Ciaran Mac Rory THE STONE OF DESTINY Part V Rome 60 A.D. .......... The city is awesome. As soon as you enter it, you know wonder and despair. Wonder, that human beings could build such a thing, create such magnificent structures as you see in all directions, and despair, that such an almighty monster could ever be resisted. The clamor of workmen, blacksmiths, marching soldiers, news criers, revelers in taverns and gossiping crowds in public squares, is louder than the roaring of the sea, and you feel that there are more people in this city than in all of Prydain. It seems obvious that Rome can never be overcome (though Scathach has told you that it has, in fact, been sacked in the past), and that the Legions can only be driven out of Prydain if Rome no longer feels it's worth the effort to keep them there. And looking at huge obelisks, statues of generals and gods standing on every corner, residential buildings five stories tall, warrens of shops and homes and temples scattered around greater monuments, you cannot fathom why such a humble thing as the Stone of Destiny would be of interest to any Roman, much less the Emperor of all this. Magic? If the Stone has magic, surely somewhere in this city there is far greater power! It is hard not to be humbled, as a man who these Romans surely see as a simple barbarian, walking amidst blocks of apartment buildings and trying to resist the impulse to duck and hunch your shoulders, with the encroachment of manmade dwellings that seem to rear up unnaturally around you, held up by Gods know what, while the lowliest Roman takes such grandeur for granted and walks unimpressed beneath magnificent stone arches, and scrawls things on the walls. You see a lot of graffiti -- these Romans don't seem to have much respect for what they have erected. And many buildings are plastered with signs, or adorned with huge black Latin letters painted as high as a man, attracting the eye, though you don't know what messages a Roman might want to write in such huge script on the wall of a building. You also see a lot of filth….human waste stains the walls of apartment buildings as it pours out of pipes or is simply dumped out windows, and rivers of filth flow down many streets. Some streets are kept clean by a platoon of slaves with brooms and buckets, but others have rubbish and broken cartwheels and discarded razors and shattered pottery and mouldering piles of rags lining the gutters, almost impossible to avoid stepping in. Slaves and poor apartment dwellers cook outside on the streets, on dozens of little portable stoves and braziers…you can go nowhere in Rome without smelling cooking fires and burning wood, and looking up at the cramped, crowded tenament complexes, you wonder what it must be like if they catch fire. What happens to the people trapped up on those high floors? And you see enough black soot on walls and partially- rebuilt structures exposing scorched frames to know this must happen, and not too infrequently. And some of these buildings look unfit for human habitation, held up by mere timber beams, looking like a strong wind might bring them crashing to the street. Again, you see piles of mortar and broken timbers and bricks lying in alleys and courtyards here and there, and know this must happen. Little stalls sell food everywhere, boys run around screaming "COME HERE FOR THE BEST SAUSAGES IN ROME!", other vendors offer pudding and fish and cheap wine and cakes of bread and cheese, and open-air taverns are crowded with men sitting on benches playing dice and gossipping. Moneychangers do business on old wooden tables beneath faded, stained canopies that look like they were once bright and colorful, perhaps back in the days when Rome was new. A goldsmith beats plates with his mallet, and a beggar, the hundredth you've seen, holds out a cracked plate and smiles toothlessly, pleading for a copper coin. You hear a mighty roar echoing over the rooftops, from the colliseum mere blocks away. The throng has a greater voice than any army of screaming Celts, as they cheer the victory of their favorite chariot racer, or perhaps the decapitation of a gladiator. "The first thing we should do," Scathach says at last, "is exchange those coins for ones of smaller value." She points at a old man with a long, dirty grey beard with numerous cups and jars sitting on a table, flanked by a pair of brown-skinned guards who are right now eating legs of lamb, as their employer pours coins on a table and counts them out, while a customer stands opposite him watching carefully. "And close your mouth," she says. "If you look like a bumpkin we'll get taken even worse." <><><><><> The city was both awe inspiring and disgusting at the same time. The size and closeness were intimidating. The sqalor of many areas was matched by the magnificent splendor of others. The sights and smells and sounds conspired against Ciaran and he was constantly looking about himself to make sure he didn't miss anything. "I am a bumpkin," he mused. "I can't fool these people... look at me, look at you we don't look anything like them. They are short and dark, and they dress funny... To think.... they have an Empire that covers the known world." He shook his head and offered the coins to Scathach. "Do you want to try and get this done? You have better knowledge here." <><><><><> <> "Aye, I suppose," Scathach grumbles. The two of you approach the money-changer. He looks from Scathach to you and back, bemused that the woman is conducting business. They proceed to haggle over different names for coins, most of which are unfamiliar to you. And to Scathach, who admits in an aside in Celtic, "It's been so long since I've been to Rome, I don't know if we're merely being cheated, or outright robbed." She walks away with many more coins than you started. "Now, the next thing to do might be to try finding other Celts. There will be many, here in Rome, and probably even a few others from Prydain. Probably too much to hope for that any of them have any standing here and would be sympathetic to our cause." <><><><><> He walked along for a time without saying anything. Simply trying to avoid gawking and appearing to be foolish in the face of such a gandiose environement was taking a lot of his concentration. He followed Scathach's lead where he could. "And what of Caractacus.... Was he not brought he to Rome and presented to the Emperor before this weak kneed one they have now? Was he not set up to live here? That was what I had heard in the Court hall of Prasutagus." "He may have been beaten and captured, and he may have sworn to oppose them no more... but he is a Celt and a fighter....to his heart." <><><><><> <> "Caractacus....aye.....he might be a good ally to have, here in Rome. If we can find him. Assuming he's still alive, and not put on display somewhere like one of those caged beasts they keep for their games." "We won't find him just by wandering around, though." She looks at one of the many outdoor eateries favored by Rome's lower classes and visiting foreigners. "We should find one of those, where there are some other Celts. The local People would know where we can find Caractacus." <><><><><> He shrugged. He had no idea where to begin looking. His idea to look for Caractacus ended with it's mentioning. Now he would have to rely on Scathach to implement this. She knew Rome, or at least knew far more about Rome than he did. "Then we should go to one of these eating places you said..... I could stand to fill my belly some, and maybe wash my throat clean from the stenches here." <><><><><> <> After hunting around for a bit, Scathach finds a tavern where you can see Celt men gathered...some with tribal tattoos, though none familiar. Most of them are from the continent. It's almost all Celts here-- and warriors by the look of them, so probably they are mercenaries. No women, so Scathach attracts a great deal of notice as you enter. Notice and fascination. They probably don't see many warrior women in Rome itself. Within ten minutes, you've had at least three men try to provoke you into a contest of some sort -- no Celt would suggest the winner would get to *claim* Scathach as their prize, but obviously besting you would make them look superior. Scathach looks amused at all the men willing to act like foolish young bucks just to gain a favorable look from her. But her amusement is fleeting -- she gives you a look that says "I'm too old for this nonsense." What you're looking (or listening) for is someone who sounds like they come from Britain. The gods either smile upon you or they laugh in your face-- a tall, blond man, a head taller than you, steps up and looms over you. He speaks in Latin, but with a Prydain accent. "I'm sure you didn't know this," he says amiably, "so I'll forgive you this time, but you're sitting in my place." Scathach, sitting next to you, sighs and mutters under her hand in Eiru Celtic "Well, you feel up to it?" Beating this fellow down is a likely way to win respect and make friends...possibly even with him. Celts are like that-- but it's easy for one of these manhood challenges to turn serious, and then you might find yourself in a blood-feud with him and all his friends. So talking your way out of it, or letting Scathach defuse the confrontation, might be the safer option. <><><><><> Safer, more than likely, but hardly worthy of mention. What they needed were allies and support. These Celts knew Rome and it's comings and goings. There was little doubt as to what Ciaran had to do. He took a deep drink from his mug and set it dwn upon the table. He shrugged in response to Scathach and then levelled an upward glare at the tall blond Celt. Ciaran was of normal height for Celts and that was considerably taller than the average Roman's height. This man was a giant compared to them, but Ciaran had known tall men before. He also knew how to best them. In a fluid motion he rose, pushing back his bench seat. It toppled behind him, but he kept his attention seadfastly fixed on the young man. He held a posture that suggested a relaxed posture, but he was anything but relaxed. Coiled and waiting... He then spoke in Prydanian Celtic. "Ye make a boastful claim... And if'n you canna' back it up, then you dishonor me and my companion." He switched to Latin. It was slower and more formal sounding. "I do not require your forgiveness... And I plan to keep my seat... You can move on, or things can get ugly." <><><><><> <> The other Celt laughs, as expected, and replies in Celtic: "Now, maybe when you were minding pigs back on your father's farm in Prydain, you were the mightiest pigherder in your village. Bet all the other country boys let you sit where you liked down at the local brughaid." His friends laugh, and the rest of the tavern focuses its attention on the impending entertainment. "But you're in Rome now. We're a bit more choosy about who we allow to sit in a *warrior's* seat." He switches to Latin, which, while less suited for stinging insults than the more poetic Celtic tongue, is much more suited for pronouncing one's identity and deeds in such a way as to sound as impressive as possible. "I, by the way, am Huel of Cennet, and I was born in Prydain and killed my first man at age 14, and I have fought in Afrika, in Armenia and in Mesopotamia, and people sing of my deeds in all those places. I am the strongest man in my company, and I snap little men like you in two just for practice, but I am also known as a tolerant man, so I'll give you one more chance to *get out of my seat*!" By now, of course, he knows that there's no chance you'll back down, but the display is just part of the ritual. He's not placing his hand near the hilt of his sword, so either he's a sneaky killer (and fancies himself very quick) or he isn't planning to make this bloody. <><><><><> The challenge and boasting had begun. Ciaran knew he would get his speak as the man challenged. He watched the Cennet man named Huel with interest. Studying his posture and his stance and the way he carried himself. Ciaran laughed when the rest laughed. But his eyes never left the man, and his intensity never faltered. He spoke in Prydanian first. "You speak above yourself then, for these men are obviously more wizened than you... Perhaps Rome has made you soft, and you have forgotten what it means to be a Celt. Maybe, lad, ye've forgotten everything except how to be a Roman... I look around and see the strong blood of Celtic Warriors in evidence... but *You*... you speak loudly and say little. Those are grand soounding places for a lad to have travelled.... perhaps more walking than fighting though... You journeyed to all these places while me and the country boys were fighting on Prydanian soil to keep our lands free." "I know I'm in Rome... and I know how far away from *Home* it is... do you?" He then turned his back on the Huel, to face the room. He scanned the room with his eyes as he walked a circle around the table. Huel would do nothing until Ciaran had a chance to publically speak his deeds. If Huel did, then he would be dishonored. But Ciaran was not a fool, he kept a watchful eye and he kept alert all the same. In Latin he pronounced himself. His words were sharp and delivered carefully. "I am Ciaran MacRory of Emain Macha in the kingdom of Ulaid in Eiru. Son of Rory MacMorna, son of *The Morna* of the Clan na Morna. I have seen more battles than I can count, and I too killed my first man before I wore a beard. I rode to battle in my chariot as a *Red Branch Knight* in the service of King Connor of Ulaid. I was trained by the legendary warrior woman *Scathach* upon her mystical island. I have travelled as well, but my journeys were to preserve the ways of our people. I served as advisor and personal friend to King Prasutagus and Queen Boadiccea of the Iceni tribe in *Prydain*. I sat with the King in his waning hours, and I have served the Queen as advisor and as a friend in her Husband's name and memory and honor. I have battled in the same battles as the man called Caractacus. I weeped at the betrayal that handed him over to his enemies. I smiled at the courage and honor he showed upon the field of battle. I have sung songs to retell his deeds so that others might take up the call and fight for freedom." "I have countless skulls to my name and a sword tempered in much blood. My journey to Rome comes at the call of the Druids of Yns Mon... and I obey." He stopped walking and faced Huel. Now it was time to put the man's back to the wall, and show him but one door to saving face here. "I am not a man to be trifled with..... And so I will give you one last chance to step down, and take my wrist as a fellow and comrade in this place, far from home." He extended his arm in a greeting. <><><><><> <> Huel does not interrupt as you take your turn, though he clenches his jaw and his fists at your return barbs. Scathach rolls her eyes a bit when you mention her name, not looking terribly pleased. When you offer your hand, the other Celt smiles. "I would be happy to accept you as a fellow and a comrade," he says. "But all those boasts....all those deeds....how can I be worthy?" "Either you're a man much greater than any in this room... or else you're a vainglorious braggart with a fertile mind. Studied under Scathach, fought with King Connor, quested by the Druids! If we dinna test your claims, we'd be fools, now wouldn't we? So let's see what manner of man is sent by the Druids of Ynys Môn to Rome!" He lunges at you in a grappling attack, and the spectactors instantly clear a space as your bodies collide. <><><><><> Relying on his speed, he rolls with the lunge, grasping for the wrists and taking the fall in the hopes of pulling the younger Celt up and over him, by planting a foot in his chest and sending him on in the direction of his momentum. <><><><><> <> You succeed in catching Huel, but he is strong....maybe stronger than you. He struggles, caught off-guard by your sacrifice throw, but you're not able to plant a foot in his chest. Instead, he crashes to the floor with you, and the two of you wind up grappling on the ground. He immediately puts his hands around your neck and head-butts you, bruising your forehead, and hoping to have stunned you long enough to scramble to his feet. He hasn't. This isn't going to be a spectacular fight, but Scathach taught you more than a few dirty brawling tricks, and she certainly won't forgive you if you prove not to have learned your lessons well. <><><><><> The pain of the head butt is enough to really darken Ciaran's mood. Now it's no longer a game... Now it will become a lesson. His position beneath the larger Celt affords him the use of his own strength without having to support his body's weight. His enemy, in order to grasp his throat and head butt him would have to be over top of him and above. Ciaran slides his hands, still gripping tightly enough to keep hold, up along the Celt's arms and drives his thumbs into the area between the bicep and tricep on the underside. Applying pressure to the bone, and *tender spot*... and simultaneously driving his right knee upwards between Huel's legs. <><><><><> <> Driving your thumbs into the soft spot between Huel's biceps and triceps gives you a moment of advantage. Huel yelps and tries to sit up and break your grip. Your knee does not catch him as you hoped-- he's obviously got too much brawling experience to easily succumb to that maneuver, but in order to avoid it, he's forced to roll away, allowing you to dislodge him. <><><><><> As Huel is dislodged, Ciaran paces the maneuver and follows it with a hip roll kick. He braces from the prone position and twists his body, swinging his leg hard and sharp to connect with Huel as he comes out of his roll-away. He follows through, and if there is a miss, then at least Ciaran will be on his way to a standing position. The intent is to catch Huel just as he comes up, and just before he is ready to defend. <><><><><> <> Your kick whacks Huel ineffectively, but you do get to your feet faster than him. Rather than coming up into a possible attack or waiting for you to strike, he lunges for your legs, trying to throw you off your feet, but you are able to sidestep him. <><><><><> Clasping both hands together, Ciaran finishes his sidestep and swings down hard, aiming his blow for Huel's neck or shoulders. This needed to end. Where Huel landed, Ciaran would follow through with a stamping kick of his foot. <><><><><> <> Your fists come down between Huel's shoulder blades. He grunts and pitches forward to the floor, tries to rise, then slams against the floor again when you stomp on him. When you step back, he groans and tries to rise, shakily, dripping blood from his nose and mouth where his face smashed against the floor. <><><><><> He shifts his stance and waits over Huel for a moment, guaging whether or not he will need to do more. Finally he steps back and uprights his chair, never taking his eyes off the man on the floor. "It's over Huel... Yer Blood is Celt enough fer me, and ye proved yerself... The seat is yours if'n ye want it." He stretched out a hand to indicate he would help Huel to stand. He was a bit far for Huel to reach, but if the man seemed willing to accept then Ciaran would move in. His offer was customary. To give his opponent a chance to save face in public before his comrades by accepting a friendly gesture. <><><><><> <> Huel takes your hand up. "No," he gasps. "You take the seat...you earned it." He shakes his head, sending little drops of blood flying, and sways on his feet. <><><><><> Ciaran ignored the blood and helped to steady the bigger man. "Then at least sit with us... You've earned that in my eyes." He pulled a chair with his free hand. "We haven't much, but perhaps we can put a drink on the table in front of you." <><><><><> <> "Aye, that would be....nice...." Huel mumbles around a split lip. He drops heavily into the seat, while around him, the tavern resumes its normal chatter, with a few men clapping Huel on the shoulder in commiseration, a few shouting words of encouragement at you, and a bit of money changing hands. "Eriu, you say?" Huel says at last, once something has been brough to him and he's able to quaff it down. "I've never met an Eriu Celt, and I have been from Prydain to Mesopotamia. I did not think your people left your island....even the Romans have never set foot there yet, or so they say...." <><><><><> He nodded at the acknowledgement of the others and turned his attention back to Huel. "Aye, we're coming from Eriu...and no, we don't often leave our island. Travelling to Prydain was a big thing for me... until this.. And seeing Gaul and these cities.... I don't know what to say... I could spend a lifetime and I doubt I would see all there is to see here... And I envy you the choice you made.... to join this great army, and see the world from end to end... the glory of your deeds is certainly great. I would be a small man in comparison to that Huel. You honor your people." "As for the Romans in Eriu... we know about them... well a number of us do... those who live in the east. We have seen some merchants there, but it will be some time I think before the Legions come across the waters." "Prydain still troubles them considerably, and dark times approach there now.... The capture of Caractacus was not the end of the resistance to the legions and to Rome... Dark times... The west and north are still very much in contention... Suetonius has marched on Yns Mon and come fair weather there... He will cross and the Druids will make their last stand... I can not possibly know what that will mean to our people and their fight for freedom.... I fear that I may return to the islands, and find there is no one of them left... But I can not let that slow me now... we have come very far." <><><><><> <> "You sound as if you are still fighting the Romans," Huel says slowly. "How can you do that, here in Rome?" <><><><><> "Huel," he said after a chuckle. "I'm not here to fight Romans, that would make me an idiot... this is their home... Your home now... I am not here to stir up troubles... I am not arrogant enough to believe I am any more significant than a pimple on a bull's ass in this place. I doubt I could stir up any troubles." "I don't want any troubles coming my way either with the Romans... not here... Not even in Prydain... But I've come here to find some information... to learn about something... to get something back... and go home... My home." "If I can do it quietly and be about my way... so be it. That would be best." <><><><><> <> "Ah," Huel says, grunting in vague understanding. He swallows down more drink, and accepts a cloth someone hands him and starts wiping blood and dirt off his face. "So you are here in Rome looking for something?" Being a public place and you being the interesting newcomer, other men are gathering around, to listen to you and Huel and to try to flirt with Scathach. <><><><><> "Aye," he replied as he finished a tankard himself. "A very important something... and I'm not sure how it was done, but I know it was done, and I know the Druid's tell me it is coming to Rome...Or it's already here." He waited for a long moment to allow everyone's attention to settle. "I canna' discuss what it is.... Not before I speak with an old friend... Who here can tell me where I can find Caractacus?" Ciaran then qualified his question to reassure everyone of his intentions. "I need to speak, just speak, with him. Believe me.... If'n I find what I came for, then I go home... and I have no intention of trying to make trouble for any of you, or cause you any conflicts with the army you fight for... or the King you serve... I give you my Word of Honor on that." <><><><><> <> "Caractacus?" someone asks. "That drunken old fool?" "All he does now is leer at young girls and reminisce about the glory days," someone else scoffs. Scathach stands and glares at the men. "Caractacus was a king once!" she snaps. The sneering falls to whispers and mutters. "He did more in his lifetime than any of you are ever likely to." She grins fiercely. "Ciaran already taught you some manners. The rest of you mind your tongues or I'll teach you some more." No one says anything. The unease in the tavern increases, but having seen you humble their apparent champion, no one is eager to risk a similar beating at the hands of a woman. Huel, face bloody and swollen, nods, and says loudly "Aye....his best days may be behind him, but how many of you can say you stood before the Emperor and told him off, in front of his court?" He looks at you with a raised eyebrow and says, more quietly, "Aye, everyone knows where old King Caractacus lives. I find it hard to believe he'd be any help to you, though. He's become a drunkard, an old 'barbarian' chief kept around for the amusement of the Romans. Once he was highly respected, but he's let himself go and most are embarrassed by him now." The big Celt shrugs. "Not that he has much choice...for all the privilege he's earned, he's still a prisoner of the Romans, and he lives only at the Emperor's sufferance. Considering how mad the current Emperor is, Caractacus is probably better off appearing harmless and unworthy of notice." <><><><><> He listenedand watched those who made comments and remarks. He said nothing, but he felt a sadness in his heart. How easily they judged a man for what he became and disregarded all that had gone before. Scathach was right. He had done more in his life than any of these men, for all their worldly travels, would ever do. Caractacus had accepted his fate with what little dignity the Romans would offer him, and his *Glory Days* were indeed behind him, but still, he was a king, and a man who earned the respect due him. A small shadow of that sadness lifted when Huel spoke on the king's behalf to remind the Romanized Celts who he was and what he had done. "Those are wise, sage words Huel. You are a man of wisdom. With each passing moment my respect for you grows. You do understand. No man can be judged by another man's perceptions. Strap on his boots and walk in his steps afore ye make a judgement about what he is. Know what he was... and what he did... the past will always teach about the present, and guide the future." He nodded to Scathach and rose himself. Their time in the public house was near an end. They were Celts, but they were Romans first, and their ways were different. Huel was an enigma. He was a man seeking glory and honor for his name. He was here by choice, not by conquest. "Aye Huel, we should be going... and if'n ye can spare a moment of time to walk us aways through the city... perhaps ye can tell us how to find the old king... and I can tell ye some more of my tale." <><><><><> <> Huel thinks a moment, and nods. "I can do that," he says. "But I must be returning here directly after. We have exercises this afternoon, me and my company." One of his friends rises with him and says "I'll come along with you, Huel. I haven't seen old King Caractacus in a while. We should check in on him now and then." The last is said a bit grudgingly. Scathach frowns at the unexpected addition to the party, but Huel nods and it would be difficult to dissuade the third man without arousing suspicions. He may even have volunteered to come along because Huel's friends don't quite trust you and Scathach. It's easy to become paranoid in Rome.... <><><><><> He too notices the reluctance and he doubts the sincerity of the second man's words. He doubts the intentions moreso. With a nod to Scathach he moves closer to her and whispers in his own language. "Occupy this one with idle chatter and stay a apce or two off, and I will speak with Huel as we walk... If'n I keep it low, then mayhap I might learn something that we can use... Mayhap not, but it is worth the try... Aye?" <><><><><> <> "Very well," Scathach sighs. "You know, it's been far too long since I played this game." She sidles over to the other man, and begins asking his name, and where he's from, idle conversation....not exactly flirting, but providing just enough distraction that he doesn't pay so much attention to you and Huel as you casually steer the first warrior a few paces adrift.... <><><><><> Ciaran walked for a time without saying a word, making sure he had a few paces. He spoke in Huel's tongue and kept his voice low. "What I came for is of extreme importance and it was stolen by one man.. a renegade man from the legions who thinks that by stealing the heritage of another people, he can buy his way back into favor." "He deserted his army on the field of battle, but found favor among some sympathetic Celts. That Queen gave him an army of men, and they crossed to my land and stole an ancient thing, given to the Celtic people's when the Tuatha De Danaan went to the Otherworld. It became entrusted to the Celtic People's, and the Magic it possessed was ours to guard. One of the four relics the Tuatha, like Arawn and Morrigan and many other names of legend brought with them when they heeded the call of Great Mother to find those Islands... Now this one man has stolen one of those things... the Lia Fail..." He said the name again in Latin. "The Stone of Destiny." <><><><><> <> Huel ponders this. At last he says "I'm sorry...I have never heard of your Lia Fail. I have heard of the Tuatha, of course, but...." he shrugs. "I've been to many different lands, all of them believing in their own gods, and I suppose they all began to seem like fairy tales. I still revere the ways of my people, but I have never seen magic, or a god." "But, your quest sounds worthy. If you believe King Caractacus can help you, I will take you to him. But I warn you, he isn't the man he once was. Don't be....too disappointed." <><><><><> "I have seen a lot of things in my short lifetime Huel, and some I can't explain. I don't know if there is any magic really," he said remembering Medb and her illusions. Ciaran wasn't sure what they were but they were not things he could understand, and he had just the vaguest grasp on them himself. "But the Druids tell me that this is important, and I believe them. They know things most men are never meant to know. You've been so many places, but Huel... never forget where you came from. You are young, and strong, and a good man.... remember what it was that made you this way... teach it to others... remind them. We are Celts." He walked on listening to Huel. "I have no doubt that he is a different man... But somewhere inside, the man I need to see is there. He may be able to help me find this Achilleus... and the Stone." <><><><><> <> The neighborhood they take you to is rather more impressive than the rough foreign quarter where all the Celts were congregating. Though it's not even up to the standards of Alvita's neighborhood, back in Massilia, the people who live here must certainly be fairly well-off, not just your average shop owners or craftsmen. Huel leads you to one large house with a rusting metal gate. Sighing, he pushes it open with a creak, and clangs a little metal plate hanging next to the wall. Within, you can see a Roman-style courtyard with a fountain, but the fountain is mostly dry, and the courtyard looks cracked, with weeds beginning to grow up through the stones. Fairly quickly, though, a young Roman servant emerges and walks over to the gate, looking at the four of you. "We've some people who want to see King Caractacus," Huel says. The boy's gaze flickers over you, and lingers for a moment on Scathach, then he says "Who shall I tell him seeks an audience?" <><><><><> "Tell him that Ciaran MacRory of Eriu has travelled from Prydain to seek his counsel." Ciaran spoke slowly and enunciaterd his name carefully so the Latin speaking boy could get it right. <><><><><> <> The Roman lad nods briefly and walks back inside. No telling if he bothered to memorize your name properly or not, but he returns a few minutes later and says "The King will grant you an audience." You and Scathach and Huel and his friend proceed inside. The house looks like it was once quite luxurious, but from the fountain in the courtyard to the furnishings within, everything is worn and faded and poorly maintained. The house looks sad, aged and ill-kept....much like the man inside. Where King Caractacus holds "court" is a large room at the front of the house, and his courtiers are a pair of cheap-looking trollops, not very pretty ones. He slouches on a Roman-style couch with one of the women sitting in his lap and sharing a wine bowl with him, the other perched at the end of the couch and munching on some olives sitting on a table. She looks up at smiles coyly at you and Huel, trying to ignore Scathach. Caractacus is an old man, with a grizzled grey beard, and winestains on the front of his shirt, and his belly provides a large, soft armrest for the woman. He's more than a little drunk already, and shows no sign of slowing his intake....or indeed, that he ever stops. The boy stops, and trying to sound officious, declares "The visitor from Eriu," foregoing your name entirely. Caractacus chuckles. "Well, come on then. I haven't had a visitor from Eriu in quite a while. Haven't had any visitors in quite a while." His words are slurred, and his voice sounds raspy. "Dunno if ever I've had a visitor from Eriu....Eriu, where is that exactly, oh yes, the island to the west. East. Somewhere over there." He gestures awkwardly, and the trollops giggle, one pouring more wine into his mouth. <><><><><> The Eriu Celt made no visible indication that he noticed the state of Caractacus' decline. Inwardly he burned at what had become of such a poud and fierce man, whom he had stood with 11 years ago among the Silures. He wondered about the state of the man's memory. He wondered at the state of the man's health. He even wondered if the man passed any of his days without drink now. He cursed Cartimandua for her treachery to her own peoples, and he cursed the Romans themselves. He had been beaten, but they had to turn him into a symbol of their conquest. Stripped him of his pride and freedoms and now he lived at their mercy. A man with no honor lived the best he could. His days of Glory were behind him and he lived in a land where no one even cared to ehar the stories. Those Celts who did pass before him treated him as a drunken lout and considered him to be nothing worthy of their recognition. They understood nothing about what this man had been and what he had done... nor did they understand what had been done to him. "West, old friend... west. It has been a long time, and the years have not gone quietly, slipping away... But the fight goes on. The silures still fight and despite the treacherous bitch of the Brigantes, those are a fierce thorn in the sides of the Romans too... It's Ciaran... We fought at the Maiden Castle together.... spitting upon the dishonor and horror that Vespasian inflicted upon the women and the children, and we fought against him, knowing we were hopelessly outnumbered... Do you remember?" <><><><><> <> "Silures....Maiden Castle.....it's been years since I remembered them. Is that what you want, old war stories?" He grunts, and reaches for more wine. Then he actually looks at you for the first time, and his eyes focus slightly. "Vespasian....you were at Maiden Castle? You'd have been just a boy." <><><><><> "There were alot of boys there... and I was there as well. It's been many a year since I was a boy though. I have come a long way to be here... but ye of all people know just far it is." He paused for a moment. He hoped that the man might actually have a few clear thoughts in him today. He needed him to be lucid. He needed him to be in touch with reality. "I've been sent to Rome by the Druids of Yns Mon. I have been Geas'd and I'm thinkin' I could use some advice from ye... maybe even some help." <><><><><> <> "The druids?" King Caractacus starts laughing, sounding almost buffoonish with the amount of drink he's had, but there's a hint of bitterness too in his guffawing. "Aye, the druids, with their prophecies and geases and magic spells.....a great deal of good they were to us at Maiden Castle!" "So what advice do you think I can give you, son? You can see where the druids' aid sent me...." <><><><><> He nodded gravely at the old king's words. It wasn't really the Druid's aid that sent him here or turned him into what he had become. Rather, the betrayal of the king's own kind. Cartimandua saw a better opportunity and in the face of the overwhelming prospect that the mighty empire would indeed overrun Prydain, or Britannia as they were calling it, her decision had merit. Still, it was without honor and courage. He dismissed the concerns for something done and finished. It was best to continue with the present. "Sir, If we can speak with you alone, away from others.... This matter is gravely important." <><><><><> <> Caractacus sighs. "Oh, I've got no patience for fairy tales and druids' geases," he says. "If they sent you to me, they sent you on a wild goose chase. I can't help you. Ask me what you like, but don't expect me to take some 'secret quest' seriously." The trollop in his lap is distracting him, tickling his chin with her fingertips. <><><><><> His patience had been exhausted. He had come too far and worked to hard and risked too much to take attitude from this man. Hundreds of miles of walking. Fighting a duel that nearly cost him his head. Enduring the demented torturings of his mentor to prepare him for the next duel... All because he felt he had to. He considered himself an even tempered and patient man, but this old fool had finally drained him of his last reserves. Caractacus was once a wisened and strong man. A leader of men. A noble figure whose deeds would grant him a place in tales and legends and histories to come. But the truth of it all, he was a drunken and embittered old man now, who had lost his will to even care about himself let alone anything around him. Ciaran narrowed his eyes at the man's dismissive tones. He spoke in low tones, controlling his speech. He used the Prydain language for better emphasis. "Listen to me very carefully...." "You may not take anything in this world seriously anymore... You may revel in your own self pity... But my business is important. Follow this if you can, I'll speak slowly..." Ciaran set about to tell a tale. He had to make it a good tale. He had to bring the man around and make him understand. "Thousands of years ago... time unknown to us... Peoples wandered the lands in search of a home promised them by a Goddess of the Earth. They came to our islands and lived, and loved and they fought and died. Their deeds were great and their mark upon us even greater. They brought with them their greatest artifacts... their symbols of power... Their time passed and they moved on to a new way of life. Their Goddess, our Goddess had given the land over to us. We too travelled from great distances to come to those islands. The fiercest and bravest and strongest warriors ever known... The islands became ours, and the old ones became like Gods... They left us their artifacts... hidden and secure... in our trust. Until now..." "Once you were a man of respect, a man of honor, and a man feared by his enemies. Many skulls hung from your belt and your chariot. But fate and destiny has changed that. Neither you nor I are to blame for that... Everyone's lives have changed with the coming of the Romans. That is the way of things, and that is how time progresses. It doesn't care for the people like us, but only it's own needs. Your time has come and gone... but your honor is something you must contend with... that you must take with you into death... We all live for that moment... To die in glory and honor and have our deeds remembered by those who will come after us..." Ciaran paused as he walked around the poorly maintained room where the old king held *court*. "I ask you to seek your within your heart and find the fire that burns... I need that man I stood with so many years ago... that man who could rally an army to face numbers three and four times greater than his own. The man whose blood boiled with the fury of freedom... The man whose wrist I clasped on the day we parted company." "You are that man... I need you... The Romans have stolen the Stone of Destiny... A roman... Achilleus... I have come here to right that wrong... take back what is ours... Nothing will stop me but death itself... The Stone signifies freedom... All our freedom.... You can stay here in your self pity and drink yourself into the final farewell... Or you can help me.... Help me find this man... and the Lia Fail... One last fight to let the Gods know you are a man who can be beaten but never broken...." "What say you old friend?" <><><><><> <> The old king listens to you with a skeptical smile at first, but gradually he manages to wipe some of the besotted smirk off his face. It's hard to tell how seriously he is taking you at the end of your tale -- he is listening, but his eyes are still dull with drink. Finally he says "I wish I remembered you, Ciaran Mac..." he stammers for a moment, and then continues, both of you realizing he's forgotten the clan name you gave his young doorman. "You speak well, and you must have been one hell of a fighter, even as a boy." "I never heard of this Lia Fail. It must be from Eriu. You sound sincere, and you have the fire I once saw in the men who followed me into battle against Vespasian...followed me and died. If I thought it would do any good, maybe I would be moved to help you....despite the fact that I don't believe any stone, no matter how sacred it may be, will make our people free." "But what fight do you want me for? This....Achilleus, you are going to find him and try to take the Stone back from him? I am an old man now, and I haven't held a sword or a spear in years. Even if I stirred meself from this house, what good would I be in a fight? Do you think I can raise an army here in Rome?" He chuckles bitterly. "Even if anyone still remembers me, even if I had enough respect to get anyone to follow me even now, we couldn't beat the Legions on our own home ground, do you think we can beat them in Rome itself? So just what is it you think I can do for you?" <><><><><> He smiled. He had touched something in the man and had gotten a glimmer of what he hoped for. He moved closer, offering his wrist. "No old friend... You may not remember me. I was one of many who fought your fight. No one special. That time was your time... your glory... We fought hard and you lead us well. I was one of very few to survive. No, I don't ask that you pick up a sword. We won't fight the Legions.... Not here, not now... I need your help though... Guide us through Rome, help us find this Achilleus... A brute of man, and the Stone is no small thing for him to bring... He was once a legionaire, but deserted it. He may try to return to it. Or he may have come to show his theft off to curry favor with those who rule. You have the one thing we do not possess... A means of getting information... You know people and can speak with people. You are still a Celt, but these people accept you more readily than they might accept myself or my companion. Think on it. One last great deed... help us return the Stone of Destiny to our Islands... " "I will deal with Achilleus. That fight is between he and I and it is a score we both need to settle. And settle it we will. When we cross swords this time... it will be the last time." <><><><><> <> "Lead you through Rome? I doubt I could lead you to the door," Caractacus says. But he takes your wrist, a little shakily. "Information....people....." He groans. "I'm a barely-remembered relic now. I haven't been to court or any feasts since Nero took the throne. I'd rather not call attention to myself with a madman like that as Emperor." He sighs and leans back in his couch, closing his eyes. For a few long moments, you think he may have fallen asleep. Finally he stirs and looks at you again. "I need to think about this. Come back again tomorrow." <><><><><> The Eriu Celt nodded and let slip the old man's grip on his wrist. "We shall return tomorrow then. Rest and when we return... we can speak more on this King Caractacus." Ciaran nodded to the others to make their way out of the man's home. He spared a glance at Scathach and whispered in his own native tongue. "I am unsure of what tomorrow will bring... we have done our best... any ideas?" <><><><><> <> "It hinges on Caractacus now," Scathach says. "The man he was struggles with the man he is." "I'm sorry your visit proved fruitless," Huel says, oblivious to your aside with Scathach. "He was a great man once, but now he's a lion in a cage, and the Romans have pulled his claws and teeth." <><><><><> Ciaran nodded to Scathach. Nothing more need be said. He clapped a hand to Huel's shoulder and shook his head with a chuckle. "No friend... Not fruitless at all... Each day is a new one, and each thing we do can teach us and inspire us... This was important and no matter the outcome, it was well worth the time that has been spent." "Tomorrow will be a new day... but you both have duties to your army and we thank you for your aid and help. The lady and I shall wander around this city and try to stay out of trouble." <><><><><> <> Huel nods and clasps your wrist again. "Farewell then, and good luck on your quest." He and the other man take their leave, and you and Scathach are alone. "When I was younger," she says, looking across the city as you ascend one of its several hills, "Rome was great. Every Celt knew the Legions were our greatest enemy. Rome had been our greatest enemy for centuries...no one thought the Romans would ever go away, but they could still be fended off now and then. We still remembered times when they'd been defeated, soundly. And so did they." "Now, I think it's been many years since Rome has suffered a real defeat. If there is anything that may ultimately defeat the Legions, it's complacency. This city....it reminds me a lot of King Caractacus. Once it was glorious and a foe to be respected, now it's sinking into comfortable decrepitude, surrounded by sycophants and excessive luxury." <><><><><> He saw the same things she did, but they didn't mean the same things. He didn't see the history and couldn't compare what he saw to anything else. To him, this city was beyond his wildest imaginations. A month ago, the thought of going to Rome wouldn't have conjured an image any different than Londinium. Now, Londinium was a mere rabble of huts and some stonework sheds compared to this place. But it was too much really. Too close and too confining. It was choked with people. From all parts of the empire they came. They were dressed oddly, and they spoke oddly. To Ciaran it was all decadent and everywhere he looked he saw things that made him think it was all decrepit. "Maybe so Scathach, but it will stagger forward for many more years I am guessin' before it falls in on itself... if ever such a day comes... I never saw it then, but I will accept that it was a greater place. I have much to learn." "Perhaps ye should show me around, and mayhap we can find some food." <><><><><> <> "Aye," Scathach says....and as you stumble for about the fourth time on the uneven streets of the darkened city, she says "but we'll find food and shelter now, I'll show you around by daylight. Only fools wander the streets of Rome at night." You both make your way to a neighborhood from whence you can hear some sound and see light in open windows. Walking the streets at night is definitely an unpleasant experience, with all the rubble and broken potsherds and emptied chamberpots poured out on the streets. It's a relief to finally find a tavern serving the lower classes. Celts aren't regular customers here, apparently, since when you and Scathach enter, everyone turns and looks at you with puzzlement and apprehension. It looks like these are laborers and slaves, mostly, perhaps a few lower-class craftsmen. But a man who's sitting on a table, who was apparently speaking to the customers, smiles at you and beckons for you to sit down. "Enter, friends, there's no reason for you to feel unwelcome here." <><><><><> Ciaran does so. "You're hospitality is kindly accepted," he offered in his accented latin. "Some stew and bread and mayhap an ale for her and I both." He jingled the coin purse to let the keep know they could pay. The smells of the food and drink replace the stenches and other fecund smells of the streets. Or at least Ciaran can displace those smells in favor of the more savory aromas inside the roman version of a Bruighaid. He scanned the room looking for a place for himself and Scathach to sit. A table with a bench with a little room for two people. He was itred of walking and the streets had been unkind to him. Ciaran was a nimble enough man, and sure footed to be sure, but he was well out of his element here and Rome took no mercy on those whose ignorance was duly demonstrated. He led Scathach further inside the room, he was hoping that he could find something near a wall. It wasn't that he believed these roman types would do anything untoward, but Rome was a big place and much could happen in very short time. Ciaran didn't want to be unprepared. <><><><><> <> A server brings you and Scathach your food and takes two small coins in payment, but everyone else's attention turns back to the speaker. "The marvelous thing about the salvation He offered," the man says, apparently continuing from a point where he'd left off, "is that it is offered to everyone, unconditionally. You do not have to propitiate the gods with offerings or sacrifices, and He does not care whether you are an Emperor or a lowly beggar. He said He came here for *all* mankind, to offer us a heavenly kingdom the likes of which Nero can only dream of!" "Religious cults....Rome is full of them," Scathach mutters in Celtic. The speaker has an earnest expression, though, and seems to have captivated his audience, though you see a few skeptical looks among them too. He goes on to speak about some man who was the son of God (he always says "God" in the singular, apparently assuming that everyone knows which god he's talking about) whom the Romans crucified thirty years or so ago, but who supposedly came back to life. His message seems to be that worshipping this resurrected "son of God" assures a blissful afterlife. Scathach chuckles cynically. "Someone lost no time taking advantage of his Immortality, I'll wager," she murmers. "Or maybe the poor fool woke up after his crucifixion and believed he really was divine offspring...he wouldn't be the first." <><><><><> The Celt listened while trying to be casual. The best way to learn things about a place was to hear what people had to say. Latin was a difficult enough language, but the speaker used a word or two that Ciaran had no understanding of. *Propitiate?* *Hmmm... Pro--pit.... the Gods?* Trying to fit it into context meant he lost some of what the man was saying. And Scathach speaking in her usual caustic fashion didn't help him any. He furrowed his brow a bit and narrowed his attention as she whispered about the son of their god being a poor slob of an immortal or some such. She could be very right. Ciaran didn't know that many Immortals but he certainly knew the fact that it would be easy to convince yourself that you had the powers of the Gods. And even easier to convince mortals if done correctly. Both he and Scathach and a few others had done that by pretending to be Sidhe Warriors. "Here there are so many cults you say," he whispered back, still focused on the speaker. "But why then are the Romans so possessed of destroying our beliefs... when they haven't control of what happens here?" <><><><><> <> "The Romans don't care who you worship, as long as you worship *their* gods too, which includes their bloody Emperors," Scathach whispers back. "These cults usually at least give lip service to the current approved deities, so the authorities tolerate them." The speaker continues speaking. Although the cultural spin on the story is alien to you, a mortal carpenter turning out to be the son of a powerful god and gathering followers isn't too dissimilar to some Celtic tales. This whole concept of "salvation" is strange, though -- the speaker doesn't explain what Joshua-bar Joseph is supposedly going to save his worshippers from. Rome? Some of what he says seems to refer to politics in another province under Roman control, and you don't understand it at all. Eventually he tells the crowd "If you wish to learn more, you can find me at Salutto's Barber Shop most days. If anyone wishes to come with me now to pray, I will show you where we are creating a small synagogue where we can worship." When he leaves, several men go with him. Scathach shakes her head and orders some more barley beer. "Jews. I think they've been around since before Rome. They believe in a single all-powerful god, which tends to put them at odds with the Romans. This bit about their god fathering a son is new to me, though." <><><><><> None of it made any sense to him, and Scathach's explanation didn't help. *Jews?* He knew nothing about them but that wasn't surprising. He knew nothing about most things. But he was intrigued by the passion the man spoke with. And, if Scathach was correct about the Roman's being at odds with these Jews, he was impressed at the man's courage. To take such a risk in the name of a God. Must be a mighty God indeed. After the man left, Ciaran returned his attention to his drink and the empty thoughts of his meeting with Caractacus. He also thought upon his likely duel with Achilleus. He did many things wrong last time... This time he would be more careful... he hoped.