After the initial flurry of activity upon Lucius’s arrival in Constantinopolis, the dominus left them cooling their heels in their fort while they waited for his summons to the planning session. In the meantime, Lucius used the time available for a project he needed to work on. One of his optios had found a legionnaire who knew the Roxolani dialect and assigned him to his personal staff as translator and tutor.
“Thank you, Optio, dismissed,” Lucius said crisply. “What’s your name, miles?”
“Katokas, Centurio.”
“Where’d you learn Roxolani? I thought most of the Sarmatians in our ranks were from the Iazyges.”
“Aye, sir. My father was of the Iazyges. My mother was Roxolani and taught me her dialect.”
“And you’re confident in your Roxolani?”
“They’re not too far off, Centurio. The Roxolani like to come down through the northern mountains to trade. I’m confident I can translate for you and ensure the words you’re getting from their translator are honest.”
“Good, I’ll add you to my staff with its commensurate pay raise. Let’s go walk around the barracks. You can teach me the words for things while we stretch our legs.”
“Aye, sir, thank you, Centurio.”
Lucius dragged Katokas around, asking him to teach him the words for their implements of war as well as the actions they could perform, thus learning some rudimentary commands in Sarmatian.
It wasn’t until eight days after the initial meeting with Constantius that Lucius and Marpesia were summoned to discuss matters of the coming campaign. When the message came from the imperator, Lucius brought Katokas along as one of his personal escorts. He met Marpesia and her retinue at the gates of the barracks. She waited with her steppes pony, wearing full armor.
“Greetings to the Centurio Immortalis on this fine sunny day,” Aella said, bowing as he walked up, Katokas behind him holding both their ponies.
“Greetings to Marpesia, leader of the Wolf Clan and her companion Aella. Are you ready to go discuss war with Constantius and his Dux Belorum?”
Marpesia rattled off several lines, clipped and annoyed sounding. Lucius waited for Aella’s translation. “My mistress is ever ready to hear the inspired words of the great Constantius.”
Katokas coughed behind him. Lucius thought he was covering a laugh, although he didn’t need his own translator to tell him Aella had cleaned up her clan chief’s words. Marpesia’s tone and delivery had made her meaning more than clear. Like Lucius, she was not happy being shunted aside on such an important mission for her people, forced to cool her heels while Constantius and his generals discussed whatever it is they felt was more important than meeting with the leader of the Black Legion, their Sarmatian allies, and their emissary.
“No Roman dress today?” Lucius asked as he signaled for the gates to be opened.
“She wishes to remind them of who she is and why she’s here,” Aella supplied. “And if you don’t mind me adding my own opinion, she is peevish at her treatment and wishes to annoy those for whom a woman in war gear is viewed as an abomination.”
Lucius laughed. He was fortunate to catch Marpesia’s face, the scowl lifting from her face under the sound of his laugh. Not taking the care to guard his expression as he usually did except around the few he counted close, he smiled warmly at her before turning to lead his pony out the gate. When their small detachment cleared the gates, they mounted up.
“Form around our guests!” he called. “Let’s deliver them to his shining lordship.”
He still wasn’t sure about the gelding the horsemaster had picked out. The horse didn’t complain much, responding to his commands easily, but he lacked that something he’d gotten used to after riding Cicero for so many years. His new horse hadn’t tried to bite anyone or kick. In the miles they’d put in together since leaving Vindobona, he’d not come up with much of an impression of the beast; its four legs carried him to the place he needed to be efficiently enough but that was all. The animal was still nameless. He sighed.
Marpesia asked Aella something.
Aella, riding between him and her mistress, turned to Lucius. “Why such a big sigh on a beautiful warm day?”
“Oh, it’s nothing really.” He let the silence hang. “It’s this pony.”
Aella looked it over. “It looks an adequate mount.”
“It is, but it’s not my pony. I had to retire my previous mount. He’s too old for what we’re about to do, but Cicero was a cantankerous bastard.” He sighed again. “This horse is like plain porridge.”
When his words were translated, Marpesia favored him with a laugh. The rich, vibrant sound brought a smile to his face as the sun glinted off her dark auburn hair. Seeing his smile and catching him admiring her, she winked before saying something to Aella.
“My mistress thanks you for lightening her mood. It’s often hard to hold one’s tongue when annoyed, and she feels she’ll need that ability in the coming meeting.”
“It was my pleasure.” Truth was, her smile and laugh had done more good for his disposition that day than the sun, even though he knew he was likely riding into the north as winter approached, and he should soak up the sun while he could. He was just as annoyed about the situation as Marpesia.
Tables scattered about a large room greeted Lucius and Marpesia when they were escorted into the presence of Constantius and his warlords. Surveying the maps, Lucius saw two strategies laid out, depending on the movement of the enemy. If they went through the passes and to the west of the Montes Sarmatici, their attack would likely fall somewhere in the land of the Lugii and Iazyges along the Pannonia border. If they chose the eastern route, they’d come out on the Pontus Euxine and down into Thracia.
As he stared at the maps, Marpesia standing over his shoulder, someone stepped up behind them. “What’s your assessment of the situation, Centurio? Will it be east or west?”
Lucius heard Aella whisper the words to her mistress. Not looking up, he pointed to the mountains deep outside the Roman borders, moving to the range to the farthest northwest of their area of concern. “I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the Carpates and this section where they join the Montes Sarmatici, but it’s rough—the mountains are tall, although the range is thin at this point. Further west, there’s lower ground, but it’s a long journey in winter. Then you’re coming up against the Noricum, and nobody wants to attempt those mountains in winter.”
Aella cleared her throat before speaking. “My mistress agrees with the Centurio’s assessment. Based on our last dispatches, the Goths have been steadily angling east.”
Lucius nodded at Marpesia and Aella. “I think east seems the most likely option. Based on the reports I’ve heard from my contacts across the border, the Goths are traveling with their full tribe, not just warriors—men, women, children, elders, everyone. The east is the easiest path in winter. Thracia is the likely target. Marpesia, what do you think?”
“Word from our northern tribes and our allies is that winter is already harsher than normal years. They will make for the least arduous path south and into the sun. East along those mountains is where you’ll find the Goths,” Aella translated.
“That is my assessment was well.”
Lucius turned after giving his opinion and quickly bowed. “Dominus.”
Constantius continued. “We’re marshaling my forces here, near Nicopolis.” He pointed to the map.
“It’ll allow you the flexibility if we’ve guessed wrong,” Lucius said. He’d sent his men to Oescus, north of Nicopolis, for the same reasons.
Constantius turned and looked at Marpesia. “Now, my Roxolani Chieftainess, how do you propose to get around behind the Goths? Shall we load you on boats and ship you across the Pontus Euxinus along with the Black Legion?”
Marpesia shook her head, reaching for a rolled up leather Aella held for her. Lucius stepped out of her way, allowing her to unroll the leather onto the table. Printed on the leather, a map depicted the southern mountains. The mountains he’d marched through over two hundred years ago. The mountains he’d fought and bled in to bring the Dacian province into the empire.
“I wish we had some of Traianus’s or Hadrianus’s old maps of Dacia,” Lucius commented offhandedly. Lucius had seen those maps and their details, including the varying passes through these mountains. He’d been young and didn’t remember most of them from his first journeys there. Judging by these and their less than stellar details, those maps might have been lost or not available here. Constantinopolis, despite being built on an ancient city, was still new as a capital. The resources that were available in Roma might not be here yet.
Marpesia was about to explain her ideas when she was unceremoniously shouldered out of the way by a skinny kid in an elaborate leather cuirass with Roma’s eagle spread across its chest, its shoulder armor and cloak attached with the Chi Ro symbol favored by the Dominus and his Christians. The boy had a Greek nose and a prominent chin on a round face. He looked to be in his mid-teens, still not quite able to fill out his armor.
“Ah, Princeps Primus Centurio Ferrata, this is my eldest son, Flavius Claudius Constantius Caesar,” Constantius said. “Flavius, this is the man who styles himself the Centurio Immortalis.”
Marpesia’s jaw clenched, and she looked daggers at the boy who’d shoved her out of the way. Aella’s hand landed on her mistress’s arm, and Lucius saw her hold Marpesia back.
Clearing her throat, Aella said, “My mistress says the world knows him as the Centurio Immortalis; he does not need to style himself anything, his reputation does it for him.”
“Apparently your pet barbarian has taken a liking to him,” Flavius commented to his father.
“The Roxolani are our allies. We should show them respect,” Constantius replied, although his indulgent tone belied the meaning of his words.
The boy’s rudeness had used up what laughter Lucius had created for Marpesia. Lucius’s eyes narrowed and his face hardened as he stared at the whelp. He wasn’t sure if it was arrogance from his position, the cocksure attitude of youth, insecurity because of his age and inexperience surrounded by hardened warriors and leaders, or a combination thereof. Lucius, though, would do what he’d always done when dealing with the arrogance of Roma’s rulers—grit his teeth, be aloofly polite, and maintain his independence.
Lucius tore his stare away from the boy and turned to the Roxolani emissary. “Marpesia, I believe you were about to show us your plan to put your forces and my legion behind the Goths?”
Aella squeezed Marpesia’s arm, harshly whispering Lucius’s words into her ear. Finally, Marpesia shook her head and made eye contact with Lucius. He tried to fill his gaze with calm reassurance and support. She was to be his ally for the coming campaign, and he needed her to trust him. Flavius had been rude and continued to be so. Lucius didn’t blame Marpesia for her anger with the arrogant whelp and was himself annoyed on her behalf. Annoyed with the boy himself, he backed up further, making more room for her.
Marpesia kept his gaze as she stepped forward, letting her hand brush against his, her fingers dragging across the back of his hand. Lucius inhaled sharply at her touch but tried to keep the noise contained. Despite having space to step closer to the map, she kept her body close to Lucius’s. Reaching down, she put her finger on a section of the southern mountain range. Lucius leaned over her shoulder to look at it. She pulled her map toward her.
Aella started speaking, but Lucius lost the thread of her words when he inhaled through his nose; Marpesia’s scent—herbs, spice, and evergreens—wiped his thoughts clean.
“Centurio? Centurio?”
The sound of Aella speaking his name finally drew Lucius back to the moment and their meeting. He felt heat suffusing his cheeks as he flushed with embarrassment. When he brought his gaze level with Aella’s, he could see the knowing look in her eyes, the friendly laughter at his distraction.
Aella only let him dangle over the precipice for a moment before throwing him a lifeline. “My mistress wishes to move our combined forces through this pass in the southern mountains. Once through, we’ll head east through the highlands until we get to the eastern mountains. The passes there aren’t as easy as the southern pass, but it’s one our people have used many times. It’ll put us out on the plains here.” Aella pointed to the hills and lowlands that lead down to the Pontus Euxinus.
Constantius looked up from the map, looking toward Lucius. “Centurio, are you familiar with this territory?”
“Aye, Dominus. I spent three years campaigning through this area under Traianus. I’ve passed through a few times after, before the province was lost. I think I’m familiar with the southern pass our Roxolani allies want to use. If it’s the one I remember, it’ll serve our needs nicely.” He looked at Marpesia. “May I?”
She moved slightly, giving him enough space to lean over and point to the map. “We’ll come out here on the highlands she mentioned. It’s a good spot. If it turns out the Tervingi have gone west instead of east, we can harass their forces and slow their advance until you can bring your main force to bear. If they go to the east as our intelligence suggests, this pass should be easy to defend against a larger force. If we can’t get all the way behind, we can hopefully keep a large portion of their warriors occupied. It’s a good, well thought out plan, Dominus.”
“Very well, Centurio. You’ll coordinate your legion with the Roxolani. Draw what stores and gear you need.”
Lucius stood straight, saluting. “Aye, Dominus. It shall be as you’ve ordered. We’ll try to keep messengers running to Oescus as long as we can to keep you appraised of our progress.”
The rest of Constantius’s war leaders had gathered around the table. Nodding at the map, Constantius straightened up and called the room to order. “Everyone is dismissed for now. Centurio, you and the Roxolani are free to proceed to the border. When your forces are marshaled, move across the Danuvius and engage the enemy when the time is right.”
Everyone, save for the Roxolani, snapped to attention and saluted their imperator.
“Centurio, I’d like to speak with you after the room clears,” Constantius added before walking toward an ornate chair on the far side of the room. His son followed him. “Someone send in Eusebius.”
Lucius stood by the table as everyone filed out. Marpesia and Aella waited by Lucius.
“Aella, please tell Centurio Tinkomaros to form up. As soon as I’m finished here, we’ll retire to the barracks.”
Aella nodded, passing his words onto Marpesia. She nodded at Lucius, smiling before following Aella out of the room. Once everyone else had left, the wild-eyed fanatic entered, eyeing Lucius disdainfully as he stalked across the room to stand to the left of Constantius. Flavius stood to his father’s right. Lucius stopped in front of Constantius, bowing with his fist over his heart.
“How may I serve you, Dominus?” Lucius asked.
“You may serve me by executing this mission successfully, then you will serve the empire no more.”
Lucius’s breath caught in his chest, his eyes blinking as he tried to work through what Constantius might mean. To give himself time, he let his eyes drift to Eusebius. The zealot looked positively gleeful, his smile a triumphant sneer. On the other side of Constantius, Flavius smirked cruelly, trying to look haughty.
“I beg your pardon, Dominus?” Lucius asked, the words barely louder than a whisper.
“Your time under the eagle has come to an end, Centurio. The empire no longer needs your services to fight monsters from false gods. When you cross the border, you may never return across it under penalty of death. If you return, you shall be declared a traitor and an enemy of the state.” Constantius stared at Lucius, his face molded into a stern visage.
“My…my men…” Lucius breathed shallowly, trying to understand what was happening. Two hundred and twenty-nine years…
“Your men may return to the empire and retire. Those who wish to remain in the legions will be dispersed to various units at their current rank and the commensurate standard pay to serve the remainder of their term.”
“But…my service to the empire?” The muscles in his jaw twitched, his brow furrowed.
“It has come to the end and is no longer needed. Some suggested you be executed outright to prevent you from fomenting a rebellion, but in honor of your service, you will be allowed to live under exile. You are dismissed.”
Lucius snapped his jaw closed, straightened, and saluted. He turned crisply and marched toward the door, the triumphant sneer of Eusebius and Flavius’s laughing eyes etched into Lucius’s brain. When he approached the door, the two guards yanked them open, fearing Lucius might walk right through them.
As he marched through the halls, people scattered out of his way, his face filled with thunder, driving those before him. When he reached the courtyard where his men waited, he yanked his skullcap out of his belt pouch and pulled it on. A legionnaire waited, holding his helmet while another held the reins of his gelding. Yanking the helmet from the inoffensive man’s hands, he pulled it over his head and lashed it tight, leaping onto the back of his horse. Once he had his reins, he kicked his horse into motion, everyone else responding.
He kept his eyes forward, all sound missing his ears, his back straight and rigid. He thought Marpesia and Aella might have brought their ponies up beside him, but he didn’t bother checking. He held his reins and let the gelding follow the rest of the horses back to their barracks. Seeing anger sketched vividly in his face, Lucius’s men didn’t speak to him, carrying out their orders as always.
When they got back to the barracks, Lucius slid off the back of his horse, tossed his reins to his waiting groom, and trudged to his quarters. He took his helmet off, lifting it by grabbing the cheek guards. The guards were damp, as were the back of his knuckles. Reaching up, he ran the tips of his fingers over his cheeks, finding tear tracks. He set his helmet on the edge of the desk, missed; the helmet clanged to the ground.
Looking at his hands, he didn’t recognize the tremble. He tried backing away only to run into a chair and sag into it when it shoved his legs out from under him. Letting rasping gulps of air fill his lungs, he tried to control himself and failed. Finally giving up, he let his head fall into his hands as tears streamed down his cheeks, falling from his face to land on his legs and onto the floor.
After serving the empire with loyalty and distinction for almost two hundred and thirty years, the Centurio Immortalis was no more.