Who Masters the Sea?
Who owns the sea? There was once a mighty fleet on this land. Two-decker galleys, three-deckers, even monstrous four- and five-deckers that prowled the oceans unscathed, sourcing their rowers from the northern barbarians of Britannia and keeping watch all the way to the edge of the world—a history faithfully recorded.
What could the barbarians' pathetic little ferries do against the ram attacks of those floating fortresses? The Empire was strong on land, but far stronger at sea. Strong enough that even Rome's most formidable enemies dared not challenge it on the waves.
Yet now, the Empire had only two fleets left intact: one in Hispania, and another far to the east in Constantinople. How the hell did it come to this? They say even when the rich fall, it takes three generations—have we just hit that third one?
I don't know the full details of the Empire's downfall. By the time I came to my senses in this world, I was already wrestling man-eating bears and wolves. A bit more awareness, and I was beating down barbarians who stole not just gold but people too. Ugh! Before I knew it, that bastard Constantinus had stripped Britannia of every last soldier, and even that pitiful remnant of a fleet—barely worthy of the name—had sailed off to Gaul. Then Honorius delivered the final blow by abandoning us.
Thinking back, the whole process makes a twisted kind of sense. Legions were gold-devouring monsters, but fleets? They ate three times as much—real swine beasts. With sunk costs like that impossible to bear, and Italy itself being ravaged by barbarians, who had time to worry about Britannia? Budgets slashed for the Britannian fleet, then the legions too. And right on cue, Constantinus rebels? Oh, perfect—he drags in Gaul and Hispania this time? Barbarians finally breach the Rhine defenses? Screw it, dump Britannia! You troublesome lump—independent!
That line of thinking probably played out in the highest councils of Ravenna and Rome. And what was the result?
"Depart! We're setting sail!"
"Personnel check complete—depart! Grab those oars, everyone! I don't expect perfect synch, just row without slacking off!"
"Don't drop the oars just because we've got wind! It's only a day at most! This isn't a tough voyage! It's spring, too—the waves are calmer than ever! No fear—just stare at the back of the guy in front and row like idiots, powering with your legs and hips!"
Countless barbarian boats and ferries, freshly repainted with Roman standards, lined up proudly. Behind us stretched the golden sands of Deva Victrix's coast, glowing reddish under the blazing sun. Beyond that, the city's proud walls and, a bit further out, the massive amphitheater loomed with a grand presence, waving farewell handkerchiefs our way.
Rome was seeing us off. Blessing this expeditionary force—the first major one from Britannia in ages—as we ventured into the savage world, praying for victory. The statue of Minerva standing tall in the city center would watch over us. From dawn, the faithful in the churches would pray to the gods for our triumph.
And we were ready to answer all those hopes.
[BAAAAAM---!]
Galbaginus himself blew the cornu from the boat to my left.
[Flutter!]
Avalonia's red battle flag snapped vigorously in the wind, and gulls that had flown inland along the long river scattered in panic in all directions.
[Swoooosh---]
"One-two! One-two!"
"Heave! Ho! Heave! Ho!"
As with any rowing vessel, the key was summoning power at departure. The long oars—twelve to each side—dipped in unison, pulling the seawater and lurching the boat forward. A timely gust filled the sails, hitting my face with a speed no foot or wheel could match.
[Swoooosh—splash! Swoooosh—splash!]
The waves seemed minor from afar, but up close, they towered far higher and rougher. If a calm day's sea was like this, what must a stormy one be?
"Ngh—"
"Urgh—"
Two of my legionaries, unused to ships, were already turning green. I hauled them out.
"You two, move aside. Make some room."
"M-Magister Militum!"
"I-It's fine—urgh—"
"Damn it. Can't you puke over the side?"
A minor commotion, but I laid the two legionaries amidships—where we'd left space for passage and cargo—and claimed two oars at the stern. Gripping them tight, I gave a test stroke.
[Swoooosh! Splash!]
The feel was like gripping a club—probably because oars and my wooden club shared the same timber. Not that I knew what tree that lake-emergent club came from. Anyway. Beneath the waves lay the calm yet immense sea—heavier than anything in this world—and my oar glided through, transmitting just the right weight to my shoulders. Decent workout, this.
"Hup! Ho! Hah! Ho!"
[Swoooosh! Splash! Swoooosh! Splash!]
"Wh-whoa—"
"Why's it so fast?!"
"What?! S-stop! Something's wrong! No, Magister Militum! Slower! Row slower!"
"Ughhh—"
"Ueeeh—"
Whoops. Got carried away rowing hard, and my boat shot ahead like it had boosters. The fleet behind clamored to catch up, and the Avalonian veterans aboard stared blankly.
"..."
I'd unintentionally trolled them, but a Magister Militum doesn't apologize for something this trivial.
"These barbarians sure build good boats! Sturdy and flexible despite their sneaky looks! Haha!"
"Y-yes! Ha, hahaha! Indeed, Magister Militum! These sorry lots have one thing they do right!"
"But even those barbarians all surrendered their boats before Dominus Artorius!"
"Stupid savages! Ptoo! Glory to great Artorius! Ho!"
"Artorius Invictus!"
As expected from my veteran subordinates—quick on the uptake and shameless—they jumped right into my rhythm, which was hilarious. Soon, Galbaginus and Caius, having raced to catch up, were yelling.
"Dominus! I've told you a hundred times—wild moves like that are dangerous at sea!"
"Galbaginus! I'll grant you rode more than me from Londinium here, but we're both sea newbies! No bragging! Speak!"
"No—"
"Magister Militum! If the formation breaks, we can't respond to a surprise attack! You always say formation is life...!"
"Caius! One battle merit and you're suddenly the expert naval commander? Was your name not Caius but Caesar?! Ha!"
"Hey, come on!"
Heh heh heh. The 500 Avalonian warriors aboard with me burst out laughing at the commanders' banter. Honestly, for all our land victories, the sea was new to everyone—we'd all been tense, scared even. My stunt loosened things up nicely. Moderation in all things; frozen stiff, we'd botch even a winnable fight.
"Alright, let's depart again! What's the holdup? Galbaginus! Caius! Sing! Where do rowers go without a keleusma? Sing!"
"Sigh."
"Ugh."
Galbaginus and Caius shook their heads at my bullheadedness, exchanging calculating glances behind masks of exhaustion. Politics and schemes were like breathing in Rome. A good commander never fears using every dirty trick to boost morale within the ranks!
As I'd taught them, they played rational deputies chiding their hot-blooded, deficient superior—implying they knew a bit about the sea, assuring the troops we could support me and nail this op. And under my direction, they soon belted out songs with gusto.
Farmers sang at work, fishermen at sea, Roman legionaries on the march. Navies were no different.
"Row, you bastards! Row—the Britannian sea is rough!"
"Row with Rome's waves!"
"For Rome! The Saxon gift that carries us now!"
"Far from home, oh wandering woman!"
"Shields by Artorius's side!"
"Strike for Britannia! We shan't die!"
"Pull, you whelps! Pull—raise the flag high!"
"Rome may fade, but we endure!"
Rome had many rower songs, all rough as sailors themselves—packed with vulgarity and filth. After the decorous first one, the rest were hilariously crude. I shook my head or stifled laughs between strokes. The others could guffaw; I was Magister Militum. Dignity must be maintained.
Thus we sailed along the coast, wind at our backs, waves slapping, for about half a day. Britannia's northwest in warming spring looked serene from afar: hawthorn bushes like tree clumps lining distant hills, wild raspberries blooming amid buzzing insects on flowery meadows.
But beyond that beauty, something utterly ugly caught my eye.
"...Wait, is that...? Nah, no way?"
Over Peredir's head—he sat at the bow, rowing tirelessly without rest—what started hazy was now clear.
"Halt! All halt! Enemies! Barbarian boats heading this way!"
My shout cut off the lyrics mid-seduction, like a lover interrupted.