Allegiance at Deva Victrix
“I’ve long heard of your lofty reputation, even from afar. Comes Eturnus, I am Artorius.”
You can’t just mobilize an army without any prior notice. Naturally, before moving out, we’d sent messengers ahead to our destination, Deva Victrix, and only marched once we received their reply.
Huh? But thinking about it now, this isn’t something limited to military matters. It’s basic etiquette to notify a close friend before visiting their home. In my past life, I vaguely remembered Westerners as being free-spirited, but now that I’ve been reborn here, it’s clear this era is just as bound by propriety—class distinctions, age hierarchies, and even rigid social orders are all firmly in place. Especially the nobles from Roman heartlands; I hear they have protocols even for meals and banquets. Romano-Britain isn’t quite that stiff, which is why a legion marching through only prompted a messenger or two.
“You humble me. Magister Militum Artorius. How many in this land, in the Empire, could place their name before yours? I am Eturnus. An unworthy man, but I’ve held the rank of Comes for several years now.”
Comes Eturnus of the Botadii tribe. A commander of Romano-Britain from Uterius’s generation. When warriors wielding spears and swords have snow-white hair or faces etched with wrinkles, you know to tread carefully—they’re dangerous. Eturnus is the textbook image of a perilous veteran. In these chaotic times, surviving as a soldier in Britain, where death comes easy, is proof of strength in itself. Especially one who’s fought a lifetime near the Wall, a frontline as deadly as the Saxon Shore—no further explanation needed.
“I wonder how Comes litoris Saxonici Uterius fares. The last I saw him was when Constantinus departed Britain… Living on the same soil, yet it’s so hard to meet face-to-face.”
As expected, Britain’s top soldiers like Uterius and Eturnus know each other.
“Camulodunum welcomed its first uninvited guests with spring. He’s off inspecting the eastern and southern defenses again, heading to Dubris fortress. Yes, he seems to be doing well.”
“Hahaha. That’s the soldier’s life, isn’t it? We wonder about each other now and then, but no news is good news. Time flies, and the world seems still yet changes endlessly.”
Words and gestures from those who’ve crossed life and death countless times carry an inescapable weight. Grandly put, it’s gravitas; casually, weariness. The old worry, the young rush headlong. Watching Cunedagius fidget restlessly beside his wise father, he looked just like a young Eturnus bursting with vigor. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the stark contrast between this strikingly similar father and son.
“You’ve been well, I see, Dominus Cunedagius.”
“An honor to meet again! Magister Militum!”
Cunedagius, with his sturdy build, is already a fine soldier. I’d met him once in Londinium’s forum. He stood out as the first among Britain’s gathered notables to pledge submission to me. His gentle demeanor and cheeky grin made him seem less a rigid Roman officer and more a bold hero—come to think of it, a bit like Galbaginus.
“The citizens of Deva Victrix, and all Botadii warriors, have awaited your arrival, Magister Militum! First, we’ve lost most of the Wall, but the last stronghold in the west remains unyielded to the barbarians. It borders the sea, so no flag but Rome’s can fly there—five hundred elite warriors rotate guard—”
“...?”
I’d hoped for light pleasantries to break the ice, but this eager—admittedly a tad impulsive—next chieftain of the Botadii launched into a torrent of trivia. Even though Deva Victrix and the Botadii had pledged fealty, I was still the guest here. Interrupting might bruise not just Cunedagius’s pride but Eturnus’s too, so I shot Eturnus a pleading glance.
But he just smiled at his son, seemingly dodging my look on purpose. Thus, a casual greeting turned into an impromptu briefing on northwest Britain’s defenses and Botadii forces. It dragged on until even my ADHD-prone maverick hound grew bored, wagging his tail and eyeing poor Dalerus next to him.
“—That concludes the deployment of our 2,500 troops. I’ll submit full details in writing.”
“...Mm. Thanks. Appreciated, but—”
Did this really need airing here? No need for me to say it.
“No, it’s fine. Thank you.”
The warm exchange flipped to stiff military report. Awkward silence followed, yet Deva Victrix’s citizens and Botadii officers seemed more at ease this way. Felt odd—like I was touring for loyalty oaths.
“Magister Militum, if this old man may prattle on: Rome’s military authority has rarely split well. With such clear hierarchy of prowess, unless there’s hidden ambition, a firm chain of command benefits the cities and our tribe far more. It may burden you, but it’s vital for us, our people, this city—please don’t chide my son too harshly.”
Hm. As Eturnus spoke leisurely, I scanned the crowd. Cunedagius wasn’t just a clueless youth; unease flickered in every gaze here, as Eturnus implied.
Maybe I’d misread the situation, assuming it mirrored Londinium just because it’s Britain. Their eyes didn’t burn with “Who’s this eastern thunderbolt claiming lordship? Let’s size him up!” No—instead, a desperate plea for someone to bring stability.
I’m no mind-reader; anyone could see it in their eyes, faces, postures.
“What’s to scold, Comes? I’m grateful. Thank you, Cunedagius. Henceforth, Botadii warriors and Deva Victrix fly my banner.”
“Thank you for accepting our bold request, Magister Militum.”
“An honor! Dominus Artorius!”
Ordering Avalonia’s droplet banner meant subordination plain and simple. Proud folk might see insult, but Deva Victrix’s reps, Eturnus, and Cunedagius alike accepted with visible relief.
Thus, after Isca Dumnoniorum, Deva Victrix too fell under my sway—effectively claiming all Romano-British lands save Eboracum.
A month since Londinium hailed me Magister Militum. Vortigern schemed a decade for this; I’d seized it in one.
Watching Cunedagius hand Galbaginus northwest troop documents in a daze, I stepped aside with Eturnus to gaze north at the flowing sea.
Unlike sea-backed Isca Dumnoniorum to the south, Deva Victrix faced north—both Roman outposts turned boomtowns, strikingly similar. Smaller Londinium? No, like duplicated Camulodunums pasted in place.
“You brought the Fisher King’s son, Magister Militum.”
Granting time for introductions below us, we watched the sea. The veteran, old enough to retire with Uterius, looked relieved; I, stepping forward, brimmed with tangled thoughts.
“You saw? Peredir, they said. I’d planned a token gesture, but changed my mind.”
“Indeed. Botadii forces obey only you now. Command, and we’ll act.”
“...What makes you entrust your lifelong tribe so readily?”
“First, the judgment of Comes Uterius, Praefectus Merlinus, Comes Lot.”
Familiar names—all same generation. Careers launched thirty years back with Emperor Magnus Maximus’s revolt. They stayed to save this land amid open collapse.
“Then, your battle record. Warriors hone bravery, but Comes learn victory’s in numbers, not courage alone. Your figures? Unbelievable at first. How beat 1,000 with 100, losing 10 while they lost 500? Absurd.”
Chuckling and shaking his head, Eturnus removed his helmet, placing it on his saddle. Close-cropped hair fully white, but eyes still piercing blue.
“Slaying Vortigern, stabilizing Isca Dumnoniorum—that sealed it. Dominus Artorius, you need no throne bestowed; you seize all. Resisting that tide is folly. We Botadii aren’t fools.”
Not what I sought, but the praise left me sheepish.
“...”
Gazing seaward again, Eturnus now asked me.
“I know the Fisher King well, Magister Militum. Seen his son a few times too young for Peredir to recall. Manavia’s strategic—yours now, a boon. But reaching it? Any plan?”
Crossing seas is hard. Recognizing that marked Eturnus a fine commander. Romano-Britain had no navy, after all. Island without ships? Stark reality.
But… we had no great galleys, but plenty of captured skiffs.
[BAAAAAAM—]
A familiar horn blared from afar. Eturnus reflexively donned his helmet, thinking barbarians; I stayed his hand.
“Must barbarians claim all our prizes? I’ve taken quite the fleet from them.”
Some thirty vessels approached, all flying crimson Roman banners.