Miracles Spread and Manavia Awaits
After warming up a bit, changing clothes, and spending the night, we set off at dawn straight for Manavia. [Splash—whoosh—splash—whoosh—] It took considerable effort to dissuade Comes Eturnus from coming along. The previous night had been a briefing on the state of affairs in the southwest and northwest regions, centered on Isca Dumnoniorum and Deva Victrix, while also serving as my chance to explain this new method of spatial translocation.
Thank goodness Merlinus had already demonstrated it for me with his “Just explain it like this~” Otherwise, if I hadn't shown it to him beforehand, it really would have been tough to put into words. For instance: It's like I exchange video letters with the Lake Goddess every night, receiving her will and asking questions, learning all sorts of wondrous things in the process. Among them, there are ancient waterways, and since our Goddess is particularly tied to water, I was fortunate enough to use one of those old paths—too long and pedantic. But like Merlinus's approach to understanding, we don't grasp the difficult and strange details, so the point is, we can travel long distances quickly. Right now, only I can move this way. Surprisingly, there's a distance limit too? Hit those key points, then cap it with the word “miracle,” and suddenly people's mouths gape open as they nod along.
Miracle, miracle? But when you think about it, this really is a genuine miracle. It's quite the conundrum. Why feel troubled by such good fortune?...
“Dominus Nostor Invictus! Look, there's the island!”
“Yeah, I see it.”
Rumors travel faster than words—true in my past life and this one too. Here, they say rumors spread like wildfire, or that rumor outpaces all other evils (Virgil). The news of me suddenly emerging from the river had morphed by morning into word that the Magister Militum had swum across in a single day. By dawn, after a heated evening, the people of Deva Victrix—eyes bloodshot from skimping on sleep—had crammed the roads just to catch a glimpse of my face. And after that, their reactions mirrored those in Avalonia when I drew Caliburnus. The real Artorius! Woooh! Crying, wailing, kneeling in prayer... Old-timers might seem simple, but people haven't changed much between lives. They're innocently naive, cunning, kind, and rotten in equal measure. Fools get scammed here too, and the scoffers mock them just the same.
So those folks gazing at me in awe, shouting all sorts of things—they weren't just dim-witted rustics hyping me up as some miracle-worker. For one, I did perform a real miracle. And in Romano-Britannia right now, I'm... well, it's embarrassing to say it myself, but perhaps the closest thing to a “hero” these people have. Add in efforts like Hector's to localize the faith, separate secular from sacred, and things could get really interesting ahead. I've hammered down that no personality cult will happen, no matter what... but these people have a rebellious streak; even I can't predict how it'll play out.
Rumors from Avalonia have likely reached Londinium by now, and those from Deva Victrix might hit Isca Dumnoniorum soon. By tomorrow, half of Britannia will know, and within days, the rest. Is this really okay? We could get branded heretics or wizards any moment—and we'd have no defense. The real issue is the anti-church sentiment rife among Britannia's folk. If Rome's church actually moves against us, it won't end at mere religious strife...
“...”
But on second thought, whatever noise they make from Rome hardly matters to Britannia. The proud Roman Empire's fleet? One in Hispania, one in Italia. Hispania's a nightmare of barbarians, Constantinus, Theodosian kin, and Honorius's relatives tearing each other apart. Italia? Rome was sacked just a season ago. Alaricus is dead, but his Gothic warriors linger. Pulling fleets from there, scraping together legions for a Britannian expedition? Doubt they'd fare well against our forces—and central and southern Gaul, with Constantinus and the nobles glaring wide-eyed, won't be easy either.
Seeing it this way, I get why Honorius abandoned this land last spring... So even if today's events—or future ones—spread, Rome and the church will just wag their tongues. No real action, no aggression. They can't ignore reviving trade with Britannia, or potential military aid. See no evil, hear no evil. Maybe we'll keep that tacit understanding going?
Of course, since beholding the origin site the Goddess showed me, my interest in paths to Gaul, Hispania, Africa, and even Aegyptus has spiked. That's why I subtly urged Merlinus and Comes Uterius to expand ties with northern Gaul, inviting their reps to Avalonia for face-time. Trace lines on a map: northern Gallic coastlines, centered on Rotomagus (Rouen), tinged with Britannia's subtle hue. Below, central Gaul and Lugdunum (Lyon) faintly Constantinus's shade; further south, Arelate (Arles) boldly his color.
Realistically scaling it up: driven-out barbarians flock from northern coasts to central and southwestern Gaul, burrowing toward Hispania. Constantinus came to “control” this but couldn't digest even Gaul before diving into civil war. Judging by now, his future looks dim. If he fails and falls, what of central and southern Gaul? Will those nobles crawl back to Honorius's bosom, teary-eyed and contrite? With balls in vice? And the barbarians already snug in Rome's warm crotch?? No chance.
The question: Does Honorius have the chops to quell Gaul's massive uproar and Hispania's even bigger chaos? Rash to say, but if Ravenna had that power, wouldn't they have crushed Alaricus and his warriors rampaging in Italia for years? With chaos assured, an unexpected player—Britannia—enters the fray. Rotomagus, northern Gallic coasts, and eastern Frankish allies are already staunch. Beyond goods exchange, they station reps in Avalonia, feeding us discreet internal intel.
Merlinus noted this resembles the empire's old patron-client system more than provincial spiderwebs of direct admins—looser, but hierarchical. Naturally, since drawing Caliburnus, Rotomagus and Franks grew bolder... With this translocation miracle spreading, they might draw even closer. Merowig and Lancearius's eyes glazed half-mad at Caliburnus.
Anyway, in this mess, I honestly want Constantinus to hold out longer. Until when? Past next spring, summer, fall—into winter after. By then, I'll have Britannia, Hibernia, even Caledonia... all—
[BWAAAAAAAAAM——]
A distant, lofty border tower signals they've spotted our ship. We must trumpet back. I nodded to the hesitant soldier eyeing me. Probably wondering if he should sound it, seeing my grave face.
[BWAAAAAAAAAM——!!]
The bold blast pushed back dawn, drawing the sun nearer. Britannia's western sea—storm-ravaged multiple times—lay cold and still today. Atop the high mast, a laurel-crowned eagle drips a single blue droplet. Laurel on eagle usually means emperor. But Britannia was abandoned by its emperor. So whose eagle is that?
[Splash—whoosh—splash!]
My ship touched shore smoothly first. Manavia Island's southeast and northwest: gently curving coasts and soft sands form natural harbors, needing no docks. Of course, the hurrying dockmaster drops to his knees, then secures ships with firm ropes and knots.
Gazing at that, I slowly headed island-centerward when the administrator and centurions appeared, rushing from afar. Not on foot like me—mounted, and soldiers rode well.
[Clop-clop—clop-clop—]
“Whoa! Whoa!”
[Clank! Snap!]
“Magister Militum! Dominus Invictus!”
The soldier leaped down like flight, saluting with awe in his eyes. New face—likely fresh recruit from Isca Dumnoniorum or Deva Victrix.
“Sorry to drop in unannounced on such a chilly day.”
“Not at all, sir!”
“Heard Hibernia's northern outpost and river garrison were attacked by barbarians. Caius repelled them, and Peredir rushed support. What happened after?”
“Uh—”
Caught off-guard, his brain froze; sweat beaded as eyes darted, brain whirring. Only after two more ships beached did he stammer out:
“Word from Sheep Island: two Comeses preparing counterattack! Talk of a big spring push, but unconfirmed!”
Still just in Caius and Peredir's heads? Guess I need to see for myself.
[Clop-clop—clop-clop—]
Administrators and soldiers hustled from afar; behind, my guards disembarked, shaking off stiffness. No immediate departure possible, so scratching my chin, I walked island-center again.
About two seasons passed? Revisiting Manavia, it now unmistakably resembled a Roman fishing village.
Homemade. Picked three key Gallic cities. Lugdunum's actually further southeast, so central and southern hubs cluster south. Why? Rome's down there! All roads lead to Rome.