50. A Beautiful Bird Chirps
[Chirp—chirp chirp—]
"So anyway, I thought it was suspicious when those two snuck out, but it turns out they were in this secret, intimate relationship! Can you believe it…."
"Whaaat? No way."
"Right?! And the real problem is—"
Was it a bird or just pretty Gwen chattering away? Leaning back in this steamy room with my eyes closed, I felt the fatigue melting away. I hadn't even realized how much exhaustion had built up, but it vanished in an instant. Add Gwen's lovely voice to the mix, and I started dozing off without noticing.
I drifted off a bit. Sounds grew muffled, my vision went dark, and the chirping birds blended with Gwen's chatter into a soft melody that gently soothed my nerves.
Come to think of it, this Roman world had so many useful things. The underfloor heating room I was lounging in now was practically essential in Romano-Britain. Called a hypocaustum, this central heating system was basically a steam boiler. In the boiler room—which I'd named for my own understanding—they stoked coal furiously, and hot air traveled through pipes under the floor and along a few pillars in the walls. Of course, there were vents for the air to escape, and as long as the coal kept burning, it maintained a sauna-like warmth.
Amazingly, the Romans even differentiated temperatures: cold rooms, warm rooms, hot rooms, and more. In Britannia, where cloudy, chilly days outnumbered sunny ones, this was as vital as bathhouses. Every major city in Romano-Britain, and the manors or private estates of well-off families, had one installed.
The villa the citizens of Deva Victrix had graciously handed over to me had belonged to some nameless noble who'd fled Britannia before the legions even withdrew. They'd argued endlessly over ownership in the city until deciding to offer it to me in the forum.
Free house? Great for me. Anyone with even a stake in it probably had their mouths hanging open, but Deva Victrix got the most direct cut from our pirate ventures, so that settled it.
What else was there? Right, in Manavia, we'd planned to build walls first but prioritized the bathhouse. The cement method made it fast and solid. A whole building in just four months ahead? Sure, it was modest compared to big-city ones—no marble decorations or anything fancy—but still, in that little time?
"…"
"…"
…Huh? What?
"Awake now?"
"…?"
"You must've been tired."
My train of thought snapped. I'd dozed off more than just nodded. Opening my eyes, Gwen was peering down at me from inches away, her face flushed from the sauna, looking even prettier.
"You're pretty even from this angle. Not easy."
"What're you saying… seriously."
Maybe half-asleep, the words slipped out unfiltered, but luckily Gwen seemed fine. Her face got a bit redder? I closed my eyes again, letting her soft fingers toy with my face like a plaything on her lap.
Soon, with the boiler fire eased off, the room's pleasantly warm air carried Gwen's low voice tickling my ear.
"Father liked you from the start."
"…"
Suddenly? The mood felt off.
[Chomp—]
Reading my face, Gwen laughed and cupped my cheeks with both hands, squishing and distorting it this way and that.
"What're you thinking? Honestly… No, I mean he thought you were reliable right away. It was a sight. He'd never talked about anyone so much before. Watching you like this, I kinda get why."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
I didn't care if the old man I respected had hidden tastes; I just liked Gwen's chatter.
"You take after him. The good parts… and the bad."
"Bad parts?"
"No one on this Britannian soil has lived solely for Rome like Father. While everyone chased their own agendas, he stared only at the Saxon Shore, ready to give up everything."
And that saved a lot of lives.
"Lately, Merlinus started a new campaign in Londinium. Borrowing the fame of Rome's two greatest generals, Caesar and Pompey, to elevate you. What do you think?"
"Caesar and Pompey, huh."
I'd heard the names. Hard not to, growing up Roman. But a man's gotta keep face—can't show weakness to the woman he loves. So I lifted my chin and said,
"One-on-one, I'd win, no question."
[Chomp—]
Gwen's soft hands readjusted my cheeks.
"Caesar and Pompey lived in the same era. But that's not what I mean—it's not about how great they were."
"Then what?"
"They fought for Rome. But how much time did they actually spend in Rome, that city?"
"…"
Never thought about it that way. Gwen smoothed my furrowed brow and continued.
"On expeditions, as governors. Internal strife, wars with barbarians. They probably spent half their lives away from Rome. The rest, out in the provinces."
"Worried about that? That I won't spend half my life by your side?"
Peeking, her pretty face held a shadow deep in her eyes.
Shall I look? Losing her mother young, rarely seeing her father—plus her sharp mind simulating futures, predicting days ahead.
Gwen fears losing me, and me heading to battlefields endlessly. Might be my imagination, but it felt right.
[Stroke—]
This time, I gently cupped her face with both hands. Her lips pouted, eyes wide like a chick's—adorable.
"Still pretty like this."
"Stop it."
"I want to tell you not to worry."
"…"
"No joke—even a hundred-to-hundred, thousand-to-thousand, or ten-thousand-to-ten-thousand, I'd win."
Caesar, Pompey—impressive, sure, but I doubt they fought like me. If I had ten thousand legionaries now, I could match their feats with what I've got. I'd prove it to Gwen in time. Starting from Pirate King, up to King of all Britannia—would that reassure this cute woman?
"Gwen, I'm Invictus. Unconquered. I don't drag out wars like others. Even if I fight often, I'll be back by your side quick. I'll show my face so long you'll get sick of it. No worries."
As my slow voice flowed, her eyes darted, trembled. She laid her hands over mine on her cheeks. Words done, eyes locked—strange heat rising in my chest.
What is this? Losing grip to unfamiliar feelings, reason pausing as Gwen's face neared, her soft brows between pretty eyes magnifying—
[Knock knock—]
[Dominus, Domina. A guest has arrived.]
Gwen's hazy eyes sharpened with reason, her apple-red face pulled back fast. Then her hand on mine shifted to slap my cheek hard.
[Smack!]
"Ow—"
Not just grabbed—proper slap this time.
"R-right, Comes Eturnus and Deva Victrix's officials and merchants prepped a feast, remember? No time for this!"
"Tell 'em to wait? They got nothing better anyway. Or just party without us."
"No way! Up, quick! Hurry!"
[Chomp! Chomp!]
"Ugh—ow—"
How painful could those soft hands be? My bear-hide skin bounces off dull blades anyway. I played along, groaning as I rose sluggishly.
Watching Gwen bustle out in a fuss, a wry smile crept up unbidden.
"Promised a year…."
Might need major revisions. But anyway.
I'd keep fighting. More efficient that way. Sorry, Gwen, but every legionary's life under me is as precious as she worries.
So what to do? Get more efficient, stronger. No other way.
How to make my legion stronger? Scratching my head with such thoughts, I headed slowly to wash up.
-----
"Hahaha! An honor to meet you—truly! Magister Militum Artorius! I'm Merovech of the Franks! My father, King Hlodowig of our Franks, sends his regards!"
"Pleased to meet you, Merovech of the Franks. King Hlodowig faring well?"
First time seeing him. Merovech. Big build, sword-callused hands—lifelong warrior. Not some spoiled barbarian prince.
Came all the way from across the sea to Deva Victrix to meet me? Fun barbarians visiting.
"Oh, thriving! Chest hair thicker now—no shock if a bear strolled up calling him 'bro'! Uhahat haha!"
"Hairy King! Hlodowig!!"
"For Hlodowig!"
[Clink—]
Merovech's barbarian guards were half-drunk on wine, reason slipping. Our garden feast was ripening nicely; even my dear Romans teetered between man and beast, arm-in-arm, laughing, stumbling, chaos.
I hated feast halls, and some Roman nobles whined the wine was bland, but despite heavy drinking, Merovech's bright blue eyes held sharp reason—easy to see.
"You said you sought me earlier. Mind sharing why?"
There. Pleasantries done—time for the point. His drunkard facade vanished, replaced by cool noble. Uterius hadn't warned me lightly.
"Straight to it, as expected, Magister Militum. Our King Hlodowig wishes a new pact with Romano-Britain. A partnership, say."
"What do you want from us? What can you offer?"
"Our swords. The Franks have guarded Rome's borders for centuries. Embarrassing before you, but we know barbarians—how to kill them best."
Gruesome words amid drunken cheers, yet we spoke casually.
"What Franks want from Britannia—or you, Magister Militum—is boosted trade between us. And if you eye beyond the sea… remember the Franks then."
"…Beyond the sea?"
"Yes, Magister Militum."
What was this guy saying? I hadn't conquered beyond the Wall or western seas yet. Funny barbarian. These Franks. Or did southern sea barbarians know something I didn't?
"What do you think?"
"Even great houses start with one brick. Good impressions lead to talks—no harm to anyone, Magister Militum."
Gwen, the perfect noble lady in public, bowed slightly to me. I nodded to Merovech, offering an arm. He eyed it, grinned wide, gripped my forearm.
[Thud!]
"Franks hold oaths dearer than life, Magister Militum! No regrets!"
"On mutual trust, let's build well."
Merovech's beaming eyes, mine smiling back at him—both probably equally cold.