They had decided to avoid villages for a few days and head straight for Venice. Rory had theorized that Favianna Donati was likely to be found in a larger city. Martha didn't really believe him, but she would be grateful for the opportunity to sneak onto a train. Those opportunities were surprisingly lacking in the countryside. Also, Martha wanted to open Amalia's mysterious packet away from prying eyes, and Rory agreed that was a wise idea.

They were camping, if it could be called that, on the slope of a hill. Rory had insisted that it was too dangerous to sleep in the valley, because if they were attacked by soldiers it would be nearly impossible to fight their way out, and the soldiers would probably spot them before they had time to react. Rory had also insisted that sleeping on top of a hill would leave them too exposed. He had been happy with the slope either, and had to walk around the entire hill three times before he was satisfied that he had chosen the safest side.

The sky was just starting to lighten when he was finally placated. Martha watched in amusement as he settled down, still grumbling in Latin under his breath.

"So," Martha said. "Should we open it?"

Rory gave her a confused look. He didn't do too well when he was tired. Martha was just glad he didn't get tired easily.

"Amalia's little present. Should we open it?" she clarified.

"In the morning," Rory yawned. He had taken the second watch the day before.

Martha glanced at the sky. "It is morning."

Rory glared. "Oh, all right. Let's see what we got."

He handed over the packet and Martha carefully untied the twine. She rolled it up and put it in her pack. You never knew when twine might come in handy. She carefully unwrapped the brown paper.

Inside was a carved wooden box and a yellowed envelope. The envelope was addressed to Favianna Donati. Underneath the name was a family crest. Rory, who had been peering over her shoulder, grabbed the envelope and stared at it.

"What's wrong?" Martha asked.

"This is my crest," Rory said faintly.

"Why would Favianna be using your crest?" Martha asked.

"I don't think the letter is to her," Rory explained. "I lost my shield in the French Revolution, long story, and it's possible that someone else found it."

"How would they have known it was your crest?"

"Well, for one thing, it was probably the only scutum in the battlefield."

"Scutum?"

"That's what the shield is called. For another thing, any one who knows the legend of the Centurion and anything about heraldry shouldn't have too much trouble figuring it out."

That sparked Martha's interest. "What do the symbols mean?" she asked.

Rory sat down next to her. "This type of shield is called a chevron. It stands for protection or faithful service. Azure stands for loyalty, which is why it's on a blue field. The 'stripe' is sable, which is pretty obviously for grief. The tortoise symbolizes invulnerability and the dog, loyalty. The eagle, of course, stands for power, but it is also the sign of a protector. The oak branches stand for antiquity and strength. The crown stands for regal authority."

Martha blinked a couple times. "Someone else could have those symbols," she pointed out.

"Someone else who just so happens to contact us now? I doubt it. Anyway, look at this." He turned the envelope over. On the back was an infinity sign with six dots on each side. "That is my personal symbol. Back when people knew me as more than a legend, it was punishable by death for anyone but myself to use my symbol, not that I approved, and there are all sorts of cultural taboos against it now. No one would dare use this symbol unless they are trying to contact me."

Martha nodded. "Let's open the box first," she suggested.

"Any particular reason?" Rory asked.

"I guess it's another hunch."

Rory nodded and opened the box. Inside, resting on TARDIS blue velvet, was a dagger about twenty-four centimeters long with a leaf shaped blade. The blade didn't look anything like steel. Instead, it was made of some shimmering material in shades of dusty pink and orange. The material looked organic, like some sort of a plant. The hilt was the color of ivory, and the pommel looked like solid gold. When Rory saw it, his jaw dropped. He lifted it off the velvet with just his fingertips, as though afraid to touch it any more than that.

"What is it?" Martha whispered. The dagger seemed sacred somehow, and it felt wrong to raise her voice.

"This is impossible," Rory whispered. He barked out a quick laugh. "Completely, utterly, and totally impossible."

Completely, utterly, and totally. That was a lot of impossible. "So, what is it?" Martha repeated.

"It's a Cyllenian Rose pugio."

"A what?"

"The pugio is the name of this type of knife," Rory explained, not really answering her question. "I lost mine in Switzerland. We should go there."

Martha was not to be distracted. "What's a Cyllenian Rose?" she inquired.

Rory thought for a moment. "No one's really sure, but it did evolve, if it did in fact evolve, around this time."

"Can you ever just answer my questions?" Martha sighed.

"I am answering your question," Rory replied. "It originated on Mercury, hence Cyllenian." Of her look he added, "Cyllenian is a more obscure term for Mercurian. It sounds more dramatic and mysterious." Martha snorted at that. "Anyway, the Cyllenian Rose is probably a plant," Rory continued, "but some people have hypothesized that it's a type of stone that forms very quickly, or even that it's an animal. It looks, as the name suggests, almost exactly like a rose, but it's usually twenty to thirty times bigger than a Terran rose. The thorns of the Cyllenian rose are virtually impossible to get to and are naturally sharper than anything on Earth, but if you can shape it..." He held out the pugio for her to examine. "This is an unblooded Cyllenian Rose pugio. It does not get any better than this."

Martha wisely decided not to ask how he knew it was unblooded and instead asked, "Why is unblooded a good thing? You were going on about how you should never fight a war with an unblooded weapon earlier."

"So I was," Rory agreed. "But if I am the one to blood this blade, I can ensure that it will be loyal to me. How do I know it was not blooded by one who wants me dead?"

"Wouldn't that be a good thing for you?" Martha pointed out sardonically.

"I want to die," Rory said. "I don't want to die now. I'll know when it's my time, and my death will not come by this blade."

Desperate for a topic change, Martha said, "Let's open the letter."

"That seems wise," Rory said. He pulled the velvet aside, revealing a simple leather sheath. He slipped the dagger into the sheath and attached it to his belt. Then he handed Martha the letter.

Martha opened the envelope and pulled out three folded pieces of paper. One was addressed to Favianna Donati, and she set it aside. One had no name, but it did have the mark of the Last Centurion. The third was a map of Venice. It had twelve points scattered across it, seemingly randomly. Each was a different color.

Rory looked at it and a look of dawning comprehension passed over his face.

"Lemme guess," Martha sighed. "There's some secret, ancient code that tells you exactly where we need to go."

"Yep," Rory said. "You see-"

"I don't care!" Martha exclaimed. When he gave her a wounded look she elaborated, "It's not relevant and we don't really have time. Just tell me where I need to go and I'll be happy."

"Fine," Rory acquiesced.

Without further ado, Martha opened the letter. To her surprise, it was written in English.

"To whomever is reading this letter," she read, "congratulations on finding it. I did not realize until far too late that the clues I left were ones only the Centurion himself could have hoped to follow.

"I am sure you are interested in my story, but I am also sure that you have little time to defeat the demon that calls himself Master. I would tell you in person, but I do not intend for this letter to reach you within my own lifetime. Call me a coward if you will, but I would rather not be on the receiving end of a demon's rage. Suffice to say that I am, or rather was, an old woman with a passion for older tales.

"No doubt you are wondering how I got my hands on a Cyllenian Rose. I once had friends in high places, in more ways than one.

"I rather hope that you have not opened the letter for Favianna. I assure you nothing in that letter is dangerous to your mission, but it is quite private. I dare not tell you any more in writing, for letters are far too easily intercepted. I am sure you will decipher the rest of the message.

"The only thing I can say plainly is that it is essential that you do not trust this letter unless you received it from Amalia personally. She is the only person I trust with my life, and its ending.

"I wish you the very, very best of luck.

"Signed: S. F."

A/N: For the record, S. F. is meant to be female. I think I referred to her as male in the last chapter. I decided to change it when I was writing this chapter, and didn't realize my mistake until the last one was already upload. Please continue to review; I'm experimenting with a lot of different ideas for this story, and I really need your input. I've got the Favianna arc figured out, but I'm not sure where to go from there. Any suggestions would be much appreciated.