The Eternal City Burns
Frankly, my heart felt strange. Britannia here was the empire's farthest outpost, and when I tallied it all up, there were plenty of grudges and heartaches against the empire. The military aid that never came on time had become so routine it barely registered anymore, and at some point, the people of this land had grown accustomed to fighting off invaders on their own. What truly stung was the attitude from the emperor in Italia and the Senate. Their disdain for Britannia was so blatant—even if it was right for us to look up to the emperor—the folk here couldn't help but wonder about a man who'd never set foot on this soil, whose face they'd only glimpsed on the occasional gold coin. They said he was the son of the previous emperor Theodosius, a master of both war and administration. How much like his father would he be? Surely he'd inherit that solid foundation laid by his sire? After all, he was the son of the emperor who'd crushed countless upheavals and held the empire's borders against all odds. He'd manage just fine, wouldn't he?
Was that expectation too heavy a burden for the young emperor? Or were Rome's—and Ravenna's—canny soldiers and politicians too sly for him? The borders Theodosius had so painstakingly defended melted away in an instant, like a tower built of fallen leaves scattering in a single gust of wind. Ravenous wolves from the frozen north trampled the empire's weakened lands, people, and wealth, claiming it all for themselves. The one man who should have stood at the forefront to halt this chaos—the emperor of Rome—never stirred from Ravenna. So it should feel satisfying, right? Rome itself had burned! How could this not be called the justice of the heavens!? That old saying about heaven's justice seeming lax but missing nothing—I'd never believed it before, but today I finally grasped its truth. No one would point fingers if I laughed heartily at it all.
Yet my heart wouldn't allow it.
[Tweet—tweet tweet—chirrup!]
A rubecula—a robin, that red-breasted sparrow—boldly alighted on the Round Table. I'd been staring blankly at Merlinus's report detailing Rome's ordeal when I slowly lifted my head to gaze at the cute little thing. Its somewhat dim eyes seemed to ask what I was up to. Apparently taken with the table, it pattered about on tiny feet before losing interest and fluttering back to its friends. [Tweet!]
I absently followed the sparrow's flight. The apple trees shading the lake bore fruit relentlessly through spring, summer, and autumn now—an otherworldly sight. Red fallen leaves blanketed the lakeside, adding to the charm, while the very trees that shed them hung heavy with vibrant apples.
"At this rate, they'll be fruiting even in winter. Apples."
The scene felt like it was consoling my troubled soul, and absurdly, I found myself grateful to the lake and the trees. Far off to the south, Rome— a place I'd never seen—might be burning, but here we could savor our precious daily lives. Was that why I felt thankful? [Creak—]
I rose and strolled to the water's edge. My home had no palisade fence. No one could approach without tripping my senses anyway, and such things held little importance for me. [Crunch—crunch—]
My companions at the Round Table—most my subordinates, but true friends as well—seemed absorbed in the report I'd left from Merlinus. [Rustle—rustle—]
The footsteps trailing me belonged to one person. That weight, that stride—it was Guinevere's.
"...Are you alright?"
I turned from the lake, where a few sparrows flitted by, and looked at her. Spring had yielded to summer, then autumn already. The past seasons had been a whirlwind, packed with events, yet the distance between Guinevere and me lingered like that sauna at the Deva Victrix outskirts manor. We'd both been busy, of course. And surprisingly, for all her boldness, Guinevere turned shy in such matters. Besides, I'd only been back from the Wall for five days, so we'd barely crossed paths.
"Want to sit?"
I spread my cloak wide to make a spot for her. For me, it was just brushing aside leaves and sprawling out. She settled gracefully beside my half-reclined form.
"Oof."
"Eep."
We made odd noises as I flopped down and she sat demurely, then exchanged smiles and gazed at the lake together. Overhead, sparrows squabbled noisily, but the green waves under the red maple leaves remained serene, unperturbed.
The Britannians revered this lake—where I'd suddenly appeared with it—as sacred. I'd dismissed it as mere superstition at first, but watching those ever-fruiting apple trees year-round did make it seem... uncanny. Then again, if we were talking mysteries, my own body and battlefield prowess were already—
"The news from Rome must have shocked you."
Lost in my daze, I heard Guinevere's cautious voice.
"Your voice is pretty too. I thought it was just robin chirps."
"Hey!"
Thwack—her slender finger flicked my nose and fled.
"No teasing."
Guinevere's eyes gazing down at me held no pity for Rome. Right. Maybe that's what was normal. Perhaps I was the odd one. Why was I so shaken by news of Rome burning? Come to think of it, it was strange. I could smash thousands of barbarian skulls without batting an eye, yet this rattled me. Why?
"Guinevere, why aren't you surprised? The Eternal City was sacked. The empire's cradle, the city that named it—it's burning. Isn't that shocking?"
"It is surprising."
Her eyes were startlingly cool.
"Not that Rome burned, but that Alaricus—after a year? Two?—finally torched it after besieging so long. If Merlinus's report is true, the Goths' patience is far more terrifying."
They'd only burned the Senate and the elite villas nearby, then looted? Claimed vengeance achieved, even.
"Centuries ago, the empire's heart shifted to Constantinopolis, then Mediolanum, now Ravenna. The Senate's devolved into a club of African plantation owners squabbling with the emperor over power. The Eternal City has long faded, a shadow of its former glory."
Her cool eyes and lovely voice laid out the cold facts. A hollowed-out old capital. With the emperor, officials, and high officers gone, only families clinging to farms and traditions remained. And the 'sacking' hadn't razed the city or massacred the populace. In truth, Alaricus had shown heroic restraint—killing only those who deserved it, no frenzied slaughter. Rome had been damn lucky.
Now Guinevere turned it on me.
"So tell me—what shook you so?"
Her gaze shifted from Rome to me, deep concern shadowing her eyes. Perhaps more than concern—something deeper. No, definitely. My knack for reading people had never lied. So I shouldn't stare into her face, those eyes, and unwittingly plumb those profound feelings.
I turned away slightly and answered.
"You've always been a clever girl, Guinevere."
"I'm not a girl anymore. I'm your woman, Artorius."
Did she know how endearing she was, blurting that boldly with cheeks redder than leaves or apples? I chuckled despite myself and gazed at the lake. Then answered again.
"Wondering why I'm so shaken? That's the question, right?"
The answer bubbled up instantly. As I said, I'm good at reading people—including myself.
"When I heard Rome had burned, thoughts raced through my mind."
"...What thoughts?"
"Ah, the empire's symbol is aflame. The world's truly changed now! Wait—does that mean Britannia might stay independent for a good long while? And if Rome just quietly crumbles away, wouldn't that be even better for us? Thoughts like that."
And further: Better I take the reins than leave the empire's fate to Honorius or the Senate. I'd slaughter them all, stand alone, seize that great eagle's drooping head as its wings faltered, hoist it up by force, and soar it higher, grander—into skies broader than any had ever seen. More magnificently.
"Artorius."
My reddening vision cleared. The calm lake rippled outward as if struck by a gale. The birds fell silent, but Guinevere gripped my face beside me. My crimson thoughts sank beneath her sapphire eyes.
"Don't shoulder it all alone. If you want it, everything will come to you in time."
Her nearing breath carried apple scent.
"But don't rage for things already decaying. Like Honorius once told us—they must save themselves eventually. You can't save everyone."
"Guinevere, I might not be a good man. When I heard Rome burned, my heart swelled with massive ambition."
"If ambition's a sin, then history's greats are all sinners. But yours isn't about dominating others, Artorius. You've always sought to save them. So when you heard about Rome, you instinctively knew: if anyone's to save this empire, it's you."
"..."
I barely know myself—how can you be so certain, with such unwavering eyes? What do you see in me? Guinevere.
"One more thing. Truth is, I love the battlefield. Killing barbarians never brought guilt from the start. Maybe I'm not normal, Guinevere."
"I've never read of Pompey or Caesar weeping over their slain foes. My father fought barbarians for decades without praying for those he felled. The very fact you agonize proves you're upright beyond measure."
Were those glints in her eyes madness? Obsession? Both were just other names for love.
"..."
"..."
We gazed, weighing each other's hearts. I spoke first, looking up at her from my sprawl.
"You know, Beduerus—he's got two lovers, they say. Impressive for a one-armed man, huh?"
"...Pardon? Really? But why bring that up now—"
"Guinevere, I knew, but... I've lacked the courage to say it properly till now. I thought I'd grown strong, but I'm still so far off."
Gigachad. Watching? I'm really trying to be like you. Tough world here. So lend me some strength, like always.
"Artorius—"
"Guinevere, I love you."
"—Eep."
"Sorry for being selfish, but let's skip the 'getting to know each other' phase. Marry me. Hold me forever. I won't let you go either."
Between our infinitely close faces, a sparrow returned, chirping merrily.
[Chirrup jack!]