.

As Marcus leapt forward to begin the fray with the Sicambrii warriors, he was joined by Vito, Domitian, and Vincenzo - each of whom took up positions nearby, depending on their particular ability. Vincenzo leapt and spun around the foyer acrobatically, dodging and weaving between the combatants in an attempt to jockey for position behind the warriors. Domitian took his place beside Marcus, fighting toe to toe against the Sicambrii as any true soldier would. Vito took a more leisurely position on the outskirts of the action, leaping back and forth to take stabs at errant Sicambrii with his dagger whenever the opportunity presented itself. Although they outnumbered the Roman agressors by more than three to one, the chaotic violence of the Sicambrii was no match for the methodical, calculated advance of the Roman men. Where the Sicambrii fought erratically and without purpose, their enemies dodged, weaved, twisted and attacked as if they were of one mind. Domitian dropped to one knee in time to allow Marcus' sword to thrust over his head and into the throat of one of the Sicambrii warriors; at the same time, Domitian hacked downward as Marcus leapt upward, his sword slicing through the ankles of another one of the Sicambrii. The battle continued in this manner for nearly ten full minutes before the final Sicambrii fell to Marcus' blade.

Standing over the fallen corpses of the enemy, Marcus glanced at Domitian knowingly, then rushed to Alexandra's side. The couple embraced, not even noticing that the sheen of blood which coated Marcus' armour was staining Alexandra's robes a pinkish tint. Marcus kissed Alexandra lightly on the lips, smiling happily as he stared deeply into her eyes. Neither said a word; the simple pleasure of holding each other was enough to content them both fully.

"Should we pursue Vestatian," Vincenzo remarked, "or are you planning standing there like a pair of fools for the rest of the afternoon?"

"There is no need to pursue Vestatian," Marcus said. "He'll be long gone by now, trying to gather his forces to quash this little rebellion, no doubt."

"It will prove an interesting surprise for him when he discovers that his forces have been crushed without his knowledge," Domitian said.

"I doubt they will be crushed," Marcus said, "but there is no doubt that they will be greatly reduced...reduced enough that when the time comes for our forces to battle each other face to face, we shall stand a chance of achieving victory."

Chapter XVI

The heady scent of rain and mud cloyed Marcus' nostrils as he inhaled. His eyes fluttered open, taking in the scene before him with no small measure of surprise. It seemed like he had fallen asleep in his room at the newly secured Governor's palace only moments ago, dropping into a peaceful slumber with his wife by his side. Now he was standing atop a familiar hill; the plains of Agrippinensis were spread out before him, illuminated in shadowy darkness. The sky overhead was dark and ominous, though the clouds had obviously deposited their load of water upon the ground before Marcus had arrived. The plains themselves were mostly verdant and green, but they still bore the scars of the climatic battle which had stained their surface with bloody wounds years before. Months of rain had washed the blood away, but deep gouges still ran across the plain, evidence of the heavy impact of siege weapons amidst the chaotic fray of battle.

It was only after standing there, surveying the plains before him for several minutes, that Marcus gradually became aware of a presence standing behind him. The awareness was borne not of any of his bodily senses, for no detectable phenomena existed to give away the mysterious presence. It was simply there, and so powerful was the presence that Marcus instinctively knew precisely who it was.

"My Lord," Marcus said, casting his gaze to the ground at his feet, "what have I done to deserve this honour?"

"Surely you jest," Mars' distinctive resonating voice came from behind Marcus. The God of War stepped forward, side by side with Marcus, though the deity towered over the comparatively tiny soldier. "You have run Julianus Vestatian out of his stronghold and set fear in his heart. What is more, you have assembled a formidable army and are preparing to beat back the swine when he attacks. I can think of no better accomplishment which makes you worthy of my counsel."

"I beg to differ, my Lord," Marcus said. "There is nothing I can do which would make me truly worthy of standing in your presence. My accomplishments in recent days have been nothing more than a feeble attempt to make up for my weakness after my defeat at Vestatian's hand so long ago."

"You are far too concerned with that day," Mars said. "Your defeat was hardly that; at the time, you were not in command of the assembled army. Had it not been for Governor Ceresius' arrogance, you would have triumphed that day. Nonetheless, what is done is done, and your fall from grace has served to strengthen and shape you into a warrior the likes of which has not graced the world for generations."

"I thank you for your kind words, my Lord," Marcus said. "It is my most fervent hope that I shall be able to live up to the expectations that those compliments have set."

"Do not worry about that," Mars said. "Soon enough, the time will come for the final battle between the Roman forces and the Sicambrii horde. When that time comes, there is no doubt in my mind that you shall prove your strength with great distinction.

"However, I have not brought you here simply to sing your praises," Mars said. "I have come carrying grave portents for the days to come, as well as advice on how to emerge from these trying times victorious. I suggest that you listen well to what I have to say, or your fate could be sealed."

"I shall, of course, heed your words well, my Lord, and follow your advice to the letter."

"I'm sure you will," Mars said. "And for that reason, my first piece of advice is this: quit looking at the damnable ground. Your feet have nothing to say in this matter, and watching them will not be of any help to you."

"Forgive me, my Lord," Marcus said, "but I am not worthy of looking directly at you."

"That didn't seem to bother you when we granted you and your wife the privilege of gracing the halls of Mount Olympus recently. In fact, if I recall correctly - and I do - you were more inclined to treat us as little more than figments of your imagination. Figments of your imagination which were worthy of your respect, undoubtedly, but figments of your imagination nonetheless. What has changed since that day?"

"With all due respect, my Lord, I have since learned that you were not simply the figment of a mind made delusional by torture. I simply did not believe that the Lords and Ladies of Olympus would place so much value upon my life that they would allow me to see them in their true forms."

"And we have not," Mars said with a rumbling laugh. "Make no mistake, Marcus, you have not seen any of us in our true forms. Your mind would be unable to comprehend us as we truly exist. We simply revealed ourselves to you in a form which you would be able to understand, and which would not overload the sensory functions of your mind. That, however, is a matter of semantics. We did reveal ourselves to you, and we did command you to do our will. Today is no different."

"So," Marcus said slowly, gradually coming to grips with the weight of Mars' words, "I am not really on the plains of Agrippinensis right now? This is simply an illusion, created by you so that my mind has a context wherein you can appear to me in a way that will not overwhelm me?"

"You show remarkable intelligence and wisdom," Mars said approvingly. "Very few mortals - even few of your philosophers - are able to grasp what you have grasped so quickly. To answer your question, you are both here and not here, in much the same way that I am both here and not here. You are, in a very real sense, still sleeping contentedly beside your wife in a secure room in the Governor's palace. At the same time, this is not a dream in the sense of how you understand dreams. You are present at Agrippinensis right now, at this very moment, at the same time that you are in bed with your wife.

"Do not try to understand every detail of this revelation," Mars said, noting the puzzled look on Marcus' face. "Content yourself with knowing this: through the power of the Gods, I have brough you here while still leaving you at your home, and have chosen to reveal myself to you in a form which you will understand and revere."

"I believe I understand," Marcus said, though he was not entirely certain that he really did understand everything Mars had said.

"Good," Mars said. "Because now I must show you something."

With a grand, sweeping gesture, Mars waved his massive hand in front of his body. The air in front of the deity rippled and twisted, quickly giving way to a window suspended in mid-air. On the other side of the window, Marcus could see thousands of men milling about, dressed in the coarse, heavy garments of the Sicambrii. In the centre of the swirling mass of humanity stood a single man, garbed in refined clothes of obviously Roman design. Even as the view from the window swooped down toward the man, Marcus recognized Julianus Vestatian. No other self-respecting Roman would so willingly associate with the barbarians, Marcus thought. At least, no other self-respecting Roman whose heart still pumps in his chest.

"Obviously, there is no need to introduce those who you see before you," Mars said. "And I'm sure that a man of your caliber is able to recognize exactly what is going on."

"It's Vestatian," Marcus hissed, "and he's gathering his army. Preparing to march on Cologne, no doubt, and to lay siege to the city which he still views as his own."

"Not quite," Mars said, "though that was his original intent. When Julianus Vestatian reached the first of his Sicambrii camps and saw the damage your men had wrought, he very nearly went insane with rage. It turns out that your armies have descended upon the Sicambrii encampments exactly as you planned, and with very few casualties amongst their own numbers, they have managed to cull the numbers of the barbarians significantly. As quickly as they attacked, they departed. Congratulations are in order when you greet your men, Marcus."

"Indeed they are," Marcus said. "But will it be enough? There are obviously still thousands of men gathered around Vestatian, and undoubtedly thousands more on the way to his side. They will still outnumber us on the battlefield, and the barbarians are seasoned warriors. Our men are still green, by and large."

"An inexperienced Roman warrior is more than a match for an experienced barbarian," Mars said. "At least, they are so when they are lead by a man of skill and wisdom. You are such a man, Marcus, and you shall lead your men to victory under the Roman flag.

"But you must be cautious. That very leadership which shall carry you to victory over the Sicambrii is exactly what endangers you right now."

"I do not understand," Marcus said. "How can that which will lead me to victory also be something which could lead to my downfall?"

"It could be so because of one amongst your number," Mars said heavily. "One who craves the position you now enjoy; one who you would never expect to betray you. In fact, he is one who would never believe that he is about to betray you is going to do precisely that."

"Vincenzo?"

"No," Mars said with a hearty laugh. "Vincenzo is far more steadfast a companion than you might believe. Although he enjoys mocking you every bit as much as you enjoy mocking him, he is one who will fight beside you until the very end of your days. No, I am afraid the danger comes from a very different source. I am speaking of your friend and fellow soldier, the one whom you admire: the one named Domitian Caelius."

"Surely you are mistaken," Marcus said. "Domitian would never betray us. He has fought beside me for many years; he has been a steadfast companion through nearly my entire career in the Legions. There is a bond between us that can never be broken - what possible reason could he have for wanting to betray me and his fellow Romans?"

"He believes that you have usurped his position in this rebellion," Mars said. The deity seemed somehow both concerned and aloof at the same time. "He envisioned himself to be the leader of the movement, the one who would restore the rightful rule of law and order to this province, and you have taken over the duties which he believes should be his own. Even worse, you have stolen the heart of the one whom Domitian loves; already the seeds of hatred have been planted in his heart, and they shall soon explode into a cataclysm which could endanger everything that both you and he have worked for."

"Hold on," Marcus said. "Whose heart have I stolen? The only one who has given her heart to me is my wife, Alexandra, and it is certainly not something I have stolen. How could I possibly steal something which was given to me freely, just as my own heart was given to her?"

"The fact that Alexandra has given you her love does not matter to Domitian," Mars said. "For years, he has had designs on her, seeking to make her his wife. She always eluded his grasp, having taken a vow of chastity as part of her vows to my Temple. After so many years of chasing her, you simply turned up in the city one day, and captured her heart and won her over. It has caused a hardness and bitterness in his heart against you, Marcus, and it is that bitterness which could well lead to disaster in the days to come."

"What do you believe that Domitian will do? I cannot imagine him actually betraying us to the Sicambrii, no matter how bitter and angry he may have become toward me."

"I do not know exactly what he will do," Mars said. "Of the many powers of the Gods, knowing exactly what will happen in the days to come is not one of them. No, that is a power which resides wholly in the hands of the Fates, and they are unwilling to disclose details to us on this matter. I can do nothing but warn you of what might happen if you are not cautious."

"I thank you for your advice, and for the warning," Marcus said. "I shall be sure to carry myself carefully over the days and weeks to come, and shall keep a close eye on Domitian, though I shall treat him no differently now than I did before you warned me of his feelings."

"Good," Mars said. "I would not expect you to alienate a friend simply because I warned you that the friends may bear you ill will. Such blind ignorance would be a sign of a weak will and utter lack of wisdom.

"I am afraid that I must depart now, Marcus. There are many pressing matters which require my attention throughout the world. I wish you well in the coming days, Marcus, and am confident that you will make us all very proud. If I have any need of contacting you, I shall communicate through your wife, as I have done for so many years. I do not believe we shall meet again, or at least not while you are still amongst the living."

Marcus tried to speak, to say any of the thousand things that were running through his mind, but found that no matter how hard he tried, he could not express the thoughts that raged wildly in his brain. The inside of his stomach twisted itself into a knot, and as his stomach cramped up, the world around him faded into a rush of blackness.

***

As Marcus gradually drifted back to the waking world, the first thing he became aware of was the delicate caress of his wife's hand across his chest. His eyes slowly opened to see Alexandra sitting on the edge of the bed, gently running her fingers up and down over his body with a gentle smile on her face.

"Beloved," Marcus said, his voice hoarse and raspy, "you're awake."

"Yes," Alexandra said with a lilting laugh, "I am. Brilliant observation, sweetheart."

"Well," Marcus said, "I do pride myself on my early morning deductive skills."

"I woke up a little early," Alexandra said with a sweet smile, "and decided to just sit here and watch you sleep. It's amazing to me that, despite the chaos which is threatening to engulf us at any moment, you are able to look so peaceful when you sleep, like you know something the rest of us don't."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Marcus said. "In fact, had I spent the night with anyone but you, I doubt I would have looked half as peaceful as you say I did. You have that effect on me, my love."

Marcus reached one arm out and grasped Alexandra around the waist, gently pulling her down to the bed with him. Alexandra didn't resist, naturally curling up with her husband into a spoon position. The couple lay silent, embracing each other tightly, Alexandra enveloped in Marcus' embrace, her hands lightly grasping his forearms. With a contented sigh, Alexandra spoke in a quiet whisper.

"You know that he'll be back," she said.

"Vestatian? I know," Marcus said, gently kissing Alexandra's earlobe in between whispered words. "He will come, and we will be ready."

"Do you really believe we can triumph? He'll have the full might of the Sicambrii behind him; maybe even other tribal warriors who choose to ally themselves with the Sicambrii. Our men will be outnumbered, and they'll be facing men who have trained for battle their entire lives," Alexandra whispered in a trembling voice.

"We shall triumph," Marcus said confidently, but without a trace of arrogance.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I have it on good authority that we have the support of powerful allies," Marcus said, pulling Alexandra even closer to him, until their bodies were pressed together so tightly that not even a hair could be squeezed between them. "More than that, however, I have faith in our soldiers. We have the might which comes from marching under the Roman banner, my wife, and that is a more potent weapon than any sword or spear."

"Your faith is enough proof of our impending victory for me," Alexandra said, a faint half-smile forming on her face. Before she was able to say anything more, however, the pair was interrupted by a loud knock at their door. Marcus kissed Alexandra's cheek and reluctantly rose to answer the door, spreading the bed's blanket over Alexandra's nude form, taking no heed of the fact that he was also nude. After quietly slipping his sword from the sheath which hung from a chair beside the bed, Marcus crept over to the door and pulled it open just wide enough to see who stood beyond the portal. With a small sigh of relief, Marcus pulled the door open to reveal Vito.

"What can I help you with this morning, my friend? I trust that you have good reason for disturbing our rest," Marcus said.

"Indeed I do," Vito said, slipping inside the room and shutting the door behind him. "However, I would not have come so early had I known my arrival would catch you in a state of undress."

Marcus shrugged, obviously not concerned with his own nakedness. He did, however, resheath his sword and pulled on a rough pair of shorts which lay on the floor, then gestured for Vito to take a seat in the empty chair. Marcus, for his part, sat down on the edge of the bed, precisely where Alexandra had been seated only moments earlier.

"So, Vito," Marcus said casually, "what business brings you here this morning? I thought we were all to take a day's rest before resuming our duties. Was I mistaken?"

"No," Vito said, "you were not mistaken. The day's rest, however, has been converted into nothing more than a few hours' rest. Vestatian and his forces are not taking time to rest and recuperate, and so neither can we. I do, however, come bearing two pieces of good news."

"By all means," Marcus said, spreading out his arms in a gesture which begged Vito to enlighten him, even as Alexandra reached one hand up to curl around Marcus' waist. "Tell us everything."

"Of course," Vito said. "The first bit of good news is that the last of the Sicambrii seem to have been run from the city. There may be one or two stragglers, but the citizens seem to have killed or driven away the rest of them."

"That is good news indeed," Marcus said. "But hardly unexpected, and certainly something which could have waited a few more hours before I was told. I take it the second piece of news you bear is of somewhat greater importance?"

"Indeed so," Vito said. "The first of our units have arrived outside the city walls. Only about six hundred men so far, but the word is that more shall arrive by the end of the day. By tomorrow evening, the last of our troops should be assembled. In the meantime, Domitian has called a meeting of all the officers in the city and surrounding area to discuss strategies for dealing with Vestatian's inevitable return. Most of the men have already gathered in a command tent just outside the city's west gate - mostly Centurions and a few Tribunes, but Domitian has requested your presence at the meeting nonetheless. I believe it is his intention to promote some of the officers to higher command positions today, and he would like your input."

"That's a good idea," Marcus said. "We never really set up a full command structure when we put together our training camps, and that command structure will be required once all of our forces have assembled.

"At any rate, Vito, go ahead of me to the meeting. I'll get dressed and meet you all there; tell Domitian that I will be present in a few minutes."

Vito nodded and rose, leaving the room quickly and closing the door behind him. As the door shut behind Vito, Marcus turned to face Alexandra again, bending at the waist to place a soft kiss on her lips.

"I'm sorry, beloved," he whispered, caressing her cheek as he spoke. "I must attend this meeting. It would be improper of me to be absent. I shall try to return as quickly as possible."

"I'll be waiting," Alexandra said with an impish grin. "If you make it back quickly enough, you may even find me still laying here unclothed, waiting for you to return and ravish me."

"That," Marcus said with a lascivious grin, "is enough incentive for me to ensure that this meeting is finished quickly."

True to his word, Marcus moved quickly. His uniform was gathered up from where it lay in pieces on his floor and was thrown onto his body in record time. Marcus' hands fluttered over buckles and clasps, pulling pieces that needed to be pulled, and pushing the pieces that needed to be pushed. In a few short minutes, he went from nearly naked to fully garbed in his uniform, his cape fluttering from the rushed uniform assembly, bunching up in small pools of fabric around the hilt of his sheathed sword. Making one final adjustment which freed up the cloth which was caught between the sword's hilt and his body, Marcus stretched out with a lazy yawn. He winked to his wife, who still lay in the bed, watching his hasty dressing routine with a scarcely concealed grin.

"I will see you soon," Marcus said, placing one hand on the door. He threw a last glance over his shoulder at Alexandra before reluctantly pulling the portal open. Taking a deep breath to steel himself against the inevitable onslaught of the world beyond the still and peaceful room, Marcus stepped outside, carefully closing the door behind himself.

Walking through the streets of the city provided a pleasant surprise to Marcus - already the citizens seemed to be benefitting tremendously from the absence of their Sicambrii oppressors; people walked through the streets with smiles on their faces and bounces in their steps, a stark contrast to the grim-faced, downcasted-gaze marches which had been common as recently as the previous morning. Several of the city's men greeted Marcus with hearty slaps on the back, while one particularly grateful old crone knelt in his path as Marcus approached, reaching out to grab hold of his cape as he passed. Marcus paused in mid-stride, reaching down to guide the woman to her feet. With a gentle smile on his face, he told her that her days of bowing and kneeling before her fellow man were over. The sentiment seemed to overwhelm the elderly woman, bringing tears of joy to her eyes.

Outside of the city gates - which were themselves unguarded for the first time in several years - the scene was even more merry. As Vito had said, hundreds of Roman soldiers were gathered, milling around performing the tasks that soldiers performed. The bright sunlight reflected off the polished armour of hundreds of men, dazzling Marcus' eyes briefly as he stepped out of the gates' shadows and into the middle of the soldiers' camp. The activity of the gathered soldiers created an organized chaos which swirled around Marcus as he strode through the crowds; some of the men were busy setting up tents and assembling large siege engines from large pieces of lumber and iron, while others sated their hunger and thirst by wolfing down a veritable feast from a table kept fully stocked by women from the city. Still more soldiers were busy honing their skills, sparring with wooden training swords and blunted spears, while others wrestled empty-handed. The sights, sounds, and smells of the assembly was enough to bring a fond smile back to Marcus' face as his mind was flooded with memories of all the campaigns he had participated in through the years, faced with scene after scene identical to the one before him.

His procession through the crowds of soldiers was halted when a familiar face bumped into Marcus' shoulder. As the soldier backed up with a hasty apology, recognition flittered across his face with a wide grin.

"General Ulpius! It's been months," William Ilona said, clapping his hand on Marcus' shoulder enthusiastically.

"Indeed it has, William," Marcus said with a smile. "I trust that your training has gone well?"

"Better than I could have ever imagined," William said, "though I have been tremendously busy. Not that I'm complaining...far from it. I've spent months drilling in tactics and techniques for both infantry and training siege weapon operators. It feels like I haven't slept since I last seen you, but I believe that the results you will see when you inspect the troops will make everything worth it."

"So they've had you working all the occupations, eh? I thought that you would have rather spent your time concentrating on a single occupation."

"Well, I did," Dahmus said. "It's just that, since we were so short-handed on experienced siege operators left from the old Legions, I was instrumental in training the new operators. I've spent most of my time drilling with the infantry, but when needed..."

"I see," Marcus said. "I do not mean to be rude, William, but I am actually on my way to a meeting. I would love to catch up with you later, but for now, I must depart."

"Oh," William said, unsurprised. "Of course. I assume that you're looking for the command tent? Just follow the path between the tents here," he gestured in front of him, in the path Marcus had already been walking, "and you'll arrive in a few minutes."

"Thank you, William. Good to see you again."

"And you, sir."

With a final nod, Marcus left William standing there, still grinning widely. As he had promised, the path to the command tent was short indeed; Marcus caught sight of the structure shortly after leaving Dahmus' side, and was soon walking through the open flaps of the tent. Domitian was standing in the middle of the structure, poised over a large pile of maps and papers spread over a long wooden table. He was surrounded by half a dozen men in the uniforms of the Legions, with ranks alternating between Centurion and Tribune, and all the ranks in between.

"Good to see you could make it," Domitian said with a half-smile as Marcus walked through the door. "We need to get down to business."

Chapter XVII

Two nights after the first of the newly-trained Roman legionairres had arrived at the walls of the city of Cologne, the last of the road-weary warriors arrived at the encampment. The city had been newly abuzz with cries of joy every time a new line of soldiers appeared on the horizon, but as night finally approached, both the city and the soldiers fell quiet - or at least, their noise dropped to a dull roar. As the din began to die down, Marcus wound his way through the halls of the Governor's mansion and into one of its many large conference rooms. Domitian was already waiting for him, leaning over a large wooden table which occupied the middle of the room. As usual, papers were strewn over the table's entire surface, and Domitian looked worried as he reviewed them; he was so preoccupied with what lay before him on the table that he didn't even cast an upward glance as Marcus walked into the room.

"Domitian," Marcus said, "the last of the troops have arrived. Two full Centuries, as well as several tent groups."

"That leaves us with only sixty five hundred men in all," Domitian said with a heavy sigh. "Our losses in the guerilla attacks were greater than anticipated. We can only hope that our numbers will be sufficient."

"There will be enough men," Marcus said.

"There are never enough men," Domitian said with a snarl. "Even with ten times our current numbers, there would not be enough men."

"Calm yourself, Domitian," Marcus said, idly flipping through several of the papers on the table. "They are well trained and eager to fight, and fight they shall. They will fight with the fury of a people fighting for their very lives, and the lives of everyone they hold dear. They will be unstoppable."

"As unstoppable as our men were when the Sicambrii first attacked us? They fought for the very same reasons; they outnumbered our current troops, and they were career soldiers. We both know how successful they were. What makes you think that a handful of men whose training has been barely sufficient to qualify them are more than militia are going to be able to succeed where some of the best trained troops in the world failed?"

"Consider this, Domitian, and consider it well: the troops are under my command this time, not the command of that halfwit Ceresius. You know full well that he couldn't successfully plan an attack on an unguarded cottage, even with the strength of a thousand soldiers behind him. It is true that these soldiers gathered outside the city walls are not as well trained as those soldiers who have fought for most of their lives in the Legions. It is also true that they will be outnumbered by the enemy, and that the enemy is not only practiced at battle, but also a fierce and powerful force. However, these troops have been put through the same training that both you and I have been through, Domitian. Not only that, they are equipped with the finest weapons and armour that our provincial smiths have been able to produce - that is something which the Sicambrii cannot boast.

"If you do not believe that men trained in the most effective tactics that Roman Generals have been able to devise over the years, and carrying the most effective weapons and armour ever devised have even the smallest chance of triumphing over the backward savages that threaten to assail us, then it occurs to me that you may not have the faith in the strength of our Empire that I thought you did."

"Are you questioning my dedication to the Empire? That would be a fine sentiment," Domitian spat, "if it were not coming from the one responsible for our original defeat at Agrippinensis."

"Have you lost your mind? You know full well the details of our defeat at Agrippinensis," Marcus said, more than slightly puzzled at Domitian's attitude. Mar's cautions rang in Marcus' ears. "And you know full well that it is something which was beyond our power to prevent. Ceresius decided to invoke his power of command over the Legions; that is something which nobody short of Emperor Trajan himself could reverse."

"The right of a leader to command his troops seems to be something you have little respect for these days," Domitian said. "It can only make me wonder why you did not show such disrespect on that battlefield that you show today. We could have been spared all this trouble: the deaths, the endless preparations, the Sicambrii oppression."

"What in Hades are you talking about, Domitian?"

"You know full bloody well what I'm talking about," Domitian growled. "You've been prancing around for months like you're the leader of our rebellion; if not for the title that I was so kind as to bestow upon an old friend, you would still be nothing more than a drunk on the streets of Xanten - indeed, you'd likely be dead if not for the fact that I saved you from that fate. And how do you repay me - repay all of us? By assuming that you deserve some sort of special status, some sort of special treatment, and acting as if the rest of us are nothing but your subordinates!"

"If I have mistreated any of you," Marcus said slowly, trying to maintain his calm in the face of Domitian's rebuke, "then I most sincerely apologize, for that was not my intention. However, I must admit that I feel some confusion over your sentiments. As you say, the title of General was bestowed upon me - or, perhaps more appropriately, I was restored to the rank that I once held. That rank carries with it certain rights, as well as certain responsibilities. Yes, I have taken control of many facets of our operations, and have delegated the responsibilities for many others. I have been both the public and private face of the fight against Julianus Vestatian and his murderous thugs - and I have borne the brunt of their retaliation for daring to subvert their rule. Have you forgotten the time I spent in the city prison being tortured at the hands of Vestatian's men, or has your memory become so selective that you only recall my perceived faults, and none of my merits?"

"To say that you have faults," Domitian said, "would be kind. You are little better than Vestatian yourself, Marcus. You are a liar, a weakling, and a thief, and I tolerate your presence only because you could prove to be an asset for us. However, I have been reconsidering that position lately; I believe that your liabilities may be starting to outweigh your benefits."

"You speak slander," Marcus said, finally beginning to give in to the rage which threatened to overwhelm his senses. "Consider yourself lucky that I do not strike you down for such insolence. I have never lied to you, and I have never stolen anything in my life. As far as being a weakling...if that is a theory you want to put to the test, you are welcome to do so. I caution you, however, that you would not be likely to survive such an attempt."

"I do not slander you," Domitian said. "You once said that you were my friend and my companion, but you have shown that to be a lie. You have stolen something from me, Marcus, something which can never be replaced."

"What is it that you claim I have stolen?"

"You know full well what it is that you have stolen," Domitian spat.

"I confess that I do not know," Marcus said. "By my word, by my very life, I have never stolen anything from you, Domitian."

"But you have," Domitian said. "You have stolen the heart of the woman I love. Alexandra was to be my wife, but you swept down upon her like an eagle swooping down to snatch a fish from a lake. The one who was supposed to be mine is now yours, and you seem perfectly content to remain oblivious to that fact."

"I was not oblivious to the fact that you harboured feelings for Alexandra," Marcus said. "Indeed, that fact has been recently brought to my attention by one whose wisdom far exceeds my own. However, that does not change the fact that I have stolen nothing from you. You claim that Alexandra was to be your wife. Had you two been engaged before I came to Cologne?"

"No," Domitian said.

"Had you made her aware of your intentions at all?"

"No," Domitian said, his face burning red with anger.

"Then what makes you believe that you had any sort of claim to the lady's heart? To the best of my knowledge, she never once displayed so much as the slightest bit of interest in your affections, Domitian, and you certainly never made any sort of effort to make your feelings clear to her. Yet now you stand before me, accusing me of stealing something that cannot ever be stolen - love is not a physical object, Domitian. It is not something I could slip into a pocket, or hide behind my back. It is something which can only be freely given from one person to another; Alexandra has seen fit, for reasons which still defy my understanding, to give her love to me, a man who is admittedly unworthy of the love of such a woman. I have likewise given my love, unworthy as it may be, to her, and she has accepted that. I made my feelings clear to her, and she responded to that. You have no claim to Alexandra, Domitian. You never did. Surely you can see that."

"Liar! I will kill you for this," Domitian screamed, pulling his sword from its scabbard and lunging at Marcus. Reacting quickly, Marcus drew his own sword; stepping to his left, he deflected Domitian's blow and dodged the man's charge. Growling with rage, Domitian lunged forward again, thrusting his sword at Marcus' chest. Swiftly, almost effortlessly, Marcus knocked Domitian's sword to the side with the sword in his right hand and delivering a fierce blow to Domitian's solar plexus with his left fist. Domitian gasped for breath and tubmled to the ground, wheezing in pain. His sword slipped from his grasped and clattered to the floor, only to be knocked into a corner by a carefully placed kick from Marcus. As Domitian lay before him, panting and trying to regain his breath, Marcus levelled his sword at Domitian's head, tracing a slow path over Domitian's cheek with the tip of his sword.

"Damnable fool," Marcus said, shaking his head sadly. "What did you hope to accomplish? You are a skilled leader, Domitian, but you were never a swordsman. You must have known that you would never be able to defeat me in a duel - why would you even attempt it?"

"Forgive me, Marcus," Domitian muttered. His bluster and bravado had faded, leaving him a shamed shell of a man. "My rage got the better of me. I could not control myself, and this defeat is the price I pay for my arrogance. Go ahead; take my life. It is a fate no more severe than what I deserve."

"I will not kill you," Marcus said with a heavy sigh. With a smoothly practiced movement, he slipped his sword back into its sheath. "Get up."

Domitian slowly regained his feet. He stood unsteadily before Marcus, his eyes downcast. Shaking his head sadly, Marcus clapped Domitian on the shoulder with one hand.

"You need to understand something," Marcus said quietly. "What has happened between Alexandra and I cannot be reversed. Even if it were in my power to do so, I would not. You were content to remain a quiet observer, obsessed with watching her from afar - do you really expect that she should have remained alone for her entire life simply because you did not have the courage to admit your feelings to her?

"I need you at my side, Domitian - all of us need you at my side. You placed me in command of this operation when you assigned the rank of General, but that does not make your role any less integral to our success. If you are not willing or able to fulfill your role, and cannot keep your emotions under control, then we will be forced to find a way to survive without you, and that would be regrettable. What do you say? Will you be able to work under my command and set aside any misgivings you have about Alexandra and I, or are you going to leave the city tonight and never return?"

"I will do my job," Domitian said reluctantly. The fire seemed to have faded from his eyes, but it was obvious that he still considered himself to have been wronged by Marcus. "And I will do my job with all the dedication I have available. I can only hope that you will have the capacity to lead us to victory over the Sicambrii."

"Do not worry about our victory," Marcus said. "That is inevitable. I have it on very good authority that our forces are quite capable of defeating the Sicambrii. As long as I know that you will fight by our side, and will not do anything detrimental to our success, then I will happily forget that this little incident ever happened."

"I think that would be best," Domitian said with a weak smile.

"Good," Marcus said. "And try not to think too much about what may have been between you and Alexandra, Domitian. There are many, many women out there, and the majority of them would be more than happy to settle down with a man like you."

"A man like me? You mean the sort of man who would attack his best friend in a fit of jealous rage?"

"I told you," Marcus said, "that the incident is forgotten. As far as I am concerned, it never happened. You are a man who possesses all of the attributes that a woman might seek in a man - you are personable, intelligent, courageous, powerful, and handsome. I cannot imagine that you would have any sort of trouble finding a mate, if that is what you seek."

"Thank you, Marcus," Domitian said, "but I think that for now I will have to content myself with being a soldier. There is not enough room in my heart and mind for anything more than that right now. When our battles are over, and we have triumphed over the Sicambrii...maybe then I'll be able to settle down and find a woman who can love a grizzled old soldier. Until then, I shall bear arms with the strength and grace due of a Roman soldier. We shall do the Empire proud, my friend."

"Indeed," Marcus said. "Come, now. It is time for us to retire to our respective chambers. It is late, and unless I am mistaken, we have a scheduled troop inspection tomorrow morning. We have much to do, and little time to sleep. I suggest we take advantage of the few opportunities we get."

***

The very next morning, Marcus met Domitian and Ceresius at the city gates. All three men were dressed in their finest dress uniforms, each very much looking the part that they were there to play - mighty warriors and leaders all. Marcus approached the two men with a slight nod, noting with no small amount of satisfaction the look of annoyance on Ceresius' face. Domitian seemed nervous, almost sheepish as Marcus approached, but was obviously willing to keep his emotions under control, just as he had promised.

"Ceresius," Marcus said with a smile, "it's good to see you looking so well this fine morning."

"Shall we just get this over with? I have no desire to be paraded around like some sort of prize monkey," Ceresius said with a sneer. "You know as well as anyone that I should be the one leading these troops into battle, not merely acting the part of some bit of background scenery to your little revolution."

"What I know," Marcus said, "is that it is largely - if not completely - through the fault of your own inept military leadership that we were ever placed in this situation to begin with. Now, it just so happens that you are in a unique position to make up for your former faults. With your presence, you add a further sense of legitimacy to our rebellion against Vestatian and the Sicambrii - your cooperation in that regard could very well be enough to secure your life when all this is over."

"What are you talking about? I know of no reason that my life would be in danger," Ceresius said.

"Then you are a fool," Marcus replied. "You know full well that Domitian and I are going to petition the Emperor for your removal from the position as Governor when all this is over. If you decide to make things difficult for us, we shall not only petition him for that removal of your title, we shall also ensure that you are brought to trial as a traitor to the Emperor for your foolish actions - and if you believe that we do not carry sufficient influence with him to guarantee a verdict of guilty, then you are sorely mistaken."

"He is correct," Domitian added. "Just follow our example and keep your mouth shut, Ceresius. Do not speak unless we direct you to do so, and if you must speak, watch your words carefully. Keep in mind that you are nothing more than a prop in our undertaking - a prop which can be discarded if the situation requires it."

"Fine," Ceresius snapped. "Let's just get this over with."

Marcus took the lead in the trio's solemn procession; as the three men stepped outside of the city gates, they were greeted by the sight of six and a half thousand armed and armoured soldiers standing at attention. The soldiers stood in long, neatly formed lines stretching the entire length of the city's west walls; some of the soldiers were gathered around large siege engines, while others stood holding bows and arrows, ready to attack at a moment's notice and a single command. Slowly and methodically, Marcus proceeded down the first line of soldiers, carefully examining each man who stood at attention. After walking past dozens of soldiers, Marcus suddenly halted in front of a soldier at random. Marcus looked at the soldier closely; he was little different from any of the thousands of other men standing there. The soldier stared off into the distance, undisturbed by the sudden attention he was drawing from his General.

"You," Marcus declared, "soldier! Name and rank!"

"Private Andrenius Callius Janiculus," the soldier cried out. He had obviously been drilled well; his voice didn't show the slightest trace of a waver as he called out his name and rank. "Sir!"

"Private Janiculus," Marcus said quietly, "are you prepared to fight to the death if necessary?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Will you fight our enemy with the strength and skill of arms due of a Roman soldier, forsaking all other commitments to face your enemy on the field of battle?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Do you hate the Sicambrii, Private?"

"Yes, sir! The Private hates the Sicambrii, sir!"

"Why do you hate the Sicambrii, Private?"

"Sir, the Sicambrii raped my wife and killed my family!"

"And to what lengths would you be willing to go to if it meant you could ensure that every Sicambrii on the face of the earth was wiped out?"

"Sir, I would stop at nothing to ensure that goal!"

"Good," Marcus said. He clapped his hand onto the soldier's shoulder. "You shall fight well, my friend."

The soldier remained absolutely still, despite Marcus' praise. Not even the trace of a smile crossed his face. Marcus noticed the stoicism with approval. His hatred for the Sicambrii is untouched by even the slightest touch of compassion,Marcus though. He'll be a fine warrior, though I worry about releasing him back into society after the Sicambrii are defeated. Warriors so full of hate rarely integrate back into the population smoothly, and he may soon find himself taking out that hatred on the people around him. I'll need to ensure proper care is taken with him when that time comes. Perhaps a posting to a position on the outskirts of the province, where there will remain plenty of barbarians for him to take his agression out on.

The inspection continued in short order; Marcus knew that he had many soldiers to see, and that very little time could be spent dallying around any particular part of the assemblage. In fact, it was over an hour before Marcus stopped in front of another soldier. This time, the soldier Marcus stopped in front of was a small man who looked almost comical in his oversized armour. The man trembled slightly as Marcus approached, and despite his obvious attempts to control his anxiety, the soldier was unable to completely avoid shaking.

"You," Marcus demanded, "soldier. Name and rank."

"C-Cassius Meredii Cicerium. P-private Cicerium, sir," the soldier stuttered.

"P-private? Do you have a speech impediment, soldier?"

"No, sir," the soldier said with a wince at Marcus' brusque tone.

"Then tell me your name and rank," Marcus shouted, "and do it with some bloody conviction!"

"Private Cassius Meredii Cicerium, sir!"

"Private Cicerium, do you have the courage of your convictions? Do you have the strength of body and mind to take the lives of your enemies and do what is necessary to protect your province?"

"Yes, sir!" The soldier's hesitation seemed to have vanished, replaced by a suddenly unwavering confidence.

"Good to hear, Private. As you were."

The soldier nodded slightly, then returned to standing utterly still - or at least, as close to still as the nervous Private seemed able to come. Marcus turned and continued down the lines of soldiers, Domitian and Ceresius trailing in his wake. The rest of the inspection took another two full hours, but none of the troops seemed bothered in the slightest by the lengthy inspection. By the time Marcus reached the last soldier, standing in the front line of the army's ranks, he was ready to ascend the steps and climb onto the hastily erected platform which had been constructed to face the troops. Two centurions stood flanking a podium in the centre of the stage, standing silently while holding vinewood staffs topped with bronze eagles, the symbol of the Roman Empire. Marcus stepped behind the podium and gazed out at the massive crowd which was assembled before him. After a moment of silence, Marcus addressed the crowd in a booming voice which was loud enough to be heard by even the soldiers who stood at the furthest edges of the crowd.

"There have been many days and much effort which have led up to today, men. Today we stand in front of Cologne, the liberated city, free from the reach of the vile and blasphemous Sicambrii!" A cheer rose up from the crowd, but their jubilance returned to stoic silence as Marcus waved a hand for quiet. "As many of you are aware, we have suffered losses to get us to this point. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but there will be many more such losses before we are able to look at a map of our province and see that it is entirely liberated from the Sicambrii.

"That is the bad news. The good news, however, is this: the Gods themselves are on our side, and with their assistance, we shall not fail to defeat our hated foes! Mars has spoken to me through the city's Oracle, and he has given me the mandate to lead you into battle, justified to restore to power the rightful Governor of this province, Antonius Ceresius!" Another cheer erupted from the crowd, and Marcus did not silence this one. The men eventually returned to silence again, waiting expectantly for Marcus to speak again. He did not disappoint them.

"I tell you this, my friends: we shall triumph, and the blood of the Sicambrii will stain the ground under our feet!"

The crowd roared approvingly; as Marcus surveyed the proud men who cheered at the prospect of their impending victory, his silent reverie was interrupted by the approach of a breathless scout who stumbled up the steps of the platform. One of the Centurions rushed to intercept the man and, after hearing a few whispered words from the scout, the Centurion escorted the winded man to Marcus' side, mindless of the still roaring crowd.

"What is it," Marcus asked, "that cannot wait until this assembly is finished?"

"They are coming," the scout muttered, still panting for breath. "The Sicambrii are on the march; they will arrive in only a day."

Marcus whirled to face the crowd again, waving his hand for silence once more.

"Men," he cried out, "enjoy yourselves this evening, for tomorrow we fight! Be prepared by dawn to face your mortal enemies - and indeed, your own mortality!"

***

Watching from the seclusion of his bedroom high in the Governor's mansion, Marcus gazed out at the torchlights and bonfires which dotted the fields outside of the city. Even from a distance, it was obvious that his men were enjoying themselves on the eve of what was sure to be a monumental battle.

"You seem on edge this evening, my love," Alexandra said, gliding into the room with her usual grace. "Is something of concern?"

"Only the possibility that my men may be enjoying themselves a little too much this evening. They all know that there will be battle tomorrow, and yet I'm sure half of them will be fighting with hangovers. That could spell doom for us."

"Your men know what is expected of them, Marcus," Alexandra said, sidling up behind Marcus and slipping her arms around him from behind. "They will be prepared for battle. You have nothing to be concerned about."

"I know," Marcus said, spinning around in Alexandra's embrace so that the pair was face to face. "This is something that every leader goes through on the eve of every battle - every leader worth his salt, at any rate. I need to be aware of the state of mind of each of my men; failure to do so would be dangerous."

"Overawareness of every detail of the day to come could be just as dangerous, my love," Alexandra said, cupping Marcus' face in her hands. "If you overthink, you could overprepare - if you try to prepare for every eventuality, you will end up being truly ready for none of them."

"You are wise beyond your years, beloved," Marcus said with a tender smile. He kissed Alexandra gently, though their embrace quickly tightened and the kiss deepened until the pair was lost in it. Without a single word, every detail and every bit of stress about what was happening vanished from both Marcus and Alexandra; their passion overwhelmed them and they crossed the room, never breaking their kiss even as they tumbled to their bed.

Chapter XVIII

The afternoon sun beat down upon the gathered soldiers outside the western wall of Cologne like an angry golden staff. Marcus was all too well aware of the fact that the day's heat would serve to exhaust his men; the encumbrance of their heavy armour would only make the situation worse. It could be worse,Marcus thought bemusedly. We could be fighting in the mud again. At least this time we have steady footing.

Scouts had reported that the advance of the Sicambrii was slow but steady; it was anticipated that they would arrive at what would soon become the field of battle in a matter of hours. In the meantime, the Roman soldiers prepared for the onslaught which was headed their way. Hasty fortifications had been added in the form of short wooden barriers around the city walls, designed to do nothing but slow down the enemy advance while volleys of arrows hailed down from the city walls. Dozens of siege engines were set up both within the city walls and outside, ready to release their deadly loads of flaming oil and catapulted stones on the furthest reaches of the battlefields. Every single soldier stood at the ready, unwavering despite the eerie silence which had descended over the normal din of the city. Women and children had been taken into the most secure buildings in the city; most were led to the Governor's mansion, while the remaining citizens were taken into the Temple of Mars. Alexandra was standing vigil in the Temple, steadfastly reciting every prayer to the God of Battle that she could remember, urging the huddled masses which surrounded her to do the same.

Those few men who had not already been inducted into the ranks of the Legions were thrust into the position of militia. Any man who was strong enough and large enough to hold a spear in his hands was armed and sent to the front lines to stand side by side with their better trained brethren. Surprisingly, none of the men had complained about their dangerous role; every one of them seemed eager to prove themselves in the heat of battle, or perhaps to vindicate themselves for allowing the Sicambrii to rule over them for so long.

Tense hours passed before the first Sicambrii warriors could be seen on the horizon, but the remaining forces followed swiftly after. The plains west of the city were soon covered in a veritable blanket of men, arms and legs flailing haphazardly about as they attempted to march in something resembling straight columns. Marcus scoffed at the lack of organization under his breath; the same apparent inability to perform the basic tasks of a soldier had been a weakness he had planned to exploit when the Sicambrii mounted their offensive at Agrippinensis. This time,he thought, at least I'll be able to actually exploit the weaknesses of my enemy, instead of being forced to play to their strengths.

"They come," Domitian muttered under his breath.

"Oh," Marcus said with a sardonic grin, "so you mean I'm not the only one to notice that?"

"Apparently not," Domitian said, failing to see the same humour in the situation that had taken hold of Marcus. "Their numbers are greater than expected."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Marcus said. "As far as I am concerned, it just means there are more to kill. When all this is said and done, we'll be able to gather up enough of their corpses to send a very strong signal to the heathen gods."

"Laugh if you will," Domitian said. "If we are not very careful and very lucky, it will be our heads on pikes outside the city this time around."

"Have some confidence in your men," Marcus said. "They're more than capable of handling this situation. Luck be damned - we could go for lunch and let them handle this."

"Is that so? I thought it was lack of leadership that lost us Agrippinensis? Or are you saying," Domitian asked, "that these men - these soldiers who have barely enough training to handle their weapons without cutting themselves to ribbons - would be better able to handle the Sicambrii than the seasoned warriors who fought at Agrippinensis?"

"Relax, Domitian," Marcus remarked. "You'll give yourself a heart attack before the Sicambrii even have the chance to cut you down. The men will be victorious today; in no small thanks to our leadership, of course, but they will be victorious nonetheless."

"Indeed," Domitian said. He seemed ill at ease with the prospect of relaxation when faced with the sight of thousands upon thousands of enemy soldiers. "Do you believe that Vestatian will abide by the rules of combat?"

"I doubt it," Marcus said. After a pause, he continued with some surprise. "Then again, I've been wrong before. Look: a rider is coming out to the middle of the battlefield."

"Do you think he seeks a parlay?"

"I cannot imagine why," Marcus said dryly. "He knows that we will not surrender. Perhaps it is just his vain attempt to convince himself that, despite siding himself with the heathens, he is still a Roman at heart. The uncivilized do not parlay, after all."

"Should we go out to meet him?"

"I will," Marcus said. "It may be a trap. If it is, and I get struck down, the men will need a leader. Understand?"

"Yes," Domitian said.

"Good. Now do not give the men the orders to attack until I've either returned or been killed. The last thing I want is to be struck by a jar of flaming oil in the middle of the battlefield."

"I will try to restrain myself," Domitian said dryly.

Finally serious, Marcus nodded to Domitian and signalled a nearby page. The boy, too young to carry a weapon, but old enough to act as an errand boy, brought a horse to Marcus' side, leading the tremendous beast by the reigns with an unsteady hand. Marcus smiled at the boy, knowing that the child had likely only seen a horse a few times before, let alone ever handled one. With a mighty heave, Marcus leapt astride the black beast, grimacing under the added weight of his armour. A kick to the horse's flank was enough to speed Marcus toward the middle of the battlefield to meet the solitary figure who waited there.

As Marcus approached the lone figure, he noted with some small surprise that, while the figure was indeed Julianus Vestatian, the man had abandoned the rich Roman vestments which he had once favoured. Now, rough furs and leather covered his body; even the trademark gladius which had once sat on his hip was gone, replaced with the typical barbarian axe strapped across his back. Black ink dotted his face in swirling patterns; Marcus remembered those patterns of war-paint from the battle at Agrippinensis - the twists and whirls of pain signified, as best he had been able to discern, some sort of combination of both military and spiritual standing amongst the heathens.

"Unless I miss my mark," Marcus said with a hearty laugh, "it looks like you've undertaken a bit of a wardrobe change since the last time I saw you. It doesn't quite seem to befit a Roman - have you become so enamoured of the ways of the barbaric tribes that you have decided to become one of them?"

"Be silent, fool," Vestatian hissed. "I've come to parlay as a courtesy to you. Your cowardly assaults on my men defy any standards of decency that any man can imagine. I am willing to give you a chance at redemption for that sin."

"Redemption? That's quite a statement," Marcus said, his bemusement giving way to a hardened dispassion, "given that you have abandoned everything that our society - our very Gods - have ever taught us about honour and conduct. You have betrayed your countryment, Vestatian - you are a traitor to the Roman Empire. You are not in any position to offer redemption for anything."

"If you lead your men off the field of battle," Vestatian said, seemingly oblivious to Marcus' diatribe, "I will allow them to live and serve their rightful masters - the Sicambrii - as slaves. If you choose any other course of action, every last one of you will die today. The precious Empire you hold so dear is destined to be nothing but a flicker of absurdity in the pages of history in comparison with the civilization that I will bring to the world, Marcus. You should learn to live with it now, rather than later; even a man such as yourself can find forgiveness and redemption in the arms of the true Gods."

"The true Gods," Marcus said, "are the ones who guide my actions here today. They have deemed you unworthy of the goals you have set, Vestatian. They have given me a divine mandate to oppose you, and they have guaranteed our victory by supporting us unanimously.

"Your offer is rejected. However, I do have a counter-offer for you, Vestatian. Have your men lay down their weapons and proclaim the superiority of the Olympians; have them kiss the very ground and sing the praises of Mars, Jupiter, and all the other Gods and Goddesses. Do this, and we shall make their deaths swift and painless."

"Fool," Vestatian spat. "The blood of your men is on your hands."

With that, Vestatian kicked his heels into his horse's flank, returning to the Sicambrii side of the battlefield at a gallop. Marcus did the same, leaping off the horse as he reached Domitian's command position.

"Am I to assume," Domitian asked, "that our enemy refused to surrender?"

"Such an assumption," Marcus said dryly, "would be correct. Well, I suppose there's no use in waiting for Vestatian to make the first move. Unleash the oil upon them."

"Of course," Domitian said. He screamed orders to the men around him. "Catapults! Onagers! Release the oil!"

On Domitian's cue, several dozen ceramic jars were sent firing through the air in high arcs. Plumes of black smoke trailed behind the containers, evidence of the already-flaming liquid inside. It seemed to take an eternity for the massive jars to reach their destination; the Sicambrii warriors scattered as they noticed the airborne missiles headed their way. The flight of the Sicambrii was too late, however, and the massive containers of flaming oil came down in the middle of groups of gathered warriors. Flaming oil splashed onto hundreds of warriors as the ceramic jars shattered into thousands of shards on the ground. The screams of the scalded warriors could be heard as far away as the opposite side of the battlefield with startling clarity; the wails of the injured were enough to shake the militia-men, who had never been subjected to the rigours of battlefield life before. Noting their unease, Domitian spoke up.

"The militia are frightened. Do you think they'll be able to handle what is to come?"

"I do," Marcus said. "You can't blame the men for being a little unnerved. I know that I was exactly the same way the first time I heard the keening screams of enemies covered in flaming oil. It's a horrific way to die; anyone who is not moved, even a little, the first time they hear that, is not a man I would want under my command.

"Now," he continued, "the next volley. Adjust for their movement; they'll be charging us at any moment, no doubt."

Sure enough, as Domitian screamed orders to the soldiers, the Sicambrii forces seemed to recover from the shock of the initial attack. The mass of men on the opposite side of the battlefield began to move in unison, the almost-orderly columns of Sicambrii warriors churning into a chaotic mass. The second volley of flaming oil took advantage of this disorder in their ranks; even as the warriors rushed at the Romans, the second volley of oil smashed into the middle of them. Hundreds more warriors fell to the ground, rolling and screaming in agony, first from the pain of the burning flesh, and then from the pain of their crushed bodies as their fellow Sicambrii ran over their fallen bodies.

"I'll give this to them," Marcus remarked detachedly, "they are focussed. They don't even seem to notice that their compatriots are falling all around them.

"Let's give them something to notice. They should be in range now - let loose the arrows. Five volleys, then the cavalry."

"Marcus, are you certain? We have only three hundred cavalry;" Domitian said. "If we send them in now, even after the arrows have softened the Sicambrii's ranks, they will all perish."

"They know the risks of being in battle," Marcus said. "Death is one of them. If we do not send the cavalry in, our infantry will be cut down like blades of grass by an overwhelming force. The cavalry knows what to do; they will stick to the outskirts of the Sicambrii force, cutting down the warriors furthest from the main group. They will then circle behind the Sicambrii main force and attack from behind. Now either give the orders or get off my battlefield."

Submitting to Marcus' authority, Domitian once again screamed out the orders he was given. In unison, the Roman archers lifted their bows and aimed them at the sky, then loosed the first hail of their deadly missiles. Even as the first volley was flying through the air, the archers retrieved arrows from their quivers and unleashed a second volley, then a third, a fourth, and finally, a fifth volley, even as the howling Sicambrii force came closer and closer to the Romans. As was the nature of volleys of arrows, not all of the tiny missiles struck their targets; some plunged harmlessly into the ground, while others bounced off the hardened leather armour of the Sicambrii warriors. However, despite the inherent inability of all arrows to strike straight and true, the majority of the weapons did strike down Sicambrii warriors, leaving behind another wave of Sicambrii casualties. Marcus noted the effectiveness of the attack with a smile; nearly half of the Sicambrii force had been laid to waste by the Roman soldiers, and so far not a single Roman had fallen under attack.

The lack of Roman casualties changed quickly as the cavalry galloped forward to engage the enemy. Hundreds of horses charged from the back ranks of the Roman army, circling around the ranks of the Sicambrii; the riders struck out left and right at the warriors foolish enough to venture close to the horses. Roman blades bit into flesh, cutting down even more of the Sicambrii warriors, but some of the Sicambrii were able to get close enough to the cavalry men to strike back at the horsed soldiers. Dozens of the cavalry were cut down by Sicambrii battleaxes even as the cavalry carved a bloody path to the rear of the Sicambrii ranks.

"Send in the infantry," Marcus said calmly. He pulled his sword from the sheath and twirled it around in his hand. "And get ready to fight."

"Surely you don't intend for us to move in with the infantry? That would be suicide," Domitian said. "Infantry always suffers the heaviest losses in any armed combat, Marcus -"

"I'm aware of that," Marcus said. "I'm also aware of the fact that you are a soldier under my command, and as such you will address me as General Ulpius. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, General Ulpius," Domitian said, his face burning a bright red.

"Then shut your mouth and do as I command. And next time, I suggest you listen to your orders - I didn't say that we were going to march with the infantry, I said that you need to be prepared for combat. If you think that we are going to avoid involvement in this fray, then you are delusional. We are neither above the call of duty nor immune to the weapons of the enemy, Domitian. When they come for us - and they will come for us, mark my words on that - we will need to fight. Personally, I intend to be in the middle of the fray; that is where I belong. You can stay back for as long as you would like, but if the Sicambrii approach you, you will fight or you will die. Now send in the damned infantry!"

"Infantry! To the field," Domitian screamed at the men around him, eager to make up for his temporary gaffe, "and kill anyone not in Roman uniform!"

A tremendous cry of approval rose from the men; they had been preparing for exactly this moment for many months. Finally, they knew they would be able to let their actions give voice to the unmitigated hatred for the Sicambrii which raged in their hearts. Every man on that battlefield was a man with a very personal point to drive home to the Sicambrii, and that was exactly what each of them intended to do. Despite the rage which threatened to overwhelm them, the men moved smoothly and in unison, in stark contrast to the chaotic flailing of the Sicambrii. Like a well-oiled machine, the first line of Roman soldiers advanced, spears held aloft in their right hands, body-length shields held in their left. The clank of their boots rising and falling on the ground in unison was enough to shake the very foundations of the earth beneath their feet; several of the Sicambrii were seized by sheer terror upon seeing what looked like a veritable wall of shields approaching their position. The second line of Roman soldiers followed close on the heels of the first, their bootsteps rising and falling in unison not only with each other, but also with the soldiers ahead of them.

Marcus grinned widely at the advance of the Roman soldiers. This,he thought with no small amount of satisfaction, is exactly how an army should operate. The Sicambrii cannot distinguish between being willing to fight to the death and fighting without regard to their own safety - that makes them foolhardy, and it is precisely that which shall lead to their downfall.

The advancing Roman soldiers spread out into a pattern reminiscent of waves crashing upon a beach - the first line of soldiers was the largest, fighting shoulder to shoulder in a semicircular pattern designed to protect the soldiers behind them. The next line was slightly smaller, but still stood the same as the first - shoulder to shoulder with each other. Again, the next line was even smaller. Those soldiers in the rear lines who were not needed in the wave-pattern advanced to the front lines in groups of six, two men in the centre armed with bows, protected by four infantryment armed with spears and shields. The tactics, specially devised by Marcus for the exclusive purpose of fighting the Sicambrii, worked with deadly efficiency and precision. As the Roman soldiers advanced, they hacked their way through the crowd of Sicambrii; the barbarians, despite all their best efforts, found no cracks in the Roman defenses. Powerful axe-blows bounced harmlessly off the gently rounded body shields, only to be met by a riposte from the Roman spears. While the Romans were protected by heavy armour and large shields, the Sicambrii had no such protection - the Roman blows which reigned down upon them pierced their flimsy armour and dug into flesh and bone.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Marcus waded into the fray. At first, he stuck to the rear lines of the advancing infantryment. Few Sicambrii warriors were able to make it around the imposing display of the Roman shield wall, but Marcus was intent on stopping those few who did reach him. It wasn't long before Marcus had his first chance to engage one of the enemy warriors in combat - a particularly persistent giant of a man who had ran around the entire circumference of the Roman defense, hoping to attack the soldiers from behind. Nearly two full feet taller than most of the Roman soldiers, and weighing easily two and a half times Marcus' own weight, the juggernaut looked unstoppable as he charged directly at Marcus. Looks, Marcus knew all too well, were deceiving, and it was a simple matter for him to slip under the barbarian's axe blow - for all his size and strength, the warrior was slow and not terribly agile. Ducking under the wide arc of the barbarian axe, Marcus stepped to his right before thrusting his sword into the warrior's side. The blade of his short sword pierced cleanly through the barbarian's leather armour and slid between his ribs like a knife through warm butter. The blade's exit was not nearly as clean as its entry, however; rather than simply pulling the blade out in the same direction it had entered, Marcus stepped forward, applying all his weight to the hilt of his weapon. The force of Marcus' movement was enough to twist the blade inside the Sicambrii's stomach, forcing the tip of the sword out of his belly. The rest of the blade soon followed, cutting through the rest of the warrior's armour with the same deadly smoothness with which it had began. The eviscerated warrior looked helplessly down at his internal organs, which were rapidly escaping his body by way of the massive and gaping wound Marcus had bestowed upon him. The only sound which escaped his lips was a startled gasp, followed by a pained gurgle before the giant man fell to the ground, writhing in his death throes.

There was no time to stop and celebrate the victory; one enemy warrior was felled by his blade, but thousands more still crashed against the shields of Marcus' soldiers. Already, the effects of exhaustion could be noticed in some of the soldiers; an arm would begin to waver, and then a shield would lower, and in that split second where the exhausted soldier lowered the shield, a Sicambrii axe inevitably found its way to the unfortunate soldier's skull. For every soldier who fell, another stepped up from the line behind him to take his place, maintaining the first semicircular line of defense against the Sicambrii. As Marcus watched the nonstop exchange of blows between soldiers, he felt rather than saw a pair of Sicambrii warriors approaching him from behind. He whirled, lashing out with his sword at the first warrior; his blade bounced harmlessly off the warrior's axe. Marcus scarcely had time to register the fact that his blow had been parried before he was forced to leap to the ground to avoid an attack aimed at his head. From the ground, Marcus stabbed at the ankles of the closest of the two warriors; his blade cut through skin and tendons, knocking the warrior to the ground with a scream of agony. Leaping to his feet, Marcus swung his sword upward, in much the same sort of arc as a pugilist's uppercut. The blow landed exactly as he hoped it would, the first three inches of the blade cleaving upward into the second Sicambrii warrior's skull. As the steel blade tore through the man's face, Marcus leapt off his feet to avoid a halfhearted blow from the warrior whose ankles he had severed. Dropping to his knees, Marcus plunged his sword downward into the hapless warrior's throat, bringing the Sicambrii man's struggle for life to a final end.

As he rose to his feet once more, Marcus noted with glee that his forces seemed on the verge of triumph. The Sicambrii force had been reduced in numbers from nearly ten thousand to a scant few hundred in less than an hour, and the Roman casualties were almost certainly less than five hundred men.

"Press onward," he cried to his men, "and drive them back to the wilderness from whence they came!"

The Sicambrii army seemed oblivious to the elation of Marcus and his soldiers. While the Roman army pressed forward, cutting down more and more Sicambrii warriors as they did, only a single figure could be seen retreating from the battlefield - an easily recognizable figure on horseback.

"Vestatian," Marcus hissed under his breath. "This ends here and now."

Waving down a nearby cavalry soldier, Marcus virtually shoved the soldier from the horse he rode and leapt atop the beast himself. Digging his heels into the horse's flank, Marcus chased off after Vestatian as quickly as the horse would allow him, slowing down only enough to hack downward at errant Sicambrii warriors as he passed by.

It didn't take long to catch up with Vestatian; Marcus reached the leader of the Sicambrii just as they crested a hill not far from the battlefield. Shouting to be heard over the din of the neaerby battle, Marcus demanded Vestatian's attention.

"You! Traitor," he cried out. "Stop and face final justice!"

"Justice? That's odd," Vestatian said, stopping at the top of the hill to face Marcus. A grin spread across his face which was so cold-blooded that Marcus felt as if his very blood froze in his veins. "I was about to say the same thing to you."

"You seem to be under the mistaken impression that you are in a position to do me harm," Marcus said with a heartless laugh as his horse scrambled for purchase, slowly climbing to the top of the hill where Vestatian's horse stood.

"You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I am not in that sort of position," Vestatian said. The simple calm which enveloped his enemy worried Marcus, but he thought nothing of it as the horse climbed the final few feet. Marcus knew that most enemies, when they were about to be cut down, were suddenly overtaken by a sense of fearlessness and overconfidence. This was nothing out of the ordinary, given the situation.

Marcus' breath caught in his chest as his horse finally crested the hill. There, laid out in the plains below the hilltop, lay something Marcus would have thought impossible only seconds before: a second Sicambrii army, this one even larger than the first, slowly marching in the direction of Cologne. They were still nearly a mile away, but they were close enough that Marcus could estimate that their numbers were greater than ten thousand.

"By all the Gods above," Marcus whispered. His entire body was, for the first time in many, many years, seized by fear.

"The Gods have nothing to do with this," Vestatian said. "At least, not the Gods to whom you refer. No, this army is a blessing from the New Gods - Gods you cannot hope to understand, and whose power outmatches the pathetic Olympians in ways that can scarcely be imagined. I gave you the opportunity to surrender, to bow before the might of your new masters. You refused, and now you will suffer the consequences of your arrogance. Protected by the magic of our shamans and guided by the supreme will of our Gods, I will lead our invincible army to victory; once we have crushed this pathetic militia you have gathered, we will move through the province, gathering even more strength, bringing even more tribes to our side, and then the entire Empire shall fall to our might. In its place, we shall forge a New Empire - one where I reign supreme, on par with those mighty Olympians of old, second in power only to the True Gods."

"You are wrong," Marcus said, finally recovering from the terror which had taken over his body. "This force, no matter how powerful, will not be victorious today. And even if what you prophesize was to come to pass, it would not be exactly as you envision it: this army, and this New Empire, will not be lead by you. Nothing will be lead by a dead man."

"Strike me down if you will," Vestatian said haughtily. "Your weapons are useless. Iron and wood can do nothing to this body, for I am protected by forces beyond your comprehension."

"Just because you say it," Marcus said, lashing out viciously with his sword; the weapon found its intended target without difficulty, slicing through Vestatian's neck almost effortlessly. Vestatian's head was severed cleanly from his shoulders; the still-bleeding skull dropped to the ground, followed shortly after by the rest of Vestatian's body. "That does not make it true.

"Mars," Marcus whispered under his breath, "Jupiter, Pluto, Artemis - all of you, Gods of Olympus, hear my prayers now. I have done all in my power; my men will fight these barbarians, and they will fight bravely, but they cannot possibly hope to triumph against such an overwhelming force. I require your aid now, more than ever."

A brilliant flash of light temporarily blinded Marcus; as the white haze faded and his eyesight cleared, Marcus looked around frantically, trying to assess what had happened. To his shock, he found that the din of battle and sounds of approaching soldiers had fallen completely silent; at first, Marcus believed that he had fallen deaf, but this notion was soon disproven. A mere glance down at the battlefield and soldiers below him and on both sides of the hill revealed something Marcus had never before seen: time seemed to have completely stopped. Even from the distance which separated him from his men, Marcus could see that every man on the battlefield was frozen and utterly still. Even the breeze had stopped; indeed, the only sign of life that Marcus could spot anywhere was himself.

"You waver in your convictions," a voice said, coming from the very clouds above Marcus' head. The voice was deeper and more resonating than any voice a human could ever be capable of producing. Rather than the typical rumblings which came from a human voicebox, the voice coming from the clouds sounded, appropriately enough, like thunder. "Do you believe yourself unworthy of the task for which you have been selected?"

"No," Marcus cried out, "I do not. But neither am I capable of defending against an enemy force numbering so many with so few, and so poorly trained, soldiers."

"Then perhaps you are not the warrior we thought you were."

"Who in Hades are you?"

"Not in Hades," the voice replied. A beam of light shone down from the clouds above, convalescing and taking form in front of Marcus. The shimmering light gradually took the shape of a powerful hulk of an older man dressed in the most elegant clothing Marcus had ever seen - a wardrobe of such quality that even Emperor Trajan would have looked like a street urchin in comparison. "No, I most certainly do not hail from Hades. You know who I am, Marcus."

"Jupiter," Marcus whispered reverentially. He bowed his head, averting his gaze from the most powerful of all Gods in Olympus.

"Yes," Jupiter said, nonplussed at Marcus' reaction. "Now, Marcus, do you intend to sit there with your head down all day, or do you intend to fight your enemy?"

"I will fight, of course," Marcus said. "But tell me - how can I hope to achieve victory? We have performed far better on the field of battle already than I had any right to hope we would, and we barely managed to defeat a smaller force than the one which marches on the opposite side of this hill. There is no tactic, no maneuver, nothing that I can imagine which would allow us to survive. Even retreating to the city would be of no use - the horde here has numbers sufficient to simply overrun our city's defenses and find us inside the walls."

"Then do not fight inside the city walls," Jupiter said.

"Please," Marcus pleaded. "Do not be so cryptic, my Lord. Without proper guidance, I fear we will fail here...and Lord Mars has told me what the consequences of our failure would be. I cannot - I will not allow that fate to befall our Empire."

"I didn't think you would," Jupiter said. "Marcus, you asked your soldiers if they were willing to fight and to die defending their homes, their family, and their Empire against the Sicambrii, and they said yes. Does the same hold true for you?"

"Yes, my Lord. I will fight unto the death, if that is what is required of me."

"Then fight as if this force advancing upon your city is but a fraction of its true size. Strike at them with the heart and soul of a Roman warrior - destroy them with all your might. You were once told that we would not have selected you for this quest if we did not believe that you were capable of a decisive triumph. That has not changed, Marcus. Just fight; whatever happens after that, happens."

"Yes," Marcus said. The wisdom of the words his God spoke rang true in his ears. "Thank you, my Lord. We shall do precisely that - with every ounce of strength in our bodies, we will fight the damnable heathens, and we will triumph."

Jupiter smiled kindly, then vanished in a flash of light. Immediately, the silence which surrounded Marcus was replaced by the chaotic din of battle once again.

"To the death," Marcus muttered grimly, turning his horse to charge back to the battlefield.

Chapter XIX

Marcus' heart thudded in his chest as his horse thundered toward the battlefield outside the city of Cologne. The Roman soldiers on the battlefield below him were jubilant, already beginning to celebrate as they chased down and slaughtered the last of the Sicambrii warriors that they could see. In their minds, the battle was theirs - but Marcus knew better.

"Fools," he muttered under his breath. As he closed the gap between himself and his soldiers, he screamed orders at them. "Fall back to the walls! Reload the siege engines!"

"What is going on? The battle is ours," Domitian said, grabbing hold of the reigns of Marcus' horse as it came to a stop in front of him.

"The battle has hardly begun," Marcus said. "On the other side of that hill march more than ten thousand Sicambrii warriors headed for this position. We have defeated their initial force, this is true; I have also finally killed that traitor Julianus Vestatian. However, none of that changes the fact that we will soon be overrun by a force which we can hardly hope to resist."

"What can we hope to do against a force that large? We suffered serious losses in this battle," Domitian said, obviously disheartened at the prospect that the battle was not yet over. "We cannot survive an onslaught such as the one that you describe."

"We will do the only thing we can," Marcus said grimly. "We will fight. If we die, then we die - but we shall die in battle, and we shall take as many of the Sicambrii with us as we can."

"Of course," Domitian said with a nod. He turned and faced the crowd of soldiers. "To the city walls! Reload the siege weapons, and if you don't do it quickly, by the Divine Lords of Olympus, you'll be the ones in the catapults! Now move!"

The soldiers scattered, eagerly obeying the commands of their commanders, though they obviously did not understand why. It took very little time for the men to retreat to the walls of the city, taking cover behind the hastily erected wooden barriers. As they had been commanded, the soldiers began to reload the siege weapons, loading jars of oil into the catapults and onagers, and massive wooden bolts into the ballistae. The rest of the soldiers stood behind the wooden barriers, looking around uneasily. Their confusion was quickly replaced by fear as the first Sicambrii warriors could be seen atop the distant hill on the opposite side of the battlefield.

"How long," Domitian asked, "until they are in range of the oil?"

"At least half an hour," Marcus said. "Provided they continue at their current pace. Enough time to prepare."

"Prepare how?"

"We have plenty of jars of oil in reserve, correct?"

"Yes," Domitian said, quickly scanning a sheet of parchment which he pulled from the leather pouch at his side. "We should still have fifty more jars, even after these currently loaded volleys are accounted for."

"Good. Order several groups of soldiers to take the jars and set them on the battlefield, spaced evenly, ten feet apart around our position. Make sure that they are a good distance from us, but close enough that they can get them out there before the Sicambrii arrive."

"General," Domitian said, obviously confused at Marcus' odd command, "what good will it do for us to hand our enemy weapons?"

"More good than you might imagine," Marcus said with a wicked grin. "When the Sicambrii close in on the position of the jars of oil - when their main forces are at the line laid out by the jars - we will unleash volley after volley of flaming arrows upon their heads."

"The arrows will light the oil aflame," Domitian said slowly.

"More than that," Marcus said. "Provided the jars are still sealed, the pressure caused by the oil should create an explosion, spreading the flaming oil out over their troops and the battlefield. Those of the Sicambrii who survive the first volleys of oil, the flaming arrows, the standard arrows, and the exploding jars of oil will still have to fight amidst the flames. It may not be enough to guarantee a victory for us, but it will certainly be a good start."

"I understand," Domitian said. He rushed off to the gathered groups of soldiers to carry out Marcus' orders.

Time seemed to slow down as the soldiers set up the jars of oil as they were instructed. The march of the Sicambrii warriors toward the Roman position was inexorably slow but unceasing; Marcus had felt some concern that their trap would not have time to be fully set before the barbarians were in position, but his fears were allayed when the last group of soldiers set up their jars of oil and rushed back to their fortified positions.

"Release the first volleys of flaming oil," Marcus said as the Sicambrii finally drew into firing range. "Make sure that none of the shots hit the jars we have set up. We only have enough oil to do this once, and we cannot afford to err."

"Release the oil! Fire into the midst of their ranks," Domitian cried out, "and burn them to a crisp!"

The volley of flaming oil was impressive; the massive jars tumbled through the air, trailing their signature trails of thick black smoke behind them. The Sicambrii hardly even seemed to notice the massive missiles tumbling down into their ranks; the jars shattered and spilled their fiery contents onto the nearby warriors. Although each jar of oil hit its target with deadly precision, the volley hardly seemed to have an effect on the swirling mass of men and weapons which continued to advance toward the city walls.

"Arrows," Marcus said. "Not flaming ones. Not yet."

"Archers," Domitian cried, "release your volleys!"

The Roman arches nocked their arrows, raised their bows in unison, and unleashed a deadly hail of arrows onto the heads of the Sicambrii warriors. Unlike the first Sicambrii advance, the archers did not stop after their initial volleys; each archer reloaded and released volley after volley as quickly as they possibly could. So many arrows swarmed through the air that the sun itself was partially blocked out, causing an ominous twilight to fall over the middle of the battlefield as the razor-tipped missiles cut down the ranks of warriors.

"We should release the flaming arrows," Domitian said. "They are close enough, don't you think?"

"No," Marcus said, watching the advancing Sicambrii get closer and closer to the jars of oil. "Let them get closer."

"Any closer," Domitian said nervously, "and they'll be able to pick up the bloody jars!"

"Good," Marcus said. "That's exactly what I'm hoping for. The closer the damnable barbarians are to those jars, the more effective they will be. If we fire now, we'll splash the first row of warriors. That would be fine, except that the rear rows of warriors would see the flames and then march around them. If we wait another minute, it will be too late for them to do anything but scream in agony as the flames consume their bodies. Let's see their gods protect them then."

"Of course, sir. Just give the word," Domitian said, acknowledging Marcus' superiority in these affairs, "and we'll send them to whatever afterlife awaits them in Hades."

"Now," Marcus said. "The flaming arrows and the ballistae."

As if the order was communicated telepathically to the archers, they released the flaming volley of arrows before Domitian had even finished screaming the order to them. The flaming bolts tumbled unsteadily through the air, their oil-soaked tips causing an erratic flight pattern, in sharp contrast to the massive wooden bolts from the ballistae, which flew straight and true through the air to land amidst the mass of warriors. The flaming arrows landed shortly thereafter; almost half of the missiles struck Sicambrii warriors, the flaming projectiles setting alight the chests of the warriors even as they pierced their flesh. Of those arrows that did not strike warriors, the majority landed harmlessly on the ground, impaling themselves in the already blood-soaked earth. However, several of the hundreds of flaming arrows which had been unleashed upon the Sicambrii horde struck their intended targets; massive fireballs erupted along the line where the oil jars had been placed. The fireballs were far larger than one would have expected from the explosion of the jars, or so it seemed to Marcus. They erupted in a chain of explosions; first, several jars exploded, flinging flaming oil and superheated shards of pottery across the battlefield; some of these shards pierced other jars of oil, causing even more explosions and sending out even more superheated shards of pottery. The cycle continued in this manner until all of the jars of oil had exploded and released their deadly rain upon the Sicambrii combatants.

"Vulcan smiles upon us today," Domitian said. "Those explosions are far too large to have been caused by mere chance. I sense the hand of the Lord of Volcanoes in the works."

"That was also my thought," Marcus said. "But we cannot allow such a sign to make us overconfident; we have scarcely managed to kill more than a thousand of the enemy's warriors."

"We are still outnumbered more than seven to one," Domitian said with a heavy sigh. "There is nothing we can do. We shall not survive the day."

"I don't know about that," Marcus said, drawing his sword in a dramatic motion. "Seven to one? Those are odds that I'm willing to take."

"You are bold," Domitian said, "but there's no way we can hope to win this battle, Marcus. Even with the aid of the Gods, the Sicambrii simply outnumber us."

"What would you do? Would you," Marcus said, his voicing rising to a loud enough pitch that the majority of the soldiers on the Roman side of the battlefield could hear him, "surrender and allow the Sicambrii to rule over us once again? Would you allow them to enter the city and have their way with our women and children?

"I will not stand by and watch that happen to our people again! I will fight to the death, if that is what is required of me, but I will not allow another Sicambrii to step foot inside of a Roman city again! If your cowardice, or the cowardice of any man on this battlefield, is so great that he will not be able to face down his enemy, then let him run for safety now! Otherwise, get your weapons at the ready, and we'll show these sons of whores exactly what we're made of!"

A great cheer rose up from the Roman soldiers, followed shortly by the swishing sounds of swords being drawn from scabbards and the clank of spears being handed out to the men. Marcus picked up a spear which had fallen to the ground in his left hand, cutting most of the shaft of the weapon off with the spear held in his right hand. With the spear reduced in size to slightly larger than that of the shortsword he also carried, Marcus whipped both weapons around his body in a dizzying whirlwind. With a satisfied nod, he let loose a battle cry loud enough to shake the nearest Sicambrii warriors and charged past the protective wooden barrier. Every single one of the Roman soldiers, Domitian included, followed close on his heels, brandishing their weaponry menacingly. The Sicambrii warriors had closed to within several hundred feet of the Roman position, so it took very little time for Marcus and his soldiers to close the gap between their position and the warriors. The two opposing forces clashed together like two massive stones smashing into each other.

It was as if Marcus had released everything in his mind which had restrained him as a warrior before; he moved through the ranks of the Sicambrii like a man possessed, the weapons in each of his hand moving independently, slashing and blocking the attacks of the enemy simultaneously; he would block a Sicambrii blow with his sword, only to thrust out with his spear and piece the neck of a warrior on the opposite side of his body. He continued in this same way, striking and blocking entirely out of instinct, feeling more like a machine designed for no purpose other than bringing death than a human being.

The other Roman soldiers were not as lucky as Marcus, however; they managed to hold their own with the enemy warriors, but scarcely more than that. The death rate on both sides of the battlefield seemed constant; for every Roman that fell, so fell a Sicambrii. The only notable exception was Marcus hacking and mowing down the enemy warriors. This is it,Marcus thought, we may actually win this battle, after all - the Gods have granted me greater strength and skill at arms than I have ever possessed before. So help me -

Marcus' train of thought was interrupted by a sharp, hot stabbing pain in his abdomen. Looking down, Marcus saw a gaping wound in his stomach, the flesh torn apart by the blow of a Sicambrii axe-blade. Blood trickled freely from the open wound, and the pain would have been enough to drive a normal man to his knees. Marcus was no normal man, however; he fought on, hacking and slashing at the surrounding Sicambrii, though with considerably more difficulty than the same actions had created only moments before.

A second blow landed on Marcus' body, this time on his left shoulder. The axe bit deep into his collarbone, smashing through skin and bone with all the finesse of a hammer. Marcus cried out in pain and fell to the ground. Dropping his spear, he scrambled to regain his footing, withdrawing from the mass of men as quickly as his wounds would allow. Fortunately, he quickly reached the edge of the mass of warriors and soldiers; he fell to the ground again, this time propped half-up against one of the wooden barriers which dotted the battlefield. He remained there, gasping for air frantically as he watched the battle unfold around him. He still held his sword in his hand, but he knew there was not enough strength left in his limbs to swing the weapon again.

"General," one of the Roman Centurions proclaimed, running to Marcus' side as he spotted the wounded officer. "How badly are you wounded?"

"Badly enough," Marcus said with a weak cough. "Badly enough that I cannot fight further without endangering my life. Not so badly that I need any of my soldiers here, away from the battlefield. Get back into the fray...we are losing the battle, soldier, and need everyone possible to stave off the Sicambrii advance on our city for as long as possible. Perhaps...perhaps someone watching will warn our women and children, and perhaps allow them to make an escape from the city."

As Marcus' sentence trailed off into silence, the din of the battlefield was drowned out by the blast from a powerful horn. Raising his neck, Marcus peered out into the distance, trying to ascertain the source of the noise. There, atop the same hill where the Sicambrii force had marched down to Cologne, was a force which was obviously Roman in origin - the sunlight shone off their armour, making them easily visible even from the distance.

"Who," the Centurion at Marcus' side asked, "is that?"

"Reinforcements," Marcus muttered weakly, "from Germania Superior. They are too late...there will not be more than a few hundred men. Not enough to claim victory today."

"Begging your pardon, General," the Centurion said, his voice rising in excitement, "but that is more than a few hundred men. Considerably more."

Marcus opened his eyes again, straining to see what the Centurion saw. He was confused for a moment, seeing only the expected several hundred men marching toward Cologne.

"You've lost your mind," Marcus said. "It is as I said, and nothing more. The men are welcome, but they will not -"

Marcus was cut off once again, this time by the sound of another powerful horn blast from the opposite side of the battlefield. Craning his neck, Marcus' mouth fell agape at the sight before him. Cresting a hill to the north of Cologne were standard bearers - Marcus counted at least six different legionary banners.

"It seems," the Centurion said, "that the General of Germania Superior's forces has contacted some of our most powerful allies. Those men are from the Imperial Legions, and in great enough numbers that they must be lead by the Emperor himself. I recognize the standards they bear. Victory shall be ours!"

With an unrestrained smile on his face, Marcus forced himself to his feet, brandishing his sword at his side once again.

"Sir," the Centurion said, concerned at Marcus' movement, "I thought you said that you cannot fight further without causing undue risk of your own death?"

"That is what I said," Marcus said, "and it is true. But I will not force my fellow soldiers to fight while I rest here. Come, friend - as long as the Sicambrii still fight, and blood still flows in our veins, we will not stop slaughtering them!"

Stumbling more than walking, Marcus made his way back to the battlefield. Many of the Sicambrii were beginning to scatter, seeing the vast Roman forces descending upon them from every direction. Of those barbarians who remained to fight, Marcus knew who he had to engage - a particularly large and violent warrior who towered over the others on the battlefield; the intricate decorations which covered his armour were so fine, in comparison to the other Sicambrii, that Marcus knew he could be none other than the leader of the warriors.

"You! Come," Marcus screamed at the Sicambrii warrior, "and fight! Your death awaits!"
With a growl, the Sicambrii giant rushed at Marcus, swinging his oversized battleaxe. Marcus did not have the strength to dodge the blow this time; the axe cleaved into his chest, shattering the steel bands of armour which protected him and tearing into the flesh below. Marcus knew that the blow would prove fatal, but still no trace of fear took hold of him. The Sicambrii leader laughed heartlessly at the sight of Marcus falling to his knees.

"Laugh for as long as you can," Marcus said, a grin slowly spreading over his face. With one final burst of strength, he shot up to his feet, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The still-laughing barbarian leader didn't even see the blow coming; Marcus' sword split the giant's head in two, bringing the vicious warrior's life to an end in a single smooth blow. "Your time is over."

His strength utterly spent, Marcus dropped to his knees once more, then fell to his back. As he lay there, the last moments of his life passing before his very eyes, he became aware of a Roman soldier standing over him. Looking up, he recognized Domitian standing there. Silently, Domitian saluted Marcus by thumping his right fist into his chest, directly over his heart. With tremendous effort, Marcus returned the gesture with a very weak smile.

"Strength and honour," Marcus whispered the credo of the Legions.

"Strength and honour, old friend," Domitian said, bowing his head in reverence before Marcus.

Marcus' eyes closed, and the world faded to black.

Epilogue

The chilly autumn wind whipped around Alexandra, forcing her black dress to swirl around her. She stood in much the same place she had stood for the last six months, in the middle of Cologne's city square. Most of her days were spent there, standing in front of a newly erected monument to the province's greatest hero - her late husband, the General Marcus Eranthan Ulpius. The monument was at once both simple and bold; Marcus stood immortalized in granite in the middle of the square, eternally forced into a dramatic pose - standing at attention in full uniform, his sword outstretched to point off into the distance. Alexandra thought it was a fitting tribute to the man that she had loved - the man that she would continue to love for the rest of her life.

Many changes had taken place in Cologne over the past months, and many continued even to that day. Emperor Trajan had arrived in the city shortly after the battle with the Sicambrii, his Legions fresh from their victory in Dacia. When told the story of Marcus, the original battles with the Sicambrii, and the resistance movement and final triumph over their barbarian enemy, he had been astounded. It was at his command, and funded by his personal purse, that the statue dedicated to Marcus had been commisioned. The Emperor had also promised that similar tributes would be erected in Rome; Marcus' image had earned a place with the images of the mightest warriors the Empire had ever known, he said. Alexandra had smiled for a full day after that comment, knowing how much the praise would have meant to Marcus.

"You should see your legacy, my love," she whispered under her breath. "Only six months after you led your men to victory, and already you are immortalized in the hearts and minds of the entire Empire. The Emperor himself was at your funeral, along with half of the nobility in the Empire. He chose a new Governor for the province that very day: Domitian presented the application to have Ceresius punished on your behalf. Ceresius, I'm sure you would be happy to know, has been demoted to a position of no more importance than the cleaner of the Emperor's kitchen.

"The Legions who came to your aid were astonished at your accomplishments. I spent hours at the funeral listening to their Generals speaking at great length about the impossibility of the task that you had set before you, and how amazing it is that you managed to accomplish what you did. They did not believe that it was possible for a man to do half of what you did, given your circumstances; given the size of the enemy army, none of the Generals believed that they would have been able to do the same. In fact, they said that if they had been in command of an army the size of what you had composed entirely of seasoned veterans and warriors of great might, the chances of stopping the Sicambrii army would be slim to none. You are a true hero, my love, and that legacy will never fade.

"Even today, bards in every corner of the Empire are singing your praises and telling tales of the epic battle of Cologne, where the might of the Roman Empire triumphed once and for all over the savagery of the barbarian hordes.

"I only wish you could have survived to see it," she continued, her eyes welling up with tears. "But I promise you this, beloved: as long as there are civilized people in the world with tongues to speak and hearts that burn with passion, your story will be told. Your memory will live forever, my love, in the hearts and minds of every Roman citizen from this day on. As for me, I have returned to my duties at the Temple; I shall live the rest of my life as I lived the first half - untouched by the hands of any other than you, in anticipation of the day we will be reunited in the Elysium Fields. Until then, my love, watch over me just as I am watching over you."

THE END

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Epilogue