Fend for Yourselves
On the road to Londinium, there were two inns, one post station—what I'd still instinctively call a yeokjam from my studies of ancient Korean history—and beside it, a fine lodging house for imperial officials. I mention this specifically because the spacing between these establishments was remarkably short, far from the norm. Roman roads typically had at least one civilian-run inn, but even galloping flat-out from Avalonia to Londinium, you'd barely make it in half a day. So many lodgings crammed onto such a brief stretch begged questions. It spoke volumes about the volume of traffic—goods and people—flowing between Londinium and Avalonia. And considering the similar distance and number of inns on the road east from Avalonia to Camulodunum, it hinted at a highly efficient economic, social, and military network linking southeastern Britannia's Londinium–Avalonia–Camulodunum triangle.
But what lay beyond? The roads west, north, and south from Londinium? We were just hearing the answers.
"Next, the representative from the Cantii region's fortress, Durovernum—"
"The villages west of Legionum have already been evacuated. Forgive the interruption, but the situation along the southern coast is far more urgent than the troubles facing all you fine people here. It's precarious. Frankly, we can't hold it."
"Comes, please calm—"
"I saw the roads split open on the way here. Unrepaired. That's the state of our southern coastal defenses. Rutupiae, Dubris, Lemanis. Anyone rooted in this Britannia knows those names. With Comes Uterius's aid, we've scraped together garrisons for those key points, but it's not enough. We desperately need help."
"...I hear you. Thank you for speaking."
"..."
"..."
The Comes from the southern coast who'd just spoken was, naturally, an acquaintance. With the false emperor stripping every last soldier from this land, Britannia's fortresses faced one of two fates. First: veterans old enough to retire a decade ago returned to command skeleton crews. Second: abandon the fort. And never look back. Astonishingly, many grizzled old-timers had mustered their long-lost valor to defend our soil, but it wasn't nearly enough for every outpost. We lacked commanders, and proper soldiers were nonexistent—only farmers in armor. So our few remaining military minds had concluded: hold the key strongpoints at all costs. It seemed the massive barbarian assaults from last spring through early winter had drained even those reserves, with the west and north bearing the brunt.
I'd dashed around pitching in wherever I could, but five hundred raiders couldn't stem the tide from every direction. We'd won every clash, yet the war itself slipped from our grasp.
Everyone gathered in Londinium's splendid forum square knew this grim truth. The heavy stakes had drawn representatives from every major city and fortress—nearly all, anyway. The southwest's Vortigern was "too busy" to arrive yet. After the bleak southern news, the next report came from the northeast's administrator, Comes Lot's envoy.
"Comes of Eboracum bids me relay: the northern barbarians stir ominously. We'll hold Cataractonium fortress north of Eboracum by any means. But we promise nothing else. That is all."
"..."
"..."
Cataractonium lay far south of the Wall already. This was tantamount to admitting Romano-Britannia's northern frontier was inching southward. The northeast needed help too. The host, Praefectus Merlinus—who'd greeted me smiling before the council—now betrayed flickers of undisguisable tension. Beside him, Londinium's affable Comes Ambrosius, who'd welcomed me warmly, wore a face like carved stone.
A silence heavy as lead settled over the hall, broken as the northwestern rep shot to his feet with vigor—as if the despair weren't total yet.
"Comes Eturnus of the Botadii sent me to deliver this message unequivocally."
"Ah, by all means. Proceed."
Praefectus Merlinus, momentarily adrift, prompted him. The man—clad impeccably in Roman legionary garb—practically bellowed.
"From Deva Victrix! Hear ye: the boar standard raised by Octavianus himself stands firm! Though the brothers of the XX Valeria Victrix legion have departed, we remain! The Botadii will not yield Deva Victrix! That is all!"
Deva Victrix might be the most fortified city in western Britannia. Before the false emperor stole the legions, it had housed the province's strongest. This herald—clearly no mere envoy, whatever his bluster—suggested the northwest still had fight left. Yet every shadowed face in the room told the truth: that region had suffered worst in the recent barbarian onslaughts. No village unscathed, no river untouched by their ships. Survivors had mostly fled; those who stayed either fought to the death or vanished into deep mountains.
I knew the details intimately because most refugees had poured into my village. Their vivid tales of horror lingered.
I admired Comes Eturnus's fiery spirit highly. But it amounted to "we'll die fighting." The northwest needed help too.
"..."
"..."
"...Well, the representatives have laid bare Britannia's plight. I meant to pause here for a break before sharing this, but waiting longer seems pointless. I'll say it now."
Praefectus Merlinus scanned the darkened faces, then continued flatly, his expression ice-cold.
"Three days ago, an envoy from Rome's emperor reached Camulodunum. Not Gallia's Constantinus—Honorius of Ravenna. He declared: the people of Britannia must now fend for themselves."
"...?"
"?"
Clear as crystal, even on second hearing. Fend for yourselves, ye folk! Ah, Honorius. A true man. How did he boil such dire tidings into words so brutally simple? The first-timers' reactions were pure incomprehension—what had they just heard?
"Thus, no aid from the Empire. Not from that Gallic pretender Constantinus, needless to say. That's our reality. Let's break briefly, then discuss the path forward."
"...Fend for ourselves? Wait, Praefectus. What does that mean?"
"...What did I just hear...?"
Doubt would turn to rage, rage to despair. I rose to escape the forum's brewing chaos. Galbaginus followed. Barbarians didn't schedule raids politely, so someone had to mind Avalonia. I always trusted the seasoned Beduerus for that. Thus, Galbaginus predictably shadowed me—the rich heir whose clean-cut looks hid a ruthless streak, already smirking with intrigue.
"Galbaginus, south, north, west—all in uproar. What's so amusing?"
My jab prompted his instant reply, as if rehearsed.
"Amusing, Dominus? My heart aches."
"Remove that hand from your mouth first."
"Ahaha. Just an itch... But Dominus, what isVortigern thinking? Comes Eturnus vows to stand spear-in-hand, yet that southern self-styled Comes dawdles at this crucial summit."
"He said he was busy. No deeper motive, surely."
I deflected preemptively with empty words. As the old saying went, even mice hear whispers by day—better safe. Galbaginus flashed a sly grin and pivoted.
"If Dominus permits, may I step away briefly?"
"Hm? Business?"
"Yes, Dominus. Father's envoy is here; I should at least exchange words."
Galbaginus, eldest son of Eboracum's Comes and Praefectus Lot, naturally warranted a private message.
"Of course. Go see him. Don't worry about me."
"Thank you, Dominus. I'll be back."
He strode off on those long legs. As I watched, footsteps approached from my left.
"Dominus."
"Leave him."
My guards tensed, but I already knew—I shook my head lightly and turned. The soldier who'd recited Eturnus's words like a battlefield herald. His march screamed legionary drill; it nearly made me chuckle. Left. Left. Left. Perfect cadence for a marching song. That gait reignited my fury at Constantinus III. One legion left behind, and we wouldn't be this desperate.
[Thud-thud-STEP!]
The youth snapped a crisp salute. I nodded naturally. Technically, I was just a private mercenary...
"I feared you might not recognize me, but that was foolish. Dominus Artorius, an honor. I'm Cunedagius, son of Comes Eturnus."
Fair golden hair, straight blue eyes. Build ideal for a warrior—not oversized, not slight. Broad shoulders, solid stance. Fine specimens like him always lifted my spirits.
"Pleased to meet you, Dominus Cunedagius."
"I've no deeds to earn such from one like you, Dominus Artorius. Just Cunedagius—or Cuned—suffices."
Modest words, confident eyes. His natural aura of courage sat well. A warrior needed that fire.
"Very well, Cunedagius. Did Comes Eturnus send any private words for me?"
My polite small talk drew a glance side-to-side; he stepped closer, whispering incongruously for his frame.
"Indeed, Dominus Artorius. Father insisted I meet you by any means."
"..."
Not what I'd expected.
"Long under Magnus Maximus's shadow, the Botadii seem to follow Vortigern now. But should peril strike..."
Peril strike?
"...the Botadii will follow this land's most righteous man, he commanded me to say. Not Father's will alone, but every Botadii clansman—and Deva Victrix itself."
"..."
Ah.