His vision blanked. He stood there dumbstruck. Did the monster blind him? Was he already dead? He had all of a second for thoughts to shoot through his mind before he was tackled to the ground. She had missed his drawn weapon and was now straddling his chest. She was nowhere close to heavy, but he found himself unable to simply throw her off. The monster grabbed at the lip of his segmented armor for leverage and attempted to bite down, but he was able to grab her by the neck with his left hand. She had an incredible strength, however, and the soldier was barely able to keep her back.
With his gladius held by his right hand, he stabbed forwards into her torso. His vision immediately returned and he was then able to toss her to the side and scramble back up to his feet. The moonlight illuminated the girl-shaped monster as she slowly regained her posture. She felt around her belly wound and stared at him with an emotionless, almost bored expression.
"Itai," she muttered. She turned her whole body to face him. He watched as the blood that stained her small dress stopped flowing. The wound began to close, the skin slowly sealing up as if nothing had happened. She raised her arms up, spreading them straight out, as if she were being crucified. Darkness consumed his vision once again, except...
He could see. Around the edges of his vision, at least.
He had moved much further away this time while she was healing. The radius of her sorcery didn't quite reach him. Nevertheless, the black orb began to rise above the ground. Eventually it was so high it no longer covered the ground, and the soldier could see that the pool of blood had disappeared. After a couple of seconds the orb shot towards him.
This time, however, he dodged to the side. Briefly his vision was once again stolen from him, but as the monster flew past him he heard a dull thunk. His vision returned. Behind him was a tree, and on the tree was the monster who had just flew at him. Her dress stuck in parts to the bark as she crumpled to the ground.
"Hey! Fukohei!" The monster yelled, almost pouting, as she got back to her feet.
She reformed her orb of darkness again as she flew towards him. He, again, dodged. He watched as the orb flew past him before stopping an actus past him, stopped, and turned back to him. His vision was blocked as it enveloped him, but it didn't stop once he was within its influence. The orb continued as if he wasn't there.
The monster continued as if she couldn't see inside the orb either.
He decided to escape before the monster had the bright idea to simply stop using her power. Judging by the sound of crashes and incoherent yelling, it wasn't until he had escaped out of sight that she thought of that.
The smell of a fire was the first thing to lead the soldier to the house. It gradually got stronger as he followed, eventually bringing him to the edge of tiny manicured field. In the middle, down a short stone path, was a Germanic-looking house. He had never seen such construction. It wasn't built like a Roman home, closer to Gallic or Germanic, but had an air of refinement and craftsmanship he could only expect to see from Roman carpenters. The soldier settle on a Germanic house built by Romans.
On the far right of the house sat a two story tower, only the top floor of which had a dull glow from interior candles. The main structure was rectangular and single floored, with a roughly ninety degree angle at its height, and walls painted in white with an exposed architectural frame. Covering the front door and windows was a short overhang, supported by thin wrought iron pillars. He followed the stone path to the wooden front door which, he noticed as he got closer, had a simple knob and deadbolt. He used an iron knocker mounted on the upper face of the door to announce his presence.
It wasn't but a couple of seconds before he heard the light footsteps of someone come down the stars from the lit bedroom. The lights of the main room suddenly lit at nearly the same time, surprising him. How did she light those all from across the room?
Before he could ponder further the door opened, revealing a rather tall woman in a blue silk night dress, again in a style he'd never seen before, and of a rather exquisite quality. Curiously, a doll with a rather similar appearance was sitting on her shoulder. She was just above his height at five and a half feet, maybe half a head taller. She smiled as warmly as one could in the middle of the night; she was probably making ready to get in bed.
Considering her wealth, perhaps she would understand at least some Latin? Surely anyone able to afford such a home would have been dealing with the Roman Empire, and she must have picked up on some of it from her husband.
"Hello," he said, offering his hand out, "I am Glavus Carissimus Felix. I am looking for shelter for the night."
The woman cocked her head slightly, seemingly amused, before her smile grew a little wider. She took reciprocated his handshake. "Alice Margatroid."
Her expression turned to a very slight frown and her eyes wandered briefly, as if watching something behind him.
"I... speak Latin, not," she said. Although her grammar was terrible, he understood the message. She stepped to the side and motioned for him to come in. "Bed one night. Many visitors lost."
He nodded, giving thanks to Margatroid. He stepped inside and was greeted with only pleasantness. It was a small house by Roman standards but was as luxurious as any lower level Equite. A lush rug was laid out in the center, with a short table in the center. Rather than the reclining couches he was used to, a couple of more than adequately padded upright chairs sat around the table.
Fine, polished furniture sat all around the walls, with my framed paintings and odd devices-one presumably a clock-hung from the walls. But on every ledge, every surface, sat an innumerable amount of small dolls, each with their unique sets of clothing and accessories. Everyone has their hobby, he supposed. Did she sell these in whatever nearby village? And it was odd for the man of the house to not be present for something like this. Usually he would be the one answering the door if not a servant. He chalked it up to cultural norms.
"Shoes," Margatroid said. He turned his head to her, and followed her arm down as she pointed towards his muddy caligae. He quickly untied them and placed them on the hard wood by the door. Satisfied, she waved her hand towards one of the wooden doors on the other side of the room. "Bath. Soap."
Sure he could bathe, but soap? He was already being taken in, he couldn't impose such a luxury! "I do not need soap, it's expens-"
She shook her head, her expression becoming stern. "House dirty not! Soap."
He raised his hands in defeat. He moved himself towards the bathroom while she went off towards a closet. By the time he had managed to figure out the door locking device, which wasn't more than a couple of seconds of manipulating it, Margatroid had returned with a drying towel and a couple of much smaller ones, presumably washcloths.
He bowed his head in thanks and took the towels. The sight that greeted him was entirely unfamiliar. It was small and cramped, just big enough for the tub, and had pipes running to and from it. Rather than normal Roman baths built into the structure, or even Gallic and Germanic ones, it seemed that the water was pooled into a small tub just sitting on top of the ground. It was barely big enough for him to sit in!
There was a small wooden table next to it with small colored, capped vases, and a tiny dish with a bar of soap on it. At least he could figure that out. Although the tub was empty and there was a hole in the bottom and a spout at the top. It seemed that water was filled and drained here, rather than just bucketed in for a group and tipped over. He was impressed; even out here, her people managed technology on par with Rome. Although, he never saw an aqueduct leader to her house...
"Knob," Margatroid said, turning two fixtures right underneath the spout. She dipped her hand into the stream and adjusted the two knobs further. After a couple of seconds she produced a circular plug and stopped the drain at the bottom fo the tub. "Hot," she said, pointing to one of the knobs, and to the other, "Cold."
"Thank you," the soldier said. She seems to have a grasp on vocabulary, if not sentence structure. She should understand that.
She didn't react, however. Margatroid simply exited the room and closed the door behind her. As the soldier undressed himself the water reached gradually about halfway up the walls of the tub. He turned the knobs in the opposite direction she did and the shut off. He put his hand in the water and yanked it out. It was hot. He tried again and found it rather pleasant; finding hot water out of a spout was just surprising. He was increasingly impressed. Heated indoor plumbing was an absolute luxury in the Empire. Without an aqueduct, there must be a basin somewhere, feeding this house with underground pipes.
Soaps, fine hard wood furniture and glass windows? Heated water and indoor plumbing? Hand-crafted tapestries and rugs? Who was this woman, who could afford this in the middle of the forest? Her husband must have been a wealthy politician, but why was the house so small? Where were her servants? After some deliberation, he decided not to worry about it. Whatever it was, her family made it work. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say.
He eventually emerged from the tub and activated the drain. He didn't spend enough time for it to get very cold, but he had cleaned off every bit of dirt and grime on his body. He felt absolutely refreshed after not bathing for weeks, let alone with soap. The soft linen robe she provided was even better. He hadn't worn such comfort in ages! He would make sure to keep his belt and pugio nearby, however. She was accommodating, but he was still in a strange house in the middle of the woods.
Margatroid looked pleased as he exited the bathroom. But only for a second, as her usual neutral expression took over. She walked over to the door on the adjacent wall and opened it up, revealing a bedroom with a small, single-person bed.
The wealth put into this room, again, must have been fantastic. A lush bed with fluffy, dyed blankets sat in the center of the round bedroom, the headboard pressed up against the wall. Next to it was a small night table with a single candle, the only source of illumination. Off to the side sat a small six compartment dresser. None of her dolls were in this room, he noted.
He settled his paenula into the corner and his lorica and greaves on top of it, making sure not to mar the flooring. He placed his gladius next to it, leaning up against the wall, while his galea sat on top of his torso armor. Margatroid watched him, making sure he got into the bed, presumably so he didn't try to deny any more of her hospitality. "Journey tomorrow," she said, before shutting the door.
His body ached for sleep, now that he was actually in a bed. He felt that he couldn't get up even if he wanted to. So he slid deeper under the covers, truly resting for the first time since they had set off across the Rhine, but not before slipping his pugio underneath his pillow. Just in case.
The arrows had struck his century out of nowhere. Scores of men fell to the ground, the lucky dead, the rest soon to be either by Germanic sword, bleeding, or being trampled by their own fellows. Glavus was in neither camp and, with the aid of the survivors, had managed to form a two sided wall to repel the ambush. The savages had come upon them like a breaking dam, bursting forth from the woodline with terrible war cries. The Romans braced but were soon compressed into each other as the enemy kept pushing.
Glavus shook as his breath left his body, resigned to his fate. He stabbed through the shield wall with his gladius, felling one of the Germanic warriors, although another quickly took the man's place, standing on the fallen body. He ducked his head as a spear thrust came over his scutum and dinged against his galea. Even as he dug his feet into the earth the line was pushed back. Soon after he could feel the feet of the opposite side of the column as they faced a similar situation.
Finally relief came. Auxilia still loyal to Rome came, heavy cavalry riders whose strong horses trampled the infantry beneath their hooves. Even they were not enough to save Glavus' legion, but they provided a temporary reprieve as they struck in the enemy's undefended back. But no sooner were the cavalry forced to retreat did the barbarians pinch one section of the line closed, separating the century into two groups. At the same time, due to luck or the blood of the auxilia, a hole opened up in the attack just as the main line was dissolved. Glavus and a couple others were forced out through the opening.
He charged into one of the barbarians and knocked the man to the ground with his scutum before stabbing with his gladius. "Run, Glavus!"
His friend, Marius had escaped the collapse along with another soldier, Gaius. The two quickly followed Gaius as they ran towards the forest, possibly into more Germanic savages, but definitely away from the valley, which held only death for any Roman. Upon hitting the treeline, there were very few enemies lying in wait. Glavus counted it as a break in discipline, as they evidently did not leave enough in reserve to capture or kill survivors. He could not, however, count this to be universal across the battlefield. There were only levied hunters who were armed with short weak bows.
But that did not mean the individual men were weak. The closest one to him swung at him with an axe which punctured the scutum and tore it out of Glavus' hand. The Roman responded with a slash to the man's arm and another at his chest before disengaging. He lunged forwards to parry another hunter's axe swing from above, deflecting the strike to his right, before re-angling his gladius for a thrust to the enemy's stomach. He heard the death cry of Gaius behind him. He dodged a thrust from yet another Germanic's hunting knife and chopped halfway through the barbarian's neck.
Gaius did not go down as a coward. In the second that Glavus could spare to watch, the doomed Legionary unsheathed his pugio as he was run through from behind and an axe disabled the hand manipulating his gladius. He managed to grab an enemy on his way down, slicing his belly open as he was hacked to pieces by the levies.
The forest was free behind him, but not for long. Marius caught up with him and urged him to run.
Glavus spared a glance back at the carnage and saw nothing he wished to remember. A straight line of the dead, many more wearing the colors of the Empire than the greens and browns of the different Germanic tribes, followed the path of the valley exactly. Apart from himself and Marius, he could not see a living Roman.
Glavus gradually awoke, searching for his gladius, tearing the restricting blanket off of his legs. It took him a long second to realize that there were no barbarians anymore, and he was safe in a bedroom. He sat up and took several deep breaths, staring intently at various objects he could see in the faint moonlight. He squeezed his hands, searching for any feeling to focus on and distract his mind. Satisfied the night terror was over with, he laid back down to try for more rest.
He watch as Marius was set upon by the Germanics. "Run, Glavus! Someone has to live!" his friend cried as he was caught up to. He deflected a sword blow with his shield and slashed the offender across his face. Marius took a glancing blow to the shoulder of his lorica but was able to turn and cut that man down too.
Glavus' eyes fluttered open in the dark. His heart was beating as fast as it did that day. A slight tremor ran throughout his body from his core as he took a deep breath to calm himself, trying to convince his body that he was safe.
He finally decided to rise from the bed as the morning sun stretched long rectangles across the bedroom walls through the four-paned window. He groggily slid out from under the covers and planted his feet on the floor. He regretted the lack of sleep but it was nothing he was not used to. Sleep, and spiritual healing, would come in time. But questions still plagued his mind. How many died? How many were captured and what happened to them?
Forget his century, most of his Legion was dead. All of them by now, probably. And here he was in a bed, perfectly clean, enjoying a nap. There was nothing he could do now, of course. But thoughts kept interjecting themselves. He tried to turn back to the current situation, not thinking of anything that wasn't an immediate concern.
Margatroid had mentioned a journey the previous night. Although, he thought, considering the language boundary, that could mean a number of things. It could be a mile down the road to halfway across the country, he guessed. He hoped she would at least give him the way.
He redressed himself in his tunic, wrapping his belt back around his waist. The bedding was removed and folded half neatly; at the very least he could make the hospitality easier for her as he didn't really have much else to thank her with. He wore his pugio on his belt, but kept his gladius off of him, keeping it with his armor as he opened the bedroom door and entered the main room. He almost froze in shock at the sight of Margatroid. All around her, what were simple dolls the previous night, were a dozen and a half small flying creatures, preforming various chores. Some were dusting the furniture, others fixing various sheets or trinkets, some even preparing food!
A gasp escaped him as he jumped back in shock and his spine hit the door frame. His lorica, balteus-mounted gladius, and paenula fell to the floor with a loud clamor. He automatically reached for his pugio, but one of the creatures had stayed his hand with surprising force before he even realized had begun to draw it. Sweat dropped past his brow as he panted, but Margatroid stayed seated across the room, as calm as if she were watching a late evening fire. She was sitting in a high chair by a crafts table, thread and needle in hand and a half-constructed doll laying like a sacrificed animal.
Margatroid didn't turn to address him. She just continued working on the doll. "Sit. Food," she said.
A couple of the creatures then flew to one of the other sets of furniture closer to her crafts table, working together to bring a plate of food to it.
She finally turned to look at him. "Before food cold." One of the little creatures flew up at the same time of her words, pointing towards the table as well. As he looked closer, he realized that these weren't living beings, but rather were the dolls from before. The idea that they were being animated, or at least controlled, rather than transforming into some kind of being, made him feel slightly different, but he didn't really know how.
The gods were peculiar about creating life. Did she know? She must understand the consequences of playing with forces well above that granted normally to humanity. What in every hell that existed was she? Was he in more danger, or less, than when he was wandering that cursed forest in the middle of the night, or running from the Germanics even?
Reluctantly he followed her directions. He felt he was held hostage as he sat down in the high chair, which was tall enough for his feet to leave the ground, although he noticed that Margatroid was just able to brush the toes of her shoes against the floor. He also noticed her daywear, which consisted of a finely woven blue dress and a white shawl, with long red ribbons tied around her waist and neck.
He had to admit the breakfast was rather splendid. In perilous danger or not, he might as well enjoy what is good, he figured. The plate was filled with a decent variety. She was a very skilled cook. The pork strips were cooked just right, he thought, friend right until the began to blacken, and she had done something to the eggs to really give them a distinctive taste. Slices of bread were also re-baked, toasted to a light brown and then smeared with butter. Finally were beans cooked in a dense soup. None of this particularly upper class food either; it was all notably plebeian but cooked with expensive sugars, syrups, and fruit products.
The discrepancies between obscene luxury used to color the blatantly peasant food bemused him. Why did Margatroid not just buy better foods in the first place? The juice served in a glass cup was another such conundrum. It was simple juice from an orange, albeit strained for pulp, perhaps with a bit of sugar, served in an exquisite piece of glass. Her husband must of some sense of humor.
Again, it wasn't really his place to ask such questions. The nerve-striking sight of one of the automations taking a now-empty plate off of the doll maker's desk only reinforced that. He placed the cutlery, bowl, and cup on the plate and exited the chair. It took all he had to stand still as a couple of the dolls suddenly grabbed the stack from him and take it to the sink and begin cleaning. One of the dolls, the one he recognized as being on Margatroid's shoulder the previous night which sported a bright red bow and waist-length golden hair, fluttered up a foot in front of his face. It gave him a thumb up gesture with one of its tiny hands. With him inside a magician's house, the gladiatorial symbol of judgment unnerved him.
Exasperated, he rubbed his face and turned away, walking to collect his dropped gear. He could've sworn he heard the doll maker chuckle, but he elected to ignore it.
AN: Had to cut this one up. I don't want 4,000 word chapters followed by 1,000 word ones. Edited the previous chapter.
So gonna get this out there: Glavus here was born about 10 BC. Of course he would assume Alice would be married. A woman living by herself in the middle of the forest in absolute luxury (compared to ancient Rome where sugar, salt, glass, silk, etc. were very expensive) just doesn't occur as a thought to him.
So, much didn't happen here, physically. But he's going through a hell of a culture shock. Honestly a superstitious ancient Roman may take better to Gensokyo than a modern westerner, though. Glavus already believes in magic and very literal and physical gods/divine beings/mysticism. He's just now seeing it in person for the first time.
Don't expect another quick update, I've just had a lot of time and motivation on my hands with this one. The pace will also probably decrease as we get through the story. Although I've been on a roll with this one and Chapter 3 might be pretty soon.
Edited 15MAR mostly for minor corrections and naming conventions.