Letter 4

This is the earliest chronological letter we have from Tacitus, written in 335 YBCE. The year Tacitus marked was 419, for it was 419 years since the founding of Exeter under King Artorius in 753 YBCE, or 1 Exeter Year. At fifteen, Exetian students who have survived Exetia’s rigorous military training must go through a graduation ritual: gladiatorial combat against a beast, called the Monstrum Gladiorum. This beast was randomly selected and was typically proportional to the power of the legionnaire-to-be. For Julia, since she was to be immediately promoted to Centurion Legati, she was tasked to face a beast greater than what was typical; though even Tacitus was concerned with what was selected. The letter itself, based on the context of the words Tacitus used, seems to be a rather fresh reaction to what he had witnessed from Julia in the arena, and harbors a less organized, yet still bright mind. It was this letter that began his loyalty to Lady Julia; disagreements though they have had.

- E. Celestina

I have never seen eye-to-eye with the woman in our cohort. She is abrasive, loudspoken, and unafraid to object or speak her opinion to myself and her peers. Though she harbors a smaller frame and smaller muscles than any male in our class, she speaks as though she possesses the might of all of us combined. This ego, still, I cannot get over! Oftentimes whenever we practiced Wargames, or debated in the amphitheater before Pedagogue Anaxagoras, I held the wish that she would simply close her mouth and allow me to educate her on her erroneous thoughts. It is not because she is a woman that I doubt her mind—though the physical aspects of her, I thought needed more appraisal—but rather the position she stood for. Despite her efforts to be my equal, she is, first and foremost, of the blood of the Principate, and that cannot be stowed away or ignored. That is all thoughts I still harbor. Yet, as of writing these words and after viewing what I had viewed, a new one has sprouted in my mind.

Today was her turn in the arena. Cassian and I had already passed our trial a week ago; we each slayed a poison-drooling lion with nothing but light armor and our bare hands. At the end of the month, our cohort will officially graduate into proper Exetian legionnaires. One of the last among us to face this trial was that woman, and she was tasked with a grave enemy that I do not believe anyone but perhaps Marcus could have slain. The arena, which could safely harbor ten thousand, managed to perhaps squeeze in fifteen thousand, as news of the Princeps’ daughter in a Monstrum Gladiorum was so vast that thousands more had to be turned away at the gate. For we were in our cohort, we were granted immediate access, and a view close to the arena grounds. I recall that woman in the center of the arena, round shield in one hand and spear in the other, dressed in a breastplate and white tunica that showed her legs—a strange sight(1)—as she awaited for the beast to emerge.

Now, I have no evidence for who had selected the beast for her to face. We were told the process was random, yet random chance could only somewhat explain the monster that that woman needed to slay. When the trapdoor opened—the largest of them that the relatively small arena harbored—a genuine Dragonkin crawled from beyond the sand. They were several meters in length, perhaps from snout to tail equal to five men, their stout four legs as thick as the woman’s entire body. Their mouth, capable of snapping her as easily as a twig, with smoke billowing from its gastrous maw that I could smell the stench of even from my distance. It roared, perhaps in anger from being captive for so long, and eyed the woman down as probably its first meal opportunity in days or weeks. The crowd was a mix of cheer and concern, as they were uncertain as to the reasons for putting the Principate daughter in such severe trouble. Yet, when I looked upon Lady Alexandria, watching beside an empty seat2, her face was terrifyingly neutral. She was witnessing her very child face a Draken, yet she did nothing to stop it, even less so react. Even hours later, I cannot read or comprehend her logic.

The horn blew, and the monster lunged at her with terrifying speed for its size. The woman held firm, standing surprisingly still as the Draken widened its maw at her. It was known that beasts of Chaos preferred the flesh of their prey to be cooked and charred, so its maw was not for killing, but for broiling her alive. Yet, she remained still—still as can be, right up until she saw the flickers of its flames pool at the back of its terrible mouth. Only then, did she suddenly lift her shield and push forward—not backwards, but forwards! She wedged open its mouth with the shield as the flame roared out, smoke and ash and fire blazing the arena as I recall the public watching on in horror. The four or five dozen archers stationed around the arena, tasked with culling the beast if the candidate grew weary or was about to fall, nocked their arrows, yet Lady Alexandria lifted her hand and told them to cease. I did not know why, for I had truthfully believed I had witnessed her daughter be murdered, as the inferno continued for several seconds after.

When it ceased, the truth came to me: that woman, though with singed skin, remained behind her metal shield reddened by the incendiary. She let go of the armament and thrust her spear into the beast’s eye, spattering its blood on her blackened linens. It released a horrid roar and thrashed its body, crushing the shield in its jaw and tried spitting more raucous flame, but it could not, for she had exhausted all of its flame by allowing it to think she had been braised alive. Yet as she attempted to end its life, its tail whipped at her, and with her shield gone she defended with her spear that snapped in twain, the blow knocking her onto her back as the Draken clamored to its feet and pinned her down. The crowd, previously excited at her survival, grew ominously quiet once more as all that could be heard was her struggles and the beast’s pained and frustrated growls.

Frustrated, because its foot could not flatten her body. For a Dragonkin that weighed several tonnes, such a task should have been rudimentary against an opponent lighter than one of its legs, but it struggled to even bend her breastplate as she pushed back with her arms, lifting it as she cried out with a voice that I could only describe as one part wrath, one part pain.

Then, she had raised its leg enough for her to get her stronger legs under its chest-sized palm, pushing it up and throwing it off-balance as she swiftly grabbed the bladed half of her broken spear and ran it into its softer underbelly. Whatever organ she had pierced must have been vital, for the terrible beast’s roars shifted into gargled whimpers as she crawled out from underneath it. It slashed its claw, yet she grabbed its arm with her own, and took its horned head beneath her foot and stomped. The stomp, louder than any sound previous in the arena, forced the heart-pierced Draken beneath her foot to jerk, then limp.

The crowd thereafter was deafening. The relief on Lady Alexandria’s face, I will never forget. The scowl upon the woman’s face as she removed her helmet and looked around, I will also never forget. Yet even moreso, I do not believe I will ever forget the feeling I held then, and continue to hold now. This feeling, if I may try to rectify its meaning, is one that is not exactly adoration, yet it is the furthest from contempt or envy. I was silent when she had claimed her victory upon that terrible Draken, and, aside from the words I have written now, I continue to be silent about this all. Yet after I awaken tomorrow, I may find myself being silent about this woman no longer.

Julia Alexandria, even if we fell into hell, may you perhaps lead us to victory.

Afterword I (E. Celestina)

Thus was the day that the Princeps Daughter began her true odyssey. From simple student, to full Princeps Legati, she would rise upon the ranks with a full cohort of comrades that once doubted her, now behind her every step that she would take.

Yet, every odyssey comes with its hardships. She noticed, after laying the terrible Draken down on the sands of the arena, that though her mother watched her with pride and joy, the seat that she remained next to was vacant. She had completed the most venerated and difficult trial in her life, but her father was nowhere to be seen.

In that moment, she must have felt a vast array of emotion. Perhaps sadness, perhaps anger, perhaps anxiety despite her victory. Her father, with her thick and thin, failed to watch her claim her greatest achievement, after all.

It was not for lack of trying, dear Julia. Your father did all that he could. Yet, duty to protect the land—to protect you—remained his utmost priority. That is why he was absent that day.

And absent for the rest of your days, as well.

You heard the news only one week later: the Princeps’ fall to a terrible dragon in the north. The afterglow of your graduation felt like a far distant memory. How could one ever hope to hope again, when a heart with a hole that large now lived inside of them? This answer, perhaps, you could never fully answer.

Yet, duty and honor called. The laurels of the Principate, now without a wearer, called to you to fill its burdening branches.

Footnotes:

1. "dressed in a breastplate and white tunica that showed her legs—a strange sight...": Exetian soldiers were closed in what modernity would acknowledge as essentially battle skirts. Women were normally only seen in modest dress (stola), so Julia was dressed like a man then and thus was atypical.

2. "I looked upon Lady Alexandria, watching beside an empty seat...": Normally parents watched their children take on the Monstrum Gladiorum, but Princeps Constantinus was out on an emergency expedition that day.