Well, it better come soon, or else I will devour your soul!:mischief:

:bump: :coffee: :coffee: :coffee: :coffee: :gripe:

Chapter Eleven: Noble Men

Part 12 – Anarchy

Unfortunately for Lucius, he was not dismissed from his duties immediately. He had plenty of time for his self-doubt and his self-recrimination to re-emerge. So he still did not write to Claudia. After all the time that had passed, he wondered if a letter from him would be welcome; and as more time passed, the task became harder to accomplish and easier to delay. He’d been told since he’d first met Claudia that he wasn’t good enough for her, and a lifetime of hearing that message was not easily set aside.

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Caesar, meanwhile, busied himself returning order to the former Aztec Empire, but also found the time to send a series of proposed laws back to Rome. There, they would be discussed first in the Senate, then in the main legislative body of the Roman Republic, the Plebeian Assembly. In the latter body, the proposed laws would be promulgated by one of the newly-elected Tribunes of the Plebs, one Septimus Scaurus Rufus, a Caesar adherent to his very bones. In his previous positions, Septimus Scaurus had proved himself an able administrator. a masterful politician and orator, however, he was not, and this was no doubt partly to blame for what happened.

The first measure Septimus Scaurus introduced, to invest half of the war booty into rebuilding Aztec cities, gained ratification with relative ease. There was, inevitably, some grousing, but most of the businessmen that comprised the top three of Rome’s five classes could see the sense in it. With Aztecia open to them, they anticipated a new, large market for their goods. The sooner the people there had the money to buy them, the better. The men who ran the treasury saw the sense of it as well. Besides, all concerned expected the remainder of the war booty to come home to the treasury.

When Scaurus introduced Caesar’s next law, which distributed the remaining war proceeds among Rome’s troops, the grumbling was louder. Outside of the higher classes, however, the proposition was extremely popular; support for the troops was running high among the people after a very successful war that had been fought, it seemed, with no small amount of moral justification. Catullus Senior’s prediction proved correct; neither of Rome’s representative bodies were willing to oppose a motion with such popular support, and it passed into law with the reluctant blessing of both the Plebeian Assembly and the Senate.

However, this put the men in both government bodies into a recalcitrant frame of mind. Those not completely within Caesar’s camp quietly decided amongst themselves that whatever his next proposition might be, they would present stiff and formidable opposition. Therefore, when the lex Fides Libertas was introduced a veritable political storm erupted. This law, which would allow all religions equal footing within the Empire, would have been controversial enough on its own; but with the political forces in Rome in a resistant mood, the opposition was fierce. Meetings in the Well of the Comitia—the open-air meeting place in the Forum Romanum for the people’s assemblies—degenerated into shouting matches, and the following meetings to discuss the proposed law in the Senate followed suit, with Caesar’s adherents fighting a pitched rhetorical battle against his opponents.

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To make a rapidly-deteriorating situation even worse, one ambitious Tribune of the Plebs saw the unrest as an opportunity to rise to prominence. With Caesar and most of the other prominent political leaders absent from Rome, Lucius Appuleius Saturninus seized his chance. Speaking from the rostra in the Well of the Comitia, he spoke to the crowd and appealed to their worst instincts.

“People of Rome, listen to me!” he shouted indignantly, and people obeyed; Saturninus was tall, dark-featured, and handsome, and was an excellent orator, having earned several years’ experience in Rome’s law courts before embarking on his political career.

“For centuries we have tolerated the heresies of other faiths!” Saturninus said. “For generations we have defended Confucianism against the threat of infidels! For years we have fought a holy war to defend our brothers and sisters of the faith! And now look at what Caesar and his patrician henchmen propose! All faiths are equal! Confucianism—the one true faith, the one Roman faith—is but one among many, no better than the others! Are we to tolerate this debasement of our beliefs, of our culture, of what makes us Roman?”

The stirring and rumbling of the crowd in and around the Comitia spurred Saturninus on. That some of the patricians in the Senate were opposing the measure was immaterial. Saturninus intended to wed whatever resentment of the new law he could stir up to the underlying resentment that many plebeians harboured towards Rome’s most privileged class. As for the fact that Confucianism had been founded by a man of Chinese descent, not a Roman, of course Saturninus deliberately avoided mentioning it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Septimus Scaurus watching him, his face livid in response to Saturninus’ demagoguery, but without the oratorical skill to oppose him. Saturninus suppressed a grin and turned on the man.

“Look at this man, a fellow Tribune of the Plebs!” He said, pointing an accusing finger at Scaurus. “A plebeian? Ha! He’s a patrician puppet if ever there was one! They want to shove this new law down your throats, like bitter medicine, with him as the doctor. Well, it’s not medicine, it’s poison, and Septimus Scaurus is a quack! Make no mistake, my friends—all we hold precious, all we hold dear, is threatened! This will be the end of Rome as we know it!”

All it would take for the full fury of the crowd to be unleashed, Saturninus knew, was for one person to cross the line from talk to action. Thus he had arranged for one of his adherents to be within the Well of the Comitia with a good-sized rock hidden within the folds of his toga. That last phrase was the signal; as soon as the words left Saturninus’ mouth, his confederate threw his rock. It struck Septimus Scaurus right between the eyes; he dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut.

Saturninus was taking no chances. He wanted a revolution, and he got it. Scaurus’ fall was the signal to the other men he’d arranged to have planted in the crowd, most of them ex-gladiators, enforcers from the various crossroads colleges, and other ruffians drawn from the stews of Rome and the waterfronts of Antium and Ostia. They rushed the rostra, attacking the other Tribunes of the Plebs. Carried away by the ugly emotions Saturninus’ rhetoric had inspired, many others in the crowd joined in. Of the ten Tribunes of the Plebs, eight managed to escape only with severe beatings and considered themselves lucky; poor Septimus Scaurus, however, was beaten to death by the crowd. Saturninus, the hero of the hour, emerged unscathed, and was carried triumphantly out of the Well of the Comitia on the shoulders of his hired thugs. They carried him home, where he met with the two other ringleaders of his rebellion.

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“I’ve already received word from Antium that an uprising is underway there,” Gaius Servilius Glaucia, his friend and chief confederate, informed him. “We’ll hear news from the other cities over the next few days, but we have agents stirring up the people everywhere.”

“Excellent!” Saturninus said from his dining couch, draining his wine cup and signalling to a servant for more. “First thing we do is wipe out the Senate and all patricians—with one notable exception,” he said with a nod to his other guest. “Without their traditional leadership, the people will be looking for someone to guide them. That role, of course, will fall to me.”

“What about Caesar?” Glaucia said, his face folding into a frown. “He still has his legions up in the north.”

The third member of their party spoke up at this point, shaking his head while a confident smile played upon his face.

“Caesar is a spent force,” Marcus Phillippus Cinna said, brushing the long lock of dark hair that fell from his forehead out of his eyes.

Cinna had largely lain dormant since his disgraceful dismissal from the battlefield a few short years before. His father had threatened to disown him. A bribed servant and the administration of some untraceable poison into the senior Cinna’s dinner one night, however, ensured that he never got a chance to change his will. Cinna, an only child, received his full inheritance of money and estates.

His wealth, however, was not enough to overcome the shame of his military disgrace. The story had spread throughout the empire, it seemed. He couldn’t walk anywhere in public without hearing people sniggering behind his back, or looking down their noses at him. So Cinna had retreated into his mansion and brooded, dreaming of a day when he could exact his revenge on all those who had wronged him. As time passed, that list grew very long indeed.

Thus, when Lucius Appuleius Saturninus had appeared in his study and offered his services to Cinna, the disgraced patrician had taken him up on his offer. Saturninus’ political career had been floundering because of a lack of funds, which Cinna now provided. In return, Cinna worked behind the scenes, but pulled all the strings. The lex Fides Libertas had presented them with the perfect opportunity to make their move, and they had seized it with a vengeance.

“He’s served his purpose; he’s united the continent under Roman rule.” Cinna said to his two companions. “Now his time is done. Even an immortal cannot resist the will of the people.” Cinna paused. “The people… are sovereign,” he intoned solemnly, then laughed.

“Yes, the whole ill-bred, uncouth lot of them!” Saturninus added, laughing derisively with Cinna. “Trust me, Glaucia; by the time Caesar and his legions are finished tidying up Aztecia and complete the long march home, our goals will be accomplished. We will be installed as the new leaders of the Roman Empire. Caesar will have no choice but to stand down, and the legions no choice but to obey the orders of their new leaders.”

“Exactly,” Cinna said. “You forget, Glaucia, that Caesar has great respect for the will of the people, and for the law.” Cinna chuckled and swirled his wine within his cup. “The sentimentality of a foolish old man.”

Glauica nodded, but held his tongue. He wasn’t so certain that a 5000-year-old immortal could be dealt with so easily.

***

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Two days later, Lucius Rutullus found himself summoned to the command tent yet again, which was located on a wind-swept plain just south of Calixtlahuaca. Once inside, he was greeted by several grim faces.

“You’ve heard?” Ceasar asked him curtly when he walked in, waving the junior legate to a chair on the other side of a table from his own. Beside him sat Catullus Senior, looking equally grim, his lips pressed together in a hard line.

“About the riots?” Lucius replied. “The camp is buzzing about it, Caesar.”

“What’s the mood of the men? How do they feel about all this?” Caesar asked.

“They’re with you as always sir,” Lucius informed him confidently; he’d spent most of the morning making the rounds, gauging the legionaries’ opinions of the unrest in the Empire’s main cities. “They’re soldiers. They’re used to action. And everyone has loved ones back home. They want to do something about it,” Lucius added, his voice fervent, indicating he shared their feelings on the matter.

“So they shall,” Caesar said, his voice hard and decisive. “The garrisons in the Aztec cities can maintain the peace here. The remaining Legions will return to Roman territory and re-establish order. You are to take the Fourteenth and return to Rome to do just that. Try to do it with minimal bloodshed; these are fellow Romans, Lucius. They’re being misled by a demagogue. This storm will pass. It’s our job to minimize its effects.”

“The entire Senate has gone into hiding,” Catullus Senior rumbled from beside Caesar. The general’s hands were shaking. “The mobs were dragging patricians out of their homes, into the streets—killing the men, raping the women…” his voice trailed off.

Sitting in front of him, Lucius’ face went pale as a single word, a name, flashed into his mind.

Claudia...

“I would not trust Rome to anyone else, Lucius Rutullus Lepidus,” Caesar said to him. “Take the Fourteenth and march to Calixtlahuaca’s dock on the double. The galleon Minerva will bear you and your men back to Rome. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I’m able to get away.”

“Sir!” Lucius said, already on his feet and heading out.

***

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Claudia Pulchra sat in her study, trying to go over her household accounts, but found herself unable to concentrate. Frustrated, she stood up from her desk and took to pacing. She was impatient with this debilitating agitation she was suffering from, but she couldn’t help it. She felt like an animal in a cage.

When the riots in Rome had begun several days ago, most of the senators and other patrician nobility had decided that discretion was the better part of valour and had promptly left the city. Most of them had country estates outside of Rome where they hoped to safely wait out the unrest until order was re-established. A few patricians, however, refused to budge, to be forced from their city, the city their ancestors had founded and guided to greatness, because of common rabble led by a demagogue. They would not be intimidated; they would remain and make a stand, for better or for worse. Claudia was among them.

Nonetheless, those who remained weren’t so arrogant that they didn’t take precautions. Several patricians had, as Catullus Senior had heard, been subject to the full wrath of the mobs wandering Rome when the riots had first started. Noblemen had indeed been dragged from their homes and torn apart by the crowds, their wives and daughters passed around by the ruffians and subjected to their lust. So the few patricians who had remained had boarded up their windows and doors, had armed their servants, and had hired ex-gladiators and retired soldiers for protection. Some of their new guardians had been among the rioters not long before taking on their new duties, but at times like this, one couldn’t be fussy.

Claudia’s father had urged her to leave Rome for their family estate on the coast, south of Ostia.

“You’re a woman and you’re by yourself,” Marcus Claudius Pulcher had pleaded with his eldest daughter. “You’re not safe here!”

“No one is safe here,” Claudia had countered. “Even so, I’m not alone. I have the servants, and the house is secure.”

Her father had shaken his head. “You should leave,” he insisted.

“Are you leaving?” she’d asked him pointedly.

Of course Marcus Claudius Pulcher, twice Consul, would not quit Rome, and realized that he would therefore lose this argument with his daughter. Not for the first time, he regretted that she was so well-versed in rhetoric. He couldn’t even persuade her to leave her own home for the added security of his.

“And leave my house to be looted by the mob?” she’d responded to the suggestion. “I think not!”

So she had remained in her home, though she was nervous and, yes, afraid. She had been careful not to let on to her father or to her anxious servants that she felt that way. Thus far, the mobs had avoided the highest, wealthiest homes on the Palatine Hill, as though they were somehow sacrosanct because of their grandness, or because the oldest and most prestigious of Rome’s founding families lived in them. Or maybe the ruffians were just too lazy to climb all the way up the hill, Claudia reflected ruefully. Still, she knew better than to expect this state of affairs to last.

And what will you do, she asked herself, when they batter down your door? When they drag you from your home, out into the street, tear your dress from your body and pass you around like a common whore? She shuddered, then forced the unpleasant image from her mind. It won’t happen. It can’t happen!

“Domina!” her steward, Titus, was calling to her from the hallway. “Domina!” he came bursting into her study without knocking, that simple act telling her something was very wrong indeed.

Claudia forced a calm expression onto her face. “What is it, Titus?” she asked, proud that her voice was even.

“A group of men, Domina! Heading up the Palatine! Up our street!”

The middle-aged man seemed on the verge of tears. He wasn’t even carrying one of the few spears or swords she’d managed to obtain to arm her staff. He was a house servant, not a warrior. Not for the first time, Claudia questioned the wisdom of her decision to stay in the city, especially when she now realized that her servants would suffer as much as she if the mob chose to ransack her home.

You’re a proud, foolhardy, stupid woman, she chastised herself silently, then pushed the thought aside; the decision had been made, and it was now too late to take it back. She would have to live—or die—with the consequences.

“They may pass us by, Titus,” she said. The man only shook his head, wrung his hands, and blinked away tears. Sympathetic to his fear, for she felt no small part of it herself, she reached out and placed what she hoped was a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Whatever may come, we will face it together. Remember that you are Roman, Titus. Remember that above all else.”

Taking some courage from her words and from her show of strength, Titus took a deep breath, steadied himself, and nodded.

“Alert the rest of the staff. Have everyone take up the arms that have been provided.”

She paused a moment, considering. She suddenly recalled something she’d read in Caesar’s account of the Spanish campaign. A good general always ensures that his troops have a course for retreat, should it prove necessary.

“Have one of the maids stationed by the back door,” she said. “And another one by the rear windows. If necessary, we can escape through them, and make our way to my father’s home.”

Titus actually favoured her with a smile, so impressed was he by her clear thinking and grace under pressure. Not for the first time, he considered how lucky he was to be the chief steward of this beautiful patrician widow.

“I will, Domina,” he said, then turned to head for the door. There, he paused. “Your husband, I think, would have been very proud of you at this moment.”

The compliment did little to comfort Claudia, however; it just made her wish that her husband was alive and present so that he could take command of the situation, not her. What did she know of fighting? She’d read about it in a book, that was the sum total of her experience of conflict. She blinked away tears as she wished that one of the two men she had loved were present—preferably both of them. For she had come to love her husband in the short time she’d known him—a love of affection, if not passion. But Catullus was dead, and Lucius was away in the north, and she hadn’t heard from him in years.

And yet, the thought of both men stirred something in her mind. She had arranged to have her servants armed, yes—but what about herself? Her hazel eyes suddenly blazed. She would not be hauled off by the mob and made their whore; she would go down fighting! She left her own study and marched across the courtyard garden to that of her late husband. There, there was what she needed, hanging upon the study’s walls.

Outside in the street, Saturninus was leading a throng of men over two hundred strong right up to the top of the Palatine Hill. Prior to this, he had steered away the rioters from this exclusive district to ensure that the home of his patron, Marcus Phillippus Cinna, remained safe. But now he and Cinna were confident that they had the mob firmly under their control; it was time to demonstrate to all patricians that none of them were safe.

He reached the top of the hill and picked out the house which Cinna had told him would be his first target. His eyes settled upon the home of the late Quintus Lutatius Catullus Junior, now home to his widow: Claudia Pulchra Primia, one of the most beautiful women in Rome, if not the most beautiful. He smiled wolfishly.

Don’t worry, Claudia Pulchra, he thought to himself, you won’t get raped by my men like those other patrician women we caught. Cinna wants you for himself. He felt his blood stirring as he thought of taking her, bound and tearful, to Cinna’s house, there to watch whatever his patron had in store for the beautiful widow. For Saturninus liked to watch.

Cinna had personal reasons for choosing Claudia as his target. She was the beloved of the two men who had shown him up: Lucius Rutullus Publius by taking command of the Fourteenth Legion—his Legion!—during the battle of Tlatelolco, and Quintus Lutatius Catullus Junior by taking command of the Fourteenth after his disgrace. Cinna was eagerly looking forward to meting out his revenge on her. He had several things he planned to do to her—things that even the prostitutes he regularly hired had balked at.

“This one, my friends!” Saturninus shouted, pointing at Claudia’s house. “We sack this one first! But remember what I told you—its mistress is an enemy of the people! She must be captured and taken unharmed so that she may be tried in a court of the people! I’ll have any man who disobeys this order flogged, is that clear?”

His men nodded knowingly. So Saturninus wanted the woman for himself, they figured. Well, that was fair enough; as their leader, he was certainly entitled to his pickings of the spoils. They were sure there’d be plenty of comely serving maids to be passed around amongst themselves.

The mob formed up in front of Claudia’s door, shouting and cheering, while a battering ram was carried forward by the strongest men in the crowd. They lined up the heavy wooden ram with the door and slammed it forward. The heavy oak door of the house withstood this first assault; it shuddered and bore an ugly mark, but it held.

“Again!” Saturninus shouted, and the men wielding the battering ram drew it back.

But they never brought it forward, for to their surprise, the maimed door suddenly opened. And out of it stepped a goddess.

She was clad in a gleaming helmet with a high crest and held a long spear in her right hand, its blunt end resting on the pavement. A belt with a dagger and a sword in a scabbard was girdled about her slender waist. Her left arm carried a legionary’s large, convex rectangular shield. Her long woolen dress was immaculately white, her skin glowing, her hazel eyes blazing with righteous fury. She was the living embodiment of Minerva, the ancient Roman goddess of wisdom and war.

She lowered her shield and let its bottom edge rap loudly upon the pavement, a sound that made every man in the suddenly shocked and silent crowd jump.

Ecastor, that thing is heavy! Claudia thought as she set the shield down with a relief she was careful not to display to the mob before her. Instead, she maintained her look of dignified rage, took a deep breath, and roared in a stage voice, just as Lucius Rutullus had taught her how to do when they were children.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!?” she demanded of the men standing before her. Her voice, high and clear, reverberated off the stone walls around and behind her. “LEAVE THIS PLACE AT ONCE! RETURN TO YOUR HOMES!”

For several long moments, the crowd did and said nothing. The ancient beliefs in the old gods had been supplanted by new faiths, yes; but Romans were by nature a superstitious lot, and in their habits and customs they paid obeisance to the old gods every day. They had never thought to be confronted by one of them in person!

Behind her, in her house, Claudia’s servants watched the confrontation nervously through peepholes in the heavy shutters they’d nailed into place over the windows only a few days earlier. She had given them a simple order: if she fell before the mob, they were not to fight, but to flee, out the back door to her father’s home.

“This house and its contents don’t matter as much as your lives,” she’d told her weeping servants, “and neither do I.” She wished she’d realized that several days ago. But it was too late for self-recrimination now.

“ARE YOU DEAF?” Claudia shouted at the crowd. She took a step forward, lifting the heavy shield and setting it down with a loud thump, and was pleased to see the crowd flinch yet again at the sound. This just might work…

Saturninus, though, suddenly saw his entire revolution slipping away as a result of the actions of this one woman. He knew enough about how the mob’s mind worked to understand that if they retreated now, news of this incident would spread, and would grow from story to legend in short order. Who could stand against the old order, the men he was leading would say, when the ancient gods themselves spoke through them? He knew he had to do something, had to regain control of the crowd, of his crowd.

“Claudia Pulchra!” he said, stepping forward. “Dressing up in your late husband’s armour doesn’t fool us! You are a patrician and an enemy of the people! Your property is forfeit! It belongs to the people!” he shouted, his face reddening as he yelled at her.

“The people?!?” Claudia shouted back, her dignified voice rich with contempt. “You do not represent the people, you jumped-up worm! The good people of Rome, patrician and plebeian alike, are locked away in their homes, afraid of you and your cut-throat mobs! And if the rest of you had an ounce of good sense, you’d leave here at once and go emulate them! Do any of you want to face Caesar’s wrath when he returns? For return he will, and a reckoning shall surely follow!” She was pleased to see many of the men in the mob shudder at that unwelcome but very likely possibility.

Saturninus turned several different shades of purple. How dare she! How dare she oppose him in this manner, assuming the mantle of a goddess, speaking to them as eloquently as he could himself! A mere woman! He turned to the crowd.

“You there! Take hold of this harpy while rest of us enter…”

He was unable to complete relaying his orders, however. Claudia knew that she could not kill a man, even one as odious as this rabble-rousing demagogue. But she wasn’t above hurting him. Thus, she had raised the spear she held and brought the flat side of its iron tip down sharply upon the top of Saturninus’ head.

“OW!!” the erstwhile leader of the people exclaimed, clutching his head and turning to face his nemesis.

“You will not enter this home!” she told him, and the crowd.

“You rotten, stinking, cunnus!”

Claudia’s eyes opened wide at the coarse insult. She brought the spear down again, even more heavily, so much so that this time it broke when it struck Saturninus’ skull. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he unceremoniously fell to the pavement like a dropped sack of grain.

The men standing around him glanced down at their fallen leader uncertainly, then cast equally confused glances at the woman opposing them. A critical moment had come; Claudia knew it down to her very bones. The crowd wavered, hesitated. Then, as her stomach lurched, she saw the fear vanish from the coarse features of its roughest-looking members and knew that in spite of her valiant effort, she had lost.

“She’s just a woman,” a tall man with an unshaven face and long, unruly hair snarled. His narrow eyes looked her up and down, and a lecherous grin appeared on his face. An angry murmur swept through the crowd.

Claudia swallowed hard. She threw the ruined shaft of the spear aside and drew her late husband’s gladius from its scabbard and held it forward. She grunted as she lifted the heavy shield and did her best to assume a defensive stance, her left arm trembling from the weight of the shield and, she knew, from fear as well. As a youngster, she and her girlfriends had watched the young men drilling on the Campus Martius, and she now struggled to remember what she’d seen. At the time, she’d never considered the possibility of emulating the young men. No proper Roman woman would! She had been more concerned, like her girlfriends, with watching their favourites go through their military exercises.

And Lucius was always my favourite, she reflected as the mob of angry, lustful men shifted before her, collectively moving like a cat about to pounce on its hapless prey. Not for the first time in the past few minutes, she wished that her childhood sweetheart was there at her side. But he was not; she was utterly and terribly alone.

“Very well then,” she said, quite proud that she maintained an even tone quite devoid of the terror she felt. “I suppose I’ll only be able to kill—what, two? Three? Maybe four of you before you overwhelm me. So, who among you is ready to die?” she asked as she forced an eager smile onto her face.

She realized then that the cowardly, hesitant looks on their coarse faces at that moment would likely be the last thing that she ever enjoyed in this life. She hunkered down behind her dead husband’s heavy shield and waited for them to make their move.

Great update, Sisiutil. I assume then, Lucius will come to Claudia's rescue at the last possible minute, like a true hero ?

this chapter has only left me wanting for more..... NOW!
..yet another great chapter Sisiutil!!

Argh! Why did you have to end it like that? Now I'll be wondering what happened to Claudia until the next post. :(

Fantastic writing Sisiutil, this is easily up there with the greatest stories ever posted on these boards.

Now please write some more or the mob will be knocking on your door:mischief:

Seriously though, thanks for writing this:goodjob::goodjob:

Great update, Sisiutil. I assume then, Lucius will come to Claudia's rescue at the last possible minute, like a true hero ?

...or not. That would make for a real tear-jerker of a tragic ending, wouldn't it?

Yes, I'm evil.

...or not. That would make for a real tear-jerker of a tragic ending, wouldn't it?

Yes, I'm evil.

What a shame. :(

He's playing with your mind,don't listen to him.

Either that or I'm in denial, I refuse to believe the obvious. :wallbash: :please: :shake: :aargh: :ack: :old: :run: :stupid: :sarcasm: Hey, I can fit one more in!:deadhorse:

Excellent update.

Nice work building up suspense about Claudia at the end.

Excellent update.

Nice work building up suspense about Claudia at the end.

Ya gotta love cliffhangers as a way to keep the audience riveted. :D

yes, riveted.... very.
so when is the next update?

yes, riveted.... very.
so when is the next update?

How's tomorrow grab ya? I just finished slapping my tax return together, which means I'm good for nothing tonight.

How's tomorrow grab ya? I just finished slapping my tax return together, which means I'm good for nothing tonight.

thats great!
yeah.. taxes... they sap the lifeforce outta ya.....

Ugh! I knew I should have waited to read this story until it was finished. This should be termed cruel and unusual punishment.

Chapter Eleven: Noble Men

Part 13 – Order

Roman soldiers wore sandals called caligae. They had heavy soles, into which were hammered over two dozen iron hobnails that held the multiple layers of leather together. This distinctive footwear made an unmistakeable sound when several hundred men wearing them marched in unison upon pavement. This was the sound that now reached Claudia and the mob, the sound of a legion on the march, making double-time and drawing nearer.

The mob paused and grew silent, suddenly fearful, turning towards the sound, which echoed off of the walls of the houses on the upper Palatine Hill. The legionaries’ polished helmets appeared first, over the top of a low rise just a few dozen yards away. Then the soldiers came into view, helmets and armour gleaming in the sun, their shields held at their sides, swords slapping in scabbards against their muscular thighs. A century—no, two—no, more, an entire cohort, it had to be, six centuries strong!

Leading them was a tall, dark-featured man with one eye covered by a patch and the hard, determined look of a stone-cold killer upon his face. He took in the scene before him—of the woman he loved confronted by a crowd of ruffians—and his face took on a look of such fury that every man in the mob who was watching him gasped. For if Minerva had confronted them first, here, now, was Mars, the ancient god of war. In the flesh. And looking very angry indeed.

To Claudia Pulchra, however, he had never looked more magnificent.

Lucius Rutullus pulled his sword from its scabbard. “PRESENT… ARMS!” he yelled.

In one smooth motion and in complete unison, the entire cohort, veterans to a man, drew their swords with their right arms and swung their shields in front of their bodies with their left.

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“For-WARD!!” Lucius commanded, his sword pointing at the cowering mob.

Roman legions never charged. For centuries they had consistently conquered enemy armies who attacked them in a disorganized rush. Their strength lay in unity; they disdained individual heroism if it came at the cost of the unit’s cohesion. So the legions did not rush into battle. Instead, they marched forward, inexorable, unstoppable. Throughout their continent, the sight of an approaching Roman wall of shields, spears, and swords inspired fear and respect.

Mostly the former, in the current case of the mob standing in shocked silence before Claudia Pulchra’s front door. Confronted by such fearsome opposition, the mob’s puffed-up courage vanished in an instant. They tossed down the obviously-inadequate weapons they carried and ran for their lives. Claudia, watching the legionaries marching towards her, instinctively retreated into her own doorframe.

“Lucius!” she called out as he passed by her. He came to a stop, forcing his men to sidestep around him. He turned and walked back to her, but once he got close enough and fully realized how she was dressed, he stopped short, his one eye opened wide in shock.

How many times, in all the years that he’d known her, had he thought of her as a goddess? Too many to count. It was a mere figure of speech, of course. But here, standing before him, was a veritable goddess: Minerva herself, in the flesh, wearing the armour and weaponry of his dead friend and the face of the only woman he’d ever loved. His mouth dropped open. He was utterly incapable of speech, let alone thought. She was too magnificent for either.

Claudia suddenly blushed as she watched his reaction. They had not seen one another in years. She cursed silently. Why did their first meeting after so long have to be when she was so… unwomanly? She wanted to throw the shield and sword to the pavement, tear the helmet and weapons belt from her body, so suddenly ashamed was she.

“Claudia…” he said in a reverent whisper.

“I…” Claudia said hesitantly. Oh, how to explain her scandalous appearance? “The mob… they were…” she stammered, gesturing with the sword in the direction that the ruffians had run. She then became embarrassed by the fact that she was holding a weapon in her hand. Utterly unused to the maneuver, she struggled to shove the unwieldy thing back into its scabbard.

“Right, yes,” muttered Lucius, still taken aback by her mere presence, let alone by her extraordinary appearance. He suddenly recalled how she’d been holding off an entire mob of determined men by herself. “Er… I’m… here to rescue you,” he said awkwardly.

“Really?” she said, looking up from the stubborn scabbard she was struggling with. “Well… thank you,” she said, nodding.

Lucius coughed, then his attention was drawn by a groaning sound emanating from the ground behind him. He turned and looked down at a man lying upon the pavement, blood slowly oozing from a gash in his scalp.

“Oh,” Claudia said, noticing where his gaze had wandered. “That’s Saturninus.”

“Huh. Looks like his own men turned on him,” Lucius remarked, his voice heavy with contempt.

“No, I, um… knocked him on the head. With a spear,” Claudia admitted. Lucius turned to her, gaping. “Twice,” she added, and shrugged. “It, uh, broke. The spear, that is.”

Oh, what must he think of me? Claudia despaired silently. Dressed like a man, fighting off a mob of ruffians, engaging in acts of violence! I, a patrician noblewoman!

Lucius could not believe what he was hearing. Claudia Pluchra, the finest example of Roman womanhood he had ever known, had single-handedly taken down the leader of the riots plaguing the Roman Empire’s cities with her own hand. His awe regarding her grew to a measure he hadn’t thought possible. He felt small in her presence—and useless. Why had he and his men rushed back to Rome and then up the Palatine Hill? It appeared that she’d had the situation well in hand without him.

The Fourteenth Legion’s primus pilus, Gnaeus Decumius, came jogging back up the hill towards them.

“They’ve scattered sir,” he reported to Lucius. “Bolted back to their holes like the rats they are. Didn’t have to kill any, Caesar’ll be happy to hear, though the boys wouldn’t have minded. Scum, the lot of them! Oh. Ma’am,” he said, with a quick nod towards Claudia, then did a double-take as he saw how she was dressed. Claudia wished she could crawl under a rock and die.

“Well,” she said. “I should go back inside and get out of… all this.”

“Of course,” Lucius said, nodding. But neither of them moved. They held one another’s gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then Claudia turned, opened her door, and disappeared inside her house.

“What… who… was that?!?” Gnaeus Decumius asked, still staring in awe at Claudia’s closed door.

“Claudia. Pulchra. Primia,” Lucius said reverently.

“Really?” Gnaeus Decumius said, suddenly remembering all the rumours that had long swirled around his commander and this woman, rumours he usually disregarded and had often disputed. But the way they’d looked at each other just now made him wonder. “Well,” Decumius said, “that’s a relief. For a moment I thought Minerva herself was among us!” He shuddered then, battle-hardened centurion that he was, at the thought of one of the old, inscrutable gods taking human form.

“You and me both,” Lucius murmured, then he and his primus pilus knelt down to drag the groaning form of Lucius Appuleius Saturninus off to the Lautumiae Prison.

***

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Marcus Phillippus Cinna sat in his study in his mansion on the Palatine Hill and sighed heavily. Things had been going so well, and then Caesar’s legions had shown up in every city, put down the insurrections, and spoiled everything. He took some consolation from the fact that no one could connect him to anything; he had never exhorted the crowds to riot and had not participated in any attacks. How could he? He was a patrician, part of the community that Saturninus had targeted! That mere fact also gave him a considerable amount of deniability, in the unlikely event that any accusations should be levelled at him.

There was only one thing to do: lie low and wait for another opportunity. Apparently Caesar and his supporters had more drastic changes to the fabric of Roman society planned—the removal of protectionist barriers to trade being one. Cinna was certain that the changes, though sensible to anyone with a little foresight, could be used to foment dissent and lead to more anarchy. Yes, his day would come, he was sure of it.

There was a knock at his study door. Frowning, he turned towards it; he wasn’t expecting any visitors.

“Yes?” Cinna said impatiently. “What is it?”

The door opened and his steward, Cythegus, walked in quickly; his face was ashen.

“Domine,” the man said, “you have a visitor…”

But the servant never got the chance to announce the visitor’s name, for just then, he strode into the room as if he owned it. And once present, the man needed no introduction. There was no mistaking the short, thinning hair, the hard, shrewd face, and especially those piercing ice-blue eyes.

Caesar.

He was still wearing his leather riding cuirass and kilt, and the glow of perspiration on his skin indicated that he had come to Cinna’s home straight from a long ride. Caesar walked into the room and sat down in the chair on the other side of Cinna’s desk. Behind him entered two more men, both in full legionary armour: Lucius Rutullus Lepidus, commander of the Fourteenth Legion, and his primus pilus, Gnaeus Decumius. Behind them, outside the door, Cinna could discern several formidable-looking lictors, clad in scarlet tunics and bearing the fasces, the long, bundle of wooden rods that were symbols of imperial power. The fasces, ominously, had axes within the bundle, signifying the magistrate presiding over these lictors—obviously Caesar himself—had the ultimate power over life and death. The looks on the faces of all the men were hard and determined.

Lucius Rutullus in particular was glaring at him with his one remaining eye. Cinna realized that it had been several years since he had last set eyes upon Lucius, and the changes were readily apparent. The man standing behind Caesar was now a battle-hardened veteran, a man who had no hesitation about killing an enemy, and had grown quite proficient in that work.

“Well, this is an unexpected pleasure, Caesar,” Cinna said smoothly even as his guts churned. “May I enquire as to the purpose of this visit?”

“This is not a social occasion, Marcus Phillippus Cinna,” Caesar said plainly. “You are under arrest. You’ll be taken to the Lautumiae Prison, there to await trial.”

Cinna’s eyes widened. “On what charge?”

“Sedition and treason,” Caesar told him, his face grim. “Murder, as well—patricide, specifically. The penalty for these crimes, as you well know, is death.” Cinna stared at Caesar blankly for a moment. Then he smiled and laughed. Caesar’s severe expression did not change. “I do not recall making a jest, Marcus Phillippus Cinna,” he said.

“Of course not,” Cinna replied. “Are you really going to try to connect me to Saturninus and the rioting? Come now! Where is your proof?”

“Your friends Saturninus and Glauica are singing like canaries,” Caesar informed him.

“Lies,” Cinna said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Since it’s obvious that they will be executed as well, they have no reason to lie,” Caesar said. “We also have testimony from servants and neighbours regarding your meetings with them prior to and during the riots. And a very disturbing story from your father’s steward.”

Cinna’s lips pressed together into a grim line. “You’ll never make the charges stick,” he said, then smiled confidently. “I’ll hire the best advocate in Rome to defend me!”

“No you will not,” a clear voice announced from outside the study door.

In walked a smallish middle-aged man with a slender body and a slightly over-sized head. No one made fun of Marcus Tillius Cicero’s physical appearance, however. He may not have had an illustrious military career, but he had proven the sharpness of his mind and his tongue in Rome’s legal courts far too many times for anyone to take him lightly. He looked down his nose at Cinna as though the younger man were something foul he had just scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

“You will not be defended by the best legal advocate in Rome,” Cicero told Cinna. “I will be prosecuting you, not defending you, Marcus Phillippus Cinna! And I plan on making this case one of the highlights of my career!”
Caesar began to smile a little as he watched the smug self-confidence fade from Cinna’s face. “He insisted on handling your prosecution himself,” the Roman leader told Cinna quietly. “Cicero and I may disagree about a great many things, but we are both patriots.”

“Oh, thank you for that, Gaius Julius!” Cicero said, brows rising on his high forehead. “I shall be reminding you of that remarkable admission for years to come!”

“I would be disappointed if you did not, Marcus Tillius,” Caesar said, grinning.

Cinna was speechless. The colour had vanished from his face. Watching him, Lucius could not resist getting in at least one verbal shot. He was certain, after all, that it was Cinna who had sent Saturninus and his mob after Claudia.

“I understand the view from the Tarpeian Rock is quite spectacular,” Lucius remarked.

The Tarpeian Rock was the summit of a high, steep cliff at one end of the Capitoline Hill in the centre of Rome. It overlooked the Forum Romanum--and several needle-sharp rocks directly below the precipice. Being flung from the Tarpeian Rock down to those rocks was a common form of execution, especially for patricians who were convicted of some grievous offence that entailed a sentence of death.

“So I hear,” Caesar said, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Though no one gets to enjoy it for very long.”

Cinna listened to these verbal exchanges among his adversaries silently and with growing despair. His hands were shaking. He took several heaving breaths; then suddenly his face folded and he broke down in tears. His shaking hands rose to cover his face.

Every other man in the room regarded him in disgust. Caesar rose to go.

“Oh, Jupiter!” the leader of Rome declared as he stood. “Pull yourself together, man! In spite of how repugnant you are, you are still a Roman and a patrician!” But these words only made Cinna’s weeping increase in volume. Caesar raised his hands in resignation. “Gnaeus Decumius, escort this mentula to the Lautumiae.” Then he left the room, Cicero and Lucius following at his heels.

“Now, now, dry those tears, precious,” Decumius said, a nasty grin on his face as he and the lictors advanced upon Cinna. “Do us a favour and try not to soil yourself again.”

I have been lurking here for a few months, but this last installment was so satisfying that I finally had to chime in and say that I have really been enjoying this story. Thank you for all of the hard work.

I also have been lurking here a while, and this is one of the greatest stories ever written. Please post the next installment soon and keep it up!:goodjob: :thumbsup: :clap: :clap: :clap: :hatsoff: :thanx: :thanx: :thanx:

I like this story. Keeps your attention, has an epic feel to it, and well-written in general. How many parts altogether will there be?

I like this story. Keeps your attention, has an epic feel to it, and well-written in general. How many parts altogether will there be?

Thanks! The next installment, followed by a brief epilogue, will be the last in this particular "chapter". As for the entire epic--sheesh, I haven't even written some of the later chapters yet. Let's just say, though, that the game was played all the way through, so I do know how the story turns out. I've actually written the ending. I just have to go back and fill in all the details on how I got there.

Superb story! Can't wait for the next update!

Oh man, I can't wait to see how Lucius ends up. General? Consul?

i'm running out of words of praise.....
yet another chapter of great quality!

Oh man, I can't wait to see how Lucius ends up. General? Consul?

Funny you should mention that. I liked the character so much that I couldn't leave him be; a much older Lucius makes a cameo in the next story.

This is good fun, Sisiutl. I stayed up for an hour last night reading it.

Colleen McCullough is great, but you do have to bring a grain of salt; she's totally in love with Caesar, so all the other Romans tend to be "good" or "bad" in terms of how they relate to the Great Man himself. This is why I like the first two books best -- she's not in love with either Marius or Sulla, so she's much more even-handed. I especially like her depiction of Sulla as a cynical realist with a fatalistic streak. It's interesting, and also fits with what we really know of him.

A couple of book recommendations. If you like historical novels generally, let me strongly recommend Mary Renault, especially "The King Must Die", "The Mask of Apollo", and "The Last of the Wine". These books are from the 1950s but most of the history still holds up, and the writing is excellent.

Second recommendation: I don't know if you like fantasy, but if you're willing to give it a try, check out George R.R. Martin's "Song of Ice and Fire" books. There are four so far, and they're big, fat, roach-killer volumes full of political intrigue and plotting. The fantasy elements are minor in the first couple of books, and the characters are inspired by (not based on... inspired by) various medieval historical figures. If you like the characters and plots of McCullough, you might enjoy these.

(But I'm almost sure you'll like Renault. Good history, good writing.)

cheers,


Waldo

When will you be posting the next installment? I hate when I come on in the morning and there is no new post. :mad:
Also that last installment was pretty good keep up the good work. :goodjob:

This is good fun, Sisiutl. I stayed up for an hour last night reading it.

Colleen McCullough is great, but you do have to bring a grain of salt; she's totally in love with Caesar, so all the other Romans tend to be "good" or "bad" in terms of how they relate to the Great Man himself. This is why I like the first two books best -- she's not in love with either Marius or Sulla, so she's much more even-handed. I especially like her depiction of Sulla as a cynical realist with a fatalistic streak. It's interesting, and also fits with what we really know of him.

A couple of book recommendations. If you like historical novels generally, let me strongly recommend Mary Renault, especially "The King Must Die", "The Mask of Apollo", and "The Last of the Wine". These books are from the 1950s but most of the history still holds up, and the writing is excellent.

Second recommendation: I don't know if you like fantasy, but if you're willing to give it a try, check out George R.R. Martin's "Song of Ice and Fire" books. There are four so far, and they're big, fat, roach-killer volumes full of political intrigue and plotting. The fantasy elements are minor in the first couple of books, and the characters are inspired by (not based on... inspired by) various medieval historical figures. If you like the characters and plots of McCullough, you might enjoy these.

(But I'm almost sure you'll like Renault. Good history, good writing.)

cheers,


Waldo
Thanks! I agree with your assessment of McCullough. Some historical figures such as Cato, Cicero, and Spartacus come off much better in other sources than in her version of events. Nevertheless, what I most enjoy about her work is that she does such a good job of bringing a long-vanished world and culture back to life.

Besides, I can forgive her virtual love affair with Caesar. He's one of those rare people, like Alexander, Napoleon, or Abraham Lincoln, whose abilities so outstrip those of the average person that it takes your breath away and makes you wonder if they're really human. They tend to inspire great passion--love or hate. No wonder few of them ever die peacefully in old age.

Interesting that you should recommend Renault. I read The Last of the Wine a few years ago and quite enjoyed it. I should get around to reading some of her other books. I recently read The Virtues of War by Stephen Pressfield, which is a life of Alexander. I enjoyed it but found it a rather short treatment of such a monumental life. IIRC Renault has a weighty trilogy devoted to the life of Alexander, so I may read that next once I'm finished rereading McCullough.

When will you be posting the next installment? I hate when I come on in the morning and there is no new post. :mad:
Also that last installment was pretty good keep up the good work. :goodjob:
You're all getting spoiled! I went from posting every month or so to posting every couple of days. As I mentioned before, Lucius' story formed in my head very quickly and flowed out of me in a rush. That does happen to me every now and then, but usually I just plod along.

Fortunately I've now pretty much finished the next set of installments, so I should be able to keep up the current pace a while longer.

Funny you should mention her Alexander trilogy. That's IMO her weakest work, and for exactly the same reason: she falls head over heels crazy for Alex, and really loses all sense of objectivity. To the point where both the writing and the history start to suffer.

Don't get me wrong -- those books are still worth reading. Even weak Renault is still good. But they're not as good as her other stuff.

If you do pick them up, I'd say the first one, which deals with his life up to the death of Philip, is probably the best. _Fire From Heaven_, that is.

Lincoln: if you're a Lincoln fan, check out Doris Kearns Goodwin's _Team of Rivals_. It's the best Lincoln book of the last ten years. Looks at him from the perspective of his Cabinet. Wonderful stuff.

Hmm... as long as we're talking biography, have you tried William Manchester's _The Last Lion_? That's a bio of Winston Churchill up to about 1933. You might think that was like reading a prequel, but it's wonderful. Churchill had a really interesting life even before he saved civilization. It may or may not be the "best" Churchill bio, but it's certainly the most fun to read.


Waldo

Chapter Eleven: Noble Men

Part 14 – First Business

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As the legions appeared in the empire’s cities, the riots ended. The people re-emerged from their homes where they’d hidden, and the normal routine of daily life resumed. Caesar and Catullus Senior were hailed both for the victory in the Aztec war and for restoring order. Once the Plebeian Assembly and the Senate resumed meeting, they both passed the lex Fides Libertas. All religions were now equal before the law; and once they saw that the world did not end, nor open up and swallow them whole, people began to realize that this was a good thing.

The Fourteenth Legion de-mobilized, the bulk of its members retiring from the service, including Lucius Rutullus Lepidus. Now that he was nearly thirty years of age and had the means to do so, it was time for him to begin a different type of public service than that in Rome’s armed forces. In a few short months he would be entering the Senate, the first step in what he intended to be a long and illustrious political career. That meant he had several matters demanding his attention.

Taking Caesar’s hint, he’d hired Quintus Servilius Caepio the moment the clerk had been released from service himself and had put him in charge of his accounts, especially his new gold mine. With Caepio in charge of his new fortune, Lucius was certain that the books would be kept in proper order, right down to the last denarius. After combing through the records of the formerly Aztec gold mine, Caepio had informed his new employer that he would, within a few years, be one of the richest men in Rome. In fact, the gold mine was already turning a profit before Lucius finished his last military duities.

This was good news for Lucius in many respects. An aspiring politician had to keep up appearances, so some of his newfound wealth had to be spent—or, as Caepio put it, invested—to accrue social and political capital rather than the economic variety. Lucius had therefore purchased a fashionable house on Rome’s Palatine Hill. He also bought a home nearby for his mother, and invested his two younger sisters with handsome dowries, so he knew he’d be needing his new house’s study to not only meet with his clients, but also with his sisters’ suitors.

In addition, his house required servants. Cuicatl had come back to Rome with him, refusing to part ways with the Roman soldier who had saved her from selling her body on the war-torn streets of her home town. He installed her as the maid in his new household. But a maid, reflected Lucius Rutullus, needed a male counterpart, and he had someone in mind.

“Me, sir?” Gnaeus Decumius said, astonished. “But I don’t know the first thing about being a… a… butler!”

“You can learn,” Lucius told him confidently. “How hard can it be, compared to fighting for your life on a battlefield? And I know you’ll run the household with military precision. Right, centurion?”

The former legionary straightened to attention, his gut in, his chest out. “SIR!” He’d been given an order by his commanding officer—for he’d always think of Lucius in that way—and he would do his utmost to carry it out.
Gnaeus Decumius knew, as well, what his first duty had to be. For though Lucius Rutullus had thrown himself full-force into his new life, there was one crucial part of it that he was neglecting.

Thus, on the very first day of his new job, right after Lucius finished breakfast, Gnaeus Decumius greeted him bearing a gleaming white tunic and a toga that Cuicatl had whitened even further by infusing it with chalk. The tunic bore the broad purple stripe of a senator on its right-hand side.

“Time for you to get dressed, sir!” Decumius announced. “Big day today!”

Lucius stared at the toga and especially the tunic in surprise. “I don’t officially become a senator until next month…” he objected.

“Tish! A mere formality, and you need to look your best,” Decumius said as he helped Lucius out of his ordinary tunic and into the white one, then wrapped the toga around his new employer’s tall, muscular form, settling its folds into the crook of his left arm.

Decumius stepped back to admire his handiwork. To look good in a toga, a man had to be tall, lean of hip, and broad of shoulder. Fortunately, Lucius was all three.

“Very distinguished, sir!” the former Centurion said.

“Why is today a big day?” Lucius asked, eyeing his new butler suspiciously.

“Today is a big day,” Decumius said, “because you’re going to see her today. No more putting it off, which is what you’ve been doing. Besides, this place needs a woman’s touch, if I do say so myself. No offense to Cuicatl, mind; the girl’s a lovely singer and an excellent maid, but she can’t decorate worth spit.”

“You should marry that girl when she’s of age,” Lucius said with a grin. The former centurion’s uncharacteristic blush told Lucius that he’d been thinking the same thing.

“Here now, don’t you go changing the subject!” Decumius said. “It’s not about my marriage today, it’s about yours!”

“Gnaeus Decumius…” Lucius started to say, shaking his head.

“No! No more excuses!” Decumius said angrily, walking behind Lucius and giving him a gentle shove between the shoulder blades. “Get moving, soldier! Up and at ‘em!”

Lucius soon found himself being pushed and hectored down his hallway towards his front door. Cuicatl was there, holding the door open and looking at Lucius sternly as Decumius gave him a friendly but firm shove out into the street.

“And don’t come back here until you’ve been to see her!” he said, then closed the door.

Lucius stood in the street, looking around in amused bewilderment. He had, after all, just been kicked out of his own home by his servants—as though he were a hapless character in one of the comedic plays he’d enjoyed as a youth.

“Plautus would have loved this,” he muttered.

Decumius leaned out of one of the front windows. “Come on now sir, get going,” he pleaded. “The worst she can do is say no!” Then he popped back inside.

Lucius took a deep breath, shook his head while smiling ruefully, and set off in the direction of Claudia’s house, which was further up the Palatine Hill than his own. Gnaeus Decumius, he thought, you have several outstanding qualities, but an imagination is not one of them! There are many things far worse that Claudia can do to me than merely saying ‘no’!

As he had a long walk up to her front door, he had time to consider them all. She could slam that same door in his face, accusing him of letting her husband die. Or she could laugh in his face, his miserable wreck of a face, asking why she’d ever hitch her wagon to a battle-scarred, used-up warhorse like him. Or, worst of all, she could simply turn away and quietly but firmly tell him that she never wanted to see him again.

More than once he considered abandoning what he thought must surely be a fool’s errand. She hadn’t remarried. And why should she? A Roman widow, especially a wealthy one such as she, enjoyed a certain amount of freedom and independence that no mere wife or daughter could ever know. Her paterfamilias could suggest that she remarry, but custom dictated that he could no longer force her, not that Claudia’s father, that most Roman of Romans, ever would, or would need to.

They’d been in love when they were mere children, Lucius reflected as he climbed the Palatine. That was years ago. He’d been through a war. She’d been through a marriage, and widowhood. He acknowledged that his feelings hadn’t changed, but had to allow that perhaps hers had.

He passed several people on the street, and their reaction to him didn’t help his mood. He saw them looking at him, heard them whisper behind him as he passed on. It was the eye patch, he thought. That, and the other many scars visible on the few parts of his body not hidden by the tunic and toga—and those, of course, concealed still more.

Even after all he had accomplished, he was still too humble to realize that the people on the street recognized him, and were staring in awe at the greatest hero of the Aztec war; he didn’t realize that they regarded his battle scars as marks of honour, especially that lost eye, for the story of the gallant way in which it had been sacrificed was fast becoming legend. As Catullus Senior had told Caesar, people were adding the cognomen ‘Aztecus’ to his name.

But he knew none of this, would not know it for several days, would not understand it for several months and, as another sign of his humility, would never get used to it. Instead, his thoughts grew darker. What was he, except a malformed monster? And here he was, climbing up a hill to the dwelling of a goddess. For that vision of Claudia as Minerva, so brave and resplendent in her late husband’s helmet, shield, and weaponry as she faced down an angry mob single-handed, had not left him. It had been seared in to his consciousness, and it only served to remind him how high above her he was—and how out of his reach.

Thus, by the time he reached Claudia’s door, he was in an utterly dejected state, having reviewed the principal reasons she had to reject him as a suitor, and knowing there were more besides. So he stood before her door, intimidated once again by the grandness of her house. Even though this was not the one where she had grown up and where her father had so gently broken his heart all those years ago, it was just as grand. The Pulchurii and the Catullii did not lack money, unlike his own family. At least until just recently.

Unexpectedly, at that moment, an aphorism from Confucius entered his mind: The man of virtue makes the difficulty to be overcome his first business, and success only a subsequent consideration. And how difficult, he chided himself, was it to simply knock on a door? Which he promptly raised his hand and did.

The middle-aged manservant who answered a moment later glanced at him, blinked, and bowed respectfully.

“I am…” Lucius began to say.

“Yes, I know,” the man assured him. “This way, sir,” he said, and led Lucius into the atrium, then into a study, which was empty save for an orderly desk and several well-stocked bookshelves.

The servant turned and whispered to a maid, who scurried off after a wide-eyed glance at Lucius. Then the man lit a lamp, bowed, and left him alone in the study.

Lucius glanced at the desk, and noticed the ink in a small bottle upon it, and several quills with freshly-cut nubs; he read the titles of the books, and immediately noticed works by Plautus and Seneca among them. He took a deep breath as memories flooded his mind, of lazy afternoons spent on the shore of a lake, sunlight sparkling on the water, a boy and a girl chatting and laughing without a single care in the world as they read plays to one another. It seemed a lifetime ago, now—more like a dream than something he’d lived through.

He stirred himself from his reverie and looked at some of the other books, recognizing titles by Confucius and his esteemed friend Mencius. He then smiled as he realized that this was her study. It was unusual for a proper Roman woman to have a study of her own, but the fact that Claudia had one did not surprise or scandalize him at all; in fact, he found the idea pleasing, for he had always admired her keen mind as much as her beauty.
He’d lost an eye in the war, but his ears had lost none of their sharpness. He was snooping about in the study for any clue he could glean as to how welcome he would be in her house—and in her heart; at the same time, he kept his ears perked for any audible clues of the same nature. Thus, from across the courtyard, he heard the maid open a door and say nothing more than, ‘He’s here.’

So he was expected. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? He couldn’t decide. He stopped looking around and stood stock still, facing the study door at full attention as though he was still a legionary, standing on a parade ground. He resisted the urge to fidget. A toga did not tolerate fidgeting very well, after all.

A few moments later, the door of the study opened, and the manservant walked in, followed by Claudia. At the sight of her, all his breath left his body. When he’d seen her for the first time in years a few weeks before, looking for all the world like the ancient Roman goddess of war and wisdom, he’d been too distracted—not to mention awed—to see her for who she was. Now she stood before him clad not in armour and weaponry, but in a long, simple dress of bleached wool. He felt no less awestruck than he had before, however.

Gone was the girl he had known; she was a full-grown woman now, and all the more beautiful for it. Her complexion was as unblemished as ever, her skin still creamy and glowing as if lit from within, her auburn hair lustrous. She had not borne any children and her long white dress did not do much to hide the benefit of that to her figure, which was just a little fuller than he remembered, but in all the right places.

“That will be all, Titus,” she said evenly to the servant, her face impassive, every inch the patrician. No hint as to her feelings were betrayed by her placid countenance. The door closed behind her. They were alone.

Their eyes met, but they said nothing. Lucius swallowed hard and fought off a sudden urge to retreat—to mumble some apology and vanish out the door. But he stood his ground. He had to see it through. He drew a breath, urged himself to speak the words he’d rehearsed so often on the voyage home, words that were suddenly so difficult to remember.

Then he saw her eyes shimmer, saw the slightest tremble of her lower lip. A single tear spilled from her right eye. And Lucius, suddenly horrified that he should be the cause of any sorrow on her part, was struck dumb. He could not speak, could not move.

But she moved. In a flash, Claudia threw herself at him, her Roman reserve disappearing in an instant as more tears spilled from those hazel eyes he loved so much. Suddenly she was pressed against him, her arms around his broad shoulders, her face pressed against his, her breasts crushed against his chest. Her body heaved with sobs, and she clung to him as though she were drowning and only he could save her. Instinctively he wrapped his strong arms around her slender body, offering what comfort he could, before he, too, succumbed and was sobbing as well.

They wept for the loss of a good man they had both loved. They wept for the loss of so many years when they were not and could not be together. They wept for the experiences they had been through, for the tender innocence they could never regain. And they wept because they were, finally, united, and because it was so good and so sweet to simply be alive.

Then her lips found his, and the flow of tears began to ebb as they gave in to a passion born so many years before and so long denied. Without being fully aware that they had done so, they left the study and found themselves in her bedroom. She closed the door behind them, and in an instant his toga and tunic were on the floor, her dress next to them. Over the course of the next hour, she kissed every scar that his many battles had left upon his body—even beneath that eye patch, just to prove to him that it didn’t bother her one bit. Then she kissed the parts of his body that weren’t scarred. He returned the favour soon afterwards.

As they lay together some time later, their ardour cooling, naked bodies entwined, she raised her head, propping it up with her hand, and shot him a look of cool patrician anger.

“You’re a fool, Lucius Rutullus,” she said. His good eye opened wide as he looked back at her in shock. It wasn’t the sort of thing a man expected to hear at a moment like that. “Do you honestly think me so naïve that I am unaware of the simple fact that people die in a war?” she said, the subtlest of tremors in her voice. Suddenly ashamed, he turned away from her. She reached out, took gentle but firm hold of his chin, and forced him to look into her eyes again. “And explain to me how, after eight years of active service in Rome’s legions, that you could be ignorant of that fact? Did you really think I’d blame you for his death?”

He didn’t answer her. She sighed. “Well, I didn’t,” she said. “But you blamed yourself. More fool you. I can forgive that foolishness on your part, though. What I find harder to forgive is nearly four years passing without a single word from you! Do you know how many nights I laid in this bed, sleepless, worrying about you, having to rely on others for news about you, to know if you were dead or alive?” Though her voice shook with the frustration and the anger she had felt, her hand caressed his cheek tenderly as she spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I wanted to write to you… I picked up paper and quill so often, but…” He sighed heavily. “People think I’m a brave man, but I can be a great coward sometimes.”

“You’re no coward,” she said, shaking her head as she stroked his cheek. “You’re just too damned hard on yourself.” A rueful smile appeared on her lovely face. “I wrote you letters, you know. Dozens… no, hundreds of them.”

He frowned at her in surprise. “I never got them!” he said, bewildered.

“Because I never sent them,” she explained. The fingers of her right hand began to idly toy with the dark curls of his hair, twirling them about with her nails and fingertips. “I know you, Lucius. I knew what you were going through. And I knew you had to work it out on your own. I just didn’t think it would take you so long.” Her fingers stopped moving, and she raised her head slightly as she favoured him with a look he could only think to describe as regal. “Beyond that, I am a patrician noblewoman. I do not beg, Lucius Rutullus. Not even for you. You would do well to remember that.”

He stared at her for some time before he recovered the ability to speak. “You take my breath away, Claudia Pulchra.” He paused a moment, then smiled. “My Minerva,” he said.

She blinked in surprise. “Minerva?”

“That how you looked, that day,” he said, grinning. “During the riots. Holding off those curs all by yourself.”

She gasped and then buried her face in the crook of his arm. “Oh, I wish you’d never seen me like that!” she said miserably.

“Why not?” he asked, incredulous. “You looked like a goddess—like Minerva herself. You were magnificent!”

She raised her head. “I was?” she asked. He nodded his head enthusiastically. Still, she frowned, uncharacteristically uncertain of herself. “You didn’t think me… unwomanly?”

His eye opened wide, then gazed down at her naked body. “I could never, in a million years, ever make such an egregious error regarding your gender,” he said with a grin.

She smiled. “I was rather magnificent that day, wasn’t I?” she said brightly, giving her bed-tousled auburn locks a shake.

“You’re magnificent every day,” he said lovingly.

She pecked him on the cheek, the noblewoman retreating, the girl he’d known coming to the fore. “Compliments are good. I’ll have you know that I expect to have a lifetime filled with them.”

“You’ll get that,” he said, with a laugh, then laughed louder still.

“What’s so funny, you fool?” she asked him, smiling broadly.

“With, er, everything else that’s happened,” he said, one eyebrow raised, “I’ve nearly forgotten to fulfill the purpose of my visit.”

Moving with a speed and agility that told Claudia how formidable he must have been on the battlefield, Lucius shifted his body from beneath hers, rose from his reclining position, and then nimbly jumped over her, eliciting a squeal of surprise and a girlish giggle from her in the process. He came to rest on the floor on her side of the bed, where he dropped to one knee and took hold of both her hands in his own as she sat up.

“I love you, Claudia Pulchra,” he said, suddenly very serious. “I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?”

She tortured him by taking a deep breath, frowning and pursing her lips thoughtfully, and rolling her eyes to look up towards the ceiling. After a moment that seemed like an eternity, she sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, all right,” she answered in a resigned tone. When she looked down and saw the shocked expression on his face, she broke out into peals of laughter and fell back on the bed.

“Why you little…” he growled. He rose and was on top of her in a flash, reaching for the places where he knew she was ticklish, making her writhe and squeal beneath him.

“I can see you know,” she said breathlessly once he’d relented in his attack, “that you’re in the presence of your new commanding officer.”

He frowned. “How so?”

“Certain parts of you are standing at attention,” she said, moving her hips beneath his.

He smiled hungrily while a low growl rumbled in his chest. He lowered his head, and their lips met yet again.

They were married a month later, the day after he entered the Senate, and it seemed as though all of Rome turned out to watch the ceremony uniting one of the city’s greatest war heroes with one of its greatest beauties. A crowd of thousands followed them to his home, cheering as he carried her over the threshold in the age-old Roman tradition. The crowd stood outside, crooning a few well-worn love songs—including a couple of bawdy, explicit ones, another Roman tradition—before respectfully leaving the couple alone in their new home and in one another’s arms.

He rested there in his marriage bed later that night, with the woman he’d always loved laying upon his chest, a son, unbeknownst to them yet, freshly conceived within her womb. His future assured, his family’s honour and position restored, and his place in the world at long last resolved, Lucius Rutullus Lepidus newly-cognominated Aztecus, for the first time in his life, finally experienced a lingering moment of genuine peace.

http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i193/sisiutil/Princes/Princes11_14_2.jpg

Chapter Eleven: Noble Men

Epilogue – On Nobility

At nearly that same moment, in the High Priest’s residence at the Kong Miao in Antium, Mencius was pressing quill to paper, putting the finishing touches on what he regarded as his life’s work: a dissertation on the nature of nobility.
The Buddhists have an expression which has always puzzled me. ‘If you meet the Buddha in the road, kill him.” Long have I strained to understand such a strange, even odious notion. But now, after many long years, I believe I finally grasp what they mean.

The Master wrote about the Noble Man, a man who lives up to the term through his deeds, not merely through an accident of birth. But the Noble Man does not exist. He is an ideal to which we should all aspire. But he does not exist in this realm, and for that, we should all be thankful. For the Noble Man, so assured of his nobility as the Master described him, would be worse than his opposite, the petty man; the Noble Man, if he actually existed, would be a monster. And we would be entirely justified in killing him, as the Buddhists urge us.

Fortunately, as I said, the Noble Man does not exist. And yet, it has been my very great honour to meet noble men. Very few, mind you, and I wish their numbers were greater.

What sets them apart, you may ask, from the Noble Man? How are these noble men who do exist among us different from the ideal?

They differ in that they do not think themselves noble. They subject all their actions, even their thoughts and motivations, to unwavering scrutiny. They take particular note of where they fall short of the ideal. But they do not despair, or at least not for long; they resolve to do better, to try harder, to live up to the ideal at the next opportunity, and the one after that. In this regard, their reach forever exceeds their grasp.

The Noble Man gives us an ideal to which we can aspire. The noble man gives us something more precious by far: he gives us the hope that we can achieve that ideal.

Mencius sat back, satisfied. He then turned back to the beginning of the work, and wrote just a few lines more.


Dedicated

to Lucius Rutullus Lepidus Aztecus,


noble man.

The last chapter was a bit predictable, but I'm not complaining. :D I'm not like those who complained at the end of "Friends" that Ross and Rachel got back together.

It's what we wanted, and it was marvelously written.

As for the epilogue, it was a very very pleasant surprise! Very inspiring!

I'm out of words, so I hope a few smilies will do: :clap: :worship: :goodjob: :thanx:

Hail to the Conqueror of lands, the slayer of great beasts, that writer of Prose that turns into a truely mosterous beast, that consumes the story...:king:

Ok. Ok, having a poke at the length and the diversion of the novella...

Is what you really planned or does it give the flesh to the story...great story...really it could have been a seperate one...you've set a standard now...who will be the future hero's of Pax Romani..

I assume that this was without the benifit of Warlords..So no Great Generals... Lucius Rutullus Lepidus Aztecus...would have been a Great "Great General"..For ever providing his instuctions and principles in a war Acadameny or as the Legendary leader of the 14th Legion throughout future history.

But you writes them as you've Played them...

As well, do you plan to write 'fleshy stories' for the various future era'a...ie Gunpowder with Grenadiers/Riflemen, and Industrial with Infantry and Marines *My personal favourate*.

Storm those Beaches of the foreign lands, :blush: lay waste to their crops, destroy the industries, :eek: drive them before you as the lamb to the slaughter, :mad: here the Wails and laments of their women as you take the cities :cry:

Toasim Rules...:confused:

Sun Tzu Rules of War...Rule No 1, be the winning side...:crazyeye: :goodjob: :lol:

I'm just going to stop lavishing praise on you, shut up, and wait for the next installment.

It was still great though. :)

Yah it was worth the wait and wrapped the sub plot up nicely. I'm looking forward to what old Caesar's been up to.

Thanks, everyone. :blush: :D

This story, as I mentioned, was a very gratifying diversion. I was reading another story, set in ancient Rome, where a minor character, a primus pilus centurion, earns a grass crown and is never mentioned again. And I thought, "Hey, what about that guy's story?" So everything kind of unfolded from there. I meant for it to be a relatively simple short story like its predecessors, but once I got Lucius into his limited circumstances, I realized that it was going to take a good long while for him to extract himself from them and, of course, win the girl in the end. Building a wonder? That's easy. If you want a challenge, try falling in love. ;)

IPEX-731BA5DD06, you're correct, the entire game took place in vanilla Civ IV, so no Great Generals, unfortunately. As you may have gathered and will see in the next story, though, once the Fighting Fourteenth demobilized, Lucius swapped his cuirass for a toga and put his fighting days behind him.

ahhh, so now its back to war and conquest!
that irksome barbarian city and island to the east?

ahhh, so now its back to war and conquest!
that irksome barbarian city and island to the east?
Actually, the next story is somewhat more peaceful--introducing the players for the mayhem to come. ;)

mmmmmm- mayhem!:hammer: :ar15:

Nuclear Kid will be an outcast of Rome, determined to destroy it :mischief:

Nuclear Kid will be an outcast of Rome, determined to destroy it :mischief:


orochimaru... nice.
another naruto fan!

Great story, been following since the begining ^^

The epilogue was a nice ending to that, keep up the good work! But whats going to happen between lizzie and ceaser? He will have to kill her :cry:

orochimaru... nice.
another naruto fan!

I :worship: :worship: Orochimaru :worship: :worship:

Ah, so you've been an English teacher before. I'm fine with English teachers, except the ones pick out 5 grammatical mistakes per sentence and then give me a "D" grade for my homework. But what does impress me is an English teacher that can play Civ. This is one of the most mathematical PC games out there. If you are interested in another highly mathematical game, try http://www.kamikazegames.com/dominion/

Ah, so you've been an English teacher before. I'm fine with English teachers, except the ones pick out 5 grammatical mistakes per sentence and then give me a "D" grade for my homework. But what does impress me is an English teacher that can play Civ. This is one of the most mathematical PC games out there. If you are interested in another highly mathematical game, try http://www.kamikazegames.com/dominion/

I was also a social studies teacher--in other words, a history buff. That's where most of the interest in Civ comes from. I'm good at math, but I don't love it. I appreciated a lot of the improvements in Warlords and its patch, such as the display of how many turns to go before the next GP. I hate playing with a calculator, which I know means I may never graduate beyond monarch level.

sisiutil... its been almost a week....
you are torturing us....
suffering from withdrawal.....
:)

If you don't post the next installment in five minutes I'll scream. ;)

If you don't post the next installment in five minutes I'll scream. ;)

I think I heard you. ;)

I've been busy with the current ALC. Story update this weekend.

I think I heard you. ;)

I've been busy with the current ALC. Story update this weekend.

Awsome story! Quite addicted to it, I really hope you post the next installment today!

Yargh I just got back from a trip on the weekend and still no update. Rabid Smash! :mad:

Sorry gang, I had to work this weekend. No update in the ALC either as a result. I'll update as soon as I'm able.

Sorry gang, I had to work this weekend. No update in the ALC either as a result. I'll update as soon as I'm able.


no worries.. really.

we'll just have to bang down your door and tie you up to your PC/ mac and force the next update out of you...

no worries :)

no worries.. really.

we'll just have to bang down your door and tie you up to your PC/ mac and force the next update out of you...

no worries :)

This is beginning to sound suspiciously like some other Internet boards I hang out on.

Er... that I've heard about, I meant to say. Yeah, that's it. :blush:

Just wanted to say that this story is beyond great.
I'm an avid book reader of all genres and I can tell you I've read a lot of books that I paid with real money that can't compare to what you wrote.
I even read quite a few by very famous authors, which I struggled to finish and finally put down wishing I had bought something else entirelly.
Anyway, before I ramble, you're a great storyteller. And your stuff sure is commercial-grade. You just have to catch a broader audience apart from us Civ players.

Speaking of books, I imagine you've read 'Imperium' by Thomas Harris?
If not, well, you should have a look.

Thanks again for a great read, hope to have an update soon.

Chapter Twelve: The Merchant

Part 1: The Pitch

“Next!” Caesar said, with a sigh and more than just a hint of impatience in his voice. Before him, a clerk bowed and scurried out through the door.

“Getting tired, old man?” an amused voice next to him asked.

“You’re one to talk, you old buzzard,” he said, glancing at his Consular colleague, who was seated on his left so that Caesar could look into his colleague’s right eye rather than the dark patch that covered the absent left one.

Lucius Rutullus Lepidus Aztecus grinned. Doing so shifted the lines on his weathered but still-handsome face, which was framed by his steel-grey hair, cut short in tight curls that lay close to his head. “I, for one, find these audiences most rejuvenating,” remarked the aged but still-vital senator. He was consul for an unprecedented fourth time at the distinguished age of seventy. “Not to mention entertaining. Better than a night at the theatre, sometimes!” he said with a laugh.

Caesar grimaced. He reminded himself that this custom, of opening the Consuls’ offices to any and all petitioners on each Friday morning, had been his idea. And while most of those who sought a rare audience with him and whichever senator was his partner on the curule chairs that year either had hare-brained schemes or trumped-up accusations on their minds, every now and then, a worthwhile idea came out of it. Rome’s beautiful and inspiring Hagia Sophia, or at least the basic concept for it, had been one of the results of these meetings with common Romans, so Caesar continued the tradition.

“You know, Caesar,” Lucius continued as they waited for the next petitioner to arrive, “I actually think of all the consular duties, I missed this one the most when I was out of office. Hearing the concerns of common Romans—though I should say that since they have to possess the courage to face the immortal Caesar, they’re somewhat uncommon—is always most instructive.”

“Is that why you keep running for Consul, Princeps Senatus?” Caesar asked, referring to Lucius by another one of the many titles he had acquired, that of the leader of the house; implying, in a teasing tone, that he should be happy to rest on his laurels. But he knew, and was glad, that this man would never think of doing such a thing.

“I do so mainly because Claudia is glad to get me out of the house every now and then,” he said, turning to cast a meaningful glance at Caesar. “She complains that I exhaust her otherwise,” he murmured in a low, confidential tone, a proud smile upon his lined face, and a twinkle gleaming in his solitary eye beneath a waggling brow.

“That’s far more information than I really needed to know, you old lecher!” Caesar said, grinning, making his friend and colleague toss his head back and laugh.

Thus, when the next petitioner walked in, he found two Consuls who were also old friends sharing a joke and evidently in a good—and, he hoped, a receptive—mood.

The consuls sobered quickly and turned their attention to him. The man standing before them looked as though he could have successfully sought a private audience with Rome’s Consuls on his own. He was richly dressed in flowing, brightly dyed robes of mauve and purple. The robes were silk, which was difficult to obtain now that Greece’s war with England had cut off Rome’s supply of the fabric. Even more remarkable were the rich, varied colours of the cloth, since they must have been made using dyes from Greece, and Rome had never had a steady supply of that luxury item from the truculent Greeks. It took money, and a lot of it, to obtain clothing like this.

His hair was dark brown and neatly trimmed, his face clean-shaven, as was the Roman fashion. He was of average height and build. The man’s eyes, however, caught Caesar’s attention even more than his flashy clothing: his blue eyes were shrewd, yet bright and lively, as if lit from some internal fire.

http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i193/sisiutil/Princes/Princes12_01.jpg

“Greetings, Caesar, Princeps Senatus” the man said, bowing low to each of the Consuls, his arm sweeping out wide, then downwards with more than just a touch of theatricality. “I… am Hanno.”

“Just… Hanno?” Caesar said, his lips beginning to curl back into a grin. If nothing else, the man’s dress and manner promised that the meeting would at least be entertaining.

“Just as all the world knows you as Caesar, though you possess other names,” the man said, straightening, “soon the world will know me by that one name, and it will be enough.”

“I see false modesty is not one of your character flaws,” Lucius remarked, amused. “Please, have a seat… Hanno,” he said, waving to one of two chairs in front of the meeting table, “and tell us what brings you before us today.”

“I have a proposition,” Hanno said once seated, wasting no time, “that will fill Rome’s Treasury to overflowing for generations to come.”

Caesar’s arched brows rose. “Indeed?” he said, cautiously, glancing sideways at Lucius, whom he could see was sceptical but intrigued, like himself. It wasn’t the first time they’d heard such a proposition on a Friday morning. Still, something about the man told them that here might be the one person who could actually pull it off. “Go on,” he said.

“What I propose to do,” Hanno said, his blue eyes alight with enthusiasm, “is to put together a trade mission. Take a few ships loaded with the finest goods Rome has to offer—wine, sugar, furs, spices, wool, leather, even dried bananas and salted beef and pork—and take these goods to the distant continent for trade.”

Lucius blinked in surprise. “Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked, frowning. “There’s a war going on over there, you know.”

“All the more reason to make the trip!” Hanno said, spreading his arms as though this was the most obvious conclusion in the world. “Wars produce shortages, of luxury goods in particular—while their availability reinvigorates the fighting spirit, as I’m sure such formidable military commanders such as yourselves would know.”

Caesar ignored the flattery, but was intrigued by the idea. “Aren’t you worried about winding up in the crossfire?”

Hanno drew himself up proudly. “I am a citizen of Rome!” he declared proudly. “That simple fact, and its declaration, is protection enough in every corner of the globe, thanks to you, Caesar, and to men such as your distinguished colleague here. No one would dare earn the enmity of mighty Rome.”

The two Consuls were warming to the man, as outrageous as his plan sounded. Caesar was silently realizing that in Hanno, he may have found a man who matched his own audaciousness, but in business rather than in war or politics.

“Even so,” Hanno went on, as if sensing a need to tender that impression, “some precautions would be wise. That is why I have come to you. Ships capable of making the ocean crossing—not to mention their crews—are expensive. The government of Rome has several at its disposal.”

“Ah,” Caesar said, now understanding why Hanno had come to him. “So you want, what, one galleon, two? Or more?”

Hanno shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “Not galleons, Caesar. Caravels.”

“Caravels?” Caesar responded, mildly surprised. “Are you certain?”

“They are the precaution of which I spoke. A mighty galleon, to the Mongols or the Greeks, would be perceived as a ship of war, would it not? And since they are well aware of our bonds of friendship with beleaguered England…”

“Ah, I see the man’s point, Caesar,” Lucius said. “We currently have an open borders agreement with Mongolia…”

“…but they have cancelled just such an agreement in the past, and may do so at any time,” Hanno finished the thought for him. “Capricious, those Mongolians,” Hanno said with a grin and a raised eyebrow. “Without an open borders agreement, entering Mongolian or Greek waters in a heavily-armed ship also capable of carrying troops, such as a galleon, would be perceived as an act of war. A much smaller and lightly-armed caravel, on the other hand, can come and go as it pleases.”

“Indeed,” Caesar said, nodding. He was sharp, this Hanno—he understood not just business, it seemed, but international relations as well. “Just how much gold do you think such a trade mission could generate?”

For the first time during their meeting, Hanno looked somewhat uncomfortable. He glanced about nervously. “No offence, Caesar, but in my experience, the walls have ears.” He took a slip of paper and a quill from the table before him, wrote a figure upon it, and handed the paper to Caesar.

The Roman leader glanced at the figure. His fair brows rose, and he gave a low whistle, then passed it to Lucius, who had a similar reaction. And given the vast wealth of Lucius Rutullus Lepidus Aztecus, owner of most of the gold mines on the continent, that spoke volumes.

“Less my own modest profit, of course,” Hanno hastened to add. “It may take several years to accomplish,” the merchant then cautioned the two men sitting before him. “I may have to travel the length and breadth of the far continent, seeking the best deals for our goods.”

These words put the senses of the two Consuls, both old military men, on full alert. For the first time during their meeting, the full force of Caesar’s shrewd, perceptive stare fell upon Hanno. It took all the will-power the merchant possessed not to wither under that fierce yet icy-cold gaze. After subjecting Hanno to several moments of close, uncomfortable scrutiny, Caesar spoke.

“I insist that you do so,” Caesar said.

“Especially if you gain access to Greece,” Lucius added, his lone eye intense, his voice heavy with meaning.

Hanno nodded, well aware that Roman travellers had never been granted access to Greek lands. Their mercurial ruler, Alexander, had granted an open borders agreement when he first met Rome’s envoys. But before any Romans could explore the foreign nation, Alexander had cancelled the agreement shortly thereafter as Rome pursued closer relations with his northern enemy, England. Thus, the country was shrouded in mystery, just as the Aztec Empire had once been. And here, sitting before Hanno, were the two men most responsible for bringing that former empire into the Roman fold. The implications of what he was being asked to do were obvious, though he knew no mention of that must be uttered outside this room.

“I will, of course, send regular dispatches back to Rome, reporting on my progress,” Hanno assured them.

“Yes, you will,” Caesar said, smiling wolfishly now. “And some of my scribes will show you how to write them so that your messages to me are not understood by prying eyes—Greek, Mongolian, or otherwise.”

“So we have a deal?” Hanno said eagerly.

“No,” Caesar said, rising from his chair and smiling broadly. “You’re going to go get us one. And much more besides.”

http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i193/sisiutil/Princes/Princes12_02.jpg

I hope everyone will forgive me for once again fudging the dates and sequence of events a little for the sake of the story. :blush: Obviously during the game I was first to Economics and the free GM while the war against Montezuma was still going on, and while Lucius was a young man. But I liked the idea of giving everyone a glimpse of the older Lucius, and besides, with Civ's strange timing, by the time Hanno reached the other continent the war was over and several decades had passed! :crazyeye:

Quite epic !

ah, finally an update..Thanks sisiutil, but you forgot to update the 1st page :)

ahhh commerce and possible intrigue.... how apt.
at last an update!
great work again sisiutil!
guess we won't have to tie you up just yet eh?

ah, finally an update..Thanks sisiutil, but you forgot to update the 1st page :)

Fixed! Thanks.

Nice One, Sisiutil. During the last two days I 've been reading the last seven chapters or so of your story, since I was in CHina for a month and had no internet access there. It's so awesome! Heck, I've been looking forward to catching up on the great chapters I'll get to read while still on the plane.

But I've got a simple request. Can I have a map of the whole world? Or maybe just the other continent ass you know it? And another question, do you use reloading sometimes? Like when you bring the Confucian Missionary to Calixtlahuaca? Or did you actually use Macemen to attack your cities insted of Praets?

More question will pop up in my head now and then. Don't get bored!

I'm satisfied at the moment. I hope you have another update in the near future since that one was very good.

Nice One, Sisiutil. During the last two days I 've been reading the last seven chapters or so of your story, since I was in CHina for a month and had no internet access there. It's so awesome! Heck, I've been looking forward to catching up on the great chapters I'll get to read while still on the plane.

But I've got a simple request. Can I have a map of the whole world? Or maybe just the other continent ass you know it? And another question, do you use reloading sometimes? Like when you bring the Confucian Missionary to Calixtlahuaca? Or did you actually use Macemen to attack your cities insted of Praets?

More question will pop up in my head now and then. Don't get bored!
Thanks!

I'll try to include a map of the other continent soon, it's certainly appropriate for this segment of the story. I may have to go back into the game to get it.

Which answers your second question. Since this is a story rather than a game account, I have no hesitation about reloading one of the many saves I originally created in order to capture some appropriate screen shots. I had to practically re-play the entire Aztec conquest, for example, in order to get proper screen shots for Lucius' story, making sure that the 14th Legion was playing a prominent role.

After a while, it gets hard to remember what choices I made in the original game--which I played months ago--versus choices I make on a re-load to get screenies I didn't get the first time. Which is why I hope most of you don't get too caught up looking at the year and the score screen and the research bar and noticing discrepancies. There are bound to be several, but the overall flow of the game remains the same. I mean, it's kind of like Khan recognizing Chekov in The Wrath of Khan; a dedicated ST:TOS fan will know that doesn't make sense, but do you really let that detract from your enjoyment of the movie?

As for the specific reference to the Macemen--I recall making a brief reference in the Noble Men segment that the maces are mainly along as defensive units (it's always a good idea to include a few of those in the stack). The Praetorians, in the game as in the story, did most of the fighting and were the ones earning the city raider promotions. I'm sure there was a friendly rivalry between the Legions and the Macemen, much like there is between the various branches of the American armed forces. I actually do have a later story planned that deals with the Civ oddity of having and encountering antiquated, obsolete units.

Five days since a post.... and great story Sisiutil, hope for an update soon.

Just caught up and I LOVE it !!!!
hope also for an update soon!!!
keep up the great work!

its been a week since an update....
maybe we should consider rousing a posse and head over to the pacific northwest....

its been a week since an update....
maybe we should consider rousing a posse and head over to the pacific northwest....

Consider I'm in...

Im in for burning Sitsuli's house :mischief:

Burning his house down will only stop the story. I'm for marching over there and having him work at gunpoint. ;)

or maybe his writings caught the eye of some publisher and he has now abandoned us for money, fame and.... other writing stuff...

Hmm... Still no update. Please post in the near future Sisiutill cause I think my sanity is beggining to ebb and I might do something crazy. :crazyeye:

If you try to burn down my house, you'll have a lot of angry people after you (I live in a condo).

Update comin' up this weekend. Ditto for the ALC.

Yey!

And some people saw Fight Club too many times. :lol:

can't wait till next update..

Chapter Twelve: The Merchant

Part 2: A Passage to Mongolia

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A few weeks later, Hanno stood upon the deck of the Mercury, the lead caravel in his trade mission’s convoy. He took a deep breath, and the clean, salty air of the great western ocean—the Mare Occasus—filled his nostrils. He was quite proud of the fact that it had only taken him a couple of days to get his “sea legs”.

That was not true, unfortunately, of everyone in his party.

Hanno turned when he heard light but unsteady footfalls behind him upon the wooden deck boards. A small, delicate figure joined him at the railing, weaving unsteadily as the ship rocked in the waves.

“How did you talk me into this again?” Yukio said tiredly.

Her raven-black hair was pulled back into a severe bun to keep it out of her face. Her skin, which was normally the colour of pale gold, had taken on a greenish hue. Her dark, narrow eyes were sunken and tired, having rapidly lost their usual liveliness within the first few hours at sea.

Hanno gently placed his arm around her slender shoulders and laughed softly. “I believe it started when I asked you to marry me,” he said.

“Maybe I should have listened to my father,” his wife said grumpily. “And married a nice Japanese boy.”

“And miss all this?” Hanno said, waving at the broad expanse of empty ocean before them.

“A whole bunch of water?” Yukio remarked, glancing contemptuously at the source of her torment.

“Exactly,” Hanno countered, “that’s all it is, which is why you shouldn’t let it bother you,” he said with a chuckle and an affectionate squeeze of his wife’s shoulders.

The small, delicate Japanese woman looked up at him and smiled. Even though she’d been suffering from sea-sickness ever since they left Rome several weeks before, she still looked radiantly beautiful to Hanno—never more so than when she smiled.

“You always make me feel better,” she said, beaming at him. “Is there anything that dampens your enthusiasm?”

“Just one thing,” Hanno replied, his handsome features growing quite serious. “The thought of losing you,” he said quietly.

“That will never happen,” his wife replied, turning her face towards his.

They kissed just as the ship hit a rogue wave. They broke their kiss and both had to grasp the railing to keep on their feet. Yukio’s complexion turned a shade greener than it had been a moment before.

“Oh, Ecastor,” she muttered. “I think I’m going to…”

“Use the head?” Hanno said, not unsympathetically. “There’s one over there…” he added, pointing, but his wife was already running in that direction.

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http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i193/sisiutil/Princes/Princes12_04.jpg

Nevermind >_>.

“Do you think he’ll be anything like Caesar?” Yukio asked her husband in a hushed tone.

“I suspect we’re about to find out,” her husband replied as a somewhat portly Mongolian court official in a flowing, saffron-coloured robe approached them.

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They were seated in the reception hall in the palace in Karakorum, along with a few other members of their trade mission. Hanno had intended to ask for an audience with Genghis Khan, but the Mongolian leader had beaten him to the punch. On the morning after their arrival in Mycean on the Cape of Mongolia, a royal summons had arrived, couched in carefully respectful language, but making it clear that the merchant and his caravan were to report to Mongolia’s immortal leader at once. They had made the journey across the country in a few short weeks, their many fully-loaded camels escorted by a cohort of Keshiks.

“They seem a little old-fashioned, don’t they?” Yukio had remarked. “I mean, they’re not even wearing armour, not like our knights, anyway.”

“Our legionaries are a little old-fashioned too,” Hanno had responded. “But they’re still formidable, as are these horsemen, I suspect.”

The Mongolian capital was a large, bustling city—not as glorious as Rome, nor many other Roman cities such as Antium, Ostia, or Ravenna, with their many wonders, but a grand city nonetheless. Hanno and his party had little time to appreciate Karakorum, however, as they were whisked to the palace immediately upon their arrival.

“They seem to have a lot more men at arms,” Yukio had remarked at the many soldiers of horse and foot in the city. “I mean, compared to home.”

“This continent is not so fortunate as to be enjoying a Pax Romana,” Hanno had reminded her.

“But I thought Mongolia and Greece were allies?” she’d responded.

“Today they are,” Hanno had said cautiously.

And now the saffron-robed official was escorting them to meet the immortal leader of Mongolia, Genghis Khan himself. They were led into a surprisingly small room, with simple furniture, for such a formidable leader. Hanno reminded himself that Khan prided himself upon riding with his Keshiks into battle; he apparently had the simple tastes of a horse-borne warrior who was used to travelling lightly.

Khan was seated behind a simple wooden desk of dark mahogany, his attention focused on some papers before him. He wore no crown or diadem to mark his exalted station, though a bowl-like hat with a narrow pointed cone at its top and fur around its brim sat on the desk before him. He was thin and wiry, with long, drooping moustaches and jet black hair. His skin was golden and his eyes dark and narrow; Yukio could have easily mistaken him for one of her own countrymen. But there was something hard-set about his features—about the intensity of his eyes, the firm set of his mouth—that most modern Japanese did not share, though she imagined Tokugawa had possessed. She wondered, for a moment, what those two immortals would have made of one another.

http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i193/sisiutil/Princes/Princes12_07.jpg

<Yes?> Khan said in Mongolian, looking up from his papers as he tossed them onto the desk before him. <Who are you again?> he asked impatiently, frowning at Hanno.

<I am Hanno, of Rome, sire,> the merchant said in immaculate Mongolian. <I have come to Mongolia…>

“Yes, yes, now I remember,” Khan said, switching to Latin, which he spoke perfectly, though with a heavy accent. He waved Hanno and Yukio to a pair of chairs in front of his desk. The other members of the trade mission remained standing.

As Yukio sat down, she suddenly became aware that the Mongolian leader was studying her intently.

“You look Mongolian,” he said bluntly. He cast a challenging look at Hanno, as if to accuse him of stealing his country’s women.

“I am Japanese,” Yukio said.

Khan thought about this for a moment and then nodded. “One of the peoples conquered by Caesar,” he remarked, and every Roman in the room could hear the jealously in the man’s voice.

“That was centuries ago,” Hanno said with a conciliatory smile at his pretty wife and an affectionate pat of her hand. “We are all Roman citizens now. And we come to the great Mongolian Empire bearing the very best goods that Rome has to offer, my liege—the finest furs from the plains near Brundisium; sweet sugar cane from Barcelona, fragrant spices from the forests near Rome itself, and, of course, fine wines from Capua—the very best vintages from the very best wineries! In fact, in the interests of ensuring that Roman-Mongolian relations remain cordial, Caesar himself directed me to give you this case of Merlot from the Maximillian vineyard, vintage 1487.”

Hanno signalled over his shoulder effusively, and two men of his party brought forward the wooden case and the dozen bottles of wine it held. They set it upon the top of Khan’s mahogany desk.

“An entire case,” Khan muttered, obviously less than impressed. “How generous.”

“Oh, I assure you, it is!” Hanno assured him enthusiastically. “This vintage is renowned for its quality; it has only grown better with the passage of time and is now extremely rare. This case would cost what ten average Roman citizens earn in one year!”

Khan cocked an eyebrow, then snorted derisively. “Grog is grog,” he said, “and luxuries are for the soft.”

Hanno smiled. He was in his element, utilizing his sales skills upon a reluctant customer. “Wisely spoken,” he said, nodding sagely. “And who in this world is softer than a beautiful woman?” he said, stealing a sly glance at his wife.

“And who appreciates luxuries more? Rest assured, your highness, the men of your court could woo the most beautiful women of the land to their heart’s content!”

Khan glanced at him for a moment, then grinned and snorted a laugh. “You could probably sell stink to a skunk, couldn’t you?”

Hanno threw his head back and laughed. “Well struck! Though in truth, It’s not the first time I have heard such a remark. But let us cut to the chase: you are a busy man, and I do not want to waste any more of your valuable time than I need to. If our selection of fine Roman goods don’t interest you, then we should be on our way…”

Hanno began to push his chair back, but Khan gestured for him to stay. The Mongolian leader glanced back over his shoulder and nodded; one of his advisors—the same saffron-robed man who had ushered Hanno and his party into the office—stepped forward. The man held an abacus.

“Do you have a manifest?” Khan asked Hanno.

“Of course, your highness,” the merchant said, and produced a paper scroll from inside his robe, which he handed to the robed advisor.

The man unfurled the scroll and read its contents, his eyebrows rising higher upon his forehead with each line he read until Hanno thought the man’s brows would disappear behind his head by the end of it. He then set the scroll down and worked at his abacus for several minutes, the click-click of the wooden beads the only sound in the room. He then leaned forward and whispered into Khan’s ear, then stepped back away from his leader.

“One thousand nine hundred fifty talents of gold,” Khan said, his face and voice unreadable.

“A generous sum,” Hanno said, stunned at the offer, which was greater than he’d dared hope. Yet the readiness of the offer made him wonder, naturally, if he could do better. And, of course, he had his orders from Caesar to see if he could… “explore” Greece.

When Hanno said nothing, Khan frowned. “Not a talent more,” he said. “I dislike haggling.”

“As do I,” Hanno said, though it was a lie. “It’s just that I have very clear instructions from Caesar to ensure that I am getting the best price possible.”

Khan glowered at him; when he spoke, his tone was menacing. “If you are implying that I am trying to cheat you…”

“No, no, no!” Hanno responded emphatically, raising both hands. “Forgive me, sire, I did not explain myself adequately. I am under strict instructions to bring Rome’s wares to each of the civilizations on this continent, and sell to the highest bidder.”

Hanno had to suffer Khan’s piercing glare a moment longer. Then the Mongolian did something completely unexpected: he suddenly tossed his head back and laughed.

“You think you’ll get more gold from that posturing fool, Alexander? Or from that English whore?” he asked rhetorically, his lips curling into a contemptuous sneer as he spoke the names of each of his rivals. “Rome doesn’t even have an open borders agreement with Greece! How do you intend to get to Athens or London from here, eh?”

In response, Hanno simply held his hands palm-up and shrugged his shoulders. “What can I do, your majesty? As I said, my instructions were received directly from Caesar, and they were very specific.”

Khan’s mirth vanished and he glared at the merchant for several moments in silence. Then a thin, cruel smile appeared on his lips.

“I could simply take from you everything that I want,” he said quietly. His dark eyes then glanced at Yukio, and he gave the young woman an intense once-over that made her shift uncomfortably in her chair.

Hanno, a veteran of many heated negotiations, ignored the sickening feeling in his stomach that the threatening words and lewd glare at his wife had caused. In his experience, potential customers often reached a point where they believed that they had the merchant over a barrel—that he had no choice but to sell to the buyer at his asking price or be ruined. At that point, Hanno knew, the seller had to remind the buyer that he was not, as the saying went, the only game in town. He knew that point had arrived with this particular customer—for immortal or not, powerful or not, that is how Hanno regarded him. And Hanno also knew exactly how to put his foot down.

“I am a citizen of Rome,” he said, calmly, quietly, and without rancour.

Khan glared at him in silence for several moments. Yukio would later claim that she could hear his teeth gnashing.

With those six simple words, Hanno declared that he would not be bullied. With those six simple words, he had reminded this powerful, immortal leader of his civilization’s place in the world. Molest me, those six simple words implied, and you will be explaining yourself to a Roman legion inside of a month. Rome has conquered an entire continent. If you want us to conquer yours, make your move.

Khan knew all of this, knew it all too well. Which is why a moment later, he forced himself to smile and chuckle.

“You must excuse the Mongolian sense of humour,” he said. “I’m sure it seems strange to you. I hope my little joke did not offend?”

Hanno smiled. “Of course not, your majesty,” he said. Inwardly, however, he was fuming. You slimy, arrogant bastard, Hanno thought, that was no joke. One day, Caesar is going to put your severed head on a pike. I may not be around to see it, but I’ll give him whatever information I can to help it happen.

Khan waved at him dismissively. “Very well, go north to Greece. I wish you luck getting across the border. I’ll be seeing you again, Hanno—sooner than you think.”

“It would be my pleasure, your highness!” Hanno said obsequiously as he rose to go, something which he soon found he could not accomplish quickly enough for his satisfaction.

w00h00!!
great update, been waiting all week for it!

Love the new post keep up the gooud work sisiutil

Yay! An update!:woohoo: I can't wait until the next one! :thanx:

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say Yukia is gonna die. Great update by the way.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say Yukia is gonna die. Great update by the way.

What, you guys think I'm Shakespeare or something?

Widows and Orphans: tight stories have neither.

One simply does not say "the only thing I fear is X", and let X not happen (or, at the least, use the fear). Sort of like Mordor.

Widows and Orphans: tight stories have neither.

One simply does not say "the only thing I fear is X", and let X not happen (or, at the least, use the fear). Sort of like Mordor.

Hmm, right, like the old saying that if there's a gun mounted above the mantle in Act I, it has to be used by Act III. Well, you'll just have to wait and see, won't you? :p

Hanno is obviously going to die, no GM lives to trade another day.

Thank you, sisutil, you've made my day (again!)

Jack

I have a feeling that the Fourteenth just bought a ticket to Karakorum.

i'm sure good old sisiutil here has a twist or two (or three etc etc) up his sleeve.
But like any master of his craft, he sure takes his time in doing it...
haha.. only joking about the taking your time bit.... well not really... :)

Hanno is obviously going to die, no GM lives to trade another day.

Heck, say this and Sisiutil will obviously change the plot from 'and he died soon after in a suspicious event outside Athens' or something to 'And he lived happily ever after'.... lol:D

But wait, I don't think you need open borders for Great Merchants. Can someone check this?

Nice installment by the way.

Last question, so this story's gonna be updated every week or so? So I guess that it'll end around autumn. That's a long way to go, and it's just Princes of the Universe Part I.

Really last question, can you give a spoiler plot about the next story?

- Inquisitive Reader and/or Lurker

Why would you mention that Hanno's only fear is to lose Yukia and then have her live on? Either that or he'll throw himself in front of her and die in her stead thus it would fit the story with the loss of a merchant when you price gauge.

Why would you mention that Hanno's only fear is to lose Yukia and then have her live on? Either that or he'll throw himself in front of her and die in her stead thus it would fit the story with the loss of a merchant when you price gauge.
It is entirely possible that I was being sloppy. Or deliberately misleading. You'll just have to wait and find out.

He didn't say that she could have died, infact he could say that a trade went bad and they kiddnapped her or something...that could explain a war in the future and Hanno might even be another Lucius soldier story who joins the army to save Yukio?
Oh also another great update Sisiutil can't wait for the next one.

Hanno is obviously going to die, no GM lives to trade another day.

It would tie in nicely with the needing an excuse to launch an intercontinental invasion, plus the whole "I am a citizen of Rome" thing ...

Finally discovered this series last night (thanks for no sleep, S :mad:). Given how much he hates Monty in his ALCs, I'm surprised S didn't write a VERY detailed description of his death. :lol:

As for feedback on the story itself, and some comments on things I noticed other people saying:

random thought - what happens if Rome conquers a foe, only for Caesar to lose the swordfight? :confused: Might be something worth addressing somehow.

The spelling/grammar/typo mistakes are there, but few and far between. I wouldn't really have noticed except you broke my pet peeve (it's when you're going for the possessive its. Didn't you teach this stuff? jk :lol:. Besides, this isn't a literature board...).

I know I'm setting myself up here to be hated on by everyone else, but I really didn't like the ending of the Lucius parts. Everything just worked out too neatly for my taste. The reason I don't read James Patterson anymore is because, 9 times out of 10, the mystery ends with the main character winning a shootout/fight of some sort with the killer; the killer ends up dead; and everything gets neatly wrapped up. Just like real life, right? :crazyeye:

Here's to hoping the Hanno series ends differently (even if I'm the only one not pulling for a happy ending) :beer:

I have an idea how the story will turn out... maybe Hanno will work out a deal with the Greeks so the mission is successful, but he's then taken out by a Mongolian assassin, which starts a war with Rome.

Just an idea.

Good, an update.
An intercontinental invasion from the bottom-up (Mongolia, Greece, England)... with galleons... Ooooh, it's gonna be Epic! (note the capital letter).
Can't wait...

How long do you intend for the story to last? Gunpowder or all the way up to Industrial? Maybe seeing battleships shelling the coastline cities with marines seizing and securing the beach head for your armor and airplanes to land unharassed.

P.S. I don't expect an answer I was just curious.

How long do you intend for the story to last? Gunpowder or all the way up to Industrial? Maybe seeing battleships shelling the coastline cities with marines seizing and securing the beach head for your armor and airplanes to land unharassed.

P.S. I don't expect an answer I was just curious.

The story is based upon a single game, and I played the game all the way through the end, so the story will play out to the same end. Given the premise (immortals, only conquest victory enabled), it's logical that the story has to play out until there not only can be only one, but to where there is only one.

As for "Part I", that was me being uncertain at the start as to whether I would tell the tale in multiple threads or not. I'm now thinking I'll keep the whole story here in this one thread for simplicity. If there's a "Part II" it would be a different game, and I'm not sure I'm going to do this again!

How long do you intend for the story to last? Gunpowder or all the way up to Industrial? Maybe seeing battleships shelling the coastline cities with marines seizing and securing the beach head for your armor and airplanes to land unharassed.

P.S. I don't expect an answer I was just curious.

Don't forget the part when he has to come up with a plausible explanation for :spear:

:lol:

Lol I'd like to see that explanation, "They shoved spears strapped explosives into the cockpit and killed an elite tank crew. I didn't know how to inform the families of the victims that after ten years of service they were killed by a handful of men wearing armor and armed with spears." :lol:

I too found this thread last night. 5 hours of enraptured reading. I was moved to tears at one point. This is some great creative writing

Don't forget the part when he has to come up with a plausible explanation for :spear:

:lol:
Never underestimate the ingenuity and effectiveness of guerrilla fighters. I can't remember where I came across it so it may be apocryphal, but didn't some lowly rebels somewhere once take down an American military chopper by loading rocks into a grenade launcher?

I know building suspense is good, but come on! Please update! Please?

Please?:mischief:

I know building suspense is good, but come on! Please update! Please?

Please?:mischief:


yeah what he said

Top notch, Sisiutil. :)

Especially loved the Sostratus saga and the Lucius epic. Just spent the last two hours reading from start to end and I can only say keep them coming.

Sorry for the delay. I participated in a yard sale this weekend--kept me kind of busy. I'll try to post the next chapter tonight.

Sorry for the delay. I participated in a yard sale this weekend--kept me kind of busy. I'll try to post the next chapter tonight.

I saw your name as the last poster and I thought that the next entry might be in.

Can't wait until tonight. :)

same here, i thought the next chapter was posted...

Chapter Twelve: The Merchant

Part 3: Bearing Gifts for the Greeks

“How long do you think this will take?” Yukio asked.

“As long as it takes,” Hanno replied in that calm, reasonable, cheerful tone that often made her want to scream at him.

“Do you ever get upset?” she asked instead.

“The way Genghis Khan looked at you upset me,” he muttered.

Yukio shivered. “I’d rather you didn’t mention that again,” she said, and her husband tenderly put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her close to him.

The Greek longbowmen guarding the border with Mongolia didn’t seem to know what to do with them, and the language barrier didn’t help. The lack of on-going contact between Greece and Rome meant that few people of either nation spoke the other’s language. So Hanno and his caravan were held up in a ramshackle inn at the border, waiting to see if they could cross it. They’d been waiting there for three days. They’d had to unpack every single camel, and there were dozens of the huge beasts, and open every box and crate for inspection—twice. And still they waited.

Hanno and Yukio walked out of the inn and proceeded to the Greek fort, really little more than a roadside hut housing a half-dozen guards. The caravan had caused the usually-bored guards no end of initial excitement, but now the novelty had worn off and the men had gone back to their dice game while they awaited word from Athens.

As the Roman couple approached the guard house, they noticed a horse trotting down the road that led to Athens. As the horse came closer, they could see a short, squat man sitting atop it. His face was covered by a full black beard with grey streaks, and a long, stained aquamarine robe covered his rotund body. He drew his horse up beside Hanno and Yukio, and as they watched, he dismounted and bowed to them in greeting.

“Hola!” he cried, and his face broke into a huge smile. “You Roman, yes?” he asked in broken Latin.

“Yes,” Hanno replied. “I am Hanno, of Rome.”

“Ah! Is wonderful!” the Greek responded, his smile broadening. “I Zorba. Welcome to Hellas, or Greece, you call it.”

Zorba suddenly stepped forward, threw his arms around Hanno in an affectionate bear-hug, and stood on tip-toe in order to kiss the surprised merchant on both cheeks. He then turned to Yukio and glanced at Hanno expectedly.

“Ah, this is my wife, Yukio…”

“Ah! Wife! Wonderful wonderful. Very pretty!” He said, and Yukio, giggling like a schoolgirl, received the same hug and kisses of greeting, though Zorba did not have to stand on his toes to reach the cheeks of the diminutive Japanese woman. He stepped back from her, eyeing her with admiration, but in a pleasant way that was utterly unlike the leer that Genghis Khan had subjected her to. “Very pretty!” Zorba said again, nodding. He turned to Hanno. “You lucky man! Me? Not lucky. My wife… AHAHAHAH!!” He exclaimed, his eyes widening and body trembling to indicate that his wife was a fearsome creature indeed.

Hanno and Yukio were both smiling broadly. They were warming to this effusive Greek quickly.

“Are you an official of Alexander’s court?” Hanno asked him.

Zorba frowned and shook his head. “Me? Me no official anything. I am… how you say… I buy, I sell…”

“You’re a merchant, like me?” Hanno said.

“Yes! Merchant! Yes yes yes! Merchant. Merchant merchant merchant…” Zorba exclaimed, delighted with his new Latin word. “You come with me. I talk guards, then we cross border. Go Athens. Alexander want to meet you!”
“Really?” Yukio asked. “Alexander sent you?”

“Oh yes, pretty lady!” Zorba said. “Alexander send me here, send me there, Alexander send poor Zorba everywhere.” And the short, rotund Greek mockingly wiped the sweat off of his supposedly-beleaguered brow, making Yukio giggle again.

“But you’re not a court official,” Hanno said.

Zorba smiled at him and winked. “Is no fun being official, no? Is more fun to be getting things you not supposed to get. Hard if you official. Easy if you not.”

“Lucrative as well,” Hanno said, smiling. Zorba frowned, clearly not understanding the word. Hanno raised one hand and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

At this gesture, Zorba pointed, then smiled and laughed. He reached up and slapped Hanno’s shoulder. “Yes yes yes!” he declared. “You and me, we brothers!” Again, he threw his arms around Hanno and kissed each of the Roman’s cheeks. “Now you come, we talk to stupid guards, then we go.”
Still smiling, Hanno and Yukio followed their new Greek friend to the guard house.

***

http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i193/sisiutil/Princes/Princes12_08.jpg

“Welcome to Athens,” Alexander said, smiling, greeting Hanno and his wife with a broad smile and a warm handshake.

The immortal leader of Greece was a small man; Yukio found herself able to look directly into his eyes without tilting her head, an unusual experience for the diminutive Japanese woman. He was, nevertheless, powerfully built, with broad shoulders, a barrel-like chest, and strong legs, visible beneath his tunic, his dress very similar to a Roman’s, save for the lack of a toga. His thick, medium brown hair framed a handsome but hardened face; here, Hanno realized, was a man more comfortable on a training ground or battlefield than in a palace.

Yet a palace is where they found themselves, a handsome building of marble columns and floors. Alexander sat down behind a large oak desk, gesturing for the merchant and his wife to chairs on the opposite side.

“It is a rare delight for us to greet Romans here in our kingdom,” Alexander commented.

“In sincerely hope, your majesty, that our visit will signify a change to the historic estrangement of our two peoples,” Hanno said smoothly.

“Well,” Alexander said, “if Rome was to shift away from its unwise alliance with the English, that would be possible.”

“Unfortunately, your highness, I am not in a position to change or comment on diplomatic policy,” Hanno said. “I am merely a humble merchant, selling my wares where I can.”

Alexander laughed. “You may be humble, but as I understand it, what you carry is anything but! Wine, sugar, wool, furs… a most intriguing collection of goods.”

“I am glad you think so, your highness.”

Alexander waved his hand. “Please. I may be an immortal and the ruler of a great civilization, but in my heart, I am a simple soldier. My men call me Alexander. I insist you do the same.”

“If you insist… Alexander.”

The ruler of Greece smiled. “I do. And, also like a simple soldier, I do not like beating around the bush. You have goods to sell; you’re interested in my price. Ptolemy?” he said, looking over his shoulder at one of his chief advisors, an older man, stocky but still vital, obviously a former soldier himself.

“Our offer,” Ptolemy said, and handed Hanno a scroll.

http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i193/sisiutil/Princes/Princes12_09.jpg

The merchant unravelled it and glanced at the figure. One of his brows raised. It was the exact same amount that Genghis Khan had offered. Had they collaborated? Or was it purely a coincidence? In many ways, it didn’t matter.

“A handsome sum,” he said. “Once I have all the offers, it will definitely be considered.”

Alexander frowned. “What do you mean, ‘all the offers’?” he asked.

“I still have yet to visit your neighbour to the north.” Hanno replied.

Alexander suddenly looked as if he’d bitten into something sour. For a very tense moment, he glowered at Hanno, but the merchant held steadily beneath that withering gaze. Finally, Alexander smiled and laughed softly.

“Do you really think you’ll get a better deal from the wicked witch of the north?” he asked, an amused tone in his voice that sounded forced.

Hanno shrugged. “That is the deal I made with Caesar in exchange for the loan of Rome’s ships: seek the best price from all the potential customers on the continent.”

“Our border with England is closed because of recent hostilities,” Alexander said flatly.

“I understand,” Hanno responded. “However, my party is neither Greek nor English. Surely we could be allowed passage…?”

“That could be difficult,” Alexander said.

Hanno shrugged yet again and decided to call Alexander’s bluff. “Very well. I’ll just send to Ning-Hsia for the caravels…”

Alexander raised one hand. “I said difficult”, he interjected, “not impossible.”

“I am sure Rome will appreciate any assistance you can offer,” Hanno said as he watched the Greek leader’s jaw flexing. “In fact, Caesar may have anticipated this. In any case, he wanted me to offer you this gift from the Senate and the People of Rome.”

Hanno waved a beckoning hand above his shoulder. One of his assistants carried forward three large, leather-bound books which he placed upon Alexander’s desk. The Greek leader eyed the books curiously, then drew one towards him and opened it, reading the title in Latin.

“The Conquest of the Aztec Empire, by Gaius Julius Caesar,” he read aloud, then inhaled deeply. A quick glance at the other two volumes’ spines indicated that they dealt with the Japanese and Spanish campaigns. He flipped through several pages of prose and several maps. “I came, I saw, I conquered,” Alexander read, his voice barely more audible than a whisper. He was then silent for a very long time.

“Your majesty…?” Hanno prompted him.

“Hmmm?” Alexander said, raising his eyes from the book. “Ah, yes. I suppose you’ll want to head north to that accursed excuse for a civilization as soon as possible. Very well then. Zorba will escort you to the border. I hope you’ll keep our offer in mind.”

“Of course, your majesty.”

“And do thank Caesar for the books, when next you see him.”

“I shall,” Hanno said. He bowed as he rose to leave, his wife curtseying.

Once they had gone, every muscle in Alexander’s body tensed, and his face grew livid. He lifted the three heavy books and appeared ready to throw them across the room. Then he seemed to think better of it and dropped them to his desk. He turned and roared in anger and frustration.

“IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!!” he yelled to the men around him. He slammed his fists down hard upon the top of his desk several times. “CAESAR SHOULD BE THE ONE JEALOUS OF ME!!” This was followed by several blasphemous oaths and more fist-slamming.

His lieutenants watched him, impassive, apparently used to these occasional outbursts of temper. They patiently waited for the storm to pass.
After several minutes, it seemed to do so. Alexander stood, his chest heaving, his hands flat on his desk as he leaned over it.

“Why?” he said quietly. “Why are we so afraid of them?”

His closest friend, a handsome young man named Hephaestion, stepped forward and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Two reasons, Alexander,” he said. “Galleons and Legions.”

Alexander nodded. He gestured towards the books.

“He’s rubbing my nose in it,” he said, his voice quavering. “He’s conquered his continent. He’ll be coming for ours.”

“When he does,” Hephaestion assured him, “we’ll be ready. You’ll be ready. Read his books, Alexander. Study him. It’s the only way you’ll be prepared to face him.” Hephaestion laughed and shook his head. “The fool. In sending you these accounts of his campaigns, he’s given you the very means you need to destroy him!”

Alexander shook his head sadly. “No, my friend. You do not understand. Men like Caesar and I… we measure ourselves against those who oppose us. He wants me to be ready for him. He believes that if he then defeats me, the glory will be all the greater.” Hephaestion’s eyes opened wide as he stared at his friend and leader in shock. Alexander turned and smiled at him. “But don’t worry, my friend. We have time. We’ll be ready. I will read his damn books. I will be ready for him. But first…”

Alexander was then silent and still for several moments.

“But first…?” Hephaestion prompted him.

“But first…” Alexander said thoughtfully, then paused. “But first, send a message to Mongolia. I wish to seek an audience with Khan…”

YYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!!!!

Now to read.

Edit: Oooooooohhhh, interesting ending. I wonder what will come of this...

zorba the greek!!!
hehehe nice :)

ps:another week b4 the next update?

Aaaah, finally!
Good update, another twist in the story... Thanks again Sisiutil.
And Zorba the Greek, I wonder where THAT came from ;)

Aaaah, finally!
Good update, another twist in the story... Thanks again Sisiutil.
And Zorba the Greek, I wonder where THAT came from ;)

Wait 'til you see who's waiting for them in England... ;)

Wait 'til you see who's waiting for them in England... ;)

Mr. Bean?

That would be fantastic.

Genghis, maybe Julius Caesar?

the 'Spice Girls'?

Wait 'til you see who's waiting for them in England... ;)

Please let it be Jimmy Carr, please let it be Jimmy Carr.

Or Michael Palin
Or John Cleese

Hell, bring in the whole bleeding circus!

C'mon, people, former English major here... :rolleyes:

C'mon, people, former English major here... :rolleyes:

Ah, Will Shakespeare then ?
Althought John Cleese would be great...
Or James Bond ? That would explain the death of Hanno.
Wait and see, as they say in... England.

I just spent a good 5 hrs on ur stories and if i dont get the next update soon, i will set Canada on fire.....

if you set canada on fire the stories will stop coming...
its better you go to canada and force him to post

Personally, I think Alexander REALLY needs to see a pychiatrist.

Great work!

He posted on Tuesday so give him a break.

if you set canada on fire the stories will stop coming...
its better you go to canada and force him to post

How about I just set Quebec and Ottawa on fire as a warning first and as ...inspiration

I guess you can burn Quebec, but not Ottawa its our capital. Just kidding French Canadians are just as important as English Canadians so long as they aren't trying to separate. ;)

C'mon, people, former English major here... :rolleyes:

You mean you would actually put in ol' Will Shakespeare instead of Bean or 007 or Monty Python? That's outrageous.

You mean you would actually put in ol' Will Shakespeare instead of Bean or 007 or Monty Python? That's outrageous.

or even Black Adder perhaps?
or maybe a Jane Eyre/ Mr Rochester type will pop up... ( again painful memories of lit. lessons come to mind)

I was hoping for Austin Powers myself.

or even Black Adder perhaps?
or maybe a Jane Eyre/ Mr Rochester type will pop up... ( again painful memories of lit. lessons come to mind)

Blackadder would make the most sense of them all, actually.

Well, there's no shortage of ideas and suggestions--I may have to revise the chapter I'd planned. If it takes a little longer, well, you only have yourselves to blame. ;)

As for threatening Canada, feel free to do whatever you want to Toronto. Anything would be an improvement.

How about I just set Quebec and Ottawa on fire as a warning first and as ...inspiration

Quebec wouldn't notice, and Ottawa is pretty flame proof -- much like Washington, many flames are aimed at the capital.

I know who the will meet, Harry Potter! It makes perfect sense, Yakio will die after Voldemort kills her by accident! I am so brilliant.

Sis, have you heard of Lulu? http://www.lulu.com/. Its basically a free desktop publishing service that lets you write a book and then send it to them. They'll put it for sale on their website and print books to order so you don't pay anything. I'm sure if you wanted to you could publish the entire epic there once its done.

Or perhaps you and Hemling? *drools*

Just visited that site you mentioned,
I would be willing to pay for a real book, with Princes of the Universe on the cover. I just love books, and as I mentioned before : this is so much better than a lot of things I've bought...
Anyway, next update please ?
Pleaaaaase.

Just visited that site you mentioned,
I would be willing to pay for a real book, with Princes of the Universe on the cover. I just love books, and as I mentioned before : this is so much better than a lot of things I've bought...
Anyway, next update please ?
Pleaaaaase.

This weekend, as usual.

There. I said it, now I have to write it.

This weekend, as usual.

There. I said it, now I have to write it.

I thought you updated when I saw you name

Ok I cant wait up anymore. I need to be up in 5 hours to go run 3 miles.

Wait...just 5 more minutes!

the weekend came and went :(

Still no update? :(

Sorry for the delay, gang, but I suddenly realized that there needed to be not one but two intervening chapters here that I haven't written yet. (This realization was partly inspired by your feedback and suggestions, so you are , in part, the authors of your own misery. :p;)) This is the risk I run by posting an epic story like this piecemeal with some chapters pre-written.

I will endeavor to complete those chapters as soon as possible and post them. At least I'm doing better now than I did when the story first began, with an update only once a month or so!

oh... i thought we had an update....
alas, tis not to be...
anyways, hope we get a bumper issue!

Hey guys, anybody remembers when this started ?
No ?
A few months, right ?
Maybe around christmas or something....
Well, it's been going on since October the 17th !!
Sis, how you manage to find the time and dedication to tell this epic story, manage the ALC games, play other games and still have a life is a total mistery to me. Perhaps you live in a different timeset (36hours days ?).
Just a little praise to trick you into posting another chapter soon ;)

yes, this thread has been long running (way to kill the english language).
guess this is the Bold & Beautiful of gaming threads..

I just joined CF today and have read your epic so far, and it is AWESOME! Keep going it is GREAT!
:) :) :) :) :) :)

I just joined CF today and have read your epic so far, and it is AWESOME! Keep going it is GREAT!
:) :) :) :) :) :)


lucky you, you haven't suffered the agony of waiting............yet.

It helps waiting by joining a NES

look at my siggy :)

To tthf: Don't worry too much about me, I'll try to keeep busy in other forums. The minute the trumpet blasts, anouncing a new post, I shall be here with open eyes. (And bleeding eyes, from staring at the computer for too long:) )

Im going crazy!!! This is almost as bad as quiting smoking. You know you want more but you cant have any......yet!

Im going crazy!!! This is almost as bad as quiting smoking. You know you want more but you cant have any......yet!

You could write fanfiction... :p

Im going crazy!!! This is almost as bad as quiting smoking. You know you want more but you cant have any......yet!


been smoke free snice dec31 2006,
this waiting isn't helping much...


edit: see even my spelling is starting to suffer

I was thinking about quiting again, but the suspense is way to much. Maybe when this series is over ill go for it again

"been smoke free snice dec31 2006,"

congrats...it isnt easy

Excellent story so far. Keep going!

I would ask the readers to limit the spam. Usually, when a story thread becomes too spammy it ends up being closed by a mod.

Still no continuation? This next part better be one heck of a story.

Oh my, no update this weekend AND no update on the ALC...
Am I the only one to have a really bad feeling about this.
Sis, maybe you are bored and/or have too much to do (which I would understand), but please can you just tell us?
Althought I would really like to see something like "sorry guys I've been busy, here's the update...". I would consider a "sorry, I quit" fair.
And I sincerely hope you're not sick or something.
See you soon...

Sorry, just got busy with RL... a Microsoft exam (passed!), busy at work (a good thing, all things considered), and spending more time with the wife (also a good thing).

Please be patient.

I'm happy to hear you passed your exam even with the pressing matter of posting updates on your mind. ;) And I think nobody here will fault you for spending time with your wife. :) Send her our regards for putting up with our constant needs. :D

I'm happy to hear you passed your exam even with the pressing matter of posting updates on your mind. ;) And I think nobody here will fault you for spending time with your wife. :) Send her our regards for putting up with our constant needs. :D

I'm sure this will sound familiar to many of you:

"You're always on that computer playing that silly game! Come spend some time with me!"

Possible responses:

a) "Right away, my beloved"
b) "Just... one... more... turn..."
c) "At least it's not porn"
d) "At least it's not gay porn"
e) "Uh... who are you again?"

I'm sure this will sound familiar to many of you:

"You're always on that computer playing that silly game! Come spend some time with me!"

Unfortunately (or fortunately?!) no for me at this moment. :lol: However a cousin (girl) of mine ditched her then-boyfriend for playing too much Counterstrike, so yeah, it's a bit familiar... :D

I have already prepared my funeral because I am about to stab myself from the wait. You dont want to be a murderer do you Sisiutil?

I have already prepared my funeral because I am about to stab myself from the wait. You dont want to be a murderer do you Sisiutil?

You guys obviously were all paying attention when your moms were laying down guilt trips.

I'm not gonna make promises I can't keep. I'll update as soon as I can. Thanks for being patient--or, if you're not patient, thanks for hanging around, at least. ;)

i have taken a zen attitude towards waiting for an update for dear old sisiutil...
i only check in once a day now ( unlike the almost hourly checking)
and if its there its there.
he does have a (real) life to lead...

so sisiutil, no worries about the updates.
i wont be leading any torch weilding posses to your place.....

eyes... bleeding... must... read... story...(collapse)...

I'm sure this will sound familiar to many of you:

"You're always on that computer playing that silly game! Come spend some time with me!"

Possible responses:

a) "Right away, my beloved"
b) "Just... one... more... turn..."
c) "At least it's not porn"
d) "At least it's not gay porn"
e) "Uh... who are you again?"

f) "The game is more interesting and important to me than you are dear. You will still be there when I'm done with the game, but unless I finish this game it will spin in my mind constantly. So I'm going to finish the game, and when I'm good and ready and I want to, I'll spend time with you."

heh.

f) "The game is more interesting and important to me than you are dear. You will still be there when I'm done with the game, but unless I finish this game it will spin in my mind constantly. So I'm going to finish the game, and when I'm good and ready and I want to, I'll spend time with you."



Response from Wife after hearing that:

A: your right dear (your in trouble)
B: Im calling your mother (watch out now)
C: Dont I get half of everything if we divorce in this state?

:nuke:

Response from Wife after hearing that:

A: your right dear (your in trouble)
B: Im calling your mother (watch out now)
C: Dont I get half of everything if we divorce in this state?

:nuke:

NO! You aint touching my Empire!!! I work hard for it! NOOOO!!!!!!!! Dont take my Colossos! I enslaved people for that!! My Collossos! Gah! My Great Wall ! Dont cut it!

I have already prepared my funeral because I am about to stab myself from the wait. You dont want to be a murderer do you Sisiutil?

eyes... bleeding... must... read... story...(collapse)...

NO! You aint touching my Empire!!! I work hard for it! NOOOO!!!!!!!! Dont take my Colossos! I enslaved people for that!! My Collossos! Gah! My Great Wall ! Dont cut it!

You see, Sisiutil, people are going insane. I'll try to stay patient, though...difficult as it is.

By the way, take this as a compliment, not an arrogant demand, but: Please update! Please? :please:

Still no update. Aw man, you can't just stop at some huge cliff hanger then not post. I've been forced to reread books to get my daily fix of reading. My sanity is now hanging by a thread and I have gone into withdrawal. Please, please, please post an update soon. :cry:

Response from Wife after hearing that:

A: your right dear (your in trouble)
B: Im calling your mother (watch out now)
C: Dont I get half of everything if we divorce in this state?

:nuke:

Good queen bess is far of a woman then her! He can even pre programme her responses!

Oh well sis =[ I guess if you don't love us anymore we could all *sniff* wait for some attention while you ignore us *sniffs*

He said it's a long weekend in Canada, so I'm assuming either Monday or Friday free. He'll come back, don't worry. :)

Ya it was Canada day on Sunday. Still no update though and Monday is almost done. :(

Ya it was Canada day on Sunday. Still no update though and Monday is almost done. :(

HE RAN OUT ON US!!!!!! Some publication got to him while he was vacationing! Why! Oh Why did Sistuil leave his house!!

Probably left cause he got sick of our whining.:(

Probably left cause he got sick of our whining.:(

But they are so juicy and good of imagination. Its like biting into a Zinger Burger! You can't blame us for contiunious inane never ending whine for his stories. Little Miracles on paper saved in his hard drive.

Ya I don't think he's coming back. :(

I guess he's busy with the ALCs. Maybe it's time to lay Princes down to rest. :(

Ya I don't think he's coming back. :(

Oh ye of little faith. I finally found the gumption sto work on the next chapter. Here's my dirty little secret: things were quiet at work earlier this year, so I did a lot of writing there. Well, things got a lot busier, so I have to find other times to write, and that's not always easy. But I think I'm getting back on track. I hope to get more story up in a day or two.

great to hear from you sisiutil!
w00t! an update coming up!

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you ........


for almost updating

Yeah, awesome !
I was nearly about to post something in the ALC to remind you that we were getting rabid here...
Thank you my lord, we await our pleasure at your discretion.

Oh thank God. I was seriously getting withdrawal symptoms there! :lol:

Keep up the great work Sisiutil. This thread and the ALC/Immortal challenges keep pulling me back to this board :)

Its A Miracle!!! Sisiutils Back!!! I Belive!!! Gimmie The Keg!!! An Update Soon!!! Oo-rah!!! :) :) :) :) :)

Chapter Twelve: The Merchant

Part 4: The Incident at Argos

http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i193/sisiutil/Princes/Princes12_10.jpg

Yet again, Hanno and his party found themselves delayed at a border. Unlike the prevailing boredom of the Greek guards they'd encountered at the border with Mongolia, however, the situation at the northern border was decidedly more tense. Greece and England, after all, were at war. In reality, the fighting had ground down to a rigid stalemate, with neither side willing to give an inch of ground--not literally nor metaphorically.

Thus, Hanno and Yukio, along with their companions, camels, and goods, found themselves stranded on the Greek side of the border at the small border town of Argos for several days that threatened to drag on into weeks. Or worse. The Greek border guards regarded them with considerable hostility. Hanno politely but persistently hectored the garrison commander, who kept shrugging his shoulders and asserting that he required official word from Athens. Had the commander sent an inquiry to Athens? No, that would be overstepping the bounds of his orders and current assignment. So had he sent an inquiry to Athens to find out if he had permission to send an inquiry to Athens? At that point the commander had laughed and pointed out that Hanno's logic was eating itself.

Aside from the daily explorations of military inefficiency and argumentation theory, time passed without incident. Hanno and his wife took advantage of the time to tour both the silk and the incense plantations near the town. The Greek owners of each plantation agreed that they’d be overjoyed to do business with Rome—if Athens would agree to it, of course. Aside from those pleasant interludes, however, time dragged on, and the suspicious glares of the soldiers were wearing on Hanno and his party.

"Come to Greece, see the sights, you told me," Yukio chided her husband one night after another dull day spent waiting for the garrison commander to decide what, if anything, to do about these unwelcome travellers that had so inconveniently arrived on his doorstep.

"We saw Athens," Hanno replied, an uncharacteristic note of churlishness stealing into his voice.

"And now all I'm seeing is the inside of a tent," she said, waving upwards at the sloping fabric roof of their meagre accommodations. "When are you going to let me out of here?"

"I don't like the way the soldiers looked at you. I don't think they've seen a woman in months," Hanno replied quietly.

"I know," Yukio said, "but that's not an answer. Besides, maybe I can help with this impasse we've reached."

"How so?"

"Bring me along tomorrow when you meet with the commander," she suggested. "You can appeal to his sense of gallantry. 'My poor little wife is a virtual prisoner, locked away in our tent, lest her feminine whiles inadvertently entice your otherwise-honourable soldiers into forgetting their discipline...' I promise to bat my eyelashes and look forlorn."

Hanno chuckled softly. "How exactly does one lock a tent?"

"I'm sure if there was a way, you'd figure it out," Yukio teased him. "Come on, it's worth a try. Nothing else has worked."

"I'll think about it," Hanno said, then turned over on his side and soon fell asleep.

***

The next morning, after breakfast, Hanno had shrugged and decided that Yukio's idea was worth a try. So he had her put on her most plain and demure dress, braved the stares of the garrison's soldiers, and paid a visit to the office of the garrison's commander. When he got there, however, the commander was not around.

"Where is Captain Stamos?" Hanno asked the tall, powerfully-built Greek soldier sitting at Stamos' desk.

"Is out..," the soldier replied, then his dark, heavy brows furrowed as he obviously struggled to come up with the correct Latin word. "Ins... Inspec..."

"Inspection?" Hanno suggested.

The soldier smiled and nodded. "Inspection! Yes. He go see... um... front. Back later."

"I see," Hanno said. "Well, we won't trouble you any longer." He glanced over his shoulder at the door. A few more soldiers, he noted, had gathered there and were watching them intently. Instinctively, Hanno placed one arm over his wife's slender shoulders, possessively and protectively. Bringing her to see the commander suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea.

"Is no problem," the soldier said affably. "I am Ephialtes. Am... how you say... second in command. Maybe I help?"

"Thank you, but I'd prefer to deal with Captain Stamos," Hanno said. He turned to go, leading Yukio towards the door, but his way was blocked by the soldiers, who refused to stand aside.

"Captain Stamos no help you," Ephialtes said from behind him. "I help you. I help you for price, yes?"

With four strong-bodied soldiers blocking his way, Hanno had little choice. Besides, dealing with someone's 'price' was his bread and butter. It might not be legitimate, but perhaps this rough-looking soldier could help him after all. Hanno turned around to look at Ephialtes while doing his best to ignore the way he could feel his wife's slender body was trembling.

"A price, eh?" Hanno said, allowing a slight smile to play upon his lips. "And what, pray tell, might that be? Some of the wine, perhaps, that we carry? Some of the preserved meat?"

"Is nice," Ephialtes said with a nod. "Army food... puagh," he said, a look of disgust stealing across his dark, rough features.

Then his gaze stole over to Yukio and slowly wandered over her body. In spite of the long dress and robe she was wearing, Yukio suddenly felt naked. She felt her husband's arm squeezing her shoulders more tightly, protectively, and tried to forget about the four soldiers standing, threateningly, in the doorway behind them. This had been her idea, coming here today, and she now thoroughly regretted it.

"Your wife... very pretty," Ephialtes said, his voice low and coarse. He looked over Hanno's shoulders at his comrades and said something in Greek that Hanno did not understand, but from the snickering laughter that sounded behind him, he could well imagine what the dark-featured Greek had said.

"My wife," Hanno said emphatically, his fists clenching at his sides, "is not subject to negotiation." He placed one arm protectively around Yukio's shoulders. He could feel her trembling, though he also knew his brave girl was doing her best to hide it. "Leave her out of this. Do I make myself clear?"

Ephialtes shrugged and smiled, though his affable expression did nothing to mollify Hanno. For a tense moment, no one said a word. Then Ephialtes glanced past Hanno and Yukio at his men and gave them a quick, curt nod.

Afterwards, Hanno would reflect with amazement at how such large men could move so quickly. Before he even knew what was happening, two of the soldiers had grabbed Yukio while another pair took hold of him and wrenched the couple apart. As Hanno watched in growing horror, the men holding his wife dragged her over to the commander's desk. She yelled and struggled, but she was easily overpowered. Ephialtes strolled around the desk, casually unbuckling his belt.

"NO!" Hanno yelled. "Stop! Let her GO!" He struggled with all his strength to free his arms from the vice-like hold of the two soldiers who had accosted him, but they were too strong. "We are citizens..."

Hanno's declaration--his desperate plea--was suddenly cut off as one of the soldiers holding him, apparently grown tired of his struggles and shouts, unceremoniously and brutally punched him in the gut, leaving the well-dressed merchant bent over and struggling to breathe. Hanno could feel tears forming in his eyes, from the pain, from the humiliation, from the horror of hearing his beloved wife's screams, the soldiers' coarse laughter, the sound of tearing fabric...

Then there was another sound. Another voice. A familiar one, coming from the doorway. A man's voice, loud, shouting, no, bellowing in angry Greek. Hanno managed to lift his head and look up. There in the doorway stood the short, fat Greek merchant Zorba, his bearded face a livid red. Hanno nearly burst into bitter laughter at the sight, certain that the huge, burly soldiers would turn on his rotund new friend and tear him to shreds.

To his everlasting astonishment, nothing of the kind occurred. Still gasping down breaths, Hanno slowly managed to straighten and watched in amazement as the soldiers stood frozen as their diminutive countryman continued to yell at them. In a heartbeat, Zorba strode across the room and pushed the three men away from the weeping Yukio, pausing to reach up--the action required him to stand on tip-toes--and smack each of them on the side of the head. He then tenderly pushed Yukio's torn dress back over her bared breasts. He then gently took her arm and led her back to her husband.

If everyone in the room thought the storm had passed, they were mistaken. Once Yukio was back in the arms of her husband, Zorba turned and continued his diatribe, shaking his finger at each of the soldiers in turn, yelling at the top of his lungs. And, Hanno gradually realized, much to his shock and amazement, they were terrified of him. They were actually turning white and trembling. The soldier who'd punched Hanno actually appeared to be on the verge of tears!

Just then, Captain Stamos, a tall dark-featured man with greying temples, walked into his office and barked out a quick question, which Hanno surmised was something to the effect of, "What the hell is going on in here?". Then the Captain spotted Zorba, who was striding angrily towards him, and he, too, appeared suddenly shaken to the core by the little merchant's formidable anger. As Hanno and Yukio watched, the Greek army captain took on the appearance of an apologetic school boy, alternately nodding or shaking his head as Zorba's verbal diatribe continued, his angry words punctuated by angry glares and accusatory gestures at the five increasingly-anxious soldiers.

Finally, Zorba stopped speaking; he crossed his arms over his barrel-like chest and glared at Captain Stamos expectantly. The Captain blinked twice, then turned, leaned his head out his office, and bellowed. A few moments later, another dozen soldiers appeared and marched into the room; as Captain Stamos directed them, they took hold of the five men who had attacked Hanno and his wife and escorted them out of the room.

"Please, I apologize for this... trouble," Captain Stamos said to Hanno and Yukio in broken Latin once they were alone in the office. Alone save for Zorba, who was glaring at the Captain's broad back looking for all the world like an angry parent watching a recalcitrant child apologize to a neighbour. "Is Greek tradition... we treat guests well, yes? Those men... they shame their uniform. Shame their country. We punish them, I promise." When he finished, he turned to glance at Zorba, as if checking for approval. Zorba, still looking stern, nodded once.

Hanno could feel Yukio's arms tight around his torso and felt her body shaking against his own. He could feel his face flushing with his own anger and did his best to stifle it. "I think it would be best for all concerned," he said, one hand massaging his sore abdomen, "if my party and I were allowed on our way to England. Don't you agree, Zorba?"

"Yes," Zorba said. "You make them wait too long already. Zorba not happy. If Zorba not happy, Alexander not happy. If Alexander not happy, Captain Stamos very unhappy."

Hanno watched as Stamos swallowed hard and nodded. "We escort you to border right away. Be ready... 2 hour. Must notify English first," he hastened to add when the implication of a further delay made Zorba's dark brows rise.

"I go with my friends," Zorba said, and Captain Stamos continued to nod agreeably as Zorba gestured for Hanno and his wife to follow him out of the office.

"I as so grateful you showed up when you did," Hanno told his Greek counterpart as they walked out of the command building and back to their billets.

"Me too," Yukio added, and Zorba smiled at her sadly, reached out, and gave her hand a little squeeze.

"Zorba should never have left you. Soldiers. Scum!" he said, then spat disgustedly, glaring at the other armoured men wandering around the base.

"You put the fear of God into them," Hanno said with no small amount of admiration. "Or was that the fear of Alexander?"

"Alexander?" Zorba said. "No no no. There worse things than Alexander." Hanno and Yukio waited expectantly. "I tell them... no more wine!"

Hanno couldn't help himself. The emotions of what he and his wife had been through suddenly caught up with him, and he began to laugh loudly even as tears of horror and relief coursed down his cheeks. The whole time, as Zorba watched with puzzlement but not without compassion, Hanno never released Yukio from his embrace, a situation which his wife did not object to in the least.

***

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Within two hours, as promised, Hanno, Yukio, their travelling companions and their caravan were once again on their way, travelling out of the Greek army base and across a wind-swept plain towards England's southernmost border. The company flew white flags of non-aggression next to each purple Roman standard. The camels bellowed their objections, but were soon underway. Zorba accompanied them.

"No think about stupid soldiers when you think of Hellas, please," he begged Hanno and especially Yukio as they walked.

"When I think of Greece... sorry, Hellas..., I will do my best to think of you," Yukio said, placing a hand affectionately upon the little Merchant's shoulder. "I will think of our friend, and my hero, Zorba." With that, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Hanno watched as Zorba turned beet-red, then the little man's spine straightened and he seemed to grow in stature. He started to swing his arms and march down the road, as proud as any victorious shoulder.

Yukio watched him, smiling and laughing softly, as she fell back in pace with her husband.

"You're holding up well," he remarked to her quietly. "Considering..."

"We can't let such things hold us back," she replied. Her voice hardened. "If we do, the bastards win."

"It meant the world to him, to hear you call him a hero," Hanno said, watching Zorba strutting ahead of them.

"Well, he was."

"Because I couldn't be..." Hanno said, both his voice and his gaze lowering. He felt Yukio's dark eyes upon him, then felt her hand slide into his.

"If I'd wanted to be with a man of action, I would have married a soldier," she said. "I didn't. I married you. I love you for exactly who you are. I don't expect you to become something you're not."

"The fact that you have to comfort me... fills me with shame," Hanno said, his voice rough with emotion.

"We have nothing to be ashamed of," Yukio told him. "Leave that to the fellators who attacked us."

Hanno looked at his wife, his eyes wide. He'd never heard her use such rough language before. Obviously the incident had affected her, yet when her dark eyes looked back into his, he could see steel there. He had an overwhelming sense of deja vu. He'd seen that same inner strength, he realized, in many of the Japanese he'd dealt with over the years. And he wondered, surprisingly for the first time, if a conquered people could every really be considered conquered.

"Still, it might be wise if we start taking precautions," Yukio said, turning her eyes from her husband to gaze back down the road. "I have a couple of family heirlooms in one of my trunks. Two swords, a long katana and a shorter wakizashi. Only a handful were ever made, just before Kyoto fell to Rome. They're both sharp as razors--sharper, perhaps. Maybe I should carry the wakizashi, and you should carry the katana." She turned and smiled at him, her dark eyes glancing at his expensive silk robe. "I bet you'd look very dashing with an exotic sword on your hip."

"If ever drew the thing out of its scabbard, I'd probably cut my own damn fool head off!" Hanno remarked.

"I'll teach you how to use it," Yukio said, then smiled as her husband's expression changed to one of dubious surprise. "My grandfather was a very accomplished swordsman. Since he had no grandsons, he taught everything he knew to me."

Hanno smiled. What had she said to him on the trip over? That he always made her feel better? Well, she did the same in return for him. For the first time since that most unpleasant incident earlier that day, Hanno began to relax and to feel some of his customary confidence returning. Mongolia and Greece were behind him; ahead lay England, Rome's traditional friend and ally. He knew he could count upon a warm welcome in London; what he hoped for, however, was an even hotter price for his goods. For despite his affection for his friend Zorba, Hanno had no desire to return from whence he had come.

http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i193/sisiutil/Princes/Princes12_12.jpg

Hooray for Zorba!

And another hooray for Sisiutil! :)

Brilliant!!! :)

Finally an update. It was worth the wait.

You just got to love this

Whoops--sorry, gang, I was just trying to do a couple of simple typo fixes and the stupid board went and cut off the story. It'll have to wait until I get home tonight to fix it.

That's just mean! :lol: I'm glad I got to read it all... Phew...

OK, turns out I did have a copy with me here at work. Fixed!

Thanks for all the kind words! The next episode is much more light-hearted.

I thought I should also do a shameless plug here and point out another web site that has graciously archived the story, called Gamer Tales (http://www.gamertales.com/). (Here's a direct link (http://www.gamertales.com/Civtales/princesoftheuniverse.php)to the story.) One of the nice things about that site is that if any of you want to read the story on its own without all the interspersed feedback, that's how it's presented.

Thanks, it does help to clean it up a little. I just read again a bit through the whole story, especially the "Noble Men" chapter that I find quite astonishing. It's an easier format but I hope you continue updating here too, and so allow us to argue whether you updated on time or not, or if corrective measures need to be taken. :p ;)

wow great update sisiutil!
good job good job!
i was running out of zen...

Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank you

For updating!! Who wants to buy this guy a drink!

I will, if I ever get to Canada.

What a great story to pass a rainy afternoon.

Thank you my lord for this wonderful update (I'm trying the kiss-ass respectful approach in case it works better than the menaceful approach (which didn't work at all);) )

And that Gamer Tales site you mentioned looks promising (just had a quick look, Snaaty is in it also).
Another great thing when the whole story is complete would be a pdf file, so that we could easily pass it around and print it.

Thanks again (and again) for that wonderful story.

Thank you my lord for this wonderful update (I'm trying the kiss-ass respectful approach in case it works better than the menaceful approach (which didn't work at all);) )

And that Gamer Tales site you mentioned looks promising (just had a quick look, Snaaty is in it also).
Another great thing when the whole story is complete would be a pdf file, so that we could easily pass it around and print it.

Thanks again (and again) for that wonderful story.
You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. ;)

As for the PDF upon completion, that's a good idea, though it would require a little work on my part. I have the story in serveral Word docs, but not in its final version--I sometimes edit the story at posting time or shortly thereafter. And the word docs don't currently contain the screenshots. But I'll see what I can do.

You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. ;)

As for the PDF upon completion, that's a good idea, though it would require a little work on my part. I have the story in serveral Word docs, but not in its final version--I sometimes edit the story at posting time or shortly thereafter. And the word docs don't currently contain the screenshots. But I'll see what I can do.

Well, you could retrieve the text from your posts and put that in instead of the Word documents, though it would need reformatting. When you're done (which hopefully won't be soon), I might be able to help out a bit if you need it.

I have the story in serveral Word docs, but not in its final version--I sometimes edit the story at posting time or shortly thereafter. And the word docs don't currently contain the screenshots. But I'll see what I can do.

I can actually help out with the reformatting and the pdfification :D
Lovely update, bro.

Good news: I now have Hanno's story finished (2 more chapters and an epilogue), so that will go up over the weekend. And some good/bad news: for the longest time I had no idea how to cover the renaissance/gunpowder age including the invasion of the other continent. Well, now I have an idea, a darn good one, if'n I does say so meself. It will likely require as much development as the Noble Men storyline. That's good because I know you folks liked that story line, :) but bad because it may take some time to get it all written. :(

Anyway, stay tuned!

Anyway, stay tuned!

Don't you love instant e-mail notifications ?
Good news !
It's gonna be Epic, I can't wait...
This is legendary stuff.
:king: :goodjob:

Good news: I now have Hanno's story finished (2 more chapters and an epilogue), so that will go up over the weekend. And some good/bad news: for the longest time I had no idea how to cover the renaissance/gunpowder age including the invasion of the other continent. Well, now I have an idea, a darn good one, if'n I does say so meself. It will likely require as much development as the Noble Men storyline. That's good because I know you folks liked that story line, :) but bad because it may take some time to get it all written. :(

Anyway, stay tuned!

I'll take that over thinking you'd quit the story any day. :)

My eyeballs are glued to the Civ 4 Stories and Tales page and I am refreshing every 5 seconds for the new updates.....

nice chapter, bet the Greeks are looking nice to invade:lol:
woot update coming soon:woohoo:
i cant wait to see the roman mustketmen! :run:

Chapter Twelve: The Merchant

Part 5: The Chimes at Midnight

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It was late by the time Hanno, Yukio, and the rest of their caravan—including Zorba, who insisted on escorting them deep into English territory—finally made it to an English military outpost south of London. Zorba led them to a roadside tavern, which he assured them had comfortable, clean rooms where Hanno and his wife could spend the night.

“I come England all the time!” Zorba declared when Hanno asked if he was in any danger as a sole Greek in enemy territory. “War is… how you say… temp…? temporary. Business is business. And I want see my friend, Jack!”

Just as he spoke the word, the door of the tavern opened and the largest man Hanno had ever seen stepped out. His hair and beard were unkempt and grizzled, his large nose reddish even in the dim light of twilight, and his tremendous girth barely fit through the door frame.

“What’s this?” the large man cried. “Someone taking Jack’s name in vain? Who dares?”

He weaved unsteadily from one wide-set foot to the other, like a sailor aboard a ship. Since, however, he was standing upon decidedly steady and dry land, it was obvious that he’d been in his cups. And considering the size of the man, he must have been in every single cup in England to be as drunk as he clearly was.

“Jack!” Zorba cried, throwing his arms wide. When the big man only blinked in bewilderment, he added, “Is me, Zorba!”

“Zorba!” the big man shouted, then stepped forward and enclosed the Greek merchant in a warm embrace. Hanno marveled that the two rotund men actually had enough reach to throw their arms around one another.

The two men stepped back from their embrace, chuckling, then Zorba suddenly reached up and smacked the side of his friend’s head.

“OW!” Jack cried. “What was that for?”

“You owe me 50 drachmae, Jack Falstaff!” Zorba said accusingly, prodding his finger into Jack’s prodigious belly.

“’Drack-me’? Drag you?” Jack bellowed back. “For sooth, I shall drag you, after I lay you out, thou Greek cur! Thou Corinthian colon!” he said, poking at Zorba’s own ample mid-section.

“Gentlemen, please!” Hanno, ever the peace-maker, said as he stepped in between the feuding friends. “It’s late, and we’re weary from the road. Can we not settle this tomorrow, after we’re better rested and…,” he paused as Jack’s breath, reeking of ale, brought tears to his eyes, “er… when sober heads may prevail?”

The two obese men stepped back from one another, glared at each other for a moment, then each dropped his gaze and nodded.

“Indeed, methinks discretion is the better part of valour,” Jack said.

“You always think discretion is better part of valour,” Zorba responded accusingly.

“'Tis an adage,” Jack said, “though if poor Jack should add any more age, he shall be late for the grave, he shall,” he added with a sad shake of his head. Zorba only rolled his eyes in response.

“I beg your pardon?” Hanno said.

“'Tis a pun, my lad, a pun,” Jack told him. “’Adage’, you see, sounds like…” He stopped and threw up his hands in a futile gesture. “Never mind. It’s like I’m always telling Billy, it isn’t funny if you have to explain it.”

“Billy?” Hanno asked, still puzzled.

“A joke-writer in London of my acquaintance,” Jack told him with a dismissive wave of his beefy hand, then cast a quizzical look at Hanno. “And who might you be, then?”

“This is Hanno,” Zorba interjected. “He Roman.”

“Ah! Roaming he is indeed, to find himself here, so far from home, on such a night. Though I gather that you’re none too bright, so a Roman candle I surmise you are not. But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” He said, suddenly spotting Yukio.

“Window?” Hanno asked, wondering if he was ever going to stop feeling puzzled by this big man’s strange way of speaking.

“Forget it,” Zorba said with a sigh. “He on a roll.”

“It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and… something something something.”

Jack leaned forward, barely managing to avoid toppling over as he did so, but then took Yukio’s hand in his own with a gentleness that surprised the dainty Japanese woman. He raised her hand to his lips and respectfully kissed it.

“How enchanting,” Yukio said, smiling. She was finding Jack Falstaff’s antics refreshingly amusing, especially after the very disturbing start to her day. “But my name isn’t Juliet. It’s Yukio.”

“Yoo-kee-o?” Jack said as he straightened wobbily. “And who, pray tell, fair maiden, might possess the key to ‘your key-hole’? OW!”

Zorba had smacked Jack on the head yet again. “You watch mouth, Jack Falstaff!” he said. “That her husband,” he said, pointing to an amused Hanno. “He have key, and you locked out!”

Jack placed his hand over his heart as though he was wounded. “Is this true, fair Yoo-kee-o? Has this usurper displaced me in your heart?”

“Long ago,” Yukio said with a smile and a shrug.

“Oh! Frailty, thy name is woman!” Jack proclaimed sorrowfully to the darkening skies above him. “However, I shall allow my rival to compensate me for his cuckoldry,” he said as he walked over to Hanno and placed a big arm around the Roman’s shoulders and began to lead him towards the tavern. “A pint or two of sack will do wonders to mollify my aggrieved heart.”

“Jack…” Zorba growled.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Hanno said. “I’m thirsty from the ride. And today of all days, I could use a drink.”

“That’s the spirit!” Jack said, giving Hanno a friendly shake that made the merchant’s teeth rattle. “And more may be purchased here within. So tell me, my new friend and ally from the Roman people: where are you headed?”

“We’re going to London,” Hanno said as they stepped into the noisy hubbub of the public house.

“And your business there?”

“We shall be meeting with Queen Elizabeth to negotiate a price for our goods.”

“The Queen!” Jack said as he took a seat at a table and signalled to the serving girl, who only scowled at him. Hanno beckoned her over, and after giving the merchant’s expensive clothing a surprised once-over, she bustled over to him to take his order.

“You must remember me to her,” Jack continued.

“You know Queen Elizabeth?” Yukio asked, mildly surprised.

“Know her?” Jack said as though insulted, “Taught her everything she knows, I did! But we had, er, a falling out, as it were. Which is why I linger here, amongst this rabble, rather than in my rightful place at her court, as her faithful, devoted, and loving servant!”

Hanno noticed that Zorba’s eyes were rolling up towards the ceiling yet again. Hanno himself winced suddenly as he felt a brief, short, stab of pain in his mid-section.

“Are you all right?” Yukio asked, leaning in close to him.

“I’m fine,” Hanno said. Whatever it was, it had passed. “Something I ate. Or maybe today’s stress.”

His wife continued to give him a worried look, so he smiled at her and patted her hand reassuringly. He then returned his attention to their host, if he could be called that, who had not ceased talking since they’d sat down at their table.

"The Queen is a cruel woman when she's crossed, be warned," Jack went on, then snatched a mug from the serving girl's tray as she passed by. He quaffed it whole without pausing for breath. "But she's fair," he went on, "in every sense of the word..." He paused to emit a belch that his companions were sure had shaken the very rafters of the pub. "And beautiful! Ah! Shall I compare her to a summer's day...?"

Nice update Sis, Keep it up i wanna see what happens with the Queen

Oh, thou art more beautiful and temperate. :D

oh heavens, two updates in quick succession! i'm in heaven!
great update! light-hearted although, hanno's pain is somewhat troubling...

Billy from London, eh? Would this particular writer of jokes be someone we're rather familiar with?

Ah, updates, which make my return from wilderness to civilization all the sweeter!

Chapter Eleven: The Merchant

Part 6: This Other Eden

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“So then my mother,” Sextus Rutullus Lepidus was saying, grinning broadly and gesturing with his wine cup, “suggested that all Roman women should be given the franchise!”

Rome’s ambassador to England was reclining upon a couch in the embassy’s triclinium, its traditional Roman dining room. Three high couches formed a U-shaped eating area, tables before each. The two side couches were empty that night; Sextus lay upon the left side of the central couch, at the bottom of the U; his guest, Hanno, reclined upon the right, in the place of honour. Yukio sat opposite her husband, on the other side of the table, in a chair, as a proper Roman woman should; on her left sat Sextus’ English wife, Hermione, a lovely, tall blonde woman.

Hanno’s eyes went wide as Sextus related that part of the story. “Edepol!” he exclaimed. “How did her dinner guests take that?”

“They were shocked speechless, of course,” Sextus said, grinning. “Except for Marcus Tillius Cicero; he considers himself unflappable, and I suppose he has a court record to back that up. He bowed that huge head of his and said, ‘My dearest Claudia, if all Roman women were like you, I would not hesitate to agree.”

Yukio chuckled; she’d heard Cicero speak more than once in the Forum Romanum, and Sextus’ imitation of his high-pitched, nasal, but crystal-clear enunciation was dead-on.

“And was your mother mollified by this?” she asked.

“Oh, not at all!” Sextus replied after a sip of his wine. “She eyed Cicero coldly and said, ‘You are correct, Marcus Tillius, I am not like other Roman women. The vast majority of them are far better examples of the femininity than myself.’ Cicero opened his mouth to object, but she ploughed right over him. ‘I was born into wealth and privilege,’ my mother went on; ‘I have never known want. But thousands of Roman women raise their families, manage their households, feed their children, and ensure their husbands’ comfort without the benefit of wealth, or servants, or advantageous connections. And yet you consider us the ‘weaker vessel’.’

“Now my mother has this very patrician, disdainful laugh she wields like a gladius; I can’t even hope to imitate it, so I won’t make the attempt. Suffice it to say that when she used it on you, it makes you feel like she’s just sliced your gut open. Well, she used this cutting laugh of hers right then, on those four senators in her dining room. And then she said, ‘Mark my words, conscript fathers: one day you will grant the franchise to women, and we shall introduce so much good sense into government that you will wonder why you put it off for so long!’”

Hosts and guests laughed, then Hanno asked, “And what did your father think of all this?”

“Oh, he was grinning ear to ear!” Sextus replied. “He loves seeing a few of his colleagues brought down a peg or two, and of course he’s besotted with my mother,” he said with an affectionate grin.

“So he agrees with her then?” Yukio said, very interested, her eyes displaying an intensity matched by her voice.

Sextus suddenly grew silent and looked steadily at Yukio over the top of his wine cup. “Yes,” he said quietly, “I dare say he does.”

Hanno nearly choked on his wine. “Are you serious?” he asked Sextus. “Are you telling me that Lucius Rutullus Lepidus Aztecus Princeps and all the rest of it supports the enfranchisement of women?”

“What’s wrong with that?” his wife asked him before Sextus could answer. “Don’t you think it would be a good idea?”

Hanno stared at his wife, taken aback. They had never discussed the topic before, probably because he had always considered the idea, if he considered it at all, to be patently ridiculous. Yet she seemed to be in favour of it! The wine was affecting her. Yes, it had to be the wine. Still, ever the salesman, he knew better than to dismiss her opinion outright.

“My dear,” he said in a soothing tone. “You of all people should know that I admire and respect women. Which is why I believe they should never be allowed in government. They are too gentle and pure for the rough-and-tumble, cut-and-thrust world of politics,” he told her with the grin that usually brought out her own delightful smile. This time, however, she sat starting at him, her face set like stone, and with as much warmth.

“That’s a surprising statement to make,” Hermione said to Hanno, a sly look in her dark blue eyes, “considering whose country you’re in.”

“Her Majesty the Queen is a special case,” Hanno responded smoothly.

“How so?” asked Hermione.

“Well, she’s immortal, for one thing!” Hanno said with a laugh.

“She’s still a woman, though,” Hermione asserted. “Therefore, according to your logic, England would be better off under the rule of a male immortal. Such as, say, Alexander? Or Genghis Khan?”

Hanno shook his head and smiled. “You misunderstand me, my dear. And let me assure you that I think no one would be better off under the rule of those two tyrants, including their own unfortunate people.”

“What about under Caesar, then?” Hermione asked, her voice and eyes taking on a sharpness that Hanno had not realized they possessed.

Given the question, the tone in which it was stated, and the company present—two Romans, one representing a people conquered by Rome, and one representative of Rome’s supposed ally—an uncomfortable silence suddenly descended upon the room. Hanno took it upon himself to break it.

“England and Rome are friends and allies,” he said.

“Today,” Hermione responded. “Alexander and Khan have been allies in the past, and at each others’ throats, in turn. Oh, I’m sure Caesar will eventually cross the pond and deal with both of them, and jolly good for him and all concerned when he does! But what happens when there’s only Rome and England left? What happens then? Do Good Queen Bess and Gaius Julius get married and live happily ever after?” No one answered her. She shook her head. “Don’t you sometimes get the impression that they’re all playing out some great game, and we’re just their pawns?”

Again, an awkward silence descended upon the room, as it usually does when someone states the truth so baldly. As the host, Sextus felt it was his duty to lift the oppressive mood that threatened to smother what had, up until that point, been a most enjoyable evening.

“This is all my father’s fault,” he said with theatrical despair.

“What makes you say that?” Hanno asked, his usual grin slowly returning.

“He was the one who spearheaded the free speech laws back home!” Sextus said. “The Lexus Rutullae makes everybody think they can say whatever they want!” That did the trick; everyone laughed and smiled. Even so, Sextus felt obliged to acknowledge what they had been discussing. “The day may come when England and Rome find themselves at odds with one another,” he said, “but I assure you it will not be in our lifetimes, or that of our children. For that, we should be thankful. As for universal suffrage, that, too, will not happen in the foreseeable future, and for that, we should all be saddened.”

Hanno blinked in surprise. “Edepol! You mean to say it runs in the family?” he said with an astonished laugh.

Sextus smiled. “I’m afraid so. Trust me, Hanno, after ten minutes in my mothers’ presence, you’d be convinced as well. Myself, I had twenty years to be indoctrinated in her views!”

“Considering how long and how happily your parents have been married, I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all,” Hermione said, casting a loving glance at her husband. He returned the look and reached over to clasp her hand.

“That, I think, is a pleasant note on which to end the evening,” Sextus said. “It’s getting late, and you have an early audience with Her Majesty tomorrow, my friends.”

His guests agreed, and a moment later, they all departed for bed. Once in their room, Hanno turned to embrace his wife, only to have her shrug out of his arms.

“When we get back to Rome,” she said, “I’d like to have dinner with the Princeps Senatus,” she announced. “Do you think that could be arranged?”

“Assuming our trade mission is successful, I suppose so…” Hanno said, somewhat taken aback by his wife’s aloofness.

“Good,” she said, her dark eyes suddenly twinkling. “I think you need to meet Sextus’ mother.”

Hanno rolled his eyes, then gave a resigned sigh and nodded his head. Suddenly, he inhaled a sharp breath between clenched teeth. His left hand pressed against one of the canopy bed’s posts, while his right grabbed at his suddenly painful abdomen. His wife was at his side in an instant.

“The pain again?” Hanno nodded as his wife led him to his side of the bed. “That’s five nights in a row now,” she said, her voice weighted with concern.

“I’m fine,” Hanno said in a strained voice as he gingerly laid down upon the bed.

“You’re not fine,” Yukio said firmly. “First chance we get, I’m taking you to a doctor.”

Hanno glanced up at his wife. The pain was passing now, and he thought of telling her where she could stuff her doctor, but he saw the determined look on her face and had been married to her long enough to know when her mind was made up. He nodded his agreement.

“The Queen comes first,” he asserted.

“I suppose she always does,” Yukio said. “But you come first with me. So once our audience with her is finished, we’re getting you looked over, mister.”

Knowing better than to disagree, the dutiful husband merely smiled and nodded before rolling over on his side to sleep.

***

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Genghis Khan and Alexander, Hanno reflected the next day, were soldiers. They may be immortal and rulers of their countries, but they were still simple men—soldiers. The thought came to him in contrast to the woman seated before him, for she was, undeniably, a queen.

Elizabeth was seated upon her throne in Westminster Palace. She wore a high-necked dark blue dress decorated with silver brocade. Her bright red hair was artfully coiffed upon her slender head, a jewelled tiara completing the ensemble. She regarded the merchant and his wife with a regal reserve that nevertheless seemed friendly and welcoming. In spite of the formality of the surroundings and the Queen’s bearing, Hanno found himself feeling much more relaxed than he had while greeting the continent’s other two rulers.

“We are most pleased to welcome citizens of England’s prized friend Rome to our humble court.” Elizabeth said.

Hanno blinked. Humble? He wondered, his peripheral vision taking in the splendid tapestries, the plush velvet fabrics, the silver and gold accents, and the hand-carved stone columns that surrounded them in the throne room. He focused his attention on the Queen and thought he noticed a sign of mirth in those beautiful but perceptive blue eyes.

“It is our pleasure to be welcomed so warmly,” Hanno said graciously.

“Tell us,” Elizabeth said, “how fares Gaius Julius?”

Her tone was even and disinterested, Hanno noted, but her eyes sparkled when she spoke the name.

“When I left Rome, he was very well indeed, your majesty. He sends you his warmest regards,” Hanno replied.

Hanno watched the Queen’s expression closely, but could detect no hint of her regard for Caesar there. He’d heard rumours, of course, that Caesar and Elizabeth were intimate, but the Queen gave no outward sign of her feelings. At first this made Hanno doubt the rumours; Caesar, he knew, was so open and engaging, he couldn’t imagine the Roman leader enjoying the company of this closed, frosty English Queen. Then again, he reflected, perhaps that was the attraction: all women were a mystery, and this Queen was a grander mystery than most women, perhaps more than any. And perhaps, Hanno thought, in a world run by men, this remarkable woman had to be extremely guarded.

“Another acquaintance of your Majesty’s, whom I encountered on my way to London, wishes to be remembered to you as well,” Hanno went on.
One of the Queen’s fiery brows rose. “Allow us to guess. Captain Jack Falstaff?”

“The very one, your Majesty.”

“If you see that reprobate again, tell him that if we are in need of a court jester, he shall hear from us,” she said evenly, though Hanno thought he saw an amused sparkle in her eye. “Otherwise, he can continue to hold his court, where it is, such as it is, and we shall hold ours.”

“Indeed, your Majesty,” Hanno said, thoroughly unsurprised by the Queen’s response and wisely deciding that now that he’s discharged his duty to Zorba’s drinking companion, he would now let the matter drop.

“Let us speak plainly,” Elizabeth said, stirring Hanno from his reverie. “My ministers have studied the goods you bring us, and we are prepared to make an offer.” She nodded at one of her attendants, a man in late middle age dressed in fine velvet and hose that showed he was maintaining his fine legs.

“Lord Wellesley, at your service,” the man said, then handed Hanno a small scroll.

Hanno unfurled the scroll and read through the brief prose, his eyes running to the figure at the bottom. Those shrewd eyes opened wide. The English offer was nearly a thousand talents of gold more than what he had been offered in Greece and Mongolia. The merchant had to struggle to keep his expression neutral.

“A most… generous offer,” he said evenly; years of experience in financial negotiations paid off, keeping all trace of emotion out of his voice.

And yet, when he looked into the Queen’s eyes, he could swear they were twinkling. She knew her offer was better than the others he had received by far! Of course she must have spies in both Greece and Mongolia. Even so, the size of the amount proved what Hanno had up until this point only heard but had never experienced: that the English possessed financial acumen far beyond that of other nations.

“Generosity is what one offers the less fortunate,” Elizabeth said, “a situation far from applicable to Rome. What England offers, we sincerely hope, is a fair and equitable agreement between friends and allies.”
Hanno bowed his head to indicate his understanding and agreement. Inwardly, he was glad that he, his wife, and their companions would not have to retrace their steps through Greece and Mongolia and could instead end their journey here in England, among friends of Rome.

Just then, another official-looking man dressed in a long red velvet robe fringed with ermine entered the receiving room and approached the throne. He bent forward to whisper in the Queen’s ear. As he spoke, her arched red brows rose and she turned to look at him.

“Indeed?” she said aloud, evidently deeming whatever news this minister bore worthy of dissemination to the court and its visitors. “What type of ship, and bearing the flag of which nation?”

“We do not know, your majesty,” the man replied. “Only that it is sailing towards London as we speak.”

An anxious murmur arose in the court. A ship? Sailing towards London? Whose could it be? England shared a continent with two aggressive neighbours and was currently at war with one of them. Could this ship be the vanguard of an amphibious invasion?

“Well,” the Queen said nonchalantly, “I suppose we must see for ourselves. It is a pleasant day, and a walk by the seaside will do us all a world of good. This court spends far too much time sitting and talking indoors. Come!” she said, standing suddenly and clapping her hands, at which signal the entire court, lords, ladies, and servants alike rose and began to scurry about. “You come as well, Hanno, and your lovely wife!”

“This seems odd,” Yukio remarked as she and her husband walked out of the palace and followed the Queen and her courtiers down a long, wide, paved path. “If this is an invasion, should the Queen really be going out to meet it herself?”

“Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she sent them packing with a tongue-lashing,” Hanno said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a man in a tunic and toga approaching the group. He nodded to Sextus Rutullus Lepidus as he fell into step with Hanno and Yukio.

“Well, here’s a little more excitement for your visit!” Sextus said in Latin.

“Is London really being invaded?” Hanno asked.

“I suppose we’ll find out shortly!”

A few minutes later, the group approached a royal dock upon the Thames, its precincts much cleaner and more respectable than Hanno, a frequenter of many a shipping port, had ever encountered before. Here the courtiers assembled, on a boardwalk high above the water’s edge, the servants holding parasols to shield the ladies from the sun’s heat.

“There it is!” Sextus said, pointing towards the western horizon.

There, in the distance, they could see the high masts and sails of a sailing ship, evidently a large one, its prow pointed straight towards the heart of London.

“It’s a galleon,” Hanno murmured as he counted the sails. “It has to be.”

“Indeed, we think you are correct,” Elizabeth said, her sharp ears detecting the merchant’s assessment. “A galleon it must indeed be.”

The English lords and ladies glanced at one another nervously. Galleons could carry troops, after all—a lot of them. And yet, here was their Queen, evidently unafraid and determine to greet this mysterious ship, whatever its cargo.

The ship was closer now, and larger in their view. They could hear its broad canvas sails snapping in the wind and the surging sound as the surf broke beneath its prow. Every eye on the dock strained to discern any further details.

It was Yukio who spotted the flag atop the foremast first. She gasped when she saw the familiar gold oak crown on a field of purple.

“It’s Roman!” she exclaimed. Every eye on the dock turned towards her. “See? On top of the mast? It’s the flag of Rome!”

The crowd on the dock turned back to stare at the ship, and slowly, they found and recognized the flag of their friend and ally. It seemed as if the crowd collectively let out a breath it had been holding. The courtiers were smiling now, then began to cheer as the ship approached the dock. On its side they could discern a name: JVNO, the ancient queen of the Roman pantheon.

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As it grew near, English dockhands went to work, carrying forth great, heavy ropes with which the great ship could be fastened to the dock. On the Roman ship, deckhand were similarly hurrying about, preparing the galleon for docking. Ropes were tossed from the ship to the dock as it drew alongside, and vice versa, the experienced dock workers and sailors working together to bring the great ship to port.

As soon as the Juno was secured, a great gangplank lowered from her port side. A tall, lean figure in a purple-striped tunic and toga then appeared at the top of the gangplank, surveying the dock, and London beyond it, with great interest. A golden oak crown sat atop the thinning hair atop his head; beneath it, the handsome face was dominated by a pair of piercing eyes, ice-blue rimmed with black.

“Ave, Caesar!” Sextus cried out, instinctively pressing his fist to his heart, then opening his hand and extending it outwards in the age-old legionary salute.

Caesar smiled at Rome’s ambassador to England as he walked down to the dock. “Ave, Sextus Rutullus Lepidus. It’s been a few years since the Battle of Jute, eh?”

“Indeed it has,” Sextus said, smiling as he remembered marching with the Twelfth Legion to capture the last barbarian stronghold on the island just east of the Roman continent. “As I recall, you are already acquainted with Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth,” he said as they approached the Queen.

“Indeed I am,” Caesar said with a broad smile, extending both this strong hands, into which Elizabeth placed her daintier ones. “I decided to take advantage of your offer, your Grace.”

“You are most welcome,” Elizabeth said, her blue eyes riveted upon Caesar’s. “We assured Rome’s leader of a warm welcome in England’s heart, and you shall indeed have it.”

“Wonderful,” Caesar said, then released Elizabeth’s hands. She deftly linked her left arm with his right and they turned and began to walk back towards the palace. “Sextus,” Caesar remarked to his ambassador, “I bring you greetings from your father and mother.”

“They’re both well, I hope?”

“Both hale and hearty when I left,” Caesar assured him. “Your father intends to run for Censor again, now that his third term as Consul is over.”

Sextus chuckled softly. “Mother likes the peace and quiet in the house when he’s out of it,” he remarked. “Or so she says. The truth of it is, she knows he’s a man of action. Being of service to Rome keeps him young. So she keeps advising him to seek office rather than retire.”

“I, for one, am glad for her perseverance in that regard,” Caesar said, then noticed another familiar face in the crowd. “Ah, Hanno! And your lovely wife. Yukio, correct?” The merchant and his wife bowed their heads. “I trust you have brought your business on the continent to a satisfactory conclusion?”
Caesar’s statement, Hanno realized, was anything but a question. The merchant glanced at the Queen, who favoured him with a slight but friendly smile.

“I believe so, Caesar,” Hanno said. “Most satisfactory indeed.”

“Good,” Caesar said, then leaned in close so only Hanno could hear him. “We’ll speak later. I want to hear about what happened in Argos.”

Hanno’s eyes widened. How did he know…? But Caesar had already straightened and was speaking for the crowd yet again.

“Allow me to introduce you,” Caesar said, gesturing to a tall, lean man with a neatly-trimmed mustache and beard who had come down the gangplank in Caesar’s wake. “This is Remus—yes, the latest descendant from Rome’s famous family of explorers. He and his colleagues intend to map what they can of the continent… since certain parties refuse to share their maps with us,” he added, casting an arch look in Queen Elizabeth’s direction, a look that he found mirrored in her lovely face.

“Your majesty,” Remus said, bowing to the Queen and wisely ignoring the teasing interplay between the two immortal leaders.

“This is indeed a splendid and happy occasion,” Caesar continued. “My visit here will serve, I sincerely hope, as proof to the world of the enduring friendship of England and Rome. I say this is cause for a celebration,” he said with a sly glance at the Queen, then added in a stage whisper, “And trust me, no one knows how to throw a party better than a man in a toga.”

As the joyful courtiers walked back to the palace, Hanno realized that Caesar was utterly unsurprised that the merchant’s trade mission had culminated in England. Indeed, how could it be a coincidence that he should appear suddenly, in the English capital, just as Hanno had received the English offer? Not that his acceptance of it was ever in doubt, not when it far exceeded the offers of Alexander or Genghis Khan! Still, Hanno wondered, how had he known? How had he known what the outcome would be before Hanno himself did, how did he know exactly when to appear so as to have the desirable effect? In the end, Hanno could only shrug. He is Caesar, he thought. That’s explanation enough.

***

The throne room in the palace Athens sported a balcony high upon its northern side which overlooked a well-manicured garden. There, away from eavesdroppers, stood two men, both immortal, both leaders of their respective nations.

“I received word from my agents in London today, by the way,” Alexander remarked to his visitor. “That grubby Roman merchant sold his wares to Caesar’s whore.”

Genghis Khan grunted disdainfully. “It figures. Pah! Trinkets for women. He probably gave her a discount, she being Rome’s pet and all.”

“Actually, no,” Alexander said. “From what I understand, her offer exceeded either of ours by nearly a thousand talents.” Alexander watched as Khan’s narrow eyes opened wide. The Greek leader shrugged. “What can one expect from a nation of shopkeepers?”

“It’s not the shopkeepers that worry me,” Khan said. “It’s the company they’re keeping these days.” He shook his head. “It was one thing when we had the continent to ourselves. But Rome… Rome complicates matters.”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about that,” Alexander said. “You know, we have an old saying here in Greece: the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he remarked, casting a meaningful glance at Khan, his neighbour and frequent rival.

Khan paused a moment to digest the aphorism. “If that is so,” Khan said, “what does that make the friend of your enemy?”

“What else could they be, but my enemy as well?” Alexander said slowly, an undercurrent of malice in his tone.

“Indeed,” Khan said, nodding. “Indeed…”

Both men turned and looked to the north, towards England.

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Chapter Twelve: The Merchant

Epilogue

Yukio was very quiet, her dark, almond-shaped eyes shimmering.

“They must be wrong,” she said.

“That’s what I thought,” Hanno replied, “the first time they told me. I still doubted it the second time. But by the third, I believed it. More than that, I’m starting to feel it.”

“We have to get you home,” she said firmly. “What do these English doctors know? Roman medicine is…”

“They know enough, my love,” Hanno replied. “Enough to tell me that I won’t live long enough to see the end of the trip.”

Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. Her face creased with sorrow, tears spilled from her eyes, and her head fell forward into her hands. As her slender shoulders shook, Hanno stepped forward and enclosed her in his arms.

“It isn’t fair,” she murmured between sobs. “It isn’t fair…”

“I know,” he whispered into her ear. “Perhaps… it’s because my work is done.”

She snuffled against his shoulder. “Do you remember… on the trip over here... you told me the only thing you were afraid of was losing me?” Hanno nodded. “You never asked me what my greatest fear was.” She paused a moment, then sobbed. “I’m facing it now,” she said, then burst into the most heart-wrenching wail of pure sorrow that Hanno had ever heard.

Strangely, he felt little grief or even fear regarding his impending death. What affected him most was this—the pain it was causing the person he loved most in the world.

“There there,” he cooed softly, stroking her long, dark hair. “You have nothing to be afraid of. You’ll be well taken care of. You’re rich beyond your wildest dreams…”

She leaned back and looked at him with astonishment, the golden skin of her face wet with tears.

“I never cared about the money,” she told him, shaking her head. “I never… I only cared about you…” More tears fell, and she pressed her head against his chest again.

And at that moment, for the first time, Hanno realized that he’d never cared about the money either. Money was transitory, always in motion, never in one place for very long, not if it was going to do anybody any good. No, he’d lived for the thrill of the deal, of working for that moment, for that look in the customer’s eyes, the slow inhalation, the gradual smile, the nod of the head that meant he’d done it yet again. He’d lived for that, and for one other thing, for the woman he now held in his arms.

Well, now he’d met a customer he couldn’t bargain with. A customer whose price was steeper than he’d anticipated. Finally, at long last, Hanno had met his match. He began to laugh softly.

“What could you possibly find funny at a moment like this?” Yukio asked him, staring up at him in astonishment.

“The only one who ever beat Hanno at the bargaining table,” he said grandiosely, “was death.” He looked at her smugly. “I told you I was a great merchant.”

He began to laugh, and a moment later, she joined him. Their fingers intertwined, and then he leaned down and kissed her, gently at first, then passionately.

“Enough tears,” he said. “I have some time yet. I want to see Britain. With you. I want to make love on England’s eastern shore while we watch the sun rise as if Rome herself sent it to us, like a cherished memento from home.”

“My husband,” Yukio said, stroking his face as a sad smile played upon her own. “Merchant, traveller, and poet.”

“You forgot my favourite title and accomplishment,” he chided her with a grin.

“What’s that?”

“Lover,” he whispered.

And he kissed her yet again, as though it was the last time he ever would.

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Sniff, sniff. That was good. Well done, Sis.

Why do great people always have to die? Why can't they just...like, retire or something. Wonderfully written, Sisiutil, keep it up! :goodjob:

Ah a sad end to another great tale. Why cant all stories be like Lucius.

Aw I expected an end like that, but now that it's actually come its still sad. I'm looking forward to Rome's elimination of those two plotting scum suckers Genghis, and Alexander.

This is brilliant.
Vastly superior to anything I've read so far here.
Thanks for a wonderful story.
:king: :thumbsup::clap:

Ah, rest in peace, Hanno.

Is that the last we'll see of Zorba?

Why do great people always have to die? Why can't they just...like, retire or something. Wonderfully written, Sisiutil, keep it up! :goodjob:
I thought of simply having him retire, but then there was that hullabaloo about that remark he made about losing his wife and I realized that there had to be some sort of dramatic payback for that, and simple retirement wouldn't do it. Having Yukio die didn't feel right--plus I prefer to avoid the whole "women in refrigerators" syndrome. Great People, though, generally have a built-in "best before" date. Unless you settle them, I suppose, but that's obviously not what I was doing with Hanno. So the poor bastard had to die.

The next installment will be a brief interlude before the excrement hits the rotary air movement device. ;)

Excellent, sis, well done :)

You deffinitly made up for lost time. I tip my hat to you. :D

another great chapter(s)!!
makes all that waiting worthwhile...
kudos..

Question: how many variations of "the . .. .. .. . hits the fan" exists online?

I enjoy the varied approaches taken with the stories. Selling goods to the English in the end was rather anti-climatic, of course, and I wondered whether you had to be that honest about the gold payout (were you?).

As for universal sufferage: did Liz build the pyramids?

Question: how many variations of "the . .. .. .. . hits the fan" exists online?

I enjoy the varied approaches taken with the stories. Selling goods to the English in the end was rather anti-climatic, of course, and I wondered whether you had to be that honest about the gold payout (were you?).

As for universal sufferage: did Liz build the pyramids?
I'm not sure what you meant about being "honest" about the gold payout--I didn't go into Worldbuilder to add any more gold to the total, if that's what you mean.

US: Isabella built the Pyramids, as detailed in the Great Works story. And Caesar took them from her.

Hang on, in that last chapter, Yukio refered to England as BRITAIN, can that be explained?

Hey your right, a bit of a slip up perhaps.

Hey your right, a bit of a slip up perhaps.
Yukio can, I'm sure, be forgiven for making the same mistake several other people make of equating the two as one and the same thing. :mischief: :blush:

Excellent, Awesome, Amazing, etc... (Fill in positive Adjectives here: )



:)

Your last story was on the 19th of July....

Its the 26th.....

Im getting lack of good story wrinkles

Please update, pretty please. Even with three cherries and a strawberry?

Give the guy a break, he's probably playing BtS like the rest of us!

I've just finished reading this most excellent story my good sir! Very enjoyable indeed and I do think it to be one of the best AAR's I have ever read online.....

Anyway, just to add but I read pages back now about Canada preferring to use British spellings. You probably know all this, what with being an English teacher, but I have noticed you using zee evil "z" in certain spellings, such as "realisation", "civilisation", "industrilisation", etc. All of those are spelt with the classic British "s".

Just putting it out there if you ever decided to update your AAR in British English instead. ;)

I have noticed a few British spelt words, such as "centre", but still, thought I'd point it out.

Anyway, take your time and looking forward to another update! I hope to write my own AAR someday of Civ IV. Your AAR is indeed an inspiration.

Take as much time as you need. I do writing sometimes and can sympathise with the time it can take to get ready an update.

Give the guy a break, he's probably playing BtS like the rest of us!

No he's not, he's getting kicked in the privates by Brennus in ALC 17.
Although right now he could be playing BtS like mad and getting his revenge...:)
Oh my, I have to go and check...

Your last story was on the 19th of July....

Its the 26th.....

Im getting lack of good story wrinkles

Please update, pretty please. Even with three cherries and a strawberry?
The next installment will be up tomorrow night. I'm going to try to achieve a once-a-week Friday night story installment schedule. Wish me luck...

Give the guy a break, he's probably playing BtS like the rest of us!
Not yet, it's available in stores in my part of Canada today.

I've just finished reading this most excellent story my good sir! Very enjoyable indeed and I do think it to be one of the best AAR's I have ever read online.....

Anyway, just to add but I read pages back now about Canada preferring to use British spellings. You probably know all this, what with being an English teacher, but I have noticed you using zee evil "z" in certain spellings, such as "realisation", "civilisation", "industrilisation", etc. All of those are spelt with the classic British "s".

Just putting it out there if you ever decided to update your AAR in British English instead. ;)

I have noticed a few British spelt words, such as "centre", but still, thought I'd point it out.

Anyway, take your time and looking forward to another update! I hope to write my own AAR someday of Civ IV. Your AAR is indeed an inspiration.

Take as much time as you need. I do writing sometimes and can sympathise with the time it can take to get ready an update.
Thanks!

Canadian spelling is an odd mix, using some British spellings and some American ones. That either makes us unique or really messed up, I suppose.

Well, I was expecting that Hanno would be murdered by some Greek agent ( like Zorba :devil: ) and that would be used as a excuse for a war declaration on Greece.... Oh well, you're the writter... Keep on the good work! :goodjob:

Hi everyone! i also made a story called the understory of the princes of the universe! it sucks... (if i do say so myself) but i hope you might enjoy it!

c'mon guys! u can read my story!

c'mon guys! u can read my story!

1. Provide a link (Internet denizens are notoriously lazy and unmotivated)
2. Don't advertise something by saying "it sucks" ;) (Unless it's a vacuum cleaner)

He's trying to write a story although for his age, it is pretty impressive. He reminds me a little of a myself when I was 10 years of age....

amazing story so far i just spend ages reading though all opf it and i have to say it is the best story i have read on this forum so well done for writing such a great story :goodjob:

the problem is now i will have to wait for upates :(

How can i post a link?

Look at my sig



Thanks for the tip

Just a word of advice, Charles: It's best not to double post. You can just edit your first post if you have anything else to say. :)

Chapter Thirteen: The Golden Age

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she grumbled.

“I ask very little of you, my dear,” he responded, his voice as cheerful and patient as hers had been grouchy and truculent. “And as I said, I’m sure you’ll enjoy this.”

“At this ungodly hour?” she responded. “The sun hasn’t even come up yet!”

“Your powers of observation continue to astound me,” he responded dryly. She responded by giving his bicep a light slap, which made him chuckle.

“We are not amused,” she said archly, but as he looked at her in the dim pre-dawn light, he could see a teasing sparkle in her cobalt eyes.

“This way, your majesty,” he said.

He took her hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze, and led her on through a grove of cypress trees. As she’d said, the sun was still hiding behind the eastern horizon, but the birds were already awake, and filled the early morning air with their joyful trills and calls. In the west, the last stars were fading above a placid sea. An ocean breeze added a sharpness to the air, mingling with the scent of night-blooming jasmine.

He inhaled deeply and enjoyed the moment. It was so rare for them to have any time alone together, especially out of doors. Of course there were guards stationed nearby—both of their ever-present entourages had insisted upon it—but they were a good distance away and discretely out of sight, something which he, in turn, had insisted upon. Rank had its privileges—sometimes.

“The natives who inhabited the jungles in the far mid-western reaches of our continent call themselves Indians,” he explained to her as they walked. “I suppose in another world, they may have become a nation unto themselves.”

“Like the Chinese?” she posited, curious as to where this impromptu lecture was leading. She was also wondering where her companion was leading her, but knew, as she knew him, that they were connected.

“Yes. At any rate, we assimilated them and they’ve become good Romans. One of their number in particular, named Shahbuddin Jahan, rose to prominence. He became a business partner of the Rutulli—a very wise choice—and became very wealthy indeed. He also married a wonderful woman named Mumtaz Mahal. Whom he loved with all his heart.”

He paused a moment, and she sensed that there was more to the story.

“And…?” she prompted him.

“And… she died. In childbirth. Jahan was heartbroken.”

“How sad,” she said solemnly. “But not uncommon.”

“True,” he said, “but what Jahan then did was most uncommon indeed.”

“Ah,” she said, “the point of the story. What did Jahan do?”

“You’re about to see,” he said, then led her out of the pathway between the cypress trees to a vast open area.

He directed her gaze across a long, slender reflecting pool. There, at the pool’s far end, was a tall building of gleaming white marble. The base of the building was slightly wider than it was high, and was fronted by a large, elegantly arched entranceway and four smaller archways, two on either side, one atop the other, that copied the elaborately sculpted shape of the grand archway. The pointed crests of the archways drew the eye upwards to the building’s most spectacular feature, a marble dome as tall as the building beneath it, its height accentuated by a tall marble ring which it sat upon. Surround the building were four tall, slender marble minarets. It was a beautiful vision of symmetry in every way.

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His timing was perfect. His companion’s gaze fell upon the building just as the sun broke over the eastern horizon; its rays bathed the structure in reddish-pink light, transforming the white marble so it seemed to glow with the sky’s transient hue rather than merely reflecting it.

As he had hoped, the building and his carefully-timed revelation of it had the desired effect. She gasped, then became silent, awed mute by such astounding beauty. He rested his hands on her slender shoulders and let her drink in the sight before her.

“It’s… extraordinary,” she said breathlessly. “Beautiful.” She shook her head. “Words fail me.”

“I know the feeling,” he responded.

“It’s… a mausoleum?” she eventually said, her voice a delicate whisper.

“Yes,” he said with a nod, “though the word hardly does it justice. Jahan named it the ‘Taj Mahal’. It’s not just a monument to one woman, though. It’s a monument to love. Jahan drew upon the skills of the finest architects, designers, and craftsmen from across the continent. In turn, the Taj has inspired… well, everyone. Combined with the unification of the continent, the ensuing Pax Romana, and the success of Hanno’s trade mission, Rome is enjoying a period of unprecedented prosperity.”

“A golden age,” she said wistfully.

“Indeed,” he agreed. His arms lowered from her shoulders to circle her narrow waist. He pulled her slender body back against his own. He pressed his lips against the top of her head and tenderly kissed her red hair.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” she told him.

Her gaze still drank in the beauty of the Taj Mahal, its marble changing from a reddish-pink glow to gleaming white as the sun rose. She placed her hands over his where they met over her abdomen. She enjoyed the feel of his strong, sinewy body against hers, his arms encircling her protectively. She felt the omnipresent tension flowing out of her body; for this brief moment, she relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy the illusion that she was safe from harm. Then he lowered his head so that his lips were nuzzling her neck, and she giggled softly, like a girl.

“I take it you’re hoping that this monument to love will inspire me as well?” she said, smiling as he playfully nibbled on her neck.

“Did it work?” he asked hopefully.

“I’ll let you know,” she said with a teasing tone in her voice.

She turned her face towards his, then closed her eyes as he leaned forward to kiss her. He was a good kisser, she reflected; not too forceful or invasive, but firm and manly. And he always seemed to sense her mood, her shifting preferences for tenderness or passion, and responded accordingly. Yes, he was good at kissing, very good, and at several other things besides. Sometimes she hated him for it. She broke the kiss, then turned to gaze at the monument again.

“They are so fragile,” she said, “aren’t they?”

“Everything in this world is fragile, and fleeting,” he replied, suddenly serious.

“Except us,” she said.

“It’s nice to think so.”

“Dangerous as well.”

“Hmm.”

She turned about to face him completely; his arms were still around her waist, and she placed her own around his neck. She didn’t like where the conversation was suddenly going, where it could go. It was best, she decided, to stop it. Best not to think about the inevitable.

“Come on,” she said, smiling up at him, her blue eyes shining, “let’s go build our own monument to love.”

He smiled broadly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in that way that she liked. She wished, just for a moment, that they could always be together like this. But that, she knew, was impossible. He moved to go, but she stood there and held on to him just a moment longer. She pressed herself close against him and laid her head upon his shoulder.

She looked out towards the west, towards her homeland. A storm was brewing there in the distance, over the ocean. She looked at it and shuddered.

http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i193/sisiutil/Princes/Princes13_03.jpg

I got first post! exellent! marvelous! ur my hero! woooooooooot!

Bravo! so, are Ceaser and Liz going to get married (Permanent Alliance? :)

Bravo! so, are Ceaser and Liz going to get married (Permanent Alliance? :)


.... so he can ax liz....

kidding:lol:

Bravo! so, are Ceaser and Liz going to get married (Permanent Alliance? :)

Nothing's ever that simple in my universe. ;)

great update

Can I make a simple request? One of the Great Engineers is Brunel, and one of the Great Scientests is James Watt. If you could write about either one (both railway related in thier way, Watt as a door-opener, Brunel as a builder) I would be eternally garteful.

And up Ceasar and Elizabeth!

Can I make a simple request? One of the Great Engineers is Brunel, and one of the Great Scientests is James Watt. If you could write about either one (both railway related in thier way, Watt as a door-opener, Brunel as a builder) I would be eternally garteful.

And up Ceasar and Elizabeth!
I'll look into their stories and see, but I can't make any promises regarding what may or may not inspire me.

Truly magical the words you type. Im good for another week and half.

Liz and Julie sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
Come on, go make a colony!