Each One's Will, Ambition, and Plans
Following the somewhat erratic chime of the bells came the long, heavy blast of the cornu horn. [Pffft-bwooooom— bwooooom—] Those unfamiliar with Camulodunum's border signals might think it sounded pleasant, but Uterius, who knew them well—having personally refined the system alongside Artorius—understood exactly what that distinctive rhythm meant.
"Caius, enemies!"
Uterius's voice rang out sharp as a bird in the nest spotting a predator, sudden but steady. Caius didn't flinch for a second; he grasped it immediately.
"I'll head straight back to Avalonia."
"Good lad. Once you're there—"
"I'll tell Beduerus to hurry to Camulodunum."
Sharp kid. Uterius had always known he was clever since boyhood, but to see him grown into such a fine young man...
"Do that. Tell Beduerus I got his letter."
"Yes, Comes. What will you do, sir?"
"Rally the garrison, scout the enemy, and hold the line."
"Understood. I'll pass that on too. Dismissed."
[Snap!] With a crisp salute, Caius bolted off like a bird of prey. Uterius remembered days when he could move like that himself, but now he had to watch his step on the downhill slope of age. Still, it wasn't time to lie abed wheezing yet. He rose swiftly, grabbing his sword first.
"The first barbarians of the year, eh."
It grew heavier every year, but he could still swing it.
I'd only just been admiring how Merlinus was swallowing up Britannia's empty lands with barely a hitch when Galbaginus, my two escorts, and I—having entered the city as Dominus and shed the temporary Magister militum title in the forum—arrived at the domus Merlinus's family had provided for me.
This fine residence naturally belonged to the Merlinus clan. He'd insisted I treat it like my own home from now on, but I couldn't shake the nagging sense of being a tenant. Not that I was paying rent—Merlinus was practically giving it away—but something about it felt off. Like I was racking up debts, getting entangled in something bigger. Hard to pin down exactly.
Put simply, it felt like this shrewd, ice-cold man had sketched out a grander design, and I'd wandered into it unawares. Not unpleasant, though. After all, Merlinus and I both focused on bringing lasting peace to this land. His boldness bordering on recklessness was impressive, even a touch surprising.
"I've thought it before, but Prefectus Merlinus could've thrived even in the Empire's heart."
"The Empire's heart? You mean Rome, the Eternal City?"
"Nah, that's old history. Ravenna now, wouldn't you say? Or maybe Mediolanum? I hear every building there is dusted with ivory powder or plated in silver—pure white and glittering."
Galbaginus sauntered in casually, eyeing the rooms as he appointed himself my conversation partner. He looked the part of a wastrel, but he and my guards were scanning for traps, spies, or assassins. Even if there were any, I doubted human hands could harm me. Still, it suited them, so I let them be.
What intrigued me more was a question for Galbaginus.
"Ravenna or Mediolanum—doubt I'll live to see them, so no interest. More importantly, Galbaginus, don't you have something to say about what happened in the forum?"
I sank into a plush seat and popped a fruit—left by one of Merlinus's household slaves, no doubt—into my mouth. Meanwhile, Galbaginus, who'd wandered off, edged back hesitantly, clearly choosing his words.
"Which part, exactly...?"
"Your father. Comes Lot supporting me? What was it he said? Can't recall the exact words, but something like that. First I've heard of it. What's the story?"
I tossed in another fruit. Galbaginus sat bolt upright opposite me.
"You heard right, Magister militum. Father and Eboracum realized that if they must ally with someone here, it has to be the Magister militum."
"Is that so."
Nothing odd there? They were free to choose allies, and if it was me, no big deal... right?
"..."
"..."
No, that didn't add up. Things didn't just happen by chance in Rome, especially not political moves.
"Something's off, no matter how I slice it."
"Pardon?"
"You truly said nothing to your father?"
No matter how I turned it over, declaring loyalty to me over Merlinus in Londinium or Uterius in Camulodunum was strange—especially from Lot's own eldest son. Even if I was dense about these things, this went beyond mere alliance statements.
Galbaginus, eyes darting, gave a simple reply.
"I've relayed everything I've seen, heard, and learned at your side, Magister militum. Father made the judgment. That's it."
"What exactly does Comes Lot want from me?"
"For you to ascend as Magister militum. Truth be told, whatever the title, he wants Artorius to become Britannia's central pillar going forward."
"Absurd. This is temporary."
I nearly snapped at his shifty eyes but swallowed it, sighing softly instead. And it wasn't just Lot. Eboracum had this strong link in Galbaginus. If anything, Comes Eturnus in the northwest was more out of the blue—no ties to me at all—yet he'd sent his own eldest son, Cunedagius, to make overtures. And the brave lad seized the chance to propel me straight into the Magister militum role. So now they were in the same boat as me.
Looking back, the only one in Britannia not openly aligning with me was Vortigern in the southwest. How the hell had it come to this?
"Hmmm."
The three fruits I'd swallowed felt like they might surge back up, but my iron constitution ignored such mental frailty. My gut dissolved the meager tree fruits instantly, without a scoff.
Right—with a body like this, born into such turbulent times on chaotic soil, how could I expect peace? What was it that uncle said to Peter Parker in Spider-Man? With great power comes great responsibility. I'd hustled my way here, shoulders already laden; a few more burdens wouldn't change much. And above all, my toil meant more lives saved.
I dropped the pretense of denial I'd half-accepted inwardly. I'd announced it publicly as temporary; if they started scheming otherwise, they'd weed themselves out. Tossing away the old guard wasn't some Roman ultimate—more like a basic tactic. I wasn't arrogant Han Xin; I'd slip out like clever Zhang Liang when the pot boiled over. Maybe head west to a new world then.
I let such idle fancies spool out. Galbaginus, who'd been watching cautiously, spoke up gingerly.
"Vespasianus, Trajanus, Antoninus, and Marcus Aurelius."
"Friends of yours?"
"Former Roman emperors, Magister militum."
"...I know."
Vague memories from Hector's monkish tales. All great emperors, from what I recalled. Details fuzzy.
"Their common thread? Beloved rulers."
"Beloved emperors? Compared to Honorius."
Not our emperor anymore, so name-calling was fine. If enduring insults granted long life, the three days of abuse echoing across Britannia would've pushed Honorius past ninety easy.
"Comparing them is an insult, Artorius. My point is, Romans have a knack for spotting heroes. We love the exceptional. And unlike consul, Magister militum has no fixed term."
"...Once I drive out the foes and secure the borders, I'll step down naturally."
"Even optimistic, that's ten years minimum."
His rich-boy smirk screamed you think it'll be that easy? But I had my own confidence—baseless maybe, but instinct said stabilizing this land might prove simpler than expected. Worth doing, at least. Clearing the western and northern barbarians.
"Let's shift topics: Hadrian."
"Emperor Hadrian?"
"Aye, the wall-builder up north. Why build a wall? Why not push the barbarians beyond those northern highlands?"
Any Briton knew the answer.
"...Less 'didn't' than 'couldn't.' Was that land worth it, Magister militum?"
Basic economics: barbarian territory didn't pay. But Hadrian's era, centuries back, differed from mine.
"The wall marked Rome's limit—from distant Alps to the farthest reach."
"His successor Antoninus Pius pushed a new wall farther north briefly. Abandoned soon after."
"That's the point, Galbaginus. The Empire lacked the sinew to hold beyond—even briefly. Holding south of the wall strained them. But how much time has passed? Nearly three hundred years?"
Britannia had changed vastly since wall-building days, inside and out. Yet mindsets lingered there.
"...Magister militum. You're not thinking what I think you are?"
Galbaginus's face slackened as he grasped my ultimate aim.
"Hadrian hailed from Rome below the Alps. But our base? Britannia. Avalonia on this island is our cradle, Galbaginus."
Right now, plugging border gaps exhausted us. But seal them all, and stability would follow. I'd make it so. Then what?
"When did pillaging become the barbarians' specialty? Least five centuries ago, Rome was the world's finest raiders. And history's greatest conquerors."
I lacked Merlinus's colossal ambition to remake Britannia wholesale. Just humbly reclaim the north and the seas beyond west—the lands Hadrian and successors abandoned. If naming the plan, how about Great Britain?