Note from Kanuro5: Here we are, a chapter that has been in the works-in my mind-for years! Now I probably say that with a lot of other previous chapters, but in this case its true. This was actually the 7th or 8th chapter of Invictus that I made, but I stopped halfway years ago and saved it for this month to finish. Please enjoy!

XLI

The Exodus

Vitus placed his horse-crested helmet over his head and fastened his sword belt to his waist tightly. He washed his face with snow and blood-stained rags to remove the grime and blood that clung to his cheeks, nose, and forehead. He looked over and saw his brother was cleaning off the blood of his face as well and even in the crevices of his fingernails, ensuring that every aspect of his body and armor was to be spotless. Proculus caught Vitus' eyes and gave him a solid nod. Vitus nodded back, this was their duty to be as immaculate as possible in the face of the enemy. A true Roman was never supposed to half-ass anything that he did. That includes surrendering.

The Romans would be damned if they surrender in a pathetic state with grungy armor and loose fitting equipment in front of these…barbarians. They were the proud descendants of Troy and the Rulers of the Mediterranean, why surrender in a miserable affair? His legionaries were thinking the same as well. They had fastened their armor tightly and picked up their shields, standing at rest when they were suitable. They washed the blood, vomit, and pieces of flesh that stuck to their armor and skin. Primus Pilus Cossutius was barking orders for uniform discipline. Aelianus placed the helmet on his head and ordered the rest of the cavalry to join him on horseback. Yet Ardunas made no effort to tidy himself, why must he impress Britons? He kept the blood on his face and palms and spat contentiously to the side at the Romans trying to dignify themselves.

Vitus turned his sight to the army surrounding the Romans outside the village, they had already moved their cavalry to the flanks of Samarobriva, as if trying to remind Vitus that any escape attempt by a cowardly legionary would be impossible and ill-advised. He had a feeling that they were getting anxious, the Roman's time to discuss the terms was drawing to an end and he knew the Britons would be all too impetuous to charge at them and slay them all if the time elapsed by a single second. Yet discipline held them in line, discipline from their young prince. Vitus strained his eyes to see if he could spot Lugo in the army of 8,000.

"Come now, keep moving!" the voice was from Ligadis.

Behind Vitus was Ligadis who was shoving the disheveled king out of the hut and into the fresh cold air of the day. On top of the summit of Samarobriva, Lugotorix marveled at the sight of the army and beamed with utter pride. Ligadis shoved Lugotorix to keep moving forward. The Thracian led the Briton to the column of horses and presented the king with the mount he would be taking.

Lugotorix simply stared at his horse, then transitioned his ogling to the brothers. "I am leaving this village? Wait, you're to bargain with my son using me?" Lugotorix unleashed a baritone howl, "Such desperation from you poor creatures is so sweet to taste."

"Continue to speak and you shall be tasting the sweetness of blood in your mouth." Proculus quipped.

Lugotorix cared not for the Roman's threat. He was to be reunited with his son. He needed to be assisted on the horse because of the wounds on his torso. And when he finally mounted his horse he gave a faux bow of reverence to the brothers. Proculus rolled his eyes and commanded, "Ardunas, I'll give you an extra ten denarii to punch out a tooth every time he performs an annoying action."

The Gallic archer chuckled, "Truly? I would've done it for free."

Marcus came down the hill, his armor had been cleaned and somewhat polished as well, he carried his crested helm by his side, and the plumes looked to be exquisitely feathered recently. Vitus figured that even Marcus wanted to maintain some shred of dignity when he surrendered to barbarians.

"Gratitude for coming with us, Marcus. I know such a task is most unbearab—"

Marcus' eyes seemed to peer outward for a mile long in a dark gaze. His voice was gravelly, "Vitus, let us be done with this."

"Oh, uh…certainly."

Proculus mounted Remus, "So, uh Vitus and Marcus, any last things to discuss?"

Marcus spoke curtly, "The discussion is over. What we do now is simple. We go to the son, give the father to the son, make them sign this…ceasefire, return to the village, notify the pirates, take everything out of the village, and fucking leave. That's it."

"I see…uh, such a sound plan, Marcus."

The Praetor sighed, "Proculus, I told your brother, my desire is to only be done with this. Let the barbarians take this place and fall to its curse. I'm fucking done."

With the last fastening of his sword belt and placing on his helmet, the sullen Marcus mounted his horse, his cold eyes leering at the army of barbarians lying in wait outside Samarobriva.

Vitus tied the chin straps to his helmet, his focus too was on the Briton army. "Are you ready for this, Proculus?"

"No," he sighed, placing his helmet on.

"Neither am I."

Proculus placed his hand on Vitus' shoulder. "Well, what are waiting for, eh? Let's go."

Vitus nodded. He climbed on top of Romulus and stood straight in his saddle. He turned around to the column of horsemen behind him; in which Aelianus gave a nod from the rear of the column, and Ligadis and Ardunas nodded as well, as they were saddled next to Lugotorix to watch over him. Each of the brothers stood on the opposite sides of the Praetor in the front of the column, giving him a robust salute.

"Men, advance!" Marcus said strongly.

The brothers and the Praetor led the column through the broken walls of Samarobriva. The legionaries of the Senate and the Twenty-Eighth stood at attention as the column left, their shields resting by their feet in front of them, their chests puffed out, and their hands on the hilt of their swords. During the lull that Romans had to speak amongst themselves, the Britons had been busy cleaning the battlefield of their dead. The Britons had placed their fallen neatly in ordered lines to the right of the settlement so they may all receive the proper funeral rites as soon as the settlement fell to the Britons.

The column continued their march towards the Britons, crunching through the red-stained snow, until they reached the halfway point. It was then that ten horsemen consisting of the brothers, Marcus, Aelianus, Ligadis, Ardunas, his three Gallic archers, and Lugotorix in tow, parted from the rest of the column and made their way closer to the Britons.

The sea of barbarians parted, allowing ten horsemen to trot forward to meet the Romans. The Prince trotted brazenly as the lead horsemen with his nine mounted Chosen Swordsmen moving behind him in a wedge formation. Yet in the interim that Lugo gave for the Romans to discuss his terms, Lugo had changed his attire.

No longer did he wear the roughspun rags of a gutter slave, instead the Briton Prince wore mail armor consisting of formidable grey chained rings that hugged his torso snuggly. His arms and legs were dressed in icy blue woolen fabric that blended together with the white stripe that ran down the center of his sleeves and legs. A blue cape flowed off his shoulders and down to the back of his thighs. He even wore a gold circlet band that sat regally around his head like a crown.

Lugo gave Lugotorix a controlled smile that tried to hide his relief and enthusiasm, but one could just take a look and see the young Briton bubbling with excitement.

"Greetings, Father." Lugo said to him in Latin.

"And greetings to you, Lugo," Lugotorix said in their Briton tongue with a proud paternal smile, "You have done marvelously here! I knew I could rely on you!"

"Gratitude for your words, Father, it just lifts heart that you yet draw breath." Lugo replied, again in Latin. "You look wounded."

"I am. I have two wounds that need proper treatment."

"I understand." Lugo turned to his men, "Go fetch the healers!" One man darted off to the rear. Lugo turned back to his father, "Oh I so desire to be as hardy as you when I reach your age, Father."

Lugotorix's wide smile shortened a bit, his eyes narrowed, "Lugo, why do you speak to me in the tongue of Rome?"

"I am speaking to you in this Roman tongue instead of our language because it is rude to the Romans here."

"What? What are you saying?"

"Exactly as I said, it's rude, Father. They cannot understand a word we say, must be annoying for them. It even seems craven to me, to speak about a man beside you who cannot comprehend your tongue, knowing you can get away with it."

"Lugo, now's not the time to display such—"

"Apologies, Father, but where's the honor in hiding behind our tongue?"

The king exhaled softly before he turned to face the Romans. "You must have left an impression on my son, Romans, for him to be speaking in your tongue?"

"Well, it's hard not to be impressed by Rome." Vitus replied.

"Ha! As if couch-reclining, soft-bellied, decadent hypocrites are impressive!" Lugo said in what seemed to be a lighthearted tone.

Vitus gave a chipper smile to Lugo, "Well…it lifts the heart to see you dress appropriately on this occasion."

"The same to you, Vitus." Lugo returned the smile, "I would be disappointed if you did not take this seriously. You, your brother, and the Praetor."

The Praetor lowered his head to the snow and grumbled, "Let us get this over with."

Lugotorix turned to his son and spoke in Latin, "Lugo. What is this that he speaks of?"

"The Romans are preparing to surrender Samarobriva unto us."

"They are? How…unexpected," he said as he a curled a nefarious smile, "Inform me on this issue, Maxentius. Did you not fight tooth and nail for this settlement, and now you hand it over to my son? What has befallen you, I wonder?"

"Apparently everything, Father. I wonder how the Senate deemed it wise to give him five legions to command."

Marcus' teeth began gnashing, as he gripped the reins of his horse tightly. "It baffles me, it fucking baffles me. Father and Son…I cannot decide which one of you I hate more! Oh, Lugotorix, if only Vitus did not stop me from taking your head…"

"If only…" Lugotorix turned to Vitus, "Alas, I am afraid that I shall skip my appointment with your torturer, Roman. I truly hope he holds entertainment with Segovax instead."

"This is not yet over, Lugotorix. You shall face your end at Roman hands."

Lugotorix was assisted down from his horse and walked over to his son. He turned back to the Romans, "Yet not today."

"If we may continue with this procession?" Proculus asked. "We have ships to catch before we lose the wind."

"What? To what do you mean about ships?" the confused king asked.

"Father, allow me to explain—"

But Lugotorix's brain was already working hard to decipher what Proculus said, "You attempt to flee with ships? How? Why would we allow you, wait…wait, why are you surrendering at all? Are you forfeiting your lives? No. It couldn't be, you all are too proud to surrender or else you would fight to the death, or at least take your own lives…"

"Father, it involves—"

"You could have used me as ransom to try to flee to the ships, but you didn't for a reason unseen…because you couldn't make it to the ships? Which means, you only surrendered and handed me over if…you had something…to gain…Lugo, what have you agreed to?"

Lugo sighed before speaking, "To the future of our people, Father. You break tales of our people's glory on the mainland and how we are destined to reclaim it. Father, we can reclaim the lands that we once held, but shall we able to hold them? If we agree to this ceasefire, we shall hold the words of these Romans not to attack us as soon as they are able."

"A ceasefire?!"

"Yes. Father…uh, you see…I brokered terms with them. Upon your release and the surrender of the settlement, they shall be able to leave on their ships and return to their land. I could have killed them, but they possess more value if they yet draw breath."

"Yes they would! Yet as prisoners, not freemen!" Lugotorix growled back in his native tongue. "We have them now, Lugo. They surrendered, they possess more value as hostages than emissaries! And you would allow them to leave? We can gain a Praetor of Rome and the sons of Rome's finest general as pieces for bargaining and leverage! No, we are keeping them here!"

"Father, you are speaking in your language again. How about you switch—"

"Do not mock me, Lugo!" Lugotorix suddenly roared with thunder in his voice. Such ferocity was enough for the Romans to jump back within their saddles. Lugo himself shivered at the booming voice. Lugotorix began to cough hard, clutching the wounds on his chest. He recovered with another shout, "You believe now is a time for these games of yours? Is this a time to imbue arrogance? You lived among these people for years, you know what vices consume them! And you offer them to return to their Senate on a promise of peace! And you believe they shall honor such a pact? They despise us because we are savages in their eyes, they shall not negotiate with a race they deem inferior. And even if they accept this peace of yours, they shall not keep it, you know this, Lugo. They are a spiteful, vengeful people and once you release them they shall turn on your trust! We are not placing our faith with these people before us! We are not allowing them to leave! They shall return to Britannia as our prisoners. Lugo, do you understand?"

"I…but Father don't you—"

"Do, you, understand?" Lugotorix sneered slowly in Latin.

Lugo opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He lowered his head and combed his hair with his fingers. He exhaled and softly said. "I—I…yes, Father. Forgive me, I forget my place before you. Forgive me."

Lugotorix flinched as his chest throbbed brutally. His face winced in agony. He couldn't feel the beads of sweat dripping from his brow down to the tip of his nose as he panted from the pain.

Lugo called a drink from his healers, and once he received it, he applied a pale powder to the drink from his armor and mixed it. He hesitated, but then gave it to his father who had failed to notice his son calling for the drink, "Here, Father. Drink this, it's from the healers and shall diminish the pain."

Lugotorix took the drink and downed it completely. Lugotorix sighed, his eyes grew soft, "Lugo, you cannot argue with me in front of the enemy, no matter how noble your intentions are. You are intelligent, so you shall remember that."

Lugo bit his bottom lip. "I apologize, Father. I ask for your forgiveness in the action I just took."

The Julius brothers swore they saw a corner of the king's mouth rise into a smirk as he continued looking at his son. "Lugo, you are one of the smartest men I've ever known, but you cannot keep trying to reach for the extremes when the road of practicality is right in front of you. I need you by my side more than ever, do not lengthen the divide for your pride. We can be unstoppable, Lugo. Do you understand, son?"

"Yes, Father. Of course."

Lugotorix faced the Romans, his eyes began blinking frequently, and his head was rocking side-to-side slowly. "So here we are, Romans. You have showed great courage to surrender to my son, and to me. And for that, you shall be rewarded with life, b-but not the one you believed…in…I s-say to you Romans that you days are o-over. I told you of m-my plans. Pl-Plans to…pl-pl-plans to…to see the w-world bend-d to my…wait, what…wh-what is th—"

Lugotorix began swaying like a drunk. He collapsed to one knee and his eyes began to close. The Briton bodyguards caught the king before he fell on his face, and began speaking to him quickly in their native tongue. The Romans were speechless, swiveling their gaze from the passed out king, to the apparently unflinching prince who still stood tall on his stallion.

"My father is tired, the battle has exhausted him. Take him away to rest. Quickly! Aid my, Father!"

The Britons replied in their language and three men lifted Lugotorix to his feet and walked the drowsy king away. The king was mumbling as he assisted away from the Romans, his legs growing heavier with each step, threatening to trip over himself at a moment's notice. The brothers stared at the rocking form of Lugotorix, who disappeared within the ranks of the Briton army.

Lugo exhaled uncomfortably and rubbed his chin before he spoke. "My father…always exerting himself…I offer apologies for that display but I—"

"What did you do to him?" Ardunas asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What?"

"You heard me. What did you do to him? While he was in our custody, he was fine and sober. But the second he's handed to you, he collapses."

"The drink," Proculus said softly. "It was the drink…"

"His drink? You added some powdery substance to—" Vitus' eyes widened. "You drugged your own father?!"

Lugo's face scrunched together in a hurtful expression. "Well it sounds horrible when you state it in that tone."

"Juno's cunt!" Proculus replied with a twisted expression. "You actually—"

"Wh-What did you give your father?" Vitus asked.

"Henbane. Administer in enough dosages and it will ease quickening nerves and beating hearts and provide rest for the weary. My father shall not be harmed by it, he'll just sleep off the pain. With the wounds he received, the healer would have prescribed him henbane eventually in an effort to lull him into slumber so he may be treated properly. But…my father needs to rest, which means, you all are still dealing with me."

"For what purpose do you drug your own father?"

"I love my father. I do. And I love him enough that I shall do whatever I can to see his dream fulfilled. Our dream fulfilled. Even if it means…taking actions against him. We want the Britons to thrive on the mainland once again, and this pact between Britannia and Rome must be kept in order for this to happen. I believe—at this moment—he does not possess the foresight to see that future as I do. If I took the route he suggested, then our dream would have been destroyed within a year's time. I feel it in my bones to be true. So when he recovers, he shall curse me in the present, but shall be thankful to me in the future; and you and your men shall be far away from his grasps."

The nine men of the column had not uttered a word, it was as if some cosmic force had struck all of them mute. Not even Ardunas possessed a clever quip to use in this situation. They all were staring into the face of this…this…many of the men couldn't even come up with words for the actions they have just seen. Bearing witness to this…ruthlessness, from a sixteen year-old was truly unsettling.

Lugo broke the silence, "So, shall we continue?"

Marcus rubbed his mouth and snickered vilely, "You are a ferocious little cunt. Slavery taught you well, boy."

Lugo shrugged, "What do you expect when you live among animals? My methods were not that unsound, were they? For I know that in your sty of a city, you Romans have done much worse than I."

"That is neither here nor there, Lugo." Proculus stated. "Right now, it is about this ceasefire."

"Indeed it is. So before this diplomacy concludes with the ceasefire, must I go over the stipulations behind it again, Praetor?"

"Go ahead, I often know that children must always repeat what they just said."

Vitus cleared his throat, "This petty squabble is leading us nowhere except towards possible bloodshed. Let us move pass this if it pleases the both of you."

Marcus turned to Vitus and back to Lugo. "Vitus speaks truth, let us move to this actual…peace of ours. I've had my slave draft this manuscript of the stipulations you offered in order to give this directly to the Senate upon our return." Marcus pulled out the rolled-up parchment from his armor and held it high, "Here is your bloody ceasefire, Lugo. I pray you find it…satisfying."

"You even procured some parchment? You spoil me, Praetor. I'm sure your Senate shall love that parchment, so official."

Marcus glared at him, "You shall be the first to choke on it, when you are brought before the doors of the Senate."

Marcus tossed the parchment to the ground between the Romans and Britons, a Chosen Swordsman retrieved it and gave it to Lugo, who read over every word with care.

"This manuscript is accurate to the terms that I have offered to your Republic. You have my permission to sign this document with your signature and stamp, Praetor." Lugo handed the parchment back to the Swordsman, who then gave it back to the Praetor.

Marcus took a board that hung off the side of his horse and placed it underneath the parchment so he may write upon it. Marcus took a stylus out and placed the tip on the parchment, and gave one last uneasy stare to Proculus, then to Vitus. The brothers nodded confidently, yet Marcus' hand didn't move. The words on the paper seemed to taunt him with vulgar bitterness, his teeth began to grind once more. His only thoughts were of his uncle, and how he conversed with the Senate to bring Marcus back home. 'Take whatever measure you deem necessary to retrieve the Praetor at all and any cost.'

"I, Marcus Maxentius, Praetor of the Republic, take liberty to announce with the authority of The Senate and People of Rome, that Rome shall officially end hostilities between the people of the Isle of Britons effective immediately. Let it be known that any citizen that takes up harmful action against a Briton, he and his family shall be judged and punished by the full extent of Roman law. So swear I, under the watchful eyes of Jupiter Optimus Maximus."

Marcus signed the parchment. He had also possessed heated wax and he poured it over the bottom of the parchment, and stamped it with the Praetor's Seal.

Lugo nodded, speaking softly, "Very good. Unfortunately we Britons possess no seals but I have something else I can use."

The Prince drew a dagger and made a cut upon his right thumb, and stamped his bloody print next to Praetor's Seal, saying, "And I, Lugo, the Prince of the Britons and Iceni, son of Lugotorix, hereby recognize the end of hostilities between my people and the Republic of Rome effective immediately. On my life I and from the mercy of the goddess Andrasta, I so swear that under my watch, that no Briton shall commit harm against a citizen of the Republic."

Lugo removed his bloody thumb from the parchment. He turned his sight toward the brothers, and opened his arms in invitation for them to come closer. The brothers turned to Marcus, who gave them approval with a nod.

Vitus and Proculus pressed their thumbs on the wounds on their bodies that still bled and pressed their blood on the parchment. They spoke as one, "I, Vitus/Proculus Julius, of the House of the Julii, hereby bear witness to the official end of hostilities between the Republic of Rome and the Isle of Britons. We so swear to Jupiter Optimus Maximus that no Roman from the army of the Julii shall commit harm against a Briton so long as the peace remains. This we swear."

The brothers removed their thumbs from the parchment. Marcus gave them the stylus and they each signed their names by their respective prints. Marcus exhaled bitterly. "And so, it is finished. The ceasefire between the Republic of Rome and the Isle of Britons has begun. And as Praetor of the Republic, I hereby…" He clenched his teeth for a moment. And removed his sword from his waist and held it up. "I hereby…hereby lay down my arms and the arms of the soldiers of the Republic and formally…s-surrender the settlement of Samarobriva unto you, Lugo of the Britons."

Vitus noted the smile radiating from Lugo's face, a certain smile of victory. "Gratitude, Praetor, for making the right decision. It lifts the heart knowing you chose correctly, and for that I shall accept your sword of yours."

Lugo told a Chosen Swordsman to retrieve the surrendered weapon. The Swordsman grabbed Marcus' gladius and brought it back to his liege. Marcus couldn't even look the Briton in the eyes as the lad marveled at his conquered weapon.

"Very wonderful make." Lugo said, examining the steel. "And I believed our smiths were world experts…it's no wonder that Rome conquered most of the world."

"That tone of your voice, you believe we're friends now?" Proculus asked.

"Hardly," Lugo said curtly. "Our relationship with each other as Roman and Briton is…unique, Proculus. We stand not as enemies, nor as friends, neither acquaintances or strangers. We are…hmm, I guess we just are…"

"Though I figure that shall change sooner than we imagine."

"I agree. The future is always unpredictable." Lugo replied. "Who knows where on the spectrum of friendship or animosity we shall fall."

Marcus raised his head and resentfully slurred with furious anger withheld in his soul, "I must inform you though, this document here can be rendered void by the Senate. My sole decision as Praetor can be overruled by a Consul's decision or a majority vote of the Senate, if they so wish it."

"Then it is up for you and Vitus to persuade the Consul and your Senate to keep this peace between our people. Now, you may go. Inform those…"sailors" of yours off the coast that you are ready to board their ships. I believe you do not have many men or items remaining in Samarobriva, but even so, you have an hour to collect everything and leave. So move with haste, and leave my settlement."

The exodus of Samarobriva was going smoothly. The Briton cavalry stood about 75 meters from the village, watching on in complete silence; given orders to not taunt the fleeing legionaries. The inexperienced of the Briton warriors wore smiles of hubris and victory on their face, to see these so-called "elite" soldiers wearing the mask of forlorn as they walked towards their ships was a joy they couldn't imagine coming to fruition. Yet the experienced among the Britons did not smile, their faces were those of anger. To them, this order to allow the Romans to leave was sacrilege. By the will of the goddess Andrasta, they were to shed the blood of their enemies who killed their fellow kinsmen and captured their King. How can their prince allow for the enemy to flee like this, could he not see that honor demanded their death? Regardless, they were honor-bound to serve Lugo faithfully and their King had not issued any orders unto them, and so, they were sworn to obey their prince's command.

Segovax was being led out of the village, bounded by rope that wrapped around his waist with his hands tied behind his back. Aelianus and two legionaries were escorting the fallen king towards the ships. Segovax was in a state of panic. Seeing thousands of barbarians surrounding him, and not one of them lifting a finger to help him. He could see the sails of the ships growing closer with each step he took, he knew what was going to happen. A slave to the Republic? This was not to be his end! He pleaded with the Britons he passed.

"Help me! I am the King of Gallia! Why do you stand there?! Save me from these fucking Romans! Do not let them take me! Do not let them! I am Segovax! I am Segovax, I am a King! A fucking King! Save me and you all shall be rewarded! Gold! Women! Land! Come save me! I beg you! Save me!"

With an irritated growl, Aelianus spun around and drew his dagger. With his free hand, he grabbed Segovax's throat. As Segovax gagged, Aelianus with surprising control shoved half of the dagger into the man's mouth without harming him, placing the point delicately on his tongue. The Gallic king was shaking but fell silent. For the rest of the trek to the ships, Segovax hung his head in morose defeat and said no more.

Vitus stood off to the side, holding onto the reins of Romulus, watching the evacuation with utter pride. Though the legionaries wore the mask of defeat, they were marching in formation, each of them stepping in cadence with their backs straight as if marching in a triumph. No words were said by them, they marched on professionally. The wounded that could not walk were placed on horses and the riders escorted the horse and wounded man to the ship. And the wounded that were completely incapable of movement were propped on capes and shields and were carried by their brothers-in-arm. No living man was to be left behind.

Vitus turned his head to the army of the Iceni tribe, and the foremost person closest to the village was the Briton Prince. Lugo too was off of his horse, his eyes following the legionaries as they began a disciplined walk to the ships. Lugo's eyes fell to Vitus and for a while, both of these young men couldn't avert their gaze from one another. Lugo craned his head backwards, motioning Vitus to come towards him. Against his better judgement, Vitus walked towards the Briton.

Vitus stood side-by-side with Lugo, both of the youths looking out into the emptying village. Lugo stuck his finger out, pointing out the legionaries marching in discipline ranks.

"Proud. You possess such proud men, Vitus. Look at them, performing a sacrilege of Roman law and they march with dignity, heads held high, chins out, carrying the wounded over their arms and shoulders; no wonder your army was able to march through the dead of winter. Such pride and dedication."

"They refuse to allow the barbarians to witness their faces of defeat. You Britons may mock our surrender, but you will not mock our retreat."

"No, but your Senate shall. I cannot imagine how it must feel to travel back to Rome, knowing your Senate will exhibit unprecedented anger towards your actions."

Vitus grunted in amusement. "And I cannot imagine how it must feel when your father awakes and shows his unprecedented anger towards your actions."

Lugo simply nodded, acknowledging the witty retort. "Then I guess we shall both wait and see."

"Does…Does it not bother you that you drugged your own father?"

"Yes, it does. I…he…it's for the best." Lugo turned his head towards Vitus. "Do you know what plan he possessed towards you? He wanted to enslave you, to keep you hostages back in our land. With you all captured, that would have gained us victory for…let us say…half a year. Then we would have to contend with more legions trying to attack us in order to rescue the Praetor. The lives of you and your brother would have been piss in the eyes of the senators, but a Praetor's life..." Lugo shook his head in amusement. "I can see the Senate ordering all three families—Julii, Brutii, and Scipii—to cease their respective conquests and launch a full invasion on our lands. A long, bloody war of attrition would follow on both sides… I shall not allow that. With you alive, hopefully this peace can result in something good…for both of our people."

"Such is my desire as well. But still, you gave him the drink. Did you not fear the consequences?"

"I did. But the rewards shall outweigh the consequences. And when he awakens and discovers what I've done…well…I shall be beaten, thoroughly. Of that I have no doubt. Compared to my years in Rome under the lash, my Father's beatings shall not be too bad. As I said, it's all for the long-term victory. I understand if you still are appalled by my actions. So have you never harmed your father, or attempted to, Vitus?"

"Uh. Nooooooooot quite. There came a time during this campaign, he infuriated me, betrayed my trust, I was still naïve and weak back then, and I snapped, I drew my dagger and tried to kill him right then and there."

Lugo's eyes shot open, "Really? What happened next?"

"He caught my dagger and smacked me to the ground. And did he hold vengeful anger for my act? No. He was only elated that I had awaken my killer instinct."

Lugo chuckled lowly, "So to celebrate you becoming a man, he slaps you? To take such an action, he must have been a most charming man."

Vitus looked at him sideways with a crooked grin, "Well, my Father's charm was conquering. Look at what he did, he beat the Gauls and the Spanish into submission."

"Ha! I know the Spanish were weak and the Gauls are fools, not that impressive. My Father had to repeatedly put down the uprisings from the tribes of the Catuvellauni and Brigantes, to maintain his power. Both tribes are more fearsome and ruthless than any Gaul or Spanish."

"Tribes on that island of yours? My Father conquered the entirety of Hispania and Gallia, what has your father shown?"

"He defeated your father."

"And my Father's legion defeated your father."

"And my army forced yours to surrender."

Both of them gave off menacing glares, their fists clenching hard. But ultimately they relented and began snickering like mischievous youths.

"By Jupiter's mercy, what in the world did we just do?" Vitus laughed.

"I know not, Vitus," Lugo continued to laugh, "We speak of the admirations of our fathers and how they won their battles. Strange isn't it? How we can converse despite the history between our people."

"What history? The Julii have never interacted with the Britons before this campaign."

"I don't mean just us, Britons. I meant the people you Romans deem as "barbarians." Briton, Gaul, Germanian, Thracian, and so on. Your people reside in cities of urban wonder and we "barbarians" reside in the rural locations of nature. Your people take to the clean-shaven nature of grooming nature, while we embrace our gruff demeanor of appearance. In war, you always attack our land, and we must always defend it."

"In war, my people rely on tactics and unison, while yours rely on brute strength and skill. We embrace technology, while you embrace austerity."

"You Romans bolster individuality, hoping to rise through the offices of politics with ruthless ambition; while we bolster community, doing all that we can to make sure our tribes stand strong as one. We are truly two sides of the same coin. But what are we exactly? One of us is order, and the other is chaos. But which ones are we? Why must we as humans decide that order is next to godliness and chaos is malevolent? Why must you force order on us so we can be what you see fit?"

"Why must you barbarians be imbued in chaos to make us do so?"

"We are the chaotic ones? Because we are in harmony with the world and embrace nature? In our eyes, you are the ones who revel in chaos, building your homes of stone and tearing down the land and groves to make way for your cities of decadence, abducting children from families as hostages, cementing your idea of order which is clearing outlined tyranny for those unfortunate that could not repel you. So why do you label my people as chaos personified?"

"Why must you talk so much?"

Lugo couldn't help but laugh. Vitus continued, "I cannot answer such a question myself. I can only repeat what philosophers and soldiers who fought barbarians would say. But the way you speak, your words are filled with knowledge and hubris. That hubris of yours shall be your end, Lugo."

"Hmm, it shall. That I know. But not today, Vitus."

"Indeed. Today you have scored a grand victory for your people. But hear my words, Lugo. One day, Rome shall return and avenge this defeat in the war. We shall return and conquer you all."

Lugo smirked, but it wasn't a smirk of arrogance, but of a friendly demeanor, "You believe so?"

Vitus returned the smirk, "I know so. That's what my father taught me. My father, Lucius the Mighty, the Conqueror of the West and the South."

"Yet not of the North."

"No, he…he failed in that ambition. But I shall not. I shall take up his sword, I shall be the Conqueror of the North."

Lugo's eyes widened, Vitus could see the sudden levels of amusement in the prince's pupils. "You?" the Briton asked.

"Me. I shall take up his standard and return with a larger army, and I shall crush all enemies of Rome, especially you, Lugo." Vitus could feel a grin rising on his own face, "One day, I shall return to Samarobriva, and finally conquer it for Rome. In due time, I shall return."

"What drives you Romans to conquer, huh?"

"Our wolfish blood perhaps. We Romans trace our ancestry from the wolf. It is our destiny to hunt down those weaker than us, to feed on them, grow stronger and expand our pack. Pity that you Britons chose the stag as your sigil."

Lugo laughed, "So you say, Roman. We are the Stags of the North. It is our destiny to elude the huntsman, the lions, the bears, the wolves; until all predators tire of the chase and succumb to their hunger."

Four legionaries exited the gates of the village, all four carrying a passed out wounded man on a blanket back to the ship. The wounded man had fought valiantly and received many wounds. When the battle was done, he loss nearly all the blood in his body; his comrades claimed it a miracle that he survived. The Briton Prince and Roman General watched the man being carried out in hallowed silence.

Lugo sighed, "I wonder who shall be the first one to end this ceasefire of ours."

"I wonder that myself. But know it shall not be me."

"I know, Vitus. As you know I shall not be the one to break it either. But maybe my father shall, or my relatives, or maybe warriors under our command. Or maybe your family shall do it, Vitus. Or your Senate. Actually…" Lugo began chuckling, "I believe they will be the ones who will want to continue war against us."

"My Father and Uncle have often spoke about the greed and corruption of the Senate, to issue or condemn any man or family that they deem too successful into bending to their wills. Their thirst for popularity has already brought this calamity of my legion being here to a terrible end, and I view that they shall try to rectify such a catastrophe with the shedding of Briton blood. Unfortunately, I agree with you on that regard."

"And so it up to you, your brother, and that damn Praetor to convince them otherwise."

"You place extraordinary faith in me."

"If you possess fountains of courage to charge out in front of an army of warriors with only three men by your side to save the life of one wounded man, then I believe you can speak to 50 old fools to save the lives of thousands, Roman and Briton."

Ligadis, on top of his horse, galloped towards Vitus. "It is done. The last men have left Samarobriva."

"Very good, Ligadis. Return to the men and I shall join you shortly."

"Very well, but, uh…pardon me, Vitus. But please, take this…"

Ligadis handed him a sword within its scabbard.

"What is this, Ligadis?"

"A Getae tradition, Vitus. When the leader loses men, he carries their sword in honor of their sacrifice. This sword belonged to Oroles."

The breath had escaped Vitus' lungs. His legs felt weak as he reached out and claimed the sword. The sword itself was an ordinary gladius, but in the leather bindings of the handle were many notches which were engraved in the leather, tallying the owner's kills. Vitus wrapped his hand around the handle, he could feel Oroles' spirit resonate within the blade.

"Ligadis…gratitude."

The Thracian nodded, "He never spoke to you about it, but he told me that if he shall fall, this sword shall be given to you."

"I…understand. Once again, I offer gratitude."

"Yes, Vitus. And as I said, we're ready to depart when you are." Ligadis saluted and kicked his horse, it galloped to the port. Vitus' eyes were locked unto the scabbard, his hands clenched the handle once more.

"Who did that belong to?" Lugo asked.

"A prince. A mentor. A friend."

Lugo brought his head to the desolate village that held its dead inside, haunting the settlement with venomous death. "Too many men have perished for this village. Men whose worth exceeds the stars. All for Samarobriva…"

"There it is."

"Indeed. There it is."

"It took me and the Legion two months to reach this village, and in one day we are already leaving. All this death, all this loss, for that? What a terrible thing you have inherited, Lugo."

"What have I inherited, Vitus?"

"Ruination. You've gained a village of ruination. The walls are destroyed, thousands of bodies still remain inside, it reeks of smoke and death, no food remains, the fields around the village has been scourged by winter, and only one building is still standing. And apparently, anyone who resides inside the village shall fall to ruin. The Gauls, the Praetor, the Twenty-Eighth. That is the Curse of Samarobriva."

"Very astute. Your words ring true, this damn village has been the cause of so much death and misery. Perhaps I shall simply raze this settlement to the ground until naught but ash remains, and simply take my army back to our Isle to wait out the winter. Maybe…"

Vitus pulled Romulus in closer and placed Oroles' sword within the saddle. His head turned and his eyes lingered on the empty settlement. If only Father would have lived to see this…if only Oroles and Antonius would have lived to thrive in it…if only… His was voice was soft, and his mouth made a weak smile, "And now it ends."

Lugo shook his head with a smile, "No." His eyes fell on his own army. "Now it begins."

Down the trail to the ships, one horsemen was walking back to Samarobriva; from the distance, Vitus could witness his brother, refusing to take another step forward to the ships until his younger brother came back with him. Vitus bowed his head and inhaled.

Vitus grabbed the reins of Romulus and mounted him. He took a last look at the Briton prince and smiled at him, "Enjoy the ruination of that settlement."

Lugo shot back another smile as he too fixed himself on his horse. "Enjoy that long Sail of Shame back home."

"Until the next time, Briton."

"Until the next time, Roman."

Vitus stirred Romulus forward, and the horse trotted meagerly down the trail towards the ships. He looked upon the ruined settlement one last time. He envisioned his father, then Oroles, then Antonius, and then the legionaries and Thracians who he saw perish to come this far. He clutched his reins tightly and closed his eyes, it all felt like a dream. He wondered if he was ever going to wake up.

"Vitus!"

The Roman spun around in his saddle. Lugo stood brazenly in his horse, his blue cape flowing in the breeze, the sun shining off the golden band around his head. Lugo opened his mouth and called out.

"Vitus…if you were born Briton, or I Roman…would we have been friends?"

Romulus continued to trot on, but Vitus was still in contemplation. Vitus inhaled through his noise and turned around in his saddle, smiling proudly with a loud proclamation, "The best."

The brisk ocean air pelted the hardened face of Proculus. He inhaled the wafting scent of salt mixed with frost as the waves lightly crashed against the hull of the ship. The sun had dipped between the grey clouds and the morning was falling into the evening. He could hear the grunts of the sailors and slaves below deck as they row in a disciplined cadence to the sound of a drum. The ship began to rock to-and-fro. He exhaled deeply. He had been on this ship for a full hour, and yet it seemed like an eternity.

Aboard his ship, the pirates were at the mast, pulling ropes and giving their ships full sails to catch the wind. The men of the Twenty-Eighth were lounging around on the deck; several men were by the sides of the ships staring out into the horizons of the endless oceans, others sat in the corners leaning against the side and catching much needed sleep, a select few were vomiting off to the side from the seasickness. All while staying out of the way of the pirates manning the ships. Every legionary had stripped off their heavy armor, embracing the relief that their unencumbered limbs were now feeling. They all were wrapped in their warm blankets to ward off the frosty sea air. Off to the portside of the ship, Cossutius was breaking up an argument between the pirates and the Gauls. Ardunas wanted to shoot some seagulls out of the sky, yet the pirates claimed it bad luck to kill a seagull.

Proculus gazed off from the side of the ship to witness scores of ships within the pirate fleet, sailing down the icy channel between the mainland and the Isle of Britons. Each ship had a different colored sail with a different emblem in the middle of the sail. The centermost ship within the fleet manned a blue sail featured a black scorpion on the back of a golden lion. Such was the most grandiose sail he had seen within the fleet, and of course, that ship belonged to Tryphon and the Praetor. Marcus resided on a different ship from the Twenty-Eighth, he and his soldiers stayed on Tryphon's flag ship which Proculus was quite sure was meant to be the Praetor's way of ensuring Tryphon would not dare betray him. Proculus didn't quite care, after their tense argument back in Samarobriva, it was best to keep their distance from each other until their tension evaporated. Segovax was kept within the Praetor's ship in chains below deck, a prize that Marcus was sure to never allow to slip away.

In an isolated corner on the deck, Proculus spotted his brother leaning on the side, his head resting on both arms, staring at the outskirts of the fog bank shores of Gallia that the pirate fleet was currently passing.

He saw movement stirring amidst the barren frost-covered tree line that hung ten meters behind the water. He raised his head from his arms and tried to strain his eyes to decipher the movement. On the ground were three good size forms lying completely still. Their shape was bizarre, it was neither rock nor log, but something else that wasn't natural to the earth. As the ship passed closer to the shore, the fog began to ease up, revealing the forms to be that of animals, until closer inspection showed them to be wolves.

Three large brown wolves lied dead at the edge by the water, crimson blood was everything, dyeing the snow and covering the trees and broken branches with red. Vitus had to strain his eyes even more to get a better picture. Their large fangs and claws ran red with blood as their corpses were curled up together in a bizarre slump, all three of their throats were ripped out. Vitus wondered what the three were fighting over and whether it was worth killing each other He shook his head, why did it matter, they were animals, it was in their nature.

Yet again, he saw something stirring among the corpses, little moving shapes of brown and grey. Those small things were definitely animals, but from what it looked like…they were three wolf pups, mostly likely the offspring of the dead wolves. The three pups were nuzzling against the three corpses, tugging the bloody fur with their small fangs, seemingly begging them to return to life. Vitus believed that over the crashing waves of the sea, he could hear the pups whimpering. His eye caught a slow flicker of movement from within the woods. Slowly, a large brown animal came walking out of the woods, its impressive antlers revealing it to be a marvelous deer. Vitus blinked with utter astonishment, it was the most massive stag he ever witnessed, it stood as large as a man, well over six feet. With its antlers, it was at least seven feet. Its torso was thick with muscle which was compounded by the thick mat of fur to combat the winter. It possessed a bushy mane-like patch of fur on the back of its neck that stood brazenly straight. And a singular white crest on its chest that was even whiter than snow.

The stag's focus was of the three pups who were grieving their lost family. The pups failed to notice the massive deer staring at them until the woods behind the stag began to rustle with activity. One-by-one, more deer began to join the stag, coming out of the shadows of the trees and making their presence known to the pups. And so it continued until the herd of deer numbered around seven, four stags, three does; all staring at the pups that were now backing away from the deer, abandoning the corpses of their parents.

As the ship was moving farther down the sea, the shore was growing ever more distant. Vitus strained his eyes to see. The last thing he could clearly distinguish was the deer herd approaching the cowering wolf pups. Then the fog once again enveloped the shore.

Vitus was blinking hard for several moments. He spun around and was most surprised that no one else was around him to witness what he had just saw. He buried his face into his hands and eventually brought his eyes to the sky and peered into the greyness. Proculus took his precious steps beside Vitus and leaned on the side of the ship. Vitus jumped back in alarm.

"What is wrong, Vitus?" Proculus asked him.

"I-I-I but...did you not just see that?"

"See what?"

"I-I...never mind...it's nothing, Proculus."

"Oh okay...I've finished speaking with the pirates about this voyage?"

"And?"

"Two weeks. We sail through the channel and we land at a port in the very east of Gallia, Gallia Aquitania. The Twenty-Eighth disembarks, the Praetor heads to Rome; then we make our way to Alesia. Through this winter, and if we procure horses for the men, it shall take about two weeks at best before we reach Alesia."

"From this voyage to Alesia…an entire month?"

"Exactly."

"So be it. If it takes that long, then so be. I can seldom believe it, after all of that…we—we're going home…"

"After everything we've done, we're returning…"

"After falling into a Germanian ambush…"

"After meeting Cassius…"

"After the Candevaci…"

"After Praxus Hill…"

"After the Cherusci…"

"After the Briton Ambush…"

"After the blizzard…"

"After finding Father…"

"After the Fort…"

"After Samarobriva…"

"And after Lugo…"

'We—we made it…"

A silence grew in between them. Proculus could hear the joyous weeping of a legionary lying by the starboard side of the ship. He was giving praise to Mars for keeping him alive, and praying to Neptune and Triton to keep him safe on this perilous voyage so that he may once again see his family.

"Vitus…do you believe we have done the right thing? With Lugo?"

Vitus softly sucked his teeth before answering, "…I do not know…I spoke with confidence in my decision to surrender, but truthfully, I was more unsure of this than anything I've experience in my life. Our duty required us to fight to the death, even in a hopeless battle; or to at least fall on our swords and regain some honor in death. But as what happened at Cannae with Lucius Aemilius Pallus, Rome would even scorn us in death. I thought what would Father do in such a situation? Yet I could never be like Father in everything. But it was his memory that I wanted to live for, his legacy is what I wanted to continue. What I have learned through all of this, is that life is precious, we may leave in defeat, but we can live to fight another day. To see our loved ones before we fall to the abyss, and I believe with the fortune of the Julii, we shall, in time, regain our honor again."

Proculus was silent for a moment, reflecting on his brother's words. Then, subtle warmth enveloped his heart and it began to grow in intensity. "I agree with what you say. If I died, who would remember me? A mother who I didn't face in my absence and a wife forever childless and widowed because her husband could not face her." A prickling tear filled his eye. "Vitus, I…I am glad I did not die without seeing Appia again. I wrote her a letter…a damn letter informing her that her 'great' husband is off to war—" A second tear began to form in the other eye. "Without speaking to her towards her face, without seeing the love and concern within her calming ocean blue eyes, without feeling the warmth of her cheek." His voice began to break. "Or the tenderness of her lips when I am of a mood. She was going to be absent a husband, and I did not even care. I was scared, Vitus, I was terrified of all the battles, not so much for my death, but for never seeing her again!" He remembered his father's bisected body and the tears came rolling down his face. "There were many moments where I could have lost my life, but the Gods saw fit to spare me for some purpose…maybe they took notice of the oath I swore to them before this battle? If such is the case, I shall forever honor it. I could've died and Appia and Mother would be forever lost. Vitus! I do not want to die without leaving a copy of beauty and love of Appia and I in this world." His sobbing grew heavier as he wiped his face with his hands, "So Vitus, the reason I asked you before; I do believe we have done the right thing, and I know without a doubt that the men of the Twenty-Eighth know it as well. We're returning home to the ones we cherish, and we are alive."

Proculus' tears fell into the waving ocean below. Vitus' dual-colored eyes watched the soft crashing waves of the Channel as they softly hit the boat. He envisioned Appia and Proculus the day of their marriage. How they exited their home and went to the balcony of the villa and stared lovingly into each other's eyes. They looked to be both God and Goddess descended down to the mortal plane. Vitus remembered how his mother gushed with maternal love as she witnessed her son's happiness. He remembered his uncle and cousin silently watching as well with smiles on their faces. He remembered his father staring on in paternal pride, truly happy that his son had found his Aphrodite. Such a wonderful memory of the family. Proculus wiped the tears from his eyes, lingered in silence for a few minutes, and then left Vitus alone as he ventured below deck to rest. Vitus rustled his own hair and said a silent prayer, and went down below deck, his mind plagued with thoughts of the future.

Got some very important news...

There's only two more chapters remaining of Invictus!

Yes, the story is coming to the end really soon and I would want to thank you all for the ride.

I would like to thank everyone who is continually reading this fic. I want you all to note that it is keeping me committed to the story. Truly, thank you all!

-Kanuro5