Letter 13

It was the 14th day of the Month of Chaos, 421 EY, or 333 YBCE, when Tacitus returned to Exeter after over a year working in Londinium. While Thebia was his destination, Exeter looked to be his first stop to both ask for more details about Thebia’s destruction, as well as gather his own escort in case he was marching into danger. Though, some scholars, including myself, have the belief that he stopped in Exeter to calm his nerves. He was still, after all, a teenager; and perhaps rushing to meet the girl he has always wanted to see frightened him into delaying for just a little longer. In this letter, written in 323 YBCE, he writes how uneasy the city feels, the controversies around the Thebian refugees, and the bureaucracy and military seemed, much like Londinium, to run fine without his direct input. When he manages to order a small escort for himself to Thebia, he also encounters perhaps the most rageful moment of his life to that point. And, for his sake, I am inclined to agree.

- E. Celestina

I had arrived by Exeter’s gates around midday on the fourteenth. The guards did not recognize me, and so I had to show my sigil and rank to be permitted within, which was never an occurrence for me prior. Within the gates, Exeter was oddly quiet, not the bustling and hollering streets that my mind had freshly remembered, choked by the sense of unease. As I made my way to the Exetian Square and Capital Palace, I overheard shouts from overzealous newsgivers, saying such words that I had difficulty believing:

“Fafnir! Fafnir! The terrible god-king! He dwarfs the terrible Gomorrah! His breath is of the most fiery volcano, his wings of the most blustery storm! He has wiped Thebia in one night! O, may the gods save us!”

There were others whose concerns were not the dragon, but the people whom the dragon had displaced. These, I found, to be words much more disconcerting.

“Thebians away! Thebians away! You have not the right to walk amongst Exeter! The gods had purchased your demise, and you remain only to curse us!”

I have to wonder even now of their logic, as Exeter was built upon much of the education and systems that Thebia had birthed. Despite these hypocrisies, hundreds of passersby held no compunction. A part of my mind desired to reprimand them, such was an action I could take as a High Praetor, but I decided not, for my eyes were set on something much larger than the words of treacherous preachers.

The Exetian Square was as full as it was during festival or ceremony, but with no order. People of all varieties shouted for answers, crowded around the cathedral, or shouted at the steps to the palace, perhaps the only thing stopping them being the guards’ shields and the modicums of their self-respect left. I, perhaps after twenty minutes of navigating my way through, made it to the palace steps and upon viewing my sigil, the guards permitted me to pass.

Near I was to the top of the steps when my eyes caught the familiar frame of Marcus, his dress the same as I remember from before, yet skin darkened from his quests. He extended his hand to me, a gesture that I had considered far too formal for old comrades, yet his face was still of friendliness as he walked with me within the palace. Though I already knew of Augusta’s presence in Thebia to rescue survivors, from correspondence with Cassian, I had asked if she or Cassian were within the palace anyway, to which Marcus said no. He, alongside Hadrian and Trajan, were to oversee Exeter in their absences. It was then that I requested a meal, to which he introduced me to a hastily-made banquet and asked for forgiveness for the table to be organized so ruggedly. I had been traveling on horseback for seven days straight to that point, and so did not object in the slightest to a grand meal such as that.

As we ate, he read to me the reports of Fafnir from Thebian refugees. From their word, he did believe that this Dragon surpassed that of Gomorrah, in mass, wingspan and strength, and held such great authority that it was capable of the destruction of a great city in just one night. He had shown me drawings, estimated sizes, and how many estimated that Fafnir had destroyed, and all that I recall feeling during that lunch was disbelief. Gomorrah was Exeter’s greatest foe; from its founding 421 years ago then, it was a terrible dragon that had slain a great, honorable Princeps and his legion. Yet, I was to believe that day that there was a Dragon even more monstrous.

After that banquet, I informed Marcus that I could not wait overnight to make it to Thebia, and so requested(1) a Century for myself to command, and to immediately march to that city to assist with rescue and recovery. Though he seemed hesitant, he agreed, and recommended I remain at the front gates until the third hour of noon, when he would deliver my men. Though I recall being upset at the hours I would have to wait, I resolved to wait out this time at the taverns, which according to his word held much less unease due to ales and wines loosening the citizens’ minds.

This happening I would not have mentioned if it only included my own sake and reputation, but due to their words potentially tarnishing the Princeps, I thought it best to highlight their disgraces here.

Within the tavern, while all seemed normal as I sat at the stools, I caught wind of a few eyes recognizing my face. While I found it ordinary for citizens to recognize officials, their eyes were less of respect or acknowledgment and much more of contempt. Still, I ordered my ale, insisting on full price despite my position as a bureaucratic official. As the tavernhead did his diligence, I felt a tap on my shoulder and a craggly-toothed, unkempt man sit next to me, perhaps double my age and flushed with the scent of alcoholics. His words, as rotten as they were, still remain in my mind.

“Is this the great child Tacitus? The former Tribune, kicked away from his lover?"

At his words, I tensed. The tavernhead delivered my wine, though upon view of the man and the comrades at his sides, they had made themselves scarce. I said nothing, focusing on the drink and the journey ahead of me, while that man said nothing except what had existed in the past.

“What made the Princeps boot you away, o prodigal son?” another had asked. My eyes were closed then. I knew, from correspondence with Cassian, that what happened that night between Augusta and I remained between the two of us, yet it was made public of my leave to Londinium. Tragically, I knew that this would be more than enough to spark rumors and controversy, ones that I could not avoid.

“Did you at least feel her warmth before she broke your heart, boy?”

I had stood at that moment, caring not for my sake any longer. Though I had shown respect and given up my sword at the door, surely those men must have known I carried enough strength to cripple them in a single strike. Yet, they continued to goad me, for the law of Xenia(2) was unbreakable even for me.

“Do you even know what she has been up to since she sent you away? Rumor has it, she found someone new. What was it? Perhaps it was that Trajan, or that Thebian Perseus; or perhaps both, or more.”

“Imagine: them taking the depths of her loins, while you were off coddling a slave city, pining for a woman who would never accept you.”

From the very start, I held no ego to uphold. None of the words he spoke and directed to me would ever harm myself. Yet, for her sake, my heart was screaming to strike them all down. My mind ordered myself first, and I recall straightening up, and speaking with a quietness I had never found myself capable of until then.

“Suppose you are correct. Does that make her any less of a human?”

I remember the satisfying look of his confusion at my steadiness.

“To allow someone to feel your warmth is the highest form of intimacy. If the Princeps had found that for herself, then I see no issue with her decision. Leaders of various cultures held numerous wives, and to imply the inverse, to frame her as a lecher, is not only against the spirit of her sex reforms, but is tantamount to treason. I could have you hanged in the Square for all to see. ”

This tavern’s people fill me with much anger even to this day, and if those that berated her name find these words, then know: the hell of Chaos is too cold for your black soul.

Later, after I had vacated the taverns and remained at the gate, Marcus had arrived with a century like I had asked. He told me he would escort me out to the city limits, even to the outlying farmlands, which I had found quite fortunate; I had much to catch up with him, even beyond the banquet we had, and I admittedly needed time to rant of the men that I had met at that tavern. Upon telling him that story, he only scoffed. Augusta’s reign, up until the emergence of Fafnir, I heard, was peaceful and prosperous; and in times of peace, those less peaceful always stirred up unease like shit from sewers. I marched with him, his guards and my century for a good seven or eight miles, and we discussed all manner of things, and while I cannot recall every such detail since the conversation was so myriad, I recall him assuring myself that, at least until this recent tragedy, her time as Princeps had been just. The feeling in my heart at his words was something between light and heavy.

When the sun ran low, I saw Marcus order his horse forward and he paced several steps ahead of me. When I sped to catch up to him, he asked me to remain, and it was then that I realized the men behind myself had ceased their walking. I stepped off my steed, same as Marcus, who tied our horses to a fence. It was then when I asked him what was going on, and it was then that he unsheathed his sword and pointed it at me. This, of our conversation, I did not forget from mere muddiness.

“Augusta had left me behind specifically for you, in case you returned. She did not tell me her personal thoughts of you, but only ordered me to remain to receive you, and to ‘find you worthy’ of seeing her. I know not of her intent, and I only follow her word. Tacitus, draw your sword. I will find you worthy with our blades.”

I turned to face the men behind me, and they remained still and silent, and it was clear then that Marcus had only delayed my century so he may inform them of this event, and he had guided me here only to isolate me and disallow escape. I drew my sword, and accepted his duel. Before I had left Exeter, I was Marcus’ superior in battle, yet my time being more of a bureaucrat than warrior in Londinium had no doubt dulled my skills while Marcus, commander that he was that no doubt slayed many dragonkin in my absence, had hardened beyond steel.

We struck right there on that road, and fought for what I remember as hours but could be no longer than minutes. As a discipulae of Anaxagoras, Marcus fought with aggression yet imprecision, and used the strength of his muscles purely to carry him, yet in his slashes I sensed a gracefulness that Cassian had no doubt taught him, for it was almost akin to fighting my best friend, yet with a ruthlessness that made myself uncertain if he intended to take my head or not. He scuffed my thigh, grazed my tunic and my cheek, and at the halfway point I had not delivered a scratch unto him. And so I pushed away, then jumped up, resembling the jumping strike Augusta often did in battle to deliver the first hit of every skirmish, and Marcus, one who had seen such a move as often as me, delivered the perfect counter for it—a blade to my open midsection, which I allowed to get within a foot of myself before I struck it aside with my blade, thrusting down instead of at his neck, and colliding with my forehead to his nose. He collapsed, and I stabbed my sword between the space of his arm and torso.

He looked at me, in those dusty and bloody seconds, with disbelief. It was then I helped him up, and he spoke to me plainly.

“You are smarter, but weaker. I broke your guard too many times.”

“Have I earned the right to meet her then, Marcus?”

“That is for you to find out. I will return. You, bring news of our Pedagogue.”

Footnotes:

1. "and so requested(1) a Century for myself to command...": Marcus and Tacitus were both the same rank, High Praetor, but due to Tacitus being a visiting officer, Marcus held higher authority and Tacitus had to request from him. This is further compounded by the fact that Julia had left him in charge of Exeter, alongside Trajan and Hadrian.

2. Xenia: An ancient Thebian law of hospitality, adopted by Exetia. Whenever in a home or communal space, all shall remain courteous and respectful, no matter rank or reputation. Notably, the man Tacitus writes about had broken Xenia with his words. Tacitus still could not strike back, as immediate retaliation was against Xenia.