There Are Many Secrets in the World

There are all sorts of secrets in the world. For example, pigeons have an instinct to always return home? They say that once something is revealed, it's no longer a secret—but if few people can properly make use of the fact that pigeons return home, then it can still be called a secret.

When Rome's legions pulled out, much of Britannia crumbled. The economy around Hadrian's Wall collapsed, the fallout reached Eboracum and Deva Victrix, and as a result, everything Rome had built on Britannia's soil crumbled in just three or four years—except for the southeast centered on Avalonia. Or so it seemed.

But here's one secret: at first glance, it looked like everything had fallen apart, but in truth, Romano-Britannia was still in pretty decent shape everywhere except along the Wall.

[Knock knock-]

[Domina, a carrier pigeon from Isca Dumnoniorum has arrived.]

"Ah, come in."

Some birds have a homing instinct. This fact is now fairly well-known, but there were few in the entire Empire who could use it properly. Especially now, as the Empire itself crumbled—it might be even harder.

Smart people in chaotic times mostly chose to cross over to the far more stable eastern Empire—for instance, places like Constantinopolis.

Yet, remarkably, Londinium's Merlinus was versed in all sorts of things, handling pigeons like obedient dogs and delivering news from the opposite side of the island every single day.

[Creak-]

Thank goodness. This mansion in Londinium, specially prepared by Prefectus Merlinus, had doors in every room. For a Roman mansion—usually wide-open arches except for the ornate front entrance, laden with decorations—it was quite unusual. But most guests invited by Domina Guinevere would just laugh it off as another charming quirk.

They didn't know that beyond those closed doors, under Domina Guinevere's command, servants bustled about with ears perked, gathering all sorts of information for their lady. Or perhaps they did know and just let it slide.

Because Domina Guinevere was the daughter of Comes Uterius and the betrothed of Magister Militum Artorius.

"Here—the news from Isca Dumnoniorum."

"Thank you, Isut."

"You're welcome…."

Isut stepped aside demurely, hands clasped, as Guinevere unrolled the parchment from the small tube.

When she heard the news that the troops her father had sent from across the sea to nominally rescue her had clashed with Artorius a few days ago and been utterly annihilated, Isut had worn a sad expression—but her eyes hadn't been sad at all.

Why was that? One could say it was the fresh resentment of a young woman suddenly betrothed to a foreigner she'd never met, a man around her father's age or perhaps a bit younger.

Guinevere, recognizing Isut's cold—nay, ruthless—nature alongside her sharp mind and cool temperament, had valued the Hibernian girl's lack of local power base in Romano-Britannia and kept her close, involving her in various schemes.

With considerable help from Merlinus—who, though not surprising, was adept at intrigue and plots—Guinevere was gradually awakening to the true nature of real influence.

"Another victory. The Magister Militum has won big again."

"Congratulations, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Domina."

"Taking Manavia Island too…. My father was right, as always. He was right this time too. Dominus Artorius might just…."

…rival Caesar or Pompey in the future. It was what her father, Uterius, always said, nagging her whenever he got properly drunk on wine.

Was Britannia's giant—not just huge in stature, but truly a man worthy of comparison to history's two greatest giants?

Guinevere's eyes sparkled as she tapped the parchment against the corner of her desk.

[Tap—tap tap—tap-]

"He left Londinium just a month ago."

In that time, Artorius had uprooted the most threatening foe on this land—Vortigernus and his followers in one stroke, seizing Isca Dumnoniorum. That alone was a triumph claiming southwestern Britannia. But he pressed on, fully merging Deva Victrix and the Botadii tribe, then sailing to make Manavia Island Romano-Britannia's as well.

No Roman emperor since Septimius Severus three hundred years ago had claimed new territory beyond Hadrian's Wall.

How monumental was the feat of taking Manavia—especially given Britannia's current state? No need to belabor the point.

But she couldn't just leave it at that. Learning from Merlinus, Guinevere knew one thing Artorius lacked compared to those giants from four hundred years ago: proclaiming battlefield triumphs to the civilians far in the rear.

Merlinus had said Artorius's deeds so far ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were comparable not to historians' heroes, but to those of legend and myth—yet beyond Britannia, the Roman heartland across the sea was astonishingly indifferent.

Why? Because Artorius didn't trumpet them.

And none of the remaining civilians, generals, or administrators in Britannia wanted his fame to reach the mainland, lest he leave this land.

Yes—even if Artorius himself was oblivious. Britannia had long since marked him as the next emperor.

"We need to prepare a feast."

"Yes, Domina."

The Lupercalia festival, slightly delayed anyway, was coming up soon. Combining them would spread the Magister Militum's victory far and wide without extra effort.

Word was the Frankish heir had already come in person from across the sea. Britannia had hidden Artorius's renown as best it could, but now it was impossible to contain.

So from here on, they'd proclaim it boldly.

They'd laid various plans, some with Merlinus—but ultimately, the most important thing on this land was the heart of one man.

"Then, let's prepare—"

"Wait, Isut."

"Yes, Domina? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠What is it?"

"Could you tell Prefectus Merlinus to prepare a carriage? I think I need to go see him in person."

"…Pardon?"

"Domina Isut, will you come with me? You might get to see Dominus Drustanus too."

A woman couldn't fool another woman's eyes, even if a man might. Isut, who seemed so pure and innocent, harbored more ambition than she let on—and resolve enough to coldly turn from her father, whatever their story.

Even without Drustanus, if someone had shown her opportunity, she might have abandoned Vortigernus and her father just the same.

But Guinevere didn't voice such thoughts. Just as Isut hid her true self, Guinevere saw no need to reveal everything.

She only needed to bare it all to one person in this world: Artorius.

What did Muwa's princess, blushing at Drustanus's name, think of Guinevere herself? A moderately clever Romano-Britannian noblewoman? Or just a lucky woman who snagged a good husband?

Didn't matter either way.

"I'll go straight to the Prefectus and inform him, Domina."

"Yes, please do. Isut."

Watching Isut's quick steps as she left, Guinevere recalled the time she and Merlinus had moved a collaborator in distant Muwa across the sea.

How could Londinium's Merlinus and Guinevere have known the complex, baffling society of those barbarians, as intricate as the Empire's politics? Isut had truly taught Merlinus much about Hibernia: which threads to pull, who had most relentlessly raided Romano-Britannia's coasts and seized how much as a result.

And that desperate plea at the end to spare her father's life—it came to mind too, strangely alongside how composed Isut's eyes had been despite the begging.

"Drustanus in the southwest. Galbaginus in the northeast. Cunedagius in the northwest."

Premature, perhaps, but if plans proceeded as intended, her husband would soar far higher. And Romano-Britannia's next pillars would look something like that.

His subordinates would surely compete. As all the Empire's great and flawed generals had, vying for glory to elevate themselves.

They all bore heavy burdens on their shoulders.

And they were men, at their core.

Oh, how many of Rome's finest men had a woman's sweet breath led to ruin? Shall we start with Antonius?

In other words, it was time to think about internal politics….

Another thing to discuss with Merlinus, Guinevere thought.

"…First, what to wear?"

Of course, the most important was meeting her (future) husband.

Guinevere flushed much like Isut had moments ago leaving the room and hurried off.

"Pardon? What did you say you're going to do…?"

[Whoosh—crash!]

"Look at those waves, Galbaginus. Caius. Drustanus, Peredir! Don't your hearts pound? Can't you hear the waves calling you?"

"D-Dominus Artorius. When ordinary sailors hear the sea's call, they take it as a sign they're about to die—"

"Gaaah!!!"

"Eek! Sorry!"

"Aigoo, my ears…. You were all about plunder tales, and now why Gaul all of a sudden?"

"You bastard, Galbaginus! Not Gaul—the sea! And not plunder—offensive defense!"

"Ah—yes, yes. Offensive defense. So, the plan is to sail west, east, or north together, scout nearby barbarian villages, grab the cheeky savages or any useful stuff they might or might not have stolen, right?"

"Exactly."

"…Caius, nothing to say? Why do I always have to play the villain?"

"Offensive defense! This is how we screw over those barbarian scum—Dominus Peredir, no offense meant. Sorry."

"It's fine! Dominus Caius! I'm proud to be one of Artorius's warriors now too!"

"Right! That's it! Excellent! Dominus Peredir! You're Roman now!"

[Clap clap clap-]

"Anyway, if we can mess with those filthy barbarians and fleece them! True ultimate defense through offense! What strategy could be better?"

"…You're wrong. Your thinking's already just like the Magister Militum's. What about you? Dominus Drustanus."

"Uh, yes? Ah—whatever works. Enemies are enemies—fight now or later, what's the difference? Haha."

"Heading to unknown lands and waters is the problem."

While tidying up Manavia and admiring the endless crashing waves, a brilliant inspiration suddenly struck my mind…!

Why do these barbarians risk their lives so obsessively for plunder? Does it pay that well? We could use some money too….

Maybe I should try it?

This chain of thoughts led to a fitting pretext: offensive defense.

In other words, if we can't block every scattered raid, strike the source.

With what? Romano-Britannia's legions and the many warships (war canoes) now under us.

"Don't worry about routes, Galbaginus. Peredir knows the waterways. Right?"

"Just give the order! Dominus Artorius! I can guide you to the ends of the earth!"

"Good. And second, I can instinctively sense where the enemy is. You know that better than anyone, Galbaginus."

"…I do. Better than anyone, Dominus. But it's dangerous. In this past month, we've done what no one on this land has in fifty, a hundred years. Does Dominus need to take more risks?"

Rationally, Galbaginus is right. Common sense says Caius, Drustanus, and Peredir agreeing with me are the odd ones.

I know what worries him. I'm not alone anymore. Britannia stands behind me.

We must be cautious.

But my instincts scream it's time to move.

"Danger is opportunity, Galbaginus. Let's start by clearing the seas around Manavia."

The weather's warming—perfect for sailing. Sea, barbarians, pirates—these are inseparable, so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠barbarian sea pirates will slink out soon enough.

We'd fleece them first. That was the plan.