Valerius Aristarchus of Antioch ROME REMEMBERS Part III Rome 536 A.D. .......... [GM] Shortly, you hear movement in the foyer, and Belisarius' voice calling out, "Antonina?" He moves closer, entering the house. "Antonina, why is the house so dark?" Already, his footsteps are becoming slower, and wary. Then, at the entrance to this room, he sees you. You hear his sword slide out of its scabbard. "Who are you?" he growls. <><><><><> "Please forgive the deception, my lord. It was unworthy, but it was also the only way I could speak to you in private." Valerius spoke slowly and clearly, with only a hint of a quaver. He turned around slowly, empty hands outspread, and stepped forward a pace so that the meager lamplight illumined his face. "Your eyes do not lie, my lord. It really *is* me. Your servant, Valerius." <><><><><> [GM] Belisarius pales slightly, and involuntarily, takes a step back. He is a brave man, but very few people can be confronted with the supernatural and not react a little. "Valerius," he croaks. Swallowing, he speaks in a firmer voice. "Why have you come back to haunt me, my friend? Or are you here to give me some warning" <><><><><> "Oh, my lord!" Valerius' voice cracked, and he fell to one knee, head bowed. Tears brimmed in his eyes, but the young man fought them down. "My lord, I neither haunt nor warn you. I... I only wished to speak with you once more. I swore allegiance to you at Daras, and that oath still binds me." Mastering himself, Valerius looked up into his beloved lord's eyes. "Christ be praised, I am alive, my lord - living flesh and warm blood, even as you. It makes no sense, but it is so." He held up his hands to Belisarius. "I know this is frightening, my lord. By the Virgin, it frightens me every time I awaken, knowing I ought to be dead!" Valerius' heart pounded in his chest; he felt every sinew straining toward Belisarius, praying that he would somehow understand. He dropped his arms to his sides, never moving from where he knelt on the tiled floor. "If you wish," he said quietly, "if my presence is too unnerving, I can leave. Will you speak to your old friend and student, or will you send him away?" <><><><><> [GM] Belisarius keeps his sword up, and his tone is calm but wary. "I will speak to you," he says carefully. "But what you tell me is impossible. I know you died, I did the deed myself. So how do I know you are not a restless shade, or worse?" <><><><><> "You're right, my lord." Valerius shook his head. "I could talk 'til morning and it wouldn't prove a thing. I'm not sure I believe it all myself... but here goes." "After you finished me and dumped my body in the Tiber, I must have washed downstream. I came up somewhere on the west bank, not far from the city walls. There was a family who gave me shelter - I don't know who they were, but I'll find them, God willing, when all this is over; they deserve better than the pitiful hovel they lived in." "Anyway, after I left the family the Goths got on my scent. One of them - an arrogant fellow, Pedrec or Padrec, some such barbarian name - nearly cut my head from my shoulders. I was only saved by a Roman who knocked down this Pedrec and got me back inside the walls." "This Roman told me that I had become immortal. I can be hurt or even killed, but I do not die like other men. After a time, the breath stirs, the heart beats, and I live again." Valerius shuddered as he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. "I know this because I died once again, drowned in the Tiber as we tried to enter the city. Yet here I am." "You think that I am a shade or a demon, or at least some charlatan playing on my looks to get close to you. Well, I can debunk the charlatan fears at least, my lord. I ask nothing of you, save news of your life and health, and of my troops. That, and one other thing." Valerius sighed. "Given my public demise, I could hardly return to your service even if you would have me. I crave your pardon for not coming to you sooner, and ask that you release me from your serivce and the Emperor's. I will still follow you in my heart, my lord, and I always shall. If you need me, I'll be there... but I have to seek some way to use this immortality in the Lord's service, and the Empire's." "As for being shade or demon..." Valerius held up his empty hands. "There is only one way I know to prove that I am living flesh and blood, lord. Cut me, and watch me bleed. It'll hurt like the blazes, but if that is what it takes, do so. The wound will heal quickly enough, unless it be a mortal blow. Tell me where you wish to strike. Then we shall go down to the cathedral together, if you be willing. No demon or shade would dare enter the Lord's house." <><><><><> [GM] "If men can rise from the dead, I am not sure what any other demonstration would prove," Belisarius says. He continues staring at your face. "My faith tells me only one man can return from the dead in the flesh, but my senses tell me otherwise. I think I find it easier to believe in such a miracle than in shades or demons, to be honest." He steps forward cautiously, and holds out his other hand, the one not clutching a sword. "Let me grasp your hand and feel that it is flesh and blood. Then I will go down to the cathedral with you and pray. If you are really Valerius Aristarchus, I would prefer not to see you healing wounds or performing other supernatural feats. The very fact you are here is miracle enough." <><><><><> "As my lord wills." Valerius extended his hand to Belisarius. He half expected his old mentor to grip the proferred hand and run him through... but even that would be worth it, if it convinced him that Valerius' words were true. <><><><><> [GM] Belisarius is capable of cunning, on the battlefield, but rarely face-to- face. He grips your hand, hesitantly for just a moment, and then firmly, squeezing hard, as if testing his own senses. "Holy Mother of God," he breathes. "Valerius....it IS you!" He searches your face for a moment longer, seems to be considering whether he will embrace you. Then he steps back. "I still cannot quite believe that this is not some kind of trick. But come with me to the cathedral. If prayer does not make things more clear to me, then I will just have to trust my senses, in the absence of anything else on which to rely." He turns slowly towards the door, then gestures for you to precede him. <><><><><> Valerius nodded. "I understand, my lord. I scarcely believe it myself." He took up his sword from the table and belted it around his waist. Tossing his cloak across his shoulders, the young immortal led his former mentor to the cathedral. <><><><><> [GM] In the cathedral, you feel the same comforting aura of sanctuary. You and Belisarius kneel and pray at length. When he rises again, his face is calm. He sighs and shakes his head. "God works wonders, and there's no reason why He should feel obliged to make His purpose clear to a mere army officer. I accept what my eyes and ears and hands tell me, Valerius. But you are right, you cannot return to my service. Too many of the men would be frightened, it would start rumors and superstitious hysteria that we don't need right now, while we're trying to withstand a siege. With reluctance, I release you from your vows of service. You served me well, even unto death- no commander can ask for more than that." He looks at you. "What will you do now, Valerius?" <><><><><> At the end of an hour of earnest, humble prayer, Valerius felt renewed. His senses seemed keener, and his path clearer than ever. When Belisarius released Valerius, the young immortal clasped his mentor's hand in silence. The end of a chapter. "I'm... not quite certain, my lord," he managed at last. "I was given this gift from God, and now I have to figure out how to *use* it in His service - and the Empire's. Lord knows there is enough to be done." As the two men paced slowly through the nave, Valerius' eyes wandered to Christian votaries overlaid on pagan frescoes. "For now I'll be staying in Rome." His voice was a low murmur, audible only to Belisarius. "You may have released me from your service, my lord, but I'll not abandon you! If the enemy breaches the wall, I'll stand by your side." "I'll fill the time in training. There's another immortal like myself within the walls, and he's offered to teach me. There's at least one outside as well. Immortals can slay one another, and if the Goth comes I'd best be ready." "After that it'll be back to Constantinople, I suppose. Perhaps in a few years I'll join the army again under an assumed name. I've toyed with the idea of taking Holy Orders as well... but I'm afraid my heart is too restless for the priesthood." He laughed lightly. "Of course, I'll be there when you call, my lord. There's no better man in all the Empire, not even the Emperor himself! You need only ask, and I shall leap to serve." <><><><><> [GM] Belisarius claps you on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself then, Valerius," he says, in a voice suddenly thick with emotion. "I don't know if I deserve all these accolades you're giving me, but I know the Empire will always need good men to serve her, and you were one of my best. It will give me some measure of peace, knowing that even after I'm gone, you'll still be watching over our descendants." He pauses. "I must admit curiousity about this other immortal-" he shakes his head. "But no. I don't think mortal men are meant to become too involved or too knowledgeable about such things, or God would surely have made your existence more widely known." "Fare thee well, Valerius Aristarchus of Antioch...Komes." Your commander gives you a final salute, and then turns and strides from the cathedral, cloak wrapping around his legs in the stiff breeze building outside. <><><><><> Valerius watched Belisarius go in silence. When he had disappeared into the night he said quietly, "Farewell, my lord. For now." Drawing his own cloak around him, he strode toward Pilaetus' domus. <><><><><> [GM] "The civil population was allowed only a very small corn-ration, which it owuld eke out with cabbage and such green herbs as nettle and dandelion and hare's ear; but good food in plenty only gold could purchase. During that summer soldiers took to making nightly raids on the harvest-fields behind the Gothic lines, cutting the heads of corn off by the handful with sickles and thrusting them into sacks slung over the backs of their horses. A sack of corn fetched a hundred times its peace- time price. As winter drew on, these supplies ceased; sausages made from mule- flesh were the only palatable supplement to the meager corn-ration that even the wealthiest purse could buy. Cats, rats and axle-grease were eaten. Of wine alone there was no great shortage, since Belisarius had requisitioned all stocks from private cellars for public distribution. The City was very close to famine; yet, strangely enough, I never saw a single under-nourished priest. 'Ah', said my mistress drily, when I remarked on this to her, 'the ravens feed them, as they miraculously fed the Prophet Elijah.'" -from "Count Belisarius", by Robert Graves A siege is a long, tedious thing. Later historians will argue over what Belisarius might have done differently, whether he trusted the right people, whether he delegated authority to the right commanders, and just what influence his wife, Antonina, played, but while the populace of Rome has its own complaints about his managing of the defense, there is very likely not much anyone could do to bring it to a decisive finish more quickly, short of surrender. The Goths' seven camps arrayed around the city settle into a sort of stalemate with the defenders within. Belisarius conducts a number of successful sorties against them, at one point even driving the Goths back on the defensive, so that psychologically, they feel that they, and not the Romans, are under siege, but the fact remains that the Goths greatly outnumber the Imperial army, and they can wait the Imperials out. Throughout this time, there is plenty of traffic and communication in and out of the city; numerous as they are, the Goths can only cover half the walls, leaving several large gates unblocked and thus allowing even Belisarius' wife to come and go as she pleases. You watch with Pilaetus as events progress, and see a surprising amount of sympathy, in this ancient immortal, for the famished mortals that must increasingly resort to eating whatever shrubs and vermin they can scrounge for themselves. When he takes you on your regular forays out into the fields surrounding Rome, the two of you also gather as much corn and other rations as you can acquire, but unlike the profit-minded soldiers who are doing the same thing, Pilaetus takes all these provisions to a couple of chapels in Rome's poorer neighborhoods. The image of priests as greedy, worldly and less concerned with the plight of their flock than with filling their own bellies, sadly, seems to be mostly true, but not without exceptions. Pilaetus, for all his agnosticism, seems to have a certain amount of respect for elements of the Church, and he seems to know which clerics are genuinely concerned for their flock and will see to it that these donations will go to those who need them. Pilaetus is clearly less shocked than you when the Pope, Silverius, is exposed as a conspirator in a plot to betray Belisarius and open the gates of Rome to the Goths. Particularly galling to you is the fact that Antonina, now more or less settled into the city, serves as administrator and supervisor of the clerical population, granting or denying passes to leave the city, and so in that capacity, she was one of the ones who discovered the plot by Silverius and nine Senators, when a letter to the King of the Goths, written by Silverius, is discovered being smuggled out of the city by a nervous priest. She also becomes the judge and prosecutor for the guilty ones, in her court at the Pincian palace, and you know she must be taking great delight in having such temporal power over the spiritual head of the Holy Church. Silverius is stripped of his papacy and he and the Senators are banished from the city- a shocking judgment, but far more humane than what the law proscribes; facial mutilation, being paraded through the streets, and then death by impalement. You watch the sorties from the city walls, longing to be a part of them. The Roman hypaspistai, horse archers, are particularly effective, and sending them out to lure the Goths into attacking them, resulting in the attacking Goths being annihilated, provides quite a boost to Roman morale. The populace, and Belisarius' army, now demands to seize the initiative and press their advantage. Belisarius relents, and prepares to send out his cavalry, bolstered by a poorly-trained detachment Roman citizens- turned-militia, in a major battle outside the city gates. On the Plains of Nero, the Romans force the Goths to retreat from their camp, winning the battle, but it's all for naught when the ill-disciplined citizenry promptly falls to looting the Gothic camp. The Goths, meanwhile, rally and descend back out of the hills, sending the militia running for their lives back to the city gates. Outside the Salarian Gate, the primary engagement takes place. Belisarius commands 8000 hypaspistai, doruphoroi and regular infantry, against 24,000 Goths, equally divided between cavalry and infantry. The Roman cavalry gains the initiative, plummeting into the Goths' front lines, but then the Gothic infantry forms a shield wall, behind which their archers rain arrows down on the cavalry, slaughtering men and horses by the score. Then the Gothic cavalry charges, routing the Roman cavalry, and the infantry, which might have been able to hold the Roman lines if they'd stood their ground, is thrown into disarray and begins joining the cavalry in the rout. A single infantry unit holds the victorious Goths back long enough for the rest of the army to make it back to the city walls. After this, Belisarius avoids open battles, though another pitched battle several months later ends more favorably, but no more decisively, for the Romans. Continual skirmishing drags on for another year. A truce is agreed upon at the end of the year 537, allowing Rome to spend Christmas in peace, although the lack of food is still severe and getting moreso. No less than 12,000 people die in a series of minor outbreaks of plague, and by all accounts, the Gothic camps are also suffering from disease as well, though they aren't as short on food. During this truce, John, a nephew of Vitalian, arrives in Italy with 5300 fresh troops, and Belisarius promptly sends him into Picenum, ordering him to conduct raids in the Marches, with the explicit intent of terrorizing the Goths and giving the sieging troops cause to worry about their families back home. Word comes back that John chose to act on his own initiative, contrary to Belisarius' orders, and seized Rimini instead. In March of the year 538, Vitiges lifts the siege of Rome. With Imperial troops occupying Picenum, and other key cities, such as Milan, threatened, he withdraws to Ravenna. Rome is greatly relieved. The campaign against the Ostrogothic kingdom is by no means over, but the city rejoices in the lifting of pressure from her shoulders, as Belisarius prepares for what he hopes will be a finishing campaign- with more tension brewing, however, as he orders John to quit Rimini, and John refuses. You are much more knowledgeable about everything that's going on than you would be simply from passively observing from within the city, because Pilaetus seems to be able to go everywhere, and as if by magic, knows what transpired in private conversations between Belisarius and his commanders, the contents of letters received from Constantinople, and sometimes he even seems to have been a fly on the wall in Belisarius' and Antonina's bedchambers, having a fair and more objective account than what you or Procopius might give (indeed, *will* give, in the latter case) of what Antonina has been doing and how Belisarius has been reacting to it. So as Belisarius shifts strategic planning from the conducting of a defense against a siege to the conducting of an offensive campaign, Pilaetus asks you, "So, what would you do now, Valerius? I am in no particular hurry, but I think Belisarius is probably no longer in any great danger, at least no more than he will always be, as a soldier. The Empire will win this war." He states the latter with certainty, as if he now has some means of seeing the future. <><><><><> "You *know* that the Empire will be victorious?" Valerius was incredulous, despite all he had seen of Pilaetus. "I don't understand," he continued. "How can you know so much, dominus? You know what passes in the command tents, in the letters... even what passes between Belisarius and his *wife*." Valerius disrespect for Antonina had only grown in the months of her magistracy. "Forgive my asking, but do you have agents to report on what passes out of your sight? Or is this yet another immortal gift?" <> "Your pardon, but I did not answer your question, dominus. There is still much I could learn from you, and with an eternity to work with - give or take, until someone removes my head - I'm in no rush to go anywhere, either." "Long term, I'd like to try for the Empire what you did for Carthage. Constantinople is like a great oak in full flower, yet gnawed from within by termites and disease while fire and axes threaten without. She is strong and beautiful in many ways, yet she wants guidance and healing. She is besieged and sick, yet still worth the saving." Valerius wagged his head. "Your tales make me want to *travel*. See the world, meet other immortals, and preserve their stories and wisdom. But... I feel a duty to the Empire. I'm still a soldier at heart, dominus, and I can't turn my back on my duty." He shrugged. "The army is not the place to be just now, I imagine. Too many troopers know me. I'd best head back to Constntinople and try to establish myself in some other sphere - the church, maybe, or the Office of Barbarian Affairs. I need contacts, influence and probably wealth if I'm to make a difference there, don't you think? I also need to know the bureaucracy and it's workings, and the law... too many things to mention, things I don't know a thing about from a decade or so in the saddle." "It's crossed my mind," he added, "that I can do my lord Belisarius more good by ensuring he gets proper supplies and reinforcements and information than I can by hanging around in the shadows as yet another sword. After those rations on the Vandal campaign..." he winced at the memory of crumbling, rotten fire-cakes and weevil-eaten foodstuffs provided by an unscrupulous supplier. Men died from eating the foul provisions, and others starved because they did not. He met Pilateus gaze levelly. "I really need *your* guidance, dominus. I've never tried to do something like this before. You have. Maybe I can avoid some mistakes with your help. 'Experience is a harsh master, and only a fool learns from no other,' they say. Can't remember where I heard that, but it's true none the less." <><><><><> [GM] Pilaetus hesitates. "Well," he amends, "I should not really say I *know* the Empire will win. No, I can't truly see the future, like an oracle, and I have been surprised before. But after so many centuries, you begin to see a lot of human activity, both on an individual level and on a large scale, falling into certain patterns, patterns you see over and over again, until you're pretty good at predicting the outcome. I cannot hear a man's thoughts, for instance, but on occasion I've convinced people I could, simply because I am reliving a situation I've experienced many times before, with slight variations, and so I can guess what the participants are thinking, and what they'll do next. That's also partly how I know so much about what's going on with Belisarius and his advisors, and his wife." He smiles. "The other part is that there's pratically nowhere in Rome I can't get to, in complete secrecy, and while I don't have a 'network' of spies, I know how to find someone who knows the answers to my questions, and how to entice answers out of him without his even realizing he's been questioned." Pilaetus laughs. "You know, it isn't just the fledgling that benefits, when an elder immortal mentors a younger one. It isn't until you started questioning my capabilities that I even realized that what I'm doing might seem unusual, even supernatural. It's all quite natural and ordinary to me, but I've been doing it for thousands of years. I need a new perspective now and then." "To answer your question, then, let me say that I am almost certain the Empire will win this war. But as I said, I have been surprised before." He nods as you describe your ambitions, and your needs. "Yes, some immortals involve themselves heavily in the temporal world, others do not. I, obviously, have hovered at the fringes, since the fall of Carthage. But as I once did, you feel bound to your mortal peers, and to your nation." "In that case, I recommend we go then to Byzantium, to seek out Casca, the man I told you about earlier. He is both an elder immortal, a Christian, and a very wealthy man, with many political connections in the Empire. Contacts, influence, wealth....all those things, Casca can surely help you acquire. And I think he'll thank me for bringing you to him. Immortals similar to him in outlook are rare, and since he prefers to avoid venturing out into the world and playing the Game, he can always use an ally." <><><><><> Valerius' eyes widened briefly. "Does this mean you'll be moving on, then? There's so much to learn from you, dominus, even if you don't share my hopes. If I could read men and events even half so well as you...by the Virgin, even to move unnoticed! That skill largely escapes me, and always will I fear." The younger immortal clapped his hands together. "But perhaps you're going to tell me that it's a matter of experience, that the nuances of reading human expression or recognizing patterns in the history of nations cannot be taught?" <><><><><> [GM] "Oh, don't worry, I'm not preparing to simply abandon you," Pilaetus says. "But I do think that for what you want to learn now, Casca would be a better teacher. I'll stay around for a while, though, I imagine." He smiles. You already know that he considers spending several years in one place to be a brief visit. He considers your next question more seriously. "I don't really know if it can be taught," he admits. "I've never tried to teach it, except perhaps indirectly. I suppose there is a lot I could tell you, of what I've observed and learned over time, that would help you make educated guesses about how events will turn out. My wisdom, if you will. But it may be that much of what I know is indeed intuition, that I only acquired with age." He chuckles. "And what wisdom I have is certainly owed only to my great age, and not to any natural qualities inherent to me." <><><><><> Valerius cracked a smile at Pilaetus' gentle jest, relieved that the elder immortal would not be abandoning him in the immediate future. A couple of years was still a long time to him. "I could learn a great deal by simply observing as you observe others, dominus. That is how it was with Belisarius - I watched him work, and asked questions later." "Well, when do we depart? And how? I assume we make for Neapolis or some other port, there to take a ship to Constantinople. The Virgin knows the overland route is a bit congested, what with armies crowding it and all!" "I was thinking," Valerius ventured, "that I might start writing some history on our way to Constantinople." His eyes sparkled, and he rubbed his hands together. "Not necessarily your history, dominus, though I'd give my right arm - permanently - for the chance to write it! I know your way is to pass unnoticed, and your history would be dangerous in the hands of a Hunter. But the history you have seen... *that* I could record without endangering you. What say you - humor a stripling, so that he can practice his penmanship? It would help while away the time, and long voyages are tiresome." <><><><><> [GM] "Neapolis," Pilaetus agrees. "I have always preferred ocean travel." As you take your leave of Rome, he replies to your request, "The problem with history is that events don't happen in isolation. Even historians who try to be objective, of whom there are few, cannot possibly convey the truest sense of what really happened. You think history is a matter of cold facts, if only you know the truth..." he sighs. "I will answer what questions I can." <><><><><> Valerius looked sidelong at his mentor. "How many failures you must have seen, dominus! You must be weary of short memories and policies that repeat themselves endlessly. It must be rather like a stage-play that you must attend every night, knowing the outcome..." his words trailed off. He bit his lip, thinking for a moment. "Dominus. Pilaetus. I know I think like a mortal, but... by Christ and the Blessed Virgin, I cannot believe we should cease trying." He looked away from Pilaetus, staring down the road to Neapolis. "Am I a child, to think thus? Have you ever seen *anyone* succeeed?" <><><><><> [GM] "Succeed at what?" Pilaetus asks. "History is full of successes and failures. Of course men sometimes succeed, or we'd never bother to try. I'm sorry, I am not trying to discourage you or infuse you with hopelessness." The next afternoon, you board a ship from Neapolis, bound for the Aegean. <><><><><> During the trip by sea, Pilaetus soon had reason to regret agreeing to Valerius' interviews. The younger immortal pestered him ceaselessly with questions. Several times he was so intent on his questioning that he neglected to keep watch for stray ears which might hear something untoward. His eyes sparkled, and his quill scratched until his fingers were sore and stiff. At times the young man seemed more like a scribe than a warrior, surrounded by scrolls, nose smudged with ink. As the vessel entered the Aegean, however, his interest waned a bit. Pilaetus caught him at the bows in early morning or at twilight, staring at the sea in silence. <><><><><> [GM] "You know, what you are doing is a valuable thing," Pilaetus says, as you lean over the railing. "I never thought to keep journals, until it seemed to be much too late to begin such an endeavor, when I was already thousands of years old. But think what your records might mean to another fledgling, a thousand years hence." <><><><><> Valerius stirred from his musing. "Not just to fledgelings, dominus. I hope it will help mortals as much as immortals - as much can be fed to them without revealing ourselves. If we could just... keep track, somehow, of all our mistakes... well, perhaps our memories might become longer in a way. Perhaps we could avoid some old mistakes." He turned back to the rail with a sigh. "Then again, perhaps not. We have to learn some things the hard way, don't we? Then there are things we can't figure out at all. Like me walking unnoticed." He managed a tight grin. "Or why innocent and beautiful things are always the first ones destroyed." He gripped the rail; Pilaetus saw Valerius' knuckles whiten under the strain. For a long moment the salt spray blew in Valerius' hair, which he had grown longer than when Pilaetus first met him. The neatly trimmed beard swiftly sprouting from his chin made him look decades older than he was. Perhaps centuries. "Well." He released the rail. "Thank you, dominus. The encouragement helps a great deal. Would you be offended if I called you Pilaetus? I've known you for only an eyeblink..." he was about to say something else, but bit it off as a crewman strode past, "...but it seems far, far longer." <><><><><> [GM] "No, I wouldn't be offended," Pilaetus says gently. "I am not too concerned with formalities, not for a long time." At the heart of the Holy Roman Empire, the city known now as Constantinople, but which your teacher still sometimes calls Byzantium, waits for you. It has been too long since your last visit here, and you couldn't begin to tell another soul about how much has changed. But you realize, as the ship makes port, that you may well be beating the latest news from Italy, and thus more current on what's going on than even the Emperor himself yet. On the other hand, you have no idea which way the political winds have been blowing in your absence, which factions are currently ascending, and which ones have diminished in status. "Would you prefer to meet Casca directly, or have you other business you would prefer to attend to first?" Pilaetus asks, stepping off the boat onto Constantinople's docks as casually and familiarly as he did at every other city you've passed through together. <><><><><> Valerius gazed about the city, a mix of admiration, pride and loathing in his eyes. All around them squalor and opulence dwelt cheek by jowl. They passed a domed monastery, one of several within the city walls raised in imitation of Hagia Sophia. It's exterior was blazoned with freizes of the saints in the emerging Byzantine style, gold and purple and scarlet. In it's shadow huddled a clutch of beggars demanding alms. Swaggering bravoes wearing blue and green eyed each other warily, their colors proclaiming the racing faction they favored in the Hippodrome. "Let's go straight to Casca. Unless... would you like a bite? There used to be a public house at the next corner which served good country fare and passable drink. After the siege and that wormy hard-tack shipboard, I could do with something solid." Valerius was exaggerating, of course. The fare aboard had been decent enough, as such things go. <><><><><> [GM] Pilaetus shrugs, looking a bit weary, as he regards the city he once knew as Byzantium. "Casca will surely offer us food, but if you want to relax here and take in the city a bit before meeting him, I'm amenable." <><><><><> Valerius cocked an eyebrow at his mentor, then shook his head. "No... perhaps it's best to go straight to Casca after all. I can reacquaint myself with the City any time." He paced alongside the elder for a block before speaking again. "Pilaetus, you look like you see a city that's no longer here, if it ever was. Is that what makes you look so...?" He stalled as words failed him. <><><><><> [GM] Pilaetus shakes his head, and smiles faintly. "Oh, don't mind me, I'm just in a remeniscing mood. Don't worry about me, Valerius, I'm two thousand years old, I'm entitled to brood now and then." He nods. "Let's go see Casca, then." Through the streets of Constantinople, and into the wealthiest, most exclusive neighborhoods. Only with Pilaetus as an escort are you able to so easily make your way into the playground of the richest and most influential persons in the Empire, unchallenged by the many soldiers and paid militiamen who patrol the streets to keep the common populace away. At a particularly grand estate, with very high walls, Pilaetus stops, and beckons to a sentry, who notices him now that the elder immortal wishes him to. "Send word to Casca Petronius that a traveler from China has arrived, with a guest." Pilaetus leans against the gate, as the sentry hurries off. "Casca may have other immortal guests as well, though probably not. Whether Philip will be in attendance, I'm not sure. Given the turmoil currently afflicting the Empire, I suspect Casca will want to keep Philip close at hand, though." <><><><><> "Turmoil?" Valerius' brow furrowed. "What turmoil? Are the Blues and Greens at it again? I thought the Nika riots had settled both factions for a long time." <><><><><> [GM] "It's all relative," Pilaetus says. "The Empire is facing unexpected foreign threats. Probably nothing that will bring about its downfall in the near future, but Casca and I have both seen sudden reversals in a nation's fortune brought about by less. Being cautious by nature, he'll be making sure he's not unexpectedly trapped in a city under siege, or threatened by a coup." The servant returns shortly, and conducts you both inside. Casca's estate, behind the thick fences and guarded gates, is opulent. Gardens, fountains, imported Greek statues, servants everywhere (many of whom appear to be armed) are just a prelude to the large, richly- constructed dwelling that is palatial in its dimensions and decor, yet reminds you somewhat of a fortress as well....solidly and efficiently built, and all entrances and walkways clearly designed according to a central plan that involves making sure the chief resident is neither easily reached nor easily prevented from leaving. As your boots click along marble-paved stones, under miniature arches carved with many elegant designs, much of which is religious in nature, you feel the Quickening stir your senses. You've been feeling the Quickening almost continually while in Pilaetus's company, of course, but you recognize the sensation you felt when you were near Pilaetus and Petres at the same time. Another immortal must be within range ahead. <><><><><> Valerius marvelled at the exquisite religious icons and almost casual display of artistic masterworks. Here was a place to rival Justinian's own palace for beauty, and excel it in grace - though for garish grandeur the Imperial Palace had Casca's home beat. Here indeed was a man to emulate, a man to follow and learn from... so long as he would accept younger Immortal with similar aspirations. At the same time the young immortal noted the unusually heavy contingent of armed servants and the floorplan designed for defence. He instinctively began searching for murder holes in the ceiling and long, narrow corridors where a single man could hold off a hundred. "Nothing serious?" Valerius raised an eyebrow at Pilaetus. "I doubt the Emperor himself has as many armed men about, not if every Optimate and Scholasti were in the City at once!" At that moment the fresh Quickening shocked his senses like a wave of vertigo. "Whoa!" Valerius shook his head. "Who is *that*?" <><><><><> Casca is dressed in a loose-fitting Persian robe, a tabbycat perched on his shoulder. He looks up at the arrivals, eying the stranger carefully, and with evident caution. He turns one eye to the table, where he shuffling cups. "A trick I saw in the market. There is a peanut under one of these cups, but with misdirection, I can keep you from every identifying which cup conceals the peanut. Care to try? I have been aching to test it, but Titus is a rather dull playmate." Titus has no comment, but instead rolls into a ball, claws dug for balance into the fabric of the robe. Casca winches slightly, but leaves the cat be as he begins shuffling the peanut under successive cups. <><><><><> [GM] "I've seen it," the man Casca knows as Techo says, stepping forward and lifting the cup with the peanut under it. "I saw it for the first time before I became immortal. Or some variation. The longer I live, the fewer new things I see." He chuckles ruefully. "I'm sorry, Casca Petronius. As Valerius will tell you, I've been in a doleful mood lately." Setting the cup down, he turns towards the other immortal. "Casca, this is Valerius Aristarchus of Antioch. He died his first death in Rome, two years ago, while serving under Belisarius. I have taught him the Rules of the Game, and something about survival, but he has many questions that I can't properly answer. Theological questions. He also would know how an immortal can continue to serve the Empire, and the Church." "You know I remain an avowed agnostic, despite your best efforts. And I have not involved myself overmuch in temporal affairs since the fall of Carthage. So these things my newest pupil would like to learn, are more properly within your domain. If you are willing to take him under your wing, that is." <><><><><> Valerius regarded the Immortal Casca thoughtfully. When Pilaetus finished, he bowed respectfully. "You might find me a more interesting playmate than Titus, dominus. Where a cat has the sense to ignore those things beyond their ken, I plunge in headlong. Providing I don't emerge headless, I I'll learn something from the experience." <><><><><> Casca smiles softly at Techo. "Games first, religion later. A man should never discuss religion with strangers. Leads to bad feelings." Casca reveals the peanut under one of the cups, then begins shuffling. Titus leaps down and starts to play with the cups, trying to block them with his paw and, in his fiendy feline way, generally obstruct the proceedings. Casca sweeps the cat slowly away, then spreads his hands over the cups. "And where do you suppose the peanut is?" <><><><><> "In Titus' fur?" Valerius smiled. "Or more likely up the sleeve?" Despite his quip, he did his best to follow the nut. "Very well.... there." He pointed at the location where he guessed the nut resided. <><><><><> [GM] Pilaetus smiles slightly as Valerius picks up an empty cup. "This is actually a trick that has many applications beyond marketplace con games," he observes. Looking at Casca, he says "You should read Sun Tzu sometime, if he's ever translated into Greek or Latin. You'd be surprised how much of his military advice is also applicable to trade." The elder immortal reaches out and again picks up the cup hiding the peanut. <><><><><> "Sun-Soo?" Valerius' brow furrowed again. "Is that an Asian name, or does it come from south beyond Cartago?" Valerius gestured at the peanut. "I would guess that you moved the peanut while clearing away the cat," he observed. "The elaborate flourish to draw attention from the real objective. A feint while the main thrust is planned elsewhere." He glanced up at Casca, reading the elder immortal's features for the first time. "Am I near the mark?" <><><><><> [GM] [It was Pilaetus who mentioned Sun Tzu.] "Chinese," he replies. "Sun Tzu was a great general in ancient times." <><><><><> Casca laughs as Pilaetus picks out the peanut. "Misdirection has applications to business, as well." He glances at Valerius. "And in religion, too." Casca tosses the nut to Titus, who sniffs at it cautiously, then turns and trots away, leaving the nut uneaten on the floor. Casca sighs and picks it up. <><><><><> Valerius nodded at Casca, remembering the way the church had already impacted his life. "Misdirection is useful as long as the other fellow doesn't know you use it." He smiled at the departing feline. "When he realizes you're misdirecting he becomes paranoid, which can be useful in it's own right. And dangerous, too." The young immortal quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at Casca. "You mentioned religion. Did you mean *religion*, dominus, or might you have plans for using the church?" <><><><><> "No, the Church is much too big to used as anything other than a blunt instrument," says Casca. "I do my best to live in Christ, but I've long ago given up on returning the Church itself to the path of God." Casca piles the cups, one on top of another. There is a hint of acrid frustration in his voice. <><><><><> "I wonder how often St. Paul had similar thoughts." Valerius touched his new beard lightly. "Or any of the Apostles, for that matter. Still, had they given up faith completely there would be no Church, and the light of Christ would never have been glimpsed at all beyond the Holy Land." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Forgive me, Dominus Casca. I'm out of my depth speaking this way... especially when I hoped that you might help fortify me against my own doubts in faith." He spread his hands. "Maybe we should discuss a place in your household, and how I might become better equipped to support your aims? Pilaetus tells me that our goals and outlook are similar." <><><><><> Casca stops Valerius there. "St. Paul? Saul of Tarsus is *precisely* the problem. This religion we all practice now ... ah, but never mind. Those battles have been lost long and there is nothing to be gained from revisiting them. I may be old enough to know things second hand, but not quite old enough to know them first hand. Perhaps Saul was right after all." Casca shuffles the cups back and forth from hand to hand. From the look on his face, Paul may be right, but Casca sure doesn't think so. <><><><><> [GM] Pilaetus/Techo prods Casca gently. "I believe what Valerius is seeking, is the source of your faith, Casca." "For instance....you've heard the suggestion often enough that Jesus Christ was simply one of us." Techo says this with a straight face and an expressionless tone of voice. He has never said so implicitly, but Casca knows Techo is an atheist, or at least an agnostic, and probably believes this himself. And as he says, many other immortals have said as much. "You don't believe that. You have maintained your belief that Joshua bar-Joseph was the son of God, and not merely another immortal. You continue to believe we have a purpose in your God's plan. The two of you may have many interesting conversations in the future about Paul of Taursus, and the Nicaean Council, and Church politics. But for now, talk about your faith. I know as much or more than you do about the history of Christianity, Casca Petronius, but I can't speak to Valerius about faith. That's why I brought him to you." (In fact, Techo was in China from long before Christ's birth until almost two centuries after his death, so he probably doesn't have the intimate familiarity with the birth of Christianity that Casca does. But Casca has found him to be remarkably perceptive and insightful on matters of religion, and Techo has certainly stayed aware of all developments in the Church since he returned to the Roman world.) <><><><><> Valerius' eyes travelled from Pilaetus... Techo?... to Casca. How old were they, really? He suddenly felt like a child, meddling in affairs beyond his knowledge, and he did not like the feeling one little bit. But the question Pilae... Techo posed drew a shiver out of the young immortal. He leaned forward, his eyes burning with fear and curiosity, waiting on Casca's answer. <><><><><> Casca nods. "Ah. Well, that's a taxing mystery." He seems somewhat relieved to be off the subject of Paul. "Most resurrections we see in other religions I think we can discount. Tired stories from long ago and far away, and all probably immortals, to boot." Casca leans forward. "But the Messiah was different. I knew people who knew him. People who say they saw Him do things that no immortal can. I believe these people. Perhaps they were deluded, or perhaps they are willful liars. But I don't think so. The Messiah did something to these people, struck them deep into their hearts and changed them forever. "But there is that odd coincidence. Our Lord was returned to life, and we return to life. He ascended to heaven. But we are caught in an awful game of beheading one another. If it weren't for Philip, I'd have been dispatched myself ... and long ago. "I can't help but think that there is a connection there, that the drama in which we play is in some way parallel to the drama of the Son of God. Over the years I have had many ideas, many theories, but not really satisfy. None really contain everything in a neat package." <><><><><> "Different." Valerius' face fell. "But no immortal who's talking ever met him or spoke to him." Valerius glanced at Techo. "Right?" He sunk his head in his hands. "Just a matter of faith. And mine died on an Aegean isle, on the Capitoline Hill, and again on Tiber's bank." When Valerius looked up again his eyes were glittering with unshed tears and hard as ice. "Well." he smiled tightly. "I'm a soldier, always have been. There's always duty. If not to God, to the Church. If not to the Emperor, the Empire." <><><><><> [GM] "It seems to me," Techo says mildly, "that if Casca's explanation doesn't provide the certain proof you were looking for, then you are simply faced with the same dilemma as all your mortal brethren...how do you maintain faith without tangible evidence?" <><><><><> Valerius smiled bitterly. "Perhaps, Pi... Techo," he said quietly. "But then, not every mortal knows there are hundreds, maybe thousands who can do what He did on Easter morn." He looked back to Casca with a shiver. <><><><><> [GM] That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees, -Those dying generations- at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unaging intellect. An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium. O sages standing in God's holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity. Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enameling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come -W.B. Yeats, "Sailing to Byzantium" .......... 538 A.D., Constantinople (once Byzantium) Techo looks sympathetic to Valerius's crisis of faith, but as he has pointed out, has little comfort to offer when his own faith is non-existent. Instead he looks to Casca. "So, Casca Petronius. Can you help Valerius? He seeks a position from whence he can support the Empire, particularly his former commander, Belisarius." "Obviously he does not expect you to bestow wealth and temporal influence on him with a wave of your hand....but surely you can show him how to get started on that path. Will you take him under your wing?" "I will be remaining in Constantinople for a while...I am not simply trying to dump him on you. But I've taught him the basics of immortality, and he's becoming a fair swordsman...." Techo smiles, not without some sardonicism. "Perhaps Philip will be willing to help improve him in that regard. Speaking of which, where is your bodyguard?" <><><><><> Valerius perked up a bit at the mention of Belisarius, but the troubled look did not leave his eyes. As Techo finished, he nodded in agreement. <><><><><> "Philip is off running an errand in Corinth. We've had some trouble with the local authorities." Casca rubs two of his fingers together and snarls, money+contempt=graft. "He should be back soon. As for Belisarius, I'd heard he was turning for Milan soon. Have you any word on that, Valerius?" <><><><><> Valerius was a little surprised at Casca's feral growl over the graft. It was so common in the Empire that the younger immortal harldy blinked an eye over it himself. "I only spoke with Belisarius briefly after my demise, Dominus," he said gravely. "We did not discuss strategy." He shrugged. "But then, if he does not take the northern cities the Goths will continue to hammer Rome and the other Imperial holdings in the south. A divided Italia can never be at peace." "Yes, I imagine Belisarius will move north as soon as he has secured Rome. Perhaps even before then - he'll not let the Goths withdraw from the city unmolested. The Goths are a moody folk, and their morale will already be flagging from the failed siege. One sharp blow as they retreat might just scatter the army break their will. Perhaps it would even set the chieftains to squabbling and undermine their King's authority. That's how Witiges became King; when Belisarius took Neapolis Theodahad lost the respect of his nobles and was murdered." The young Immortal stroked his new beard thoughtfully. "It's a blasted shame Justinian is so penurious. The Goths are so fixed on Belisarius that another army marching through Illyria or sailing up the Adriatic could sieze the mouths of the Po and most of the Goth's eastward cities with little trouble." He waved his hands in exasperation. "But even if the Emperor *did* field such a force, who would lead it, hmmm? Probably some fat old eunuch from the civil service who happens to have the Emperor's ear. Get a lot of good men slaughtered." <><><><><> Casca nods, eagerly soaking up the new information. "Interesting. I have some connections to that eunuch. I might be able to find you a commission. It would certainly get you back in the thick of things. If that's what you want, of course. I've always thought that we immortals should stick together." Casca sits up and straightens his clothes. "I use my influence where I can for you now, and perhaps someday, when the barbarians are at the gate, you can do the same for me." <><><><><> Valerius' eyes gleamed. "I'm willing." He bit his lip. "Too much time to think makes me moody, anyway. But Virgin knows I also need to learn the ways of influence and subtlety to survive. I've lost more than a few friends because I was too blunt for my own good." Valerius glanced around at Casca's opulent home. "Apparently wealth is part of that subtlety, too. I'll need to learn how to acquire such things soon or late." <><><><><> Casca looks about, as if reminded of something he usually takes for granted. "Yes, wealth has its protections. Many immortals are sword- swinging yahoos, addicted to the Quickening. Thank heaven for Phillip. Wealth has bought me a considerable barrier to those who want my head." <><><><><> "It must be nice to have a loyal Immortal for a guard, dominus." His eyes flickered with doubt. But I was thinking of wealth as a tool as much as a shield. Your home is more than pleasant, to be sure - I am particularly interested in the sacred icons and mosaics you've collected. I marvel at the faith and love that the artists pour into their works, even if the style is a bit more rigid than the Classical." "I was also thinking of the effect of your wealth on people who come to treat with you. I imagine that first impression of awe is reflected in your dealings with would-be powers and power brokers who come through your doors." He glanced about the room once more, allowing it's tasteful richness to infuse him with it's glow. "Aside from the vulgar uses of coin, the display of it must cause many a supplicant to deal the easier." His glance hardened. "Except for barbarians, of course. Wealth seems to simply inflame their lust for easy living. Makes them want what you have, and makes them draw steel to take it." <><><><><> Casca looks carefully, and with perhaps undue, and sudden, suspicion in Valerius's direction. "Yes, well ... wealth's inflamatory aspects are by no means restricted to the barbarians. But one of the ugly facts of modern life is that a man with money can always defeat a man without, at least where the advantages of life are considered, rather than life itself. No money can buy health, but money can certainly take health away. No money can buy happiness, but money can certainly take happiness away." He picks up one of the icons and fingers away some dust. "Such raw contests of pecuniary power are not my usual modus operandi, though. Wealth itself is a most transient thing. It comes. It goes. I never expected Rome to fall, but it fell. One never expects the same of Byzantium, but it too will fall. Perhaps, someday, the Goths will be at our doorstep as well." He replaces the idol and returns his gaze at Valerius. "I've learned my lesson once. I have escapes planned, alternatives arranged. I could re- emerge within days as a silk merchant in Damascus. I even have some interests in southern Arabia. There's a strange stone in Mecca that attracts considerable interest from travellers. And where travellers go, merchants always follow. I may even head for Cathay." He places his hands behind his back. "As you can see, I have had time to considerable most possible outcomes." <><><><><> "You have indeed, dominus," Valerius agreed. "But you speak of the Empire falling and yourself fleeing. Does it have to be that way?" The younger immortal began to pace. "In Rome I saw the bones of the Latin Empire, mouldering in the sleet like a rotting corpse. I saw the Goths gnawing her lifeless body like fat white maggots. I saw the descendants of patricians and equestrians shivering in smoky hovels where once marble villas stood." He slammed his fist into his palm. "So much that was once strong and fair, destroyed! And for what? After they sacked and pillaged her, what did the Goths bring to lay upon Rome's bier?" His hands fell to his sides. "Nothing. They took and took and returned nothing, just as the Huns and the Vandals did before them. The west has sunk into a dark age, and it may never recover." He resumed his pacing. "But here," he continued, "here there is still a flickering candle of the Empire!" He lifted his hands, as in supplication to some elder god. "Why can it not be fanned into a flame to light the world with peace and justice once more? Perhaps in time the light may lead the Goths to civilization, just as it once did for others. ..!" He dropped his hands again. "I must sound a blasted fool," he growled at himself. He raised his eyes to Casca again. "Fact is, I know the Empire is corrupt. Worms writhe in her palace, greed consumes the bureaucracy and the church gnaws it's own innards like a wounded animal. I *know* that. I sure don't know what it would take to build Her up again. Don't even know if I could. But, by the Virgin, I have to *try*. I don't want to see Constantinople end up like Rome... and never know whether I might have made a difference." He turned away, grinding his teeth. "Maybe if I was patrician - real patrician, not just 'of ancient and honorable lineage' - I could do something about it. Maybe as an advisor in the palace, or even a bishop, I could do something. Me, I'm just an ol..." he grimaced and corrected himself, "... a soldier. No good ever came of soldiers mucking in politics. Besides, I don't have the wealth, and I don't know how." He whirled about, his cloak swirling from his broad shoulders. "But if I *did* know, maybe I could help preserve what is good in Her. Maybe I could help Her behave as a Christian state ought, instead of like some treacherous barbarian. Maybe She can even rise to her feet once more. Maybe. Maybe not. But I have to try, dominus. Can you understand?" He leaned on Casca's writing table, staring at the elder with eyes afire. <><><><><> Casca rings a bell. "We will need wine for this, I think." "Some time ago, I was a cardinal. I even had a shot at the papacy. I has similar aspirations, of returning the Church to what it was before Paul muddied it. But human beings are not easily amenable to change, Valerius. As immortals, we think in terms of centuries and of grand designs. But for mortals, they think of meals and position and mere survival. The exigencies of daily life compel a different way of viewing things, a more ... political perspective. "Anyway, I was a rising star among the ecclessiastical elite. And then I ran afoul of Augustine. That Negro ran circles around me. Made me look like an utter fool. The nature of the debate was one thing, but the debate itself played differenly politically. As rarified as our argument was, the fact that Augustine was whipping me was wax for the lanterns of intrigue. "I never became Pope, but even if I had, I doubt I could have done much. Arianism, all these heresies, they are based on religion but grounded in the political calculus of gain and loss. For one person to change such, ah ... he would have to be great. And great men are rare. Perhaps you are one of this breed, but I tell you that the tide of destiny is unfathomably strong. Perhaps civilization will rise again in Western Europe. And perhaps Byzantium will never fall. "But I doubt both propositions. And as immortals, if we risk exerting too much influence, we risk exposing ourselves for what we are, the consequences of which I dare not contemplate. You will walk the line between exposure and effectiveness. It has proved too fine a line for me, but perhaps you will have more success. "If you still wish to try, of course, I see no harm in supporting you. But even as I raise you to the mountaintop, I cannot promise to catch you if you fall." <><><><><> Valerius ran a hand through his thick hair. "I don't *want* to be on the mountaintop, dominus. Oh, I'd not mind being Magister Militium per Orientum... what soldier wouldn't? But that would be almost as exposed as the Emperor. It'd be 'fun' for the first three or four assassination attempts, but sooner or later some Hunter would find me and I'd be a footnote in a history book. "What I have in mind is working behind the scenes. Seems to me that the advisors and ministers are the ones who build institutions and craft policies, not the Emperors. Virgin knows the bureaucracy has a stranglehold on us all! *That* is where the real power lies, I'm thinking; there and in the army and the Church." "I don't want to stay away from the army forever, of course. I love the army... but I'm afraid I'd be recognized. Being Belisarius' aide gave me a bit more exposure than was safe, I imagine." "What do you think about the Office of Barbarian Affairs for a start, hmmm?" Valerius smiled, knowing Casca would appreciate the official euphemism for the Imperial intelligence service. "But seriously, I want to be where I can make a difference. I don't ever want to see innocents kidnapped, exiled and killed so Theodora can rub Justinian's nose in it, all in the name of pride. Or Orthodoxy. Or Monophysitism, for that matter." His scarred hands balled into white-knuckled fists, and his voice dropped to a venomous hiss. "Never again." <><><><><> Casca smiles as the wine arrives. The amber liquid is poured into a crystal goblet for the two men. Casca waits until the servant has left. "Ah, that is a different matter entirely, of course. And quite prudent of you, I think. One can take the sting out of many brutal affairs if one is willing to put limits on one's ambitions. I'll ask around and see what positions arise in the barbarian departments. We should meet often, I think. Information is priceless. As priceless, I think, as a patron who secures appointments ...?" Casca cocks an eyebrow as he sips the wine. "Needs more honey, I think." <><><><><> Valerius nodded. "Priceless indeed is the patron. Hopefully not only as a patron, but as a friend. I'll not be duped into believing this 'there can be only one' tripe, even though I know there are dangerous immortals in plenty who buy it. Too easy to become a stone cold killer that way." He sipped the honeyed wine sparingly, savoring the sweetness. "Besides, I imagine eternity can be blasted lonely if you always hold to yourself. Can't imagine a life without friendship, or..." he swallowed, "...female companionship. Not that I'm ready for it, but I couldn't help noticing there are cursed few women immortals about. I expect close bonds with mortals would be difficult, and that real love is out of the question. Scary thought, especially since I'm not Greek in that sense." <><><><><> Casca ponders. "My own guess is that as many women as men are reborn, but that women are more likely to perish along the way, since they are generally weaker and easier prey for hunters. Moreover, it is harder for women to sustain the disguise required over the centuries. I would also guess that women are more likely to remain hidden, for obvious reasons. "But we digress. I would indeed be eager for the kind of alliance you propose." The last sentence rings rather coldly. Casca seems habitually wary. <><><><><> [GM] Under Casca's tutelage, Valerius learns a great deal quickly about how things really work in the Empire. He knew of the widespread corruption, of course, but never realized just how saleable rank and prestige is, even in Justinian's court. Casca deals directly with very few people, but through these contacts, he seems to have influence with just about everybody who's anybody. Valerius walks the streets of Constantinople, and enjoys the splendor of the Hagia Sophia, and makes plans for his new life, while listening anxiously for reports from the west, especially after Narses is sent to relieve Belisarius. The two generals feud, Belisarius appeals to the Emperor and succeeds in having Narses recalled. He then marches on Ravenna and wins the war, with Witiges' surrender. Following the end of the Gothic war, the opportunity exists for Valerius to take a post in Italy, something Casca could easily arrange. He already has a line on several positions in the Office of Barbarian Affairs. Pilaetus has remained in Constantinople during this time, and continues drilling Valerius in swordsmanship, and now and then takes him "walking" in the city, where he demonstrates that he can move unnoticed in a crowded city as easily as in the countryside. The three immortals are seated in Casca's estate, eating a rich dinner and discussing what Valerius will do next, when they sense another of their kind approaching. Pilaetus does not look unduly concerned, just wary. Casca knows that theoretically, only one other immortal should be able to get this close without having been stopped by his guards, but nonetheless, paranoia built up over the centuries has him automatically reaching for his gladius. A tall, handsome young man strides into the hall, and Casca relaxes. Pilaetus, on the other hand, remains stone-faced, but Valerius sees unaccustomed lines appear at the corners of the ancient immortal's eyes. The newcomer appears to be in his early twenties, and Valerius can't help feeling a bit of envy at his astonishing good looks. This immortal was obviously lucky enough to be "killed" in his very prime, and he has a face that must make women swoon, and a body that would not look amiss among Greek statuary. His broad shoulders and chest are heroically proportioned, and he moves with lithe, muscular grace. He has a leather hauberk over his tunic, and dust still on his boots. A round shield slung over his back and a heavy sword at his hip make it clear he has just returned from a trip. He looks at the three immortals in front of him, staring particularly at Valerius, with soft brown eyes (though something in that stare is definitely not soft) in a tanned, handsome face framed by curly ringlets of brown hair. Finally he says "Hello Techo," with a sardonic tone, while still studying Valerius. Techo nods and leisurely sips his wine. "Ave, Philip," he replies, in an even more sardonic tone. Then Philip turns to Casca and bows. "Master, we have a problem." He glances at the other two immortals, as if considering whether to voice the problem in front of them, then shrugs. Regardless of whether Casca would have preferred he hold his tongue, Philip continues. "I saw Alexander. He's back."