Emissaries from Ravenna
Lately, it felt like guests were visiting this land more often. They used to be nothing but raiders. Such thoughts crossed Uterius's mind.
"So, if I didn't mishear, you're from Italia? From Ravenna? Here, to this land?"
Truly, were these bastards really from Ravenna? At Uterius's question, laced with raw hostility, the commanders of the Romano-British Saxon Shore defense headquarters—from Thor to the rest—radiated a murderous aura. Their blatant enmity stabbed at the men before them like spearpoints. If sheer presence could kill, these men would surely be dead.
As if confirming their shabby attire had been mere disguise, the Italian "guests" instinctively snapped into a defensive formation. Five men formed a pentagonal shield wall to protect the one in front—a testudo, or tortoise formation, as it was also known. Far more sophisticated and harder to learn and deploy than the barbarians' crude shield walls, where they just huddled shields to block the front. While it was perfect only with the old Roman great shields, even today with smaller oval and round ones, it was deemed effective enough for static defense like sieges. A sight pleasing to the eye, but these fellows hailed from Italia—Ravenna, no less—which docked them a hundred points right away.
"Indeed, but I didn't realize Britannia greeted guests in this manner."
"Guests?"
It was thanks to this man that Uterius, exercising utmost patience, hadn't immediately issued an expulsion order to kick these Italian beasts' asses back across the strait. He'd stood out from the moment they entered. Amid the surging hostility, he alone stood tall and proud even now. The man had guts.
"You seem blissfully ignorant in Ravenna with your eyes shut, but do you even know what your Emperor Honorius did to this land?"
"I know full well."
"You know?"
Directly invoking the emperor's name like this was fundamentally irreverent. Yet these Ravenna soldiers seemed unperturbed. Some even nodded slightly, as if in understanding. That very attitude filled Uterius with lamentation. Even without probing deeply, one could infer the rough outline of Honorius's reign indirectly—and that only deepened the sentiment.
If you were going to abandon us, couldn't you at least have properly cared for the remaining provinces? Augustus... How am I to interpret this, that none of your soldiers rebuke me for blasphemy right before their eyes...?
The old soldier masked his inner thoughts and asked again.
"Knowing that, and still setting foot on Britannian soil—brave, or foolish?"
"Both, Comes litoris Saxonici. Uterius."
"You knew my name before coming."
"And more than that. I also know the name of the Magister militum who rules this land."
"Enough. If you wish to be treated as guests, do not utter our Magister militum's name lightly."
"...Very well."
Daring to speak Artorius's name so casually? Uterius reflexively silenced these Ravenna scum. The atmosphere of enmity turned to outright killing intent in an instant. Now, at a single signal from Uterius, not one of these visitors from Ravenna would escape death. They'd be loaded onto ships in Britannia's southern seas, adrift to some barbarous eastern land—or sink endlessly into the depths.
"I summoned you because I don't know why Ravenna seeks Britannia. If you're here prattling about treason or the like, Britannia will gladly make war. It'd be too absurd to even report to the Magister militum. Does your Ravenna emperor even have troops to send this far?"
"No. I'm not risking my life demanding something so foolish."
Good. This wasn't just for Britannia's sake. If the emperor truly went mad and tried reclaiming Britannia, they'd face not barbarians or pathetic traitors, but Magister militum Artorius. The empire would shatter to pieces.
"Fortunate, then. No need to behead you on the spot."
"My thanks. Then, may I explain why I've come all this way?"
"Speak."
"First, I'll retrieve a map from my bosom."
"Proceed."
With the guards' eyes now gleaming with clear killing intent, the "guest" slowly reached into his tunic and drew out a leather case. He then slowly opened it and unrolled the parchment inside. Uterius gestured to the table before him, and the guest approached slowly to spread the map. Uterius weighted the corners—where it threatened to curl—with a pen, inkwell, and such, fully unfolding it. There lay Gallia, in clear view. The guest's hand moved boldly across it.
"The empire—and even the traitor Constantinus—have lost northern Gallia."
"..."
The guest's meaningful gaze met Uterius's for a moment. This young soldier from Ravenna had realized that the people along northern Gallia's coast, centered on Rotomagus, were effectively under Uterius's management from Dubris fortress. And that influence now spread deep and wide along the great rivers of northern Gallia. It was all with Magister militum Artorius's permission to act as far as they could reach—and the northern Gallians' enthusiastic response had even made Uterius cautious. Britannia found it burdensome, while northern Gallia courted them fervently, so those folk had no intent to hide it. Now that Ravenna knew, there was no need to conceal it further.
More matters to report directly to the Magister militum.
"One might blame the traitor Constantinus, but the world knows better. Even after executing him, the empire won't have spare attention for northern Gallia anytime soon. We've heard barbarians who crossed the ruined Rhine defenses under his protection are steadily moving into Hispania. The empire's top priority after crushing the traitor will be Hispania."
"Shouldn't they crush Constantinus the traitor first?"
Uterius knew Constantinus well, of course. Three years ago, when that wretch led every legion from Britannia across this very Dubris fortress into Gallia, he'd opposed it fiercely. Constantinus, with the legions around the walls and Uterius's Saxon Shore forces. Direct confrontation might have sparked full war, so Uterius had yielded a step, persuading and condemning via letters. Yet Constantinus crossed the strait in the end. Coward. Not even his real name originally, was it? Bastard... Fool to the last.
But hearing Ravenna's man officially call him "traitor" now stirred regret over triumph. He'd once been a comrade defending Britannia, after all.
"That's why we've come seeking Romano-British cooperation."
"Cooperation?"
"Yes. Help, frankly."
"Only someone from Ravenna could be so brazen. Very well, speak. What do you want?"
"Next spring, Ravenna will strike the usurper. We ask that Romano-Britannia offer him no aid."
"..."
The reason the emperor still held Italia: legions in Ravenna. Despite every threat to Gallia and Britannia, those heavy-arsed lot never stirred. Now they finally would? Too late—far too late—the thought lingered in Uterius's mind. But Romano-Britannia's affairs beyond this? Let them sort themselves—usurper or emperor.
"We hate Ravenna's emperor as much as we loathe Constantinus. Romano-Britannia won't aid the traitor, whether you ask or not."
"I see. Reassuring. Understood."
Uterius had deliberately maintained a coercive, threatening posture toward these "guests." To clearly show Romano-Britannia's stance, but also to test this man. Honestly, Uterius found this fellow before him more intriguing than the usurper and emperor's belated brawl.
"Is that all you wished to ask?"
"Truth be told, I hoped to meet the Magister militum in person. His name fills every corner beyond Italia. Tales too incredible to believe."
"Storytellers inflate facts and fabricate fictions."
"Is that so?"
For the first time since entering, the man smiled with a hint of doubt.
"Too specific for that. I even considered scouting Avalonia en route, but no need. Dubris fortress's discipline is like a bowstring drawn taut—how is this possible? The rumors aren't empty praise, Comes Uterius."
Keener and more dangerous than expected. Not just guts, but brains.
"Come to think, I never asked your name. May I?"
"Of course, Comes Uterius. An honor. I am Constantius, born in Naissus of Moesia. A bit decayed now, but the birthplace of Emperor Constantine the Great, no less. Haha."
Constantius. A name worth remembering.
This too, to the Magister militum.
"Comes Constantius of Ravenna. Our emotions ran high today; we couldn't properly host you. But we Britannians forgive grudges as quickly as we flare. Next visit, we'll treat you right."
Not a drop of wine offered. Accepting the polite expulsion, Constantius nodded.
"Broken trust can't mend in a day. I only hope Ravenna and Britannia can rebuild faithful cooperation. That Gallian Constantinus... he's shown nothing but ugliness thus far. Farewell."
"Safe travels."
They'd likely suffered crossing Constantinus's domain in southern Gallia. Sending them off with mere pouches of gold coins, bread scraps, and rations might seem harsh. But these men should be grateful to leave alive today. Honorius's bold abandonment of Britannia—still unbelievable—was scarcely a year past.
Yet as the bold young Constantius said, no need for ongoing enmity. Of course, all this fell to Artorius, who would marry Uterius's daughter Guinevere next week.
Have I burdened him with too much...?
A chaotic, wicked world. But no matter how he pondered, it had to be Artorius. With that conviction, Uterius turned back to the list of those confirming attendance at Artorius's wedding.