Druids v2 (eBook)

By G.L. Vough

1st century Celtic-Britain.

The story of Celtic peoples' struggles against distant, mighty Rome.
DRUIDS is the story of Queen Boadicea of the Iceni & her two unnamed daughters ... a story spanning a century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312291065

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Druids v2 (eBook)

Druids v2

G.L. Vough

LuLu eBook Edition -- 2014© All Rights Reserved -- License Notes

ISBN: 978-1-312-29106-5

Thank you for choosing & reading this eBook. Please return to LuLu.com (GeoffreyLloydVough) for other works by G.L. Vough.

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Connect w/ G.L. Vough via Facebook & also LuLu.com (eBook(s) &also P.O.D. (Print-On-Demand) available; both softcovers & hardcovers)

For Mitzi

Mitzi … you made this experience for me. Memories shared with you, throughout, ones I'll never, ever, forget … & memories I cherish. Reading & re-reading & discussion, & so much more.

As you well know.

As you also know, this is what?-- the fourth, maybe fifth incarnation of this story… each just a little different. The only guess left, methinks, is each hopefully better?

WLA Ever & Always, Mom… I Love You!

Geoffrey Lloyd Vough 2014

Preface

Why druids & Celts? Why 1st century Britain?

I have always had a fascination with stories, whether historical, fantastic, or realistic. I have no particular favorite as a reader, but as an author I certainly do. I always endeavor to incorporate all three since (for me) these aspects all serve to broaden for one the experience. Whilst I love fantasy, I think believable & realistic fiction-fantasy is far more compelling than 'Sword & Sorcery'.

Which is why I chose druids & Celts; 1st century Britain.

I think many have a notion of what a druid was, however I also believe there are just as many instances our notions of what, who, why & where, nowadays, are either incomplete at best, or incorrect. This is not meant to come across as condescending, rather I simply mean to illustrate a common theme prevalent throughout our society nowadays… the notion we know all about something yet have never bothered to actually find out if we do. For instance, how many know druids were not technically priests or shamans?-- how many know druids had distinct vocations, each with its own specific role? How many know, too, it was primarily Rome responsible for nearly extinguishing Druidry & Celts? All valid questions the point of which could be phrased, or postulated, differently. There are many whom denounce the treatment & extermination of the native peoples throughout the Americas, yet how many realize such atrocities have happened many times across many centuries… in many different places, to many different peoples? The answer is some, just as some will know more about druids than others will.

Nevertheless, that should not preclude anyone from enjoying a story. The story is the point!

Druidry is a primary theme throughout what I have written, but it also is not the entire point of Druids, either. The time period (the mid & latter years of the 1st century AD/CE) is a fascinating one: Rome's empire is in its infancy really, changed from a Republic into an Principate less than a century earlier with the rise of Gaius Julius Caesar; Gaul as a free nation of Celtic peoples has been subjugated & enveloped within Rome's expanding empire; & Britain is firmly in Rome's sights. The two isles, Britain & Ireland, now the frontier of Rome's ever-expanding empire, as is Germania.

Is this interesting? The answer begs a question its own: are you interested in Britain &/or Rome, & are you interested in what really happened? If read, there comes another question: is the story interwoven enjoyable?

Only you, the reader, might can answer the latter question, & I'd be remiss to betray the story herein.

The other questions, however, are far easier to answer; even if you're not a history buff or Roman-enthusiast or Celtic-admirer. The setting is easily as broad and colorful in scope as any well-detailed fantasy setting could be… why?

Mysticism.

Regardless of your understanding of Druidry, one aspect is quite prevalent: that druids were some kind of sorcerer … which is actually what Rome considered druids to be. One of the reasons Druidry and its constituents were first alienated & marginalized (beginning with the subjugation & eventual conquest of Gaul, present-day France) & also the eventual persecution of Druidry anywhere & everywhere Rome controlled. The notion druids were wicked sorcerers is propaganda, yet there remains an element of mystery about Druidry and druids. These were not only priests/priestesses, diviners, healers or sacrificers; druids were also teachers, scientists, philosophers, & judges. Of course, not all druids practiced all aspects of Druidry because Druidry was above all else both an ecclesiastic & societal organization. Just as we, nowadays, have priests & ministers, judges, teachers & role models. Another theme which expands on mysticism & its connection to Druidry, Celts, Britain & Ireland, is the abundance of mythology & fairy tales. Or faerie-tales. I imagine most people, when they think of Celts or fairy tales, think of Ireland or Scotland, & I also imagine most would associate Irish & Scottish & Welsh myths & legends as Celtic.

I do not think it would be unfair to say faerie-tales is what most think-of.

Another fascinating aspect of Druidry is the lack of written records; a reason why we are left nowadays with so little real information & are left to decipher myth & legend & history written by peoples other than Celts… leaving we to try to decode the reality.

The truth, in other words.

I didn't write this story for the time period, nor did I envision at the earliest stages of idea, outline & plot-design & whatnot, druids & Celts in Britain & Ireland the setting. I wanted an exotic setting, but I did not want to write only fantasy. I first researched Native American culture & history as I tried to decide when & where to bring my plot to life &, truly, there are more than a few great instances in Native American history which could have worked well. Nevertheless, I quickly found I did not know enough of crucial tidbits (such as names & culture, language) to adequately portray a living, breathing setting which would do the plot I had in mind justice. I shelved the Native American setting & research & took a break for a long while… almost three years to be exact, before returning to the one event I'd researched over the course of many years which always did work for my plot.

1st century Celtic-Roman Britain. Boadicea.

Something of a cultural icon in the U.K., the story of Boadicea is riveting: how one queen nearly succeeded in driving from Britain what was at the time the world's most potent military force. Her story is dynamic & engaging, & history tells us just enough there was left ample room for embellishing her story… which is where the story you're about to read comes in… the decades leading up to Boadicea (& following) just as crucial to the historical outcome as Boadicea's dramatic (albeit ultimately, ill-fated) uprising. The purpose of the story told herein is also two-fold: firstly, I hope the story told in & around Boadicea is your primary enjoyment as a reader; & secondly my hope is the setting & historical events paint for you, as a reader, a vibrant & engaging world very different from what might be assumed. For instance, it is a common misconception Rome brought civilization to Britain, building cities & roads amongst savages to bring civilization, arts & culture & law, to barbarian savages.

Not true.

Many of the roads in Britain were not built by Rome, the same for many of Britain's cities. Celtic culture in Britain was centuries old by the time Rome arrived & contrary to popular misconception, Celts were not indigenous to either island. Britain or Ireland. Or Gaul, for that matter. Scholars now understand Celts were an Indo-European people whom originated in Greece, Turkey, &/or the Caucasus Mountains (possibly descended from Troy!) & they migrated in waves centuries earlier north & west into Gaul, Germania, & the isles across from Europe's mainland, bringing with them philosophy & law, architecture, mathematics & science, & of course, religion. All these aspects of Druidry, the heart of Celtic people's knowledge & beliefs.

Additionally, some scholars now believe Celts might actually be descended from Phoenicians, another ancient people whom predated not only Rome, but also Greece. More, some scholars postulate Phoenicia as old (or maybe even older) than Egypt.

All told, I think the setting is a nigh perfect collage of civilizations & peoples who clash.

Druids is historical fiction, my favorite genre as a reader… & a so very challenging genre for an author. There is so much relevant information that needs to be understood & explained & portrayed rightly it almost seems to make the show, don't tell rule so vital to quality fiction a more challenging endeavor than usual. How does one establish in the reader's mind the specifics & nuances of a generation of people so very different from ourselves without telling why, how, when, where, whom. A difficult proposition. Of course, to engage any reader, show, don't tell is vitally important since it brings the reader into the story. The dynamic helps one to identify with characters or circumstances, but it can become quickly problematic when dealing with subject matter readers may not be familiar with. The biggest gripe I've discovered however (& suffered myself, as a reader) is the overwhelming amount of names, peoples & places, so very relevant. This is a difficult line to try to walk as an author because there is a certain understanding you need portray (historical) alongside a believable & engaging plot (fiction) & additionally, you must interweave the two seamlessly.

Challenging, to say the least!

The purpose of explaining how I personally feel about these challenges & distinctions is not to make excuses, nor is the purpose to prematurely explain (or defend) the story I have written. Rather, the purpose is to reassure. There are a lot of names, peoples & places (things) which need be explained (& also understood) in the context of accurately portraying what is considered real history alongside is a story… a plot with characters.

Which IS the purpose. A story. I humbly ask… Trust the story to reveal.

As Druids is historical fiction (could actually be called historic-fantasy) the next few pages are simply meant to help better introduce some of the centric themes of the story you are about to read. My hope is these notes & tidbits enhance for anyone the story itself… so one does not feel stifled or get too hung-up on the plethora of details & descriptions… names, peoples & places.

Because, isn't that really the point in reading fiction, a story?-- enjoying a story?

I love realism within fiction, believable realism which takes a real setting & incorporates within such a framework a story. Fiction, maybe… yet who is to say it is not possible such a story could have/might have happened?!

That is the allure, for me, of historical fiction/historic-fantasy.

As Druids is first & foremost fiction interwoven within a historical sequence of events, it isn't so important to be able to judge which parts are fiction vs. history, since enjoying the read is what ultimately matters. Insofar as the history, the only question is: how much do you want to learn?-- or how much do you already know? The level of certain detail could be too little for some, too much for others, which is where the purpose of these introductory pages comes in… intended to soften the shock of learning as one reads; meant to outline & introduce some of the historical & also mythological sources which figure prominently throughout Druids.

So, returning to the opening questions: Why druids & Celts? Why 1st century Britain?

Truth is, any time period could likely have worked given enough research, but finding one specific instance in history that matched what I had in mind made the decision for me. The story, the plot & all its beginning, middle, & end, existed before I found Boadicea; but when I found Boadicea & delved into researching Celts & druids so prominent to her story, it all simply clicked. I even found the story evolve more naturally as I interwove it with the history of Boadicea's short-lived, dramatic revolt.

Which was fun, as well as challenging!

Boadicea's story (for instance) always had a beginning & an end, yet there is also a figurative end to Celtic-Britain's resistance & it ended long after Boadicea with Rome's construction of Hadrian's Wall (& the later Antonine Wall); Rome by that time essentially conceding the northernmost regions of Britain (modern day Scotland, mostly) because of a people history & the archaeological record have named 'Picts'. Those two aspects provided the framework for the story: Picts because I wanted to show (maybe) whom were these peoples; & Boadicea because history records she had two young daughters… & no historian ever names them. Greek & Latin historians for the period abound, & many histories are recorded… but nowhere these girls' names.

So, Boadicea's daughters; & the people history knows as Picts, are centric to this story.

Trying to outline & portray the events of several decades presents another set of hurdles however; yet another challenging prospect. The bulk of this story really does center around Boadicea's short-lived revolt, & as well does it Rome's influence & invasion before, during, & after… not to mention the real-life persons who preceded Boadicea & followed-- her revolt more popular than others because it was so dramatic. Yet, as history (& indeed real-life) so oft illustrate, the dramatic events are surrounded by equally influential events (& persons/peoples, & places) which also shaped history.

In the context of Druids, Celtic-Britain's struggles in the 1st century against Rome.

In example, two Celts (Caratacus & Venutius) both waged longer & also far more successful revolts against mighty Rome, each leading sustained & relatively successful campaigns rather than revolts or uprisings. More, each of their exploits bookended Boadicea's far more famed, Caratacus before, Venutius both before & after. Additionally, before these Celts in Britain, Rome had already faced another Celt whose resistance to Roman invasion & occupation was longer & arguably, too, more successful than any Celt's in Britain… Vercingetorix's in Gaul, almost a century before.

The events & happenings in the world at that time are fascinating!

Druids is not just the story of Boadicea & her desperate, dramatic uprising, nor Venutius' far more successful defense of Britain. It is the story of Celtic-Britain surviving Rome & what is left after. Picts ... Celts & Firbolg; druids & shamans & entities, are all prominent within & throughout Druids. I have taken great liberties in portraying Firbolg differently than history, a people as prominent as Celts throughout the histories of both isles. Britain & Ireland (Éire). My intention was to set-up, so to speak, the people who became known as Picts who did eventually stop Rome's expansion in Britain &, according to some scholars, Ireland (Éire). The origin &/or meaning of the name, Firbolg, is contested in different scholarly circles as to whether it means: men of the god/dess 'Bolg' ... or men of bags or ... of the bog ...". In any event, my Firbolg are probably best understood as a sort-of 'Neanderthals' / 'Neandertals' but that does not do any justice at all insofar as to how I envision them. Like I did with Boadicea's daughters, I admittedly took liberties in fashioning the story of those peoples discounted from history but prominent in myth & legend. Firbolg. Celtic culture & history (& also Norse histories & culture, enmeshed & interwoven into my concept of Britain's/Alban's Firbolg) are both colorful & deep ... & by no means have I recreated perfectly. I have tried instead to illustrate culture(s) in a realistic, believable fashion; one which also incorporates threads of fantasy & theory. From the decades of conflict & internal strife amongst Celts, Firbolg, & Romans, come the descendants of Celts & Firbolg -- Picts ... the culture & people coming from the intermixing of Britons, Gaels, & the peoples who settled Britain & Ireland in the first place well before Celts. Firbolg.

There are innumerable gray areas & also conflicting opinions & theories. Some historians & scholars disagree, & much is bandied about, considering, but nevertheless the amount of detail one can find doing their own research is not just extensive & complex, it is also intriguing.

Ask yourself: how much do I presume & how much do I know?...

The spine of the story told in Druids is events leading to & following the historical account of Boadicea, a Queen of the Iceni who led a dramatic, ultimately ill-fated rebellion against Roman occupation in the mid-1st century AD/CE.

Told to a youth decades later; narrative from the perspective of one who lived & was a prominent figure throughout before & after (one of Boadicea's daughters left unnamed by history; a daughter I named Yhenna) the before & after is told the youth firsthand.

The true story of Celtic-Britain's resistance.

Historical accounts tell us Boadicea was the wife of Prasutagus, an Iceni-King who ruled a populous tribe in what is now present day Norwich. When Prasutagus died, he left his estate (for lack of a better term in regards to that time period) to both the Roman Emperor, Nero, & his two daughters by Boadicea. In short, Nero said no way, & the Iceni were annexed and absorbed as if they had been already conquered despite his relationship with Rome as a client-king (a vassal). Boadicea was flogged & scourged; she & Prasutagus' daughters allegedly raped; & Rome's Empire tightened their figurative noose about Celtic-Britain's metaphorical throat. In response, Boadicea led the Iceni (& several other tribes) in open revolt. At the head of an allegedly huge host of disaffected Celts Boadicea first razed Camulodunum to the ground, in the process routing the IX Hispana; a Roman legion sent to relieve that city. Poems record she riding in her war-chariot at the head of her host (reputedly with her young daughters alongside her) & Boadicea turned her sights next on Londinium, razing that city also before she did another Romanized city in her path. Verulamium.

It is estimated more than 70,000 were killed in those three cities.

Then, after those victories, it all ended for Boadicea (as it had other Celtic &/or Germanic rulers faced with the overwhelming might & reach of Rome) at the 'Battle of Watling Street' in the West Midlands where the Roman general-governor Gaius Suetonius Paullinus routed Boadicea's host. It is surmised (speculated, though never officially confirmed) Boadicea died thereabouts or shortly thereafter. Some accounts report she killed herself so as to not be captured & degraded (as many/most such dissidents were) the subject of the Roman penchant for humiliating & torturing their enemies via the pomp & ritual of a Triumph. The very end & injustice done Vercingetorix a century or so earlier. The Gauls were cousins of Britain & Ireland's Celts, & it was known what had happened to not just their cousins across the sea when Rome came, but also what happened to any of their leaders whom dared oppose her. Rome.

Other accounts (none vetted) report she fell ill & perished naturally.

Regardless of the truth, how she died, the story of Boadicea profoundly illustrates not just the might & influence of Rome as it transformed from a Republic into a Principate (empire) but also the cruelty & mercilessness of such a transition … from its rulers, down to its general populace. Are those same citizens as guilty as their leaders?-- as their manipulators? Some would argue yes, others no.

Regardless of which, as is so, so common throughout history, those same citizens turned a blind-eye when Rome's 'Serpents' coiled & strangled Gaul before a century later doing the same to another sovereign people. In Britain.

What of Éire (Ireland) then? ... there is little of note regarding Rome.

Boadicea is remembered because of the drama of her actions leaving other more successful Celts less remembered. Another weird discrepancy history oft poses we nowadays. In any event, as to why, Boadicea has become a cultural symbol in the U.K (there is a statue of her in London, the township named Londinium in her days… one she razed) but the absence of written records from the period (per Druidry) leave us an incomplete account of the 'how, when, where, & why' -- leaving us with only the recounts provided by Roman historians of the period. As it would be, too, the two most prominent sources (Tacitus & Cassius Dio) markedly differ.

A clue, perhaps, this: ......history is written by the victors......

There is something which proves there is something more to this story; how two historian's accounts could so differ considering each is supposedly writing history?! What really happened ... as opposed to fiction!? Or are they writing his-story?

Isn't that interesting, especially when we consider ......history is written by the victors...…

I've included a Map & Map-Key preceding a Glossary. Druids is rife with terms, names & words both real & imaginary, though I have endeavored to keep the fictional at a minimum in regards to names & events so there is almost always historical basis for what I've taken the liberty of creating.

I want this to be as realistic & fantastic as possible.

I'll leave off here… let the story of history & speculation following tell the rest!

Geoffrey Lloyd Vough 2014

Introduction

Druids is the story of Celtic-Roman Britain, fiction interwoven with the 1st century history of Britain & Ireland. Like the rest of the themes prevalent throughout Druids, these following snippets are a pittance of the detail one can discover for oneself.

But these tidbit(s) & snippets can at the least provide a foundation.

Many scholars now agree Celts are believed to have migrated to Britain & Ireland (Éire or Érin) from Greece & Turkey; several different migrations dividing Celts into a few specific breeds, Gauls (whom settled present-day France & some regions of Germania & Hispania); Gaels (whom settled in Britain & Ireland); & Britons (whom settled the majority of Britain, pushing the earlier Gaels mostly north & west, into present-day Scotland & Wales). The primary differences between these designations of Celtic peoples largely due to linguistic differences at the time.

Druidry, however, all breeds of Celts shared.

More a philosophy, a way of understanding life & the workings of physicality, as well as law, Druidry was also a religion. There are scholarly circles connecting Druidry to Phoenicia, ancient Egypt, & ancient Hebrews. Regardless of where came Druidry, or from whom, what is not in dispute is the unimaginable complexity of knowledge the heart of Druidry. Additionally, Druidry did not write its lore or its secrets, meaning its various vocations needed to memorize unimaginably complex & lengthy mantras, stories & songs, legends & myths; not to mention law, philosophy, & science. As well as copious amounts of other knowledge, not to mention maybe, too, anything magical. Considering the complexity & depth of Druidry & its lore the typical tutelage for most any vocation was a minimum of five years up to perhaps as much as much as twelve years, depending on vocation. The highest ranked druids could spend as much as thirty years learning all they needed to know.

Druidry is a centric theme throughout Druids, obviously, & by no means do I believe I have recreated Druidry perfectly. I do feel I've captured the raw, primal allure of such a comprehensive doctrine, however.

Considering the lack of written evidence left us, there are many theories & ideas!

Another central, important theme throughout Druids is the relationship between physicality & spirituality; also a core theme of Druidry. Firstly (from a multitude of historical/mythological sources, cultures & beliefs) is a concept very centric to Druids -- that of a triple-deity also known by a plethora of related names: threefold, triplicate, tripartite, triune &/or triadic, &/or also trinity -- that last one probably most recognizable because in Christianity (for instance) the concept of the 'Father, Son, & Holy Ghost' IS a triad. A triple-deity. I've endeavored throughout to show Celtic religion not so different from a host of other cultures & peoples (especially considering Celtic roots -- the mid, near East) & if one were to research ancient cultures, religion(s) & mysticism, this is a prevalent concept. More to the context of the story Druids tells, a significant part of these specific myths & stories center around a power known in ancient Britain & Ireland as the Mórrigan whom figures throughout Druids in different names & connotations. A very centric aspect in the conclusion, the Mórrigan can best be envisioned as equivalent of the 'Maiden, Mother, & Crone' -- another triple-deity (or the same).

Lastly comes another important theme, & another mystic one. From a multitude of historical/mythological sources is a theme that defines & describes duality/polarity quite specifically – the 'Seelie' & 'Unseelie' 'Courts ' … & a part of these specific myths & stories are the fabled Tuatha dé Dannan -- whom figure largely within Druids. The Tuatha dé Dannan (or Sidhe – pronounced sh-ee) can best be thought of as elves perhaps, but not 'Santa Claus-type' elves; more akin to Tolkien's Eldar.

Druids explores the notion humanity is possibly being manipulated by beings such as these, external, extra-dimensional intelligences; Druids 'Serpents' linked to the Tuatha dé Dannan, or Sidhe.

The word(s) Seelie & Unseelie (along with other forms, such as seely, seily, & sealy, & likewise unseely, unseily, & unsealy) are Middle-English & Scottish terms which mean happy & lucky &/or blessed or alternately unhappy & misfortunate &/or unholy. Each derived from the Old-English form sœl & gesœlig. In faerie-tales (or fairy tales; I think each connotation means more than implied); & myth, the 'Seelie Court' is reputed to seek out humans for a variety of reasons (for aid/to help; to warn &/or counsel those who had offended them; to return kindnesses with favor(s), etc…). Many instances in myths & tales illustrate, however, that even these good faeries are prone to vengeance over perceived slights & these were also supposedly (definitely) predisposed to mischief. The 'Unseelie Court' (by comparison) could be considered bad since no insult/slight, gossip or else, was necessary for these malicious faeries to infringe &/or assault Man at will. The plethora of tales of faeries accounting for cruelty, injury & the like, probably best ascribed to these Unseelie-aligned faeries. Like Man, however, 'Seelie' doesn't equate to benevolent; nor 'Unseelie', malevolent. Additionally, division into duality (&/or polarity) is illustrated most particularly in Norse mythology via the division of Elves into 'light' & 'dark' distinctions (similar to the Irish/Welsh/Scottish Seelie & Unseelie). Additionally, in Welsh fairy tales (or faerie-tales); & also Irish-- wherein figure Sidhe) neither caste is classified as wholly good, nor wholly evil.

Druid's 'Serpents' could be / are these very same things.

In conclusion, finishing the decades' long story of Celtic-Britain's struggle to remain sovereign -- from Rome, & the extra-dimensional powers & influences I have incorporated (why historic-fantasy best describes Druids) was complex. Is complex. Mine hope is that these real-World snippets & tidbit(s) included can & do aid one to enjoy the story.

Any road, Thank You!

Geoffrey Lloyd Vough 2014

Druids v2 -- The Book Of Boadicea

PRONUNCIATION NOTE(S):

h is not pronounced; silent

ch is pronounced as 'ck', i.e. Scottish 'loch'

Ipani

Anghus virtually ran that horse into the ground. The poor beast on the verge of its own death when they reached Camulodunum in just two days. Considering Fallon's state and the inclement winter (to say nothing of the distance or terrain) it was a remarkable feat of willpower and perseverance. He stopped only three times, each instance long enough to warm Fallon beside a fire; she wearing nothing but a flimsy gown and in their haste to escape they had nothing else for her to wear. Cradling her against his massive chest to try and make do, Anghus tore his tartan in places so he could cover her. Enclosing the rest of her with his massive arms. The few times they stopped gave him a chance to sleep a few hours, long enough, too, for the horse to shakily eat and drink.

Then they were off again as fast as they could go.

Anghus cradled her against his barrel-like chest the whole time, riding or resting. Employing his own body to warm hers, he hoped the heat from his vigorous body would keep her alive. Despite his effort and determination, however, Fallon's life hung by a figurative thread when they reached Camulodunum. Fallon shivered uncontrollably, was cold to the touch, but she complained of fever. Her breathing weak and sounded wet.

A fortnight later Fallon had mostly recovered with the aid of druidic ministrations concocted from sacred mistletoe and holly.

But her memories haunted her. As did her dreams.

Her mind did not recover as quickly as her body did, and neither did her heart. Which was broken asunder. Eorcht had a difficult time consoling her, his own grief at the news (not just the horrific raid on his clan's stronghold, but also Rhún's death; his long dead mother's dearest, oldest friend) gnawed at him as well. The old woman the mother he'd never had.

Eorcht shared her grief save the experience. He'd not been there, nor seen it.

She stayed in the same bower hers previously, on the second floor of Prasutagus' keep. Remaining almost always within even after her health was restored. Staring for hours into the white, wintery sky over Camulodunum. She had never liked it, the Roman architecture and style that overshadowed the Celtic one could still see in the city's bones. Now, after the shock and horror she had experienced firsthand at Venta Icenorium, she felt secure inside the city with its strong, marble walls. It shamed her (and she would never have admitted it) but she felt safe, too, because of the cohort of legionnaires and other retired, veteran soldiers and warriors who called Camulodunum home. Roman and Celtic alike.

Safer even then she felt in Eorcht's arms. Then she would reassure herself: all this will fade with time. You are still in shock... it will change.

Fallon hoped so. Wishing for such feelings to pass away and out of her. Soon.

She daydreamed for hours, imagining what she and Rhún would have talked about the remainder of that day had she not dozed off. Her mind mulling so many unanswered questions as it tried to heal itself. Would she have been alert enough to have saved her, to have helped her, had she stayed awake? Would Rhún have lived? Would Bhurg if she had not distracted him?-- had she distracted him? Could she have gotten to him?-- had she done all she could?

A week passed, then another. It was now the second week of February, a week after the Imbolc fire-festival she had so looked forward to. And she had not thought much at all about her intent to surprise Eorcht at Imbolc.

Nonetheless, it was memory of their coming child that healed Fallon at the last.

Alongside the ice and snow outside melting away Fallon slowly rejoined waking life. She left her bower most days, drifting about but staying around Prasutagus' keep. She would often sit quietly somewhere in the mansion-lodge and spend her days sewing, staring out at the gleaming, bright marble-city. Other times she would sit for hours staring into hearth-fires, sipping at hot tea and dozing. Lamenting and reminiscing. Gossip raged throughout Camulodunum as word of the raid on Venta Icenorium spread, shouted on the winds by angry Celts. Iceni, Trinovantes and Brigantes howled about the raid especially, but all Celts lamented the shock and brutality of it. Many argued and fought. Rumor said (then was later confirmed, supposedly) the raid had been carried out at the order of the Iceni King, Anted. It was said the aged king had at the last tired of Prasutagus' incessant scheming and outright disrespect, and it was shouted far and wide across Brython King Anted had ordered his warriors to punish the upstart Iceni clan-chieftain by razing the countryside about Prasutagus' stronghold.

Yet, there were other rumors telling different tales of those 'raiders'. When Fallon heard those whispered rumors she remembered something she had before paid little heed, recalling she remembered Anghus (when he had deposited her in Eorcht's dumbfounded arms) tell Prasutagus and Eorcht he was certain the raiders were primarily Brigantes. Not Iceni. Eorcht (when she asked him) confirmed she recalled rightly, telling her Anghus also had told them he believed none of King Anted's Iceni were with those raiders. At least none were he had witnessed or fought with. In addition to Brigantes warriors who had disguised themselves, Anghus also insisted he had seen at least two Romans with dressed in Celtic-garb, felts and furs, and sporting only plain cloaks. No tartans.

Brigantes and Romans? Why raid Venta Icenorium in the dead of winter?

Another fortnight passed, rumor and gossip swirling into a fevered pitch. Everyone in Camulodunum talked of the raid, everyone with a seemingly different opinion on what had actually happened. Yet, Celt or Roman, everyone talked.

*****

It was early March now. Fallon was sitting in her room beside an open balcony, staring absently at the sparkling white-marble city. There was a knock at her door then it opened slowly. Fallon looked, seeing it was Eorcht. His face lined with concern, eyes red and tired.

She smiled and looked back outside. Greetings, mine love, she said softly.

Fallon, he began.

He crossed to the balcony, kicking off his boots and doffing his cloak. Tossing them onto the foot of her bed close to where she was sitting. There at the open balcony he held her against him, her arms crossed over her breast. His encircling hers. Their fingers interlocked, Eorcht sat behind her. Holding her tight.

He breathed in her hair, kissing her oft. Prasutagus intends to return to Venta in a few days to restore what can be saved from the fields, orchards... granaries. He wants me to go with... your mother, of course, wants you to stay.

I am sure she does, began Fallon softly, reaching with one arm to cradle his head as she whispered, Our child will be born before Lughnasadh, perhaps as much as a month before. I will stay here, love... until then at least.

Three months, he muttered, playfully acting glum.

The effervescent white of Camulodunum outside started to fade as the sun lowered in the distant west. Shadows appearing and lengthening.

Eorcht buried his face in her ginger-hair. I have heard it said that, though young women recover speedily, they prefer to not travel with babe. Is this true?-- do you want to stay longer?

I have not thought it further, Fallon replied. I have no way of knowing how I will feel, Eorcht... an' the woman who would've helped me is not here.

Eorcht knew of whom she spoke, and what she meant. Rhún.

Forgive me for opening anew that wound. It might please you to know many speak of the bravery of every one of you that night. How you saved lives. There were few deaths compared to what might've been. I have heard your courage, in particular, emboldens our warriors. Everyone who saw you that night tells of your actions with admiration.

Fallon smiled. Sitting behind her, Eorcht could not see her smile, but he felt she was doing so.

He squeezed her tightly against him, sighing in her ginger-hair which, unpinned, cascaded down her back like a curtain draped between them.

I forgive, said Fallon lightly, her voice serious when she added, An' it pleases me such an awful stain hasn't stamped those folk's spirits.

Fallon knew it would have to be the same sort-of courage, the same resolve, she herself would need to see her through the loss of Rhún.

In honor of the old woman, Fallon vowed she would recover. She thought next, looking out the balcony: I must... for the sake of our babe...

They talked softly late into the night, watching the sun set before night spread over the city like a blanket lay over a sleeping child. Fallon's thoughts reverberated around their child, but Eorcht's earlier statement had stirred something insider her. Courage. Fallon found herself thinking of Anghus mostly, seeing in her mind's eye how the black-bearded, fearsome Iceni had practically singlehandedly held those raiders at bay long enough for the Iceni's warriors to rally. Of how that mighty, courageous Celt had killed with his bare hands. He had saved her and their child from certain death, not only at the orchard beside Rhún's hut, but also later when he kept her alive. Bringing her safely back to Eorcht as he had promised he would.

Rhún's hut. Her orchard. Images of those colored also her wandering and admittedly morose thoughts. Fallon wondered if there was anything left standing at that far corner of Venta Icenorium's outlying lands. Huts, or orchard.

A hot tear slid her fair cheek, glistening there in the moonlight for all the stars in the clear, early spring night to see.

How fortunate my people are to have such a princess, Eorcht whispered.

Neh! How fortunate they be because they are Celts. Fallon's eyes were still heavy with tears, but her voice was strong as she went on, It is not only mineself, Eorcht but others too... others who showed real spirit that night. Poor Bhurg... who pulled her free when I... when I could not, Eorcht! I tried an' tried. That poor wife an' husband, who I think might have been who raised the alarm in the first place. Anghus!... you know of his deeds. My hope now is his name is no longer spoken with dread... nor dishonor.

Eorcht chuckled softly. His little laugh entrapped by her hair.

Anghus' reputation has always been one colored with dread. He is a huge an' volatile man but neh... or ja, whichever. No longer is he spoken of with dishonor. His actions have washed away the previous stains... an' not only in mine own eyes.

That, said Fallon, turning to kiss him before she finished, Is as it should be. He alone delivered you your wife and child.

His eyes lit up. Mine wife? You hope to handfast in August, at Lughnasadh? I hoped... never would I have asked or pressed. Not now.

Eorcht... I would be honored to marry you come next Beltaine. My love, I will happily handfast you at Lughnasadh. With our babe in our arms, we will do so.

He kissed her ginger-hair. Her neck.

After a few, precious moments, he said, You are wonderful, love. I didn't expect it this year... and I would not have asked it either. I will prepare at once our honor-éric as soon as I return.

Turning back, Fallon smiled and patted his arms holding her snug.

Our babe is a girl... an' I want to name her after your mother. Ipani.

Ipani, Eorcht whispered under breath. He asked, Rhún spoke of her?

Ja... she told me a lot about her, of when they were young. Together.

She could feel Eorcht's smile radiating from him though her back was turned to him. His face behind her.

You probably know more of her than I, Fallon. I was too young to know her or really remember her. I have never... not once, asked my father about her... nor did I ever Rhún. I've never wanted to know. I think I would like to hear though... from you. Not yet... neh... it's still so, so hard for me... He trailed off, was quiet.

His breathing deep in her hair. Against her.

Fallon whispered, Anything... whenever you wish it. You will love hearing of her... I promise. Ask when you wish, Eorcht.

At Lughnasadh, he answered mildly.

Surprising her.

He went on, Our first handfasted eve together... will you tell me then? That way I can share the happiest moment of my life with the memory. With you an' our child, who might carry her name... telling me about my mother the same night we pledge our lives together.

Fallon kissed his hands holding her.

At Lughnasadh... I will.

If the child is a boy? asked Eorcht with the hint of a tease.

Fallon ignored him and spun about as best she could to face him. She placed a forefinger to his lips mockingly before kissing him.

I carry not a boy, mine love. She is a girl... an' we will name her Ipani.

Rome: Caesius Nasica

Yhenna stood with Dar'hlait inside a palisade comprised of stone and heavy, thick wood, at a joint in the impressive walls taking shape protecting sprawling Banghyyr. It was almost spring but so close to the sea the days were chilly still and the nights oft icy. Freezing rain rather than snow the norm for early spring.

The towers and palisade had been completed though, the gangway that had stretched from one tower to the other (upon which they had stood with Ahbeth weeks earlier) removed since its function was now obsolete. Inside the towers were bowmen armed with long, yew-made bows. Sentinels ever-looking out from there over the empty tract of frozen land to the south of Banghyyr.

The sun was high, directly overhead. The day bright, cold and clear.

It had been a little more than a week since they had first spotted black smoke in the south. Beyond the first massif which led into ranges of mountains all about. The mountainous interior of Gwynedd possessed all manner of mountain ranges, of varying heights and length.

Gwynedd the most mountainous of anywhere in Britain.

When their scouts had confirmed the source of the smoke was a Roman legion erecting a winter-camp east of Banghyyr, Dar'hlait had immediately ordered the walls finished without delay. Forcing Tulic to double the number of laborers as well as begin rotating shifts working day and night to keep the workers fresh. Within two weeks, a fortnight, Tulic and his figurative horde of laborers had finished Banghyyr's outermost walls. Bowmen and guards aplenty were now also stationed at the gates and other palisades, Dar'hlait having since ordered the number of bowmen doubled anew; meaning each tower contained four eagle-eyed sentinels. Dar'hlait had also dispatched pairs of scouts, one on foot to track anyone they came upon in the wilds about Banghyyr and the other mounted so they could speedily bring word of what was discovered.

Romans approach!

Yhenna felt her spine stiffen. The cry come from one of the sentries in a tower close by.

Dar'hlait, his expression immobile and unreadable, said, Should we just kill them an' be done with any charade?

She knew he wasn't serious, but her spine stiffened anew as she cringed.

Yhenna hated bloodshed for the sake of only shortsighted, simple bloodshed and despite her distaste for Roman policy, wanted no part of any such thing.

We are in no position to have to fight a legion, Dar'hlait, much less four... which could easily happen. Let us hear what this Roman has to say.

Yhenna paused, taking a deep breath.

We need to know what we're facing before we act.

Again, Yhenna cringed anew when Dar'hlait snorted, even though she figured he was not serious. Maybe he really was thinking of sending Rome a message.

Dar'hlait said nothing. Staring as he had been resolutely, forward and ahead.

After a terse minute, he raised a gloved hand and brought his arm down in a sweeping gesture, signaling for the gate before them to be opened. A moment later, standing alongside him, Yhenna looked on a group of mounted Romans coming toward Banghyyr. Visible now since the gate was opened. There were four riders, three riding in formation with a single behind, bringing up the rear. Their horses were each thin-legged animals, bedecked in crimson and scarlet. The primary colors of Rome's legions. Dar'hlait whistled and two mounted Firbolg led two other horses to where they stood. She and Dar'hlait mounted then rode out from Banghyyr to meet the Roman delegation. The pair of Firbolg flanking them off either side.

Yhenna had suggested beforehand (just after scouts had first alerted them to the presence of a legion so close to Banghyyr) Dar'hlait and she meet any Romans who came outside Banghyyr's walls-- explaining any advantages they could keep, they needed to. If the legion did plan to attack them, or possibly laying siege, she reasoned it wise any Roman have essentially nothing they could report concerning such things as Banghyyr's layout, or its defenses.

A hundred yards or so from Banghyyr's stout walls Dar'hlait and she halted, their escort coming to a halt as well. Flanking each as they had been. With their archers at their backs, Yhenna relaxed more and more as they waited.

The range of the yew-made longbows their sentinels employed was impressive.

Glancing at him oft as they waited for the oncoming delegation, Yhenna could see Dar'hlait's grim demeanor had not changed whatsoever since they had first been alerted to the nearby presence of what could potentially be hostile forces. Though she feared he might want to do something rash, she knew he would not.

She grinned inwardly at his manner, but more his resolve. Her half-brother led by example, was just; and not whatsoever cowed by Rome.

Dar'hlait sat on his horse, a striking, white stallion that seemed to blend into the wintery scrubland. Yhenna looked away then, studying more the oncoming Romans as they drew closer. Three were very similar in appearance and attire to the troupe she had encountered outside Camulodunum years before. When she had rescued Mynck.

Which meant four of the five were likely auxiliaries or conscripts: Celts or Gauls or Germans.

The last rider though, the one behind, was obviously of higher rank. And a Roman. The only difference from her encounter outside Camulodunum that long ago day was that this Roman was quite obviously not a centurion. He wore a bronze breastplate ridiculously sculpted as if it were a man's chest and abdominal muscles emblazoned with an eagle and clasped at his shoulders was a scarlet cape. The cape hung loosely, draping not just his back, but also his mount's haunch and legs.

Five riders met four a hundred yards or so from Banghyyr's now stout walls. The five halting a respectful distance from them. The Roman upraised his right arm replete with a clenched fist, his elbow crooked so his arm was at an upright, right angle. He opened his fist next, extending them his open palm.

The four scruffy scouts retreated behind, flanking him. Reins in their laps.

I do not speak your tongue, barked the Roman, using Greek to address them. He asked, Do you speak Latin, or Greek?

Yhenna understood him perfectly. She knew the language of the Hellenes fluently, Qlantha having taught her it in the earliest years of her tutelage. The language of the Hellenes, Greeks to Romans (he had told her) was similar to their ancestor's languages since Keltoi peoples were descended from peoples closely related to those who still called Arcadia home. What Rome named Greece. Their ancestry shared, Qlantha had taught her the Hellenes were cousins-of-a-sort. She remembered she had spent hours, awed, as Qlantha educated her about their people's ancestral past, their centuries' long migration from lands further than Gaul, further even than Arcadia. Where they as a people had indeed lived for a long, long time.

You and I can speak in Greek, she said, adding, I will translate.

Yhenna drui, she remembered the language perfectly. Answering the Roman with perfect enunciation though it had been years since she had spoken it.

The Roman eyed her warily. To whom do I speak?-- who leads?

He asked in Greek, and gruffly. Impolitely.

Yhenna suppressed an urge to answer him in like tone, allowing herself to edge her own tone though. To contrast his rudeness, however, she replied as sharp as his rough.

In our land, any seeking to entreat another introduce themselves if we do not know who they are... or what it is they want. Do not forget... you are in our lands, among free peoples. Not your own lands. Not your own people.

Yhenna kept on speaking, translating for Dar'hlait verbatim what had been said. Exactly and precisely as spoken, with emphasis.

The Roman waited for her to finish, regarding each with undisguised contempt in the form of a haughty sneer. His eyes menacing and narrowed.

I am not familiar with barbarian custom... as I am not your barbaric tongue, he replied, continuing, "Yet, druid, I know where we are. My name is Caesius Nasica, Legati of the Legio IX Hispana. To whom am I speaking?"

Yhenna translated.

Dar'hlait spoke. Answer how you see fit, Yhenna. Tell him who I am, who you are... nothing more. Nothing else.

Yhenna noted he kept his tone impartial. He like stone, unyielding. She nodded.

He is Dar'hlait, King of the Uilg. I am Yhenna, his adviser... and his friend. And yes, Legati, I am ban'drui.

Yhenna spoke in Latin now. She did not know the language as well as she did Greek, but she was fluent. Wanting to make a point with this Roman he was not dealing with an uneducated female.

She had also not concealed her triskele around her neck-- feeling Caesius Nasica's eyes (as well as those of his men) upon it.

As soon as she confirmed herself a druid, too, a sneer had twisted the Roman's lips.

"Druids, " spat the Roman legati.

He paused and stared at Yhenna, then looked away from her and focused his gaze on Dar'hlait. Who stared right back at him.

When Caesius Nasica next spoke his timbre was even, without any trace of the sneer his lips wore.

Now that we are finished with introductions, your plans in this place?

Blood pounded in her temples. The audacity of these people and their empire, Yhenna cursed inwardly. As if either she or Dar'hlait would spill their intentions at their Roman sandals. Boots in this instance, since it was cold and frozen.

Was it possible this general and his legion planned to siege Banghyyr? For what other reason had they encamped so close?-- east and south?

Yhenna translated his words for Dar'hlait.

He is arrogant, neh? Dar'hlait quipped when she finished. This general's legion can do us no harm. If another legion were to join we will know of it long before they could gets here. Our scouts' have eyes everywhere in Gwynedd now, and we have nothing at all to fear from his one legion. Tell him this: we are encamped for the winter. Tell him nothing more.

Yhenna translated what he instructed. Speaking Greek.

I have scouts and outposts everywhere in Snowdonia, the Roman legati told her, using Greek again. I will know if you lie or speak truth, barbarian. Rome's interests are not for your city, currently... so I recommend ensuring circumstances remain so.

She answered, this time without translating Caesius Nasica's words for Dar'hlait.

What are Rome's interests currently, Legati?

Caesius Nasica smirked, another thin sneer twisting into a derisive grin.

He answered, "Rome seeks to bring civilization an' culture to barbarians... wheresoever we encounter. Rome brings civilization to barbarian tribes. Remember, druid, what has passed here this day between you and I. If our emperor learns you deceive there will be no mercy you from our legions."

Legati Caesius Nasica spun his mount about and left then unceremoniously, his escort turning just as quick with him. Yhenna watching them go into the whiteness with narrowed gaze. As she stared after the back of the retreating Roman she relayed Dar'hlait the remainder of the parley, again verbatim. What she and the Roman general had said. Had threatened.

Dar'hlait shrugged, sitting on his mount. Impassively and proud.

Yhenna pulled her hood up and turned back to again watch the Roman and his outriders as they moved away. Each becoming smaller and smaller as distance swallowed them up. When they were tiny specks of black and red contrasted with the white and gray of the frozen land, Dar'hlait reined his mount and spun about.

She followed, as did their two escorts. Not another word shred between any of them.

*****

Reining his mount to a slow walk, Caesius Nasica shifted in his saddle. Relieving stiffness in both his legs. He leaned forward a little, patting his horse's neck.

The sun was more than halfway across the sky (hours after midday) yet here, in the cold snowy, icy highlands, there was little respite from cold. Day or night.

Caesius Nasica turned to one of the Gauls with him. Scouts and patrols are detailed?-- prepared to circuit Snowdonia?

Yes, Legati, the Gaul answered.

Snowdonia, thought Caesius Nasica, soon to be part of Britannia Prima.

Good. I want daily reports compiled and sent weekly to me at Londinium. When the empire's business is finished, I'll return. Or another legati will. Pay specific heed to the transient savages on the shore. Banghyyr they name it. Caratacus' forces are another priority. The savage himself is in chains, in Rome... but his remaining in the highlands of Snowdonia are a threat.

Yes, Legati.

The trio had reached their camp. They dismounted inside and two others, Gauls, came to retrieve their horses. Three of his escort went with them, leaving Caesius Nasica and the Gaul he had given instructions alone together.

Remind me your name, the legati said.

Secumis.

Caesius Nasica sneered. Secumis... I will detail your instructions with the Twentieth's praefectus. Coordinate appropriately. I want no surprises when I return here from Wroxeter. I expect a garrison.

The legion's praefectus is in Gloucester, Legati, Secumis said.

Caesius Nasica grunted. Dispatch messengers then with summons. I'll detail my orders with the tribunes here. They can relay my orders. Understood?

Yes, Legati.

Secumis saluted and left. Caesius Nasica walked briskly to a large tent. Within there a lit brazier warmed the interior, but nowhere near comfortably enough. Sitting heavily on a bench near a cold hearth he lit the prepared wood. Minutes later there was a hot fire supplementing the brazier.

There was a light rap followed by, Legati?

Come, Caesius Nasica called.

Two tribunes came within, each wearing a banded metal cuirass with a scarlet cape pinned to their shoulders. Their bristling helmets tucked under arm.

Caesius Nasica appraised the pair. They were equestrian class, former centurions who had distinguished themselves in battle and administration. He did not know either of them. Their names, or their personal accolades.

When the legion's praefectus arrives I want you to detail for him the instructions I've given the Twentieth's auxiliaries. The Gaul, Secumis, is now coordinating my orders. Ensure Secumis meets with the praefectus tomorrow.

One of the Tribunes saluted. Yes, Legati.

The other saluting as well.

Go, Caesius Nasica said, waving them away. As the two tribunes turned, dismissed, he asked of their backs, Where are the legion's other tribunes?

The one who had not yet spoken turned back formally.

Gloucester, Legati

Of course, where is the legion's praefectus, Caesius Nasica thought. Damning anew, inwardly, the split of the XX Valeria Victrix.

The split was necessary however so the two locales, Wroxeter and Gloucester, could be sufficiently reinforced before spring.

Nevertheless, the split caused unnecessary complications. Especially considering this was not even his legion.

His, the Hispana, quartered further north. In Brigantes' tribelands.

One of you go on from here tonight. To Gloucester. I want the other tribunes all informed. There can be no deviance... I want the reports I ordered. Timely.

Yes, Legati, confirmed both tribunes simultaneously. Each saluting.

Dismissed, Caesius Nasica said, watching the pair leave.

He warmed his hands, turning back to his fire. He would return to Londinium in the morning, the heart of Britannia Prima. Not the cold frontier of Snowdonia. What the barbarians named Gwynedd.

Legati Caesius Nasica despised Britain, Snowdonia and its mountains and cold more than any other place. Even Alban was preferable, which was odd considering the weather there in the north. But the terrain was much different.

Perhaps it is because there is my legion, he thought.

Caesius Nasica's thoughts turned to why he was there in Snowdonia. Caratacus' revolt was quelled, the agitator in chains and given over to Britannia's governor, but pockets of Silures and Ordovices loyal him resisted. The legati of the XX Valeria Victrix killed only a week earlier in one of the incessant raids spurred on by those pockets of resistance.

And now there were these refugees near the druid's stronghold. The isle.

Caesius Nasica snorted.

The sooner the remnants bands of Caratacus' savages were eliminated or otherwise neutralized, the better. Once the central and southern portions of Snowdonia were brought into the fold, the empire could then turn its sole attention to the only remaining threat in the whole west of Britain. The savages squatting outside Banghyyr.

Caesius Nasica spat into his fire, watching it sizzle.

In Londinium he would meet personally, for the first time, one handpicked by the emperor himself to govern Britain; Britannia Prima, and soon Snowdonia. Which would thereafter become part of Britannia Prima. The sudden death of Governor Publius Ostorius Scapula (only a few weeks ago); as well as the unfortunate death of the XX Valerie Victrix's legati, what had necessitated him coming in the first place. Leaving his legion under the command of his Broad Band Tribune. Outside Lindum.

Caesius Nasica wondered about this new governor Claudius Caesar had appointed. Aulus Didius Gallus. It was said he was old, old especially for the honor of a proconsulate in a province with as much possibility as Britannia Prima.

Would this new governor meddle? Or would he compliment?

The conquest of Britain was proceeding admirably, and on schedule. If this new governor were not a fool, Snowdonia would be subjugated by winter the following year. With only guerrilla resistance now that Caratacus was in chains and due execution before the senate and emperor; and the small matter of another barbarian tribe at Banghyyr, the XX Valeria Victrix and his own IX Hispana could easily finish the campaign the coming spring and summer.

Would this new governor name him Legatus Augusti?-- grant him also command of the XX Valerie Victrix? If he did Snowdonia would be Rome's before next year's winter.

Rome: Gaius Suetonius Paullinus

Caesius Nasica opened his eyes, unsure how long he had slept. He was lying on a slab of marble within a bathhouse, the air within heavy with humidity. Scented with oils.

He must have fallen asleep during the massage following his bath.

Legati Caesius Nasica, I presume?

There a man before him, naked save his loins wrapped with a small-toga. He spindly, thin and old, the underneath of his arms as saggy as his belly where was an unsightly paunch. His eyes were keen however, betraying intelligence and perception.

I am he. You must be our illustrious Proconsul, Aulus Didius Gallus.

The old man nodded, wearing no other expression as he sat on another slab of marble close by.

Correct, Legati.

Caesius Nasica sat up. He naked unlike the newly appointed governor; nakedness in a bathhouse, however, nothing unusual.

Neither man embarrassed or otherwise inclined to really notice.

Nor was it strange or unusual for politics or administration to be the topic of conversation in such an informal setting.

Your toga? asked a slave, appearing from the steam.

Caesius Nasica stood, letting the slave wrap his lower self.

"I bring word