Sauromachy: An Epic of the Fall of Empires

By L.A. Henneke

"Let me recall now the destinies of she who caused the world to burn..."

The year is 450, and the ancient world teeters on the verge of collapse. Dragons stir, nations gather, and Attila the Hun prepares for his greatest campaign, goaded by a cruel battle-god, but it is Honoria, sister to the Western Roman emperor, who is blamed for Antiquity's last great war.

Exiled from the opulence of her youth, she is thrust into a world that is just as weird and wonderful as it is violent, and it is among this violence that she finds her purpose. To redeem her honor and set right the turmoil of her age, Honoria resolves to campaign far and wide across the earth with a army of beasts older even than the Olympian gods her Roman predecessors worshiped: a host of dinosaurs.

Can her heroism mend the world's hurts, or will her wars only beget further wars? Are we doomed to repeat without end the sins of our ancestors?

**This book contains extended sequences of epic fantasy violence. There are also sparse references to historic and mythological instances of sexual acts/violence, but no depictions thereof.**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9781304424211

Book preview

L.A. Henneke

Sauromachy: An Epic of the Fall of Empires

Copyright © 2024 by L.A. Henneke

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This book is a work of fiction. Its references to historic figures and events are deliberate, though they are reinterpreted for the sake of creating a narrative that blends history, myth, and fiction. All other characters, conversations, and occasions are to be treated as from the imagination of the author.

The coin on the cover is taken from an image belonging to the Classical Numismatic Group (CNG) and is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. As such, the image may be freely used without the explicit approval or endorsement of the copyright owner so long as they are credited. CNG is wholly unaffiliated with the creation of Sauromachy.

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-304-42421-1

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

Contents

1. Maps

2. Prologus: Saturn’s End

3. Caput I: Daughter of Ravenna

4. Caput II: The Demands of the Huns

5. Caput III: A Dragon Stirs

6. Caput IV: Herald of Strife

7. Interludium: Hannibal’s Oath

8. Caput V: Into Deep Domains

9. Caput VI: Songs Under Starlight

10. VII: Memories of Old Phaeacia

11. Caput VIII: The Host of Dinosaurs

12. Interludium: Crossing the Alps

13. Caput IX: Siege of Europe

14. Caput X: Calamities

15. Caput XI: Fire and Slaughter

16. Caput XII: Aftermath

17. Interludium: Friendship Sundered

18. Caput XIII: Gold Tor

19. Caput XIV: Anadavara’s Ring

20. Caput XV: The Eastern Front

21. Caput XVI: Vicar of Christ

22. Interludium: Libyssa

23. XVII: Beyond the North Wind

24. XVIII: Love and War

25. Caput XIX: Lord of the Huns

26. XX: In His Absence

27. Interludium: The Doom of Carthage

28. Caput XXI: The Legacy of Empires

29. Caput XXII: Razing Hell

30. Caput XXIII: Fall of the West

31. Caput XXIV: Exodus

32. Epilogus: The Hut

33. Glossary

34. From the Author

About the Author

1

Maps

Ecumene, referred to as Midjungards by the Goths, c. 450.

The Italian peninsula and neighboring lands c. 450.

Attila’s invasion into Gaul c. 451, with his trail and that of his sons marked out.

The region of Karoputaru, Saturn’s Garden, otherwise known as Svartálfaheimr, inhabited by the Swart Elf descendants of Old Phaeacia.

2

Prologus: Saturn’s End

Of the very eldest of days, when the world was new and Titans ruled the earth, few songs are sung, and fewer tales are told. Our epoch was forged in fire and blood, the valleys carved out by calamities, mountains laid upon the slain, and nearly none dare to speak of those horrors, of the desolation that undid the Golden Age and ushered in the ages of Silver and thereafter Bronze.

At that time, an old Triceratops was browsing idly among the greenery. A pair of huge brow horns longer than keratinous spears rustled the leaves hanging overhead while his sharp beak sifted through half-starved shrubs and ferns, pulling out a choice morsel, and all around him rang the sounds of the forest. Birds chirped in the canopy above, nestled among boughs of ginkgo, magnolia, and dogwood. He ignored their music just as they ignored the ash that lingered about them. Food was a greater concern, though the dining here had already been tainted, the soft melody of forest sounds diluted by the clamor of distant struggles that threatened to overwhelm the land. Already the animals of this country had migrated once to avoid the war-waging of Powers they had nothing to do with, but even now their fate- and the fate of all creatures across the wide world- was about to be decided. The world had long been sick; she would now be laid to waste wholly and without remorse.

The Golden Age of the world, the time of the Titans, had come to its bitter end. Red ran the rivers, and smoke billowed in the place of clouds. Patches of greenery like those that nourished the Triceratops were becoming all the rarer, for once-verdant fields had become grey with the ash that tumbled down mountains like avalanches, and the fiery glow of distant conflagrations lit up the darkening skies. The world was drowned in ash and blood.

Amid those woodlands already kissed by fuming blasts, the old Triceratops looked with somber eyes to the peak that pierced the horizon’s edge, far beyond the towering trunks of withered monkey puzzles that threatened to obscure the view. Time and again it lit up, like a flickering torch deep in the abyss. The citadel that stood upon the peak of the Titans had been utterly decimated, laid to waste. Its iron gates were sundered, walls of adamant crumbled into dust. Battlements teetered where they stood, heaps of monsters and chthonic thralls laid about them, butchered and mangled in droves. The gods trounced upon their corpses as they went, singing songs of slaughter, jubilating in their barbarism.

In this way did the rebellion of the gods come to its climax. To the Hellenes, the ringleader of these woes was Zeus. To the Egyptians, he was Amun, and the Etruscans called him Tinia. The Romans knew him as Jupiter for many ages, and to the Swart Elf exiles from Old Phaeacia he was known as Dewo the Thunderer, Arana’s Bane, Monster-Hewer, the careless steward of the cosmos.

So many peoples sung of the primeval war waged between the houses of high Powers who fancied themselves as gods and threw titles of divinity upon themselves, but few of them ever recalled the devastation marshaled by such strifes, and fewer still recalled the moment that Karoputaru was forged in defiance of Jupiter, in defiance of his violence. It was the Weŝi, the Swart Elves of Old Phaeacia, svartálfar in the tongue of the Norsemen, that came closest to the mark.

Of the march of Jupiter to the stronghold of Saturn, little is remembered in our time, but at last the might of the upstart Olympians had overwhelmed the mountain, and the din of Promethean trumpets filled the sky. All the land would soon be ablaze with the fire of the gods. Countless thousands strove with each other on the fields beyond, families turned against each other in the clash between Olympians and Titans. The Cyclopes brought their fiery engines to bear against their rivals, the Hecatoncheires leveled mountains in their wake, and monsters terrible beyond imagining cried out in hideous, gurgling shouts.

Upon the peak of the rubble, the ruin of Badgaldingir, a lone figure stood. He was clothed in a simple tunic, his radiant armor thrown in a heap upon the ground, and in his hand he wielded a sickle as old as the earth itself, forged from its primeval bones. Upon his head sat the horned crown of Saturn, king of the Titans, progenitor to Olympus. For a companion, he had only a single gold basin, for the rest of his kin had already been bested and hauled away in immortal shackles. Here Saturn deigned to make a final stand against his traitorous son, and here the Golden Age of the world would come to its cataclysmic end, all for ignoble means.

A blast of lightning illuminated the entirety of the battlefield. A thunderclap followed in its wake, and Jupiter appeared from the blast before his father, prepared to deal the final blow and end the reign of the Titans for eternity. His hair fell in thick brown locks, his beard oiled and curled. He wore a linen chiton that was elegant in its simplicity, and it left his right pectoral exposed. His eyes blazed with flashes of lightning and, when he spoke, the very mountains trembled at the tremors of his voice. On this day shall my lordship be made complete and your empire reduced to naught. You fight now in futility.

Does this bloodshed please you, my son? Saturn said. Do you rejoice to see the world sick as this war has made it? When I am overthrown, will you continue to blot out the life that exists on this dying planet? To rejoice in the devastation your revolution has caused?

The forms that call this realm home mean little to the Powers of Olympus, Jupiter answered. Their loss means nothing save the downfall of your dominion, and that is a sacrifice I can accept. All that call this rock home shall be obliterated, and other beings will rule in their stead. Has that not always been the way of the world? Out with the old, and in with the new. Do not try to guilt me out of my set path, for you have also set brothers against each other. You are no better than I am, for you usurped Uranus just as I shall usurp you, and in this age it is the mighty who are fit to rule.

Ah. I have seen the folly of my ways too late. By cruelty and cunning, I overmatched your grandfather, and now you’ve come to return the favor. Are all regimes born by blood fated to fall the same way? I declare now that this is the truth, that all empires are born to die, as is just. But I am not yet finished, for I’ve one last act to carry out. It’s not right that those who dwell among us should bear the punishment for my sins. We’ve made for poor stewards of this world.

I care not for stewardship. I’ve come to claim what shall be mine by right of conquest. Vengeance, too. At long last, the shame you brought upon my siblings will be avenged. Though I am the youngest, it was I who freed them from your grasp, and it is I who shall deal the deathly blow.

Yet Saturn still had one final act of defiance to make. With his sickle, the Titan carved a gash across his unarmored gut, and his shimmering blood was poured into the golden basin he had set before him. He then procured a single object that appeared like a purple gem, within which a radiant white fire flickered. It was no larger than the palm of his hand, yet its pull nearly caused his divine grip to collapse in on itself. The spawn of the great tree that binds all worlds together- nothing short of this Seed of Creation itself could achieve the work Saturn hoped to accomplish. He let it fall into the blood, and it seemed to boil upon impact.

Crying aloud, he spoke, and the very bones of the earth sang in response. From the deprivation of my own power shall come forth a new realm, a haven wherein the life that was before might continue to linger on, even as my son unravels ages of hard labor on my part. With words older than this world I have forged a new one so that the beasts I took delight in may yet live on, fueled by waters of life which may nourish the land for all time. There they may thrive beyond the inhabited world, as may all who come to seek refuge in their domain.

A tumultuous earthquake shook the land. Lighting flashed sporadically throughout the battlefield, and all those on the fields below ceased their bloodshed. A luminous blue ray rose from the blood, and an image appeared in its light, the likeness of a majestic jungle untainted by the horrors of the Titanomachy. In this way was Karoputaru created, a new branch added to boughs of the World Tree, and it was here that Saturn’s precious dinosaurs and other ancient beasts would thrive well after the hour of their extinction.

Even from the peak of the mountain, lights could be seen appearing here and there across the landscape. That old Triceratops who watched the battle from afar saw one such gate through the cosmos, and he ran toward it. Other creatures joined him in this escape from calamity, following his exodus in vast throngs: Tyrannosaurus, Edmontosaurus, Denversaurus, Anzu… Birds and pterosaurs flushed from the forest canopy as a torrent. Narrow-snouted crocodiles and otter-like marsupials darted along, hoping they would not be trampled by the giants that hurried beside them. So many creatures great and small followed the same path as the horned beast who led the charge. They ran without pause toward the lights and through them, and when they passed through they could no longer be seen. Uncounted animals were already gone in a matter of moments, whisked to the far reaches of the World Tree, far from the grasp of Jupiter, far from the waves of his devastation.

Jupiter saw his father’s work unfold, and he cried out. What have you done? What twisted words have you conjured to graft this bough to the cosmos? What countless horrors I shall inflict upon you, chained and shackled in Tartarus! You will lie in uncounted torment for long ages, bare and exposed to the eternal fire of my judgment.

But Saturn simply laughed. Where my pets have gone, you can never reach. My wards shall bar you from the land I have created, a refuge that shall last through the ages. No matter how far your dominion spreads, no matter how mighty you become, there will always be those who resist you. We have created a world of empires, but my land shall in time become a refuge for those who’ve refused imperialism’s lure. In time, I hope, they shall learn to lead better lives than their predecessors. Though they will not have our power, they will be better than us and learn not to repeat without end the cycle I’ve begun.

Jupiter looked upon his father with scorn. This creation of yours hardly matters. The ceaseless cycle of death and rebirth shall continue ever onward. Kingdoms will fall, empires will take their place and all your interloping shall never break the wheel of fate. I shall accept this victory, no matter how long your refuge may taunt me.

It was then that Jupiter revealed his greatest thunderbolt and unleashed the wrath of the heavens upon the earth. Above the mountains in the far distance, a light blazed brighter than the sun, and storms cried out in its wake. The sheen of its rays was blinding, and even Saturn himself was forced to shield his eyes from the assault. The moisture in his skin was boiled away by an immeasurable heat, and it fled his body in vapors. He fell to the ground, weak and weathered, a pitiful wretch writhing in the place of a god. The sky wailed as the bolt came thundering down, and the earth itself groaned beneath the impact. A sea of ash and fire blew over the battlefield, and all those who labored in war beneath the summit of Badgaldingir were burnt to ashes.

Saturn struggled to stand and, when at last his gaze went upward, he saw the next phase of devastation marshaled by the impact of his son’s thunderbolts. A great wave stirred, crashing over the mountain and drowning all the earth in a great deluge. Yet as the wall of water came upon him, the world itself seemed to give way for a moment. Land and sky and sea broke apart to reveal a vast abyss beyond, the darkness of the Void broken up by faint hues of blue and purple, and the twinkling lights of distant stars.

This astral void flickered with mirrored images of past, present, and future. Planets crashed against each other before Saturn’s stunned gaze, armies went to war with each other, regimes rose and empires fell. Humankind sailed across the seas and dared to reach up into the heavens themselves, all while fiery clouds rained down upon their cities. A thousand times a thousand ages whizzed by in their nauseating display, faster than arrows, flashing by quicker than blinks, and Saturn’s head reeled.

Ignoring blasts of fire and floodwater alike, Jupiter cared not for his father’s pain. One thing, however, did trouble him. Among the visions of woes to come, one seemed to cause Saturn to laugh even even as his body writhed and drums beat at his head. Jupiter knew only that his father saw a glimpse of a city seated on a remote island, but he could discern neither its meaning nor why it offered the Titan some small comfort in those final moments.

In the end, however, it did not matter overmuch. Saturn was obliterated by a blast that had wholly consumed his domain, his essence borne away to abide in the darkest depths of the Netherworld for uncounted ages. Never again would he feel the sun’s warm embrace, yet he did not care. He embraced his judgment with arms wide open, clinging fast to the hope that future generations might learn not to pursue the same follies he had.

So ended the Golden Age of the world. The epoch of Titans was reduced to ash, and the regime of Olympus began. Many ages passed during the tenure of the Olympian Powers, and many empires rose and fell. Cults were conceived only to fade into obscurity centuries later as chaff in the wind. Peoples came and went. Jupiter observed it all, though this is not his story, for just as Jupiter endured, so too did the refuge created by his father, and all the creatures that dwelt therein. In time, the animals of Karoputaru would return again to the Inhabited World, to Ecumene, and they would bind themselves to the fate of Antiquity’s empires in the years when Attila raved and Rome faltered.

And the gods observed it all, wondering if humankind was bound to the same cycle of bloody upsets they were.

3

Caput I: Daughter of Ravenna

The world would once more be drowned in ash and blood. For now, however, the sea continued to churn as it always had,ageless and uncaring, oblivious to the cares of empires and those that ran them. Chaos would come, doom would reign for a season, yet still the tide swept in and out without rest. The world carried on, proudly bearing her scars so that future generations could look upon them and learn of the many pains she had suffered and of the equally many triumphs she had won.

Among that turbulent frothing of the tides, a single winged reptile perched upon pillars of limestone. Foaming waves crashed against stony crags, sending up their blasts of salty seawater. The creature watched the waves stir in their rage for a moment, but he was quickly distracted by his own hunger. The Tethydraco ran his long beak through the fuzzy coat covering his body, and from among the fibers he plucked out a single bug, gulping the thing down. He then stretched his neck out, gazing across the pristine sea at the sunlit skies. Bands of white clouds were strewn across the firmament, and all was calm.

At last, the Tethydraco took to the wing, using the combined might of all four limbs to launch himself from the limestone crag that had long been his perch. He went above the waves, basking in the warmth of the sun as his wings, some five meters from tip to tip, carried him on. Over crystal clear waters he soared, stopping only to dive into the sea and snatch up a single herring from among the shimmering bait balls that congregated beneath the surface.

In the murky depths below, a monster stirred, its gaze focused on the diving pterosaur. A gaping maw opened wide as the beast sped without effort through the azure gloom, its tail undulating side-to-side, pushing it ever through the depths toward its target. Yet the Tethydraco saw it stirring far below. In a flash, he clutched his beak around the flanks of a herring before thrusting his body up with great force. Breaking the surface of the water, he took off into open air as a great white shark breached the waves, clamping its huge jaws down upon thin air.

Free from this menace, the Tethydraco resumed his continuous journey across the sea. Riding the wind and the waves, he soared far and wide, cruising until he came upon a lone ship bobbing along with the waves. He perched upon its mast and spread out his wings in mockery of its lateen sail, but the sailors seemed not to notice him straight away. Fifty oars pushed both the ship and pterosaur along from that point on until once more the sight of land came into view. Italy was just up ahead.

From his perch, the Tethydraco could see the harbor of Classis, where dozens of ships floated harmlessly beside the piers. A city rose up behind it, and he could see swamps and pine-groves further inland. Here rose Ravenna, the seat of power in these latter days of the Western Roman Empire, and all was not well in this place.

A decadent king sat upon the imperial throne while his sister conspired against him. Dragons woke and beasts lost to time immemorial once again prowled the wastes of the wide world. Attila, the king of the Huns and Scourge of the Nations, stirred to claim what power remained in Europe, and terrible powers from ages forgotten devised their own dark plots. It was the four hundred and fiftieth year of the Christian Era, the last great war of Antiquity nearly begun. Here is where this tale begins.

So let me recall now the destinies of she who caused the world to burn, yet to it offered quenching waters to soothe its pain. Exiled from Ravenna’s heights, by long labors she traversed the earth’s wide expanses until she saw a Land of Dinosaurs older than human empires and thenceforth went to contest the Scourge of the Nations, met him in hateful contest and laid siege to citadels beneath the earth, settling there the strifes of our age. Relate, my Muse, to posterity the causes of our pain, and let her legacy live on. She, though condemned in life as an exile, may gain her well-deserved respect in a future epoch.

Long had she been borne by ship, rocking with the ebb and flow of the sea even as she strove in vain to find some rest or comfort upon the water. Yet her maritime turmoils would soon be put to rest, for she awoke from her midday nap to the sound of the captain’s voice ringing in her ears as he gently tapped her into consciousness.

Up with you, Honoria! We’ve pulled into Classis, and I do not think your brother will be wanting to wait on you for long now that we’ve reached port.

Ah, Honoria groaned, rubbing dried rheum from her eyes as she stirred. I’ll be mighty glad indeed to set foot on solid ground again.

Come now, the captain said, it’s hardly like your accommodations were that dreadful, now were they?

Hardly, Hypatius, she answered, but I’ve had enough of the constant swaying back-and-forth for the time being. I don’t mean any offense, of course, but I’ve got no desire to set sail again for a good long while.

Hypatius nodded. Well, I won’t keep you lingering about here then. Surely the Ravennans will all be anxious to see your face out and about again.

Then you’re more confident about that than I am, Honoria said, rising to her feet and bumping her head on a ceiling that had been built much too low. She cursed under her breath, rubbing her brow as she gathered what few things she had with her, some spices and perfumes and a few other oddities and precious objects. Then, she climbed up from below deck, and as she stepped into the light of the sun, she saw several marines thronging about the pterosaur that had perched upon their ship while she rested, poking and prodding at him with barbed hooks and spears.

Get going now! one of the men called. "We don’t want you poking around our amphorae."

The sea’s bounty should be harvest enough for you, said another. Begone!

But the animal did not heed them, flapping his wings in a show of aggression, and he shrieked and squawked and honked all sorts of awful sounds. The sailors kept at their prodding, though they feared to venture too close to that long beak which snapped again and again at the air in self-defense. The prospect of losing an eye or a finger to that mouth seemed all too likely.

And what is this? Honoria said, watching the clamor. There’s a beast unlike any seabird I’ve seen on our voyage. It’s greater than any gannet or pelican, and it’s put the fear of God into the gulls and terns and shearwaters hovering about.

I’ve no idea what this blasted thing is,Hypatius said. It arrived while you were still resting, and no one among us has been able to drive it away.

Honoria’s eyes were drawn to the Tethydraco’s deep brown irises. Long and hard she stared at the animal, and in time his gaze was drawn to hers, ignoring the sailors who kept brandishing their spears. For a time he looked at her, watching closely, and he seemed to calm. Tense pterosaurian muscles relaxed, his cries went silent, and at once the Tethydraco hurled himself once more into the air, soaring off into wilds unknown.

The men watched in awe as the pterosaur’s temper cooled, seemingly at Honoria’s presence, before it vanished from their eyes. But as they stood and gaped, the woman herself disembarked the dromon that had borne her all the way from Constantinople. Then she stopped in her tracks, looking around at the port and the city that had long been her home, her chief source of comfort in the turbulence of this age.

These were days of change for the world. The growing might of the Huns’ empire had decades earlier compelled thousands of Goths to try their hand at settling beyond the Danube and within the Eastern Roman Empire. Emperor Valens had allowed this, but the dishonesty of local commanders and other hardships manifold urged migrating Goths to revolt and win a decisive victory against the Romans who had mistreated them. The stage had been set at last, and countless other nations continued to settle the empires of East and West. In a matter of decades, the once-mighty Rome had been stripped of her holdings in Britannia, Africa, Hispania, and large swaths of Gaul. Even the heights of Rome herself could not be counted as invulnerable, a lesson sorely learned but four decades earlier when Alaric came and sacked it. Rome no longer wielded the might possessed by her ancient rulers, hardly a recent realization for those who still lived in Italy, but always with each passing decade did this reality become more apparent.

It was to an Italy past her prime that Honoria returned, stepping foot in Ravenna’s port at marshy Classis. She took one look back at the vessel which bore her from well-walled Constantinople, its lateen sails rippling in the gushing wind as crewmen worked hard at the rigging. Oh, how good it felt to see her city again! She remembered all the sights: the great houses, the arched gates and the paved courts, the bubbling fountains and folk hustling to-and-fro.

There by the docks she watched and waited for the coming of her brother, and dressed up for the occasion she was, a single belt wrapped around her ankle-length dalmatica-tunic, dyed with regal hues of purple and gold, and a palla-mantle hung loosely from her shoulders. Wearing a regal diadem, the light of her face shone in the rising sun, or so it seemed to many of those admirers who passed her way, and though the palla modestly concealed her figure from unwanted eyes, ever they watched her from afar as if Venus Victrix herself walked in Honoria’s place.

Then he came, Valentinian followed in turn by a royal entourage, a youthful smile wide across his face. Honoria had heard him call her out even amid the clamor of laborers and the harsh cawing of gulls. He too wore the attire of one who held his imperial rank, though he lacked the cunning and the ambition worthy of one bearing such prominence. A ceremonial breastplate, set over an intricately-woven wide-sleeved tunic, could only conceal so much. Honoria had made no effort to keep her contempt of him a secret. She was sent away from Ravenna in the first place on account of scheming with Eugenius against him, caught in bed with her chamberlain and co-conspirator, who was now thoroughly out of the picture, slain as recompense for her misdeeds.

Her contempt for Valentinian was conceived at an early age. The memories of her childhood in the imperial palace were seared in her mind, and she remembered well the time when their mother served as emperor-regent on behalf of young Valentinian.

The boy’s too slow, Placidia would say in hushed tones to her attendants, but Honoria heard her voice echo through those palatial halls. He won’t be able to handle the pressures of politics.

But her attendants would try to soothe her worries. Not at all. He’ll grow into the role, just you see. He’s got a good example in you and in the fine men of the court.

But Placidia shook her head. If only Honoria had been born a man. She’s got the cunning for the job. But she cannot be properly named an emperor. Rome would be shamed by her lordship.

Throughout the course of her youth, Honoria dreamed often of greatness, though she would not yet attain it. Perhaps she could rule another land, she wondered at times. On other occasions, she would watch the soldiers parading through Ravenna’s splendid streets, glad in coats of mail and armor forged like shimmering scales. The steel of their blades gleamed in the light of the sun, and Honoria often wondered if she could win glory for herself.

So she took lessons and trained in the use of arms and weapons. When she was of enlisting age, however, she stood no chance of joining any armed contingents. Honoria more than surpassed the physical requirements laid on recruits of her time. Her limbs were well-toned from years spent secretly training, her head high enough off the ground to stand proud among any line of armed spearmen, her legs long enough to carry her swiftly through fields of clamor and slaughter, but such qualifications would not avail her in the eyes of her Roman peers. So again was she condemned to, for a time, idle in the shadow of others, the daughter of an imperial family compelled by circumstance to waste years watching everyone else around her.

Those memories left their mark on Honoria. Truly she thought it would have been better if her brother had been named emperor during the days of Trajan or Hadrian, when Roman supremacy was unchallenged. At least then he could indulge his pursuits and so in hypocrisy call his sister meretrix, a harlot, without the pressures of holding together an empire wounded and weary. In this day and age, however, the stakes were simply too high.

So Honoria thought even now as Valentinian approached her with an unexpected hug, and she grimaced as he embraced her and spoke. Look who’s come at last from well-walled Constantinople. I trust that Theodosius treated you well in the confines of his court.

Yes, he did. And the city itself is truly something to behold. Every time I visit it, I am stunned again. The walls are really quite something.

Yes, very much so.

The two stood there silently for a few brief, awkward seconds. They had been estranged as a result of the scandal that sent Honoria off to Constantinople, and she was unsure even now as to how her brother would accept her return.

Finally, she spoke, nearly stammering as she did so. Now listen. About that evening with Eugenius-

It is done, he said.

Done?

Completely done. Just don’t make any more trouble as you did earlier. I don’t want any more strife between us two. I want a sister, not a heated rivalry. Can we agree to move on and lay this ancient feud to rest?

Yes. I’d very much like that.

Despite her contempt, a portion of her heart meant what she had said. A part of her wondered if she had been too harsh on her younger brother. In either case, she knew that all her past attempts at attaining glory or prestige had only resulted in her shame, shipped off to Constantinople while a thousand onlookers watched with scorn. A life ruled by shame could hardly be worth pursuing. She would be better than that., and so she returned his embrace amid the raucous cries of gulls swooping overhead. Honoria and Valentinian had last parted on bitter terms, yet for a brief moment indeed she wondered if perhaps she truly was loved, not caught up in politics or manipulative schemes, but accepted asimply as a sister, and her spirit delighted in that. So in that moment was a heart hardened like stone made soft.

Turning to face his entourage, Valentinian spoke again. Leave me to walk with my sister alone.

Valentinian led his sister from that place onto the walls of Ravenna proper, down which they proceeded to walk as their wandering eyes peered out upon the lands around the city. A swampy expanse stretched outward, and beyond it were rich farmlands. Along the banks sat moss-grown mounds. Reeds hissed as the morning breeze brushed against them, and in this place the smell of nearby pines gave way to the salty spray of the sea. As they looked out on all this, Honoria asked her brother how running Rome had gone in her absence, and so he turned and answered her.

Management of this far-founded empire’s been well enough so far, though Attila has not made things easy. Forgetting his past campaigns against the East, he seems interested in meddling with Gaul and the affairs of the valiant Visigoths. I’ve no love for the Goths, but allies of ours lie between them and the Huns. Yet our friendship with Attila is still hale, and I do not know how to stop this without hurting our relations.

Honoria rested up against the parapets. You want to ensure all parties are satisfied no matter how much they bicker, that a fight between them might not be triggered and we be pulled into such a violent mess. Such resolutions end more happily for Ravenna.

As long as Constantinople does not think me a turncoat and Attila keeps his eyes away from our lands, I will count myself satisfied.

So how do you plan to do that?

I do not know. I’ve been asking myself that question a while now: how I should achieve this end? But I have no answer that would offer justice.

But Attila’s eastern campaign is good and finished, Honoria answered. The Huns have settled in Pannonia as per their agreement with Aetius, and their sights seem more set against the Visigoths and Franks than the Romans. Perhaps things will be well so long as you leave those lands to tend to themselves. Rome no longer has the might or authority to bend the nations to her will, so perhaps we ought to leave them to their own affairs. We’re not the masters of the world anymore, and we should administer with that in mind.

Your mind is clear, so you know what is just, but do you want to know what’s truly unjust?

All right, brother, Honoria sighed. Have at me then. What’s the great injustice of our time?

The fact that you are thirty-one years of age and still unmarried.

Honoria rolled her eyes, knowing in all likelihood that he had mentioned these things solely so they could invoke the word justice and he would swoop in with such remarks. But she did not voice her irritation immediately. Well it was you that committed me to celibacy, all-mighty emperor.

And that there’s a crime that I must amend, he answered, stroking his clean-shaven chin as if he was deep in thought. In fact, I think I may have figured out who’d make a great match for you: that senator Bassus Herculanus. He’s of good character, and he’s got the loveliest family. Not to mention you can have your fun with him without getting into any further trouble.

Valentinian paused and raised his clenched fist, lowering and raising it again with a boyish smirk on his face. Honoria got the hint, although she did not like it. Herculanus was ancient, soft-spoken, and mild. He had not the vitality or the charisma one thought would be needed to match the ambition of Honoria.

That sounds great, she said, failing to hide the sarcasm in her voice. All joy, it seemed, had been drained from her spirits. When’s the wedding day?

I’ve yet to sort out those finer details, Valentinian answered. Listen, I can see clearly that you are nervous, but you have nothing to worry yourself over, sister.

And Honoria said, Well it’d be a lie to say that I’m not skeptical about this. It’s not that I bear any grudge against Herculanus- may that never be so! But I have my concerns, though I do not yet know how best to put them to words.

But Valentinian answered, I understand you’re not proud of your deeds, and Herculanus lacks that sort of dirt underneath his fingernails. Don’t worry; he doesn’t condemn you. and neither do I. Everyone deserves a second chance.

I suppose we all do, Honoria said. She gave a soft groan, but her brother seemed not to notice it. Frowning, Honoria returned to the palace which long ago she had called her home to think and ponder over these things, wondering if her brother wielded other motives in his heart for setting up such a match. Before a door of polished metal she stood. It opened, and in her palace she saw a roof held aloft by towering pillars, and beneath it a great chamber lit by tall windows built into deep aisles on both ends. Brilliant mosaics depicting Christ and his apostles lined the walls with gold and purple and luminous red, and among those holy ones were previous emperors which could also be seen.

Those figures stood as reminders of Rome’s history, of the great men that had shaped its glory, and yet Honoria often found herself trapped by their likeness. To grow up in the royal family yet to hold no great office of her own must have been the easiest line of work in all the world, yet surely there was more to be had in life, more glory to win for herself, the right to choose who she got around with without living in the fear of being shipped off to Constantinople in exile. Her legacy would be a vapor in the wind, her life and joy defined by the whims of her brother, and she hated that. How could she not? All these things she thought about in the privacy of her own mind, and she did not voice them. With a sigh she carried on, going further into the palace.

Along the colonnades, she saw contingents of armed guards clothed in red tunics underneath armor like fishes’ scales. Their helms were crested with crimson plumes, their cheek-guards closely fitting to their faces, and upon each of their shields was the imposing image of a black eagle, its wings raised as if to take flight. Silently they kept their vigil, hands gripping the shafts of their spears as if expecting someone to make an attempt on the life of someone of high rank. They seemed more cautious than Honoria remembered, and it was certainly not a comforting sight to see such armed elites on edge even in an imperial palace. But then again, perhaps they had good reason to be on edge. It had been a long time indeed since last she walked these halls.

Rumor had spread throughout Italy like a wildfire while she was away. A Dragon had been spotted in Gaul. Wanderers reported seeing great saurian birds like Ravenna’s Tethydraco flying over the foothills of the Alps. Hunnic scouts were venturing into lands held by the Romans or their allies. Burgundian traders brought word of a grey-skinned people whose smiths were dressed like kings, and reports all the way from Isauria spoke of strange creatures great and small which had never before been seen by Roman eyes. These were all interesting things, Honoria thought, and she would spend many hours pondering the veracity of these rumors.

Alone, she passed the inner courtyard down one of the winding halls, ancient and vacant, eyeing precious relics which once belonged to the Caesars who ruled this land in times nearly forgotten. At last, she neared her own bedchambers- a welcome sight indeed! The room was light and airy; its silent tranquility sheltered by curtained alcoves stood as a stark contrast to the bustling streets outside. There were several narrow windows that looked eastward toward the Adriatic Sea, and often the morning sun would cast its rays upon Honoria, waking her from a deep sleep.

Along the northern wall stood a well-made bed fit for the emperor’s sister, and upon those soft covers sat her mother, still clothed in such regal garb as befitting a woman of her position and prestige, her purple dress wreathed by a cloak of ruddy murex, and she decked herself out in a splendid array of rings and bracelets adorned with fine stones, with carnelian, onyx, sapphire, and pearl. With sunken eyes, Galla Placidia watched intently as a curious ant hustled across her hand. It bore jaws like the tusks of the Calydonian Boar and a great bulbous horn arose from between its flicking antennae. Nukera was the name by which it had been introduced to Placidia, and silently she repeated that name to herself as she watched it roam about the top of her hand.

Hello, mother, Honoria sighed as she threw herself upon her mattress, sinking into the bedding.

Well there’s a genuine greeting if ever I have heard one, Placidia remarked. She said nothing else, her mind distracted by the horned ant.

Thanks for the warm welcome. Honoria folded her arms. It’s been many months since I last walked Ravenna’s streets on account of my brief exile, and I’m welcomed by a distracted mother busy watching mites creep about on her hand.

I apologize, Placidia answered, but you really should discard the venom in your tongue and take a look at this. Placidia raised her forearm so that her daughter could see the horned ant more closely.

And don’t smack it.

Honoria lowered her hand, already poised to strike the ant, and she observed it closely, gawking with wide eyes at the strange insect crawling upon her mother’s skin.

What plague has struck that ant?

There’s no pestilence at play here, Placidia answered, This is its natural form. At least, that’s what I was told.

Then where is this from? I’m assuming that it was brought in from far beyond Italy’s borders.

Placidia nodded. "Emissaries from the Huns came to us and brought odd insects like this, but they are not from distant Pannonia and the seat of Attila’s empire. They’ve seen an ancient land- or so they say- a land in which Dragons and ancient serpents have long established their abode. They called it the Land of Ulug-Jil, ‘Terrible Serpents’ in their language. The interpreters tried a few translations of the Hunnic word for these creatures: dirureptilia using Latin and deinerpeta or deinosauroi using Greek. It’s the last of these that appeals to my ears most: Dinosaurs. In any case, theirs is a realm that cannot be located on any map of ours, but one which can only be accessed through doors scattered across the wide earth."

Placidia got up to put the ant in a small wooden box wherein several others of its kind were housed. I had heard tales of other such passages found near the heights of Aksum by King Ebana’s folk, but I cannot confirm such rumors. Nor can I confirm that of the Huns, though the bug itself intrigues me. But speak to me, daughter. Something troubles you, if your countenance I can trust. Valentinian did not so soon reveal the aims he had for you, did he?

After gawking at the odd ant some more, Honoria spoke to her mother concerning Valentinian’s proposed match for her. Let me be frank, she said. After that whole affair with Eugenius, I do not think I am yet ready to be tied down in marriage to any man, much less an old senator like Herculanus.

When she said old, Placidia nodded. I should not tell you this, but I will. Lean in and hear what I have to say. That’s why he was paired with you, you see? Herculanus may be a decent man, and that’s precisely why he was chosen. After all, he is old and, even more than that, he’s tame. He’s a cat without its claws. He will not exploit his newfound rank in the imperial family or cause any trouble as you did with Eugenius but a few months ago.

Honoria frowned. Now it all makes sense to me. Here I was, actually thinking my brother wanted to establish some sort of real peace with me, to make amends and put the past behind us. What a stupid woman I have been, falling for these emotionally charged tricks! He thinks he can shut me up, clean and simple, but I will not allow it. No, I will not.

And Placidia smiled. Ah, good. Now there’s the daughter I so sorely missed, strong-willed like myself and uneager to give in to the demands put upon us by lesser men. The world was not meant for the likes of you or me. If it was, then it shall not be until another age that either of us would be accepted by it.

That may be, but for the moment I can think only about how sorely mistaken my brother is. I would have given him no trouble if simply he let me be. Yet instead he thinks to bind me to a loveless marriage, but I will yet escape these bonds.

Be careful, daughter, Placidia warned her. The world’s hardly ready for us, and it will be even less so should you brazenly make a joke of your brother. For now, it would be best for you to continue playing behind the scenes. Serve as the neck to guide the head, as it will.

Of course, mother, but all of this thinking has helped. I cannot appeal to any Roman for aid, for he would be underneath my brother’s grip. But an outsider? An outsider on decent enough terms with us yet deadly enough to cause us trouble? An outsider capable enough of venturing to far-flung lands and harvesting creatures weird and wild? Therein lies the hope of my escape.

Her mother nodded slowly. Now there’s a proposal if ever I’ve heard one. I’m reminded even now of how I managed to rally the Visigoths against Sigeric, back before you were born.

What can I say, mother? I learn from the best.

Placidia smiled and let out a light chuckle. Very well then. Who do you have in mind? Who’s going to be the one to pluck you from this forced marriage?

Honoria’s eyes wandered toward the box which held that horned ant. The fearsome beasts and maritime monsters etched into its flanks of ashen wood told her of a newly risen empire,