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Epilogue
Marcus' father was, if not particularly happy, then relieved when confronted with the fact that his son had married the beautiful slavegirl. At least he didn't have to worry about Marcus any longer and the troublesome boy was now the Emperor's closest friend and confidante.
Armin and Thor were offered to join the army as centurions, but begged to continue serving their former master. He happily granted them their wish and sent them back to Britannia as stewards of the villa in Aquae Sulis, he bought from his father. There they spent quite some time on their favourite pastime: Hunting in mountains, and eventually found friends among the wild tribesmen. Later on they married daughters of the tribes and had sons, to whom they safely could pass the secrets of the longbow.
Little did they know that archers from what by then was known as Wales more than a thousand years later would become a deciding factor in the endless wars between England and France.
After consulting his sister and her husband, Arn did accept the offer of military training, and within a year joined one of the most prestigious legions as a centurion. He fought with distinction in Africa and Asia Minor until the Emperor made him tribune and sent him to Britannia as commander of the legion defending the Western borders. There he was reunited with his German friends, and the slavegirl, Gwen, whom they had preserved and guarded for him. Marcus gladly sold her to him and she bore him three sons before she finally was old enough to be manumitted and marry their father.
Gro and Marcus stayed in Rome, where he served the Emperor faithfully as a senator and advisor, but both of them longed to go back to Britannia. After three years and two sons born to them, Drusus reluctantly agreed to let them go, provided that Marcus paid biyearly visits to Rome. He served two years as proconsul and then, after the death of his father, retired to Aquae Sulis, now a very rich man.
So Marcus Delius was left in peace to enjoy what he had stolen from the Sun God, to see his sons grow into fine young men, who, as their father before them, became firm friends of the Emperor's, when Drusus sent them up to learn a soldier's as well as an administrator's tasks from Marcus.
But after fifty years he was tired and lately suffering from severe and painful stomach cramps. He felt that his time was up, but was reluctant to tell his beloved. In the event he didn't have to. One night, when they had made love, she as usual tied spread-eagle on the bed, and he was caressing her still flat stomach and firm breasts, as so often wondering how she could retain her youth, even if she was now well past sixty, she looked gravely at him.
"You will soon leave me, Marcus".
It wasn't a question; she was stating a fact.
"I'm afraid so".
He looked away.
"There's an end to everything".
"There is".
"When we, my people, feel it is near, we find a certain plant in the woods, make a drink out of it and go to sleep. The sleep from which you never wake up".
He stared at her, then nodded and released her.
"Come, I have something to tell you".
He had never talked about his first love, didn't want Gro to feel that she owned only part of his heart. Now she sat quietly beside him in the atrium, sipping a glass of mulled wine, listening, without interrupting his story.
When it was told, she whispered: "You are a good man, Marcus, and you deserve a good death, without fear or pain, like her".
"But I can't leave you!"
"You will never leave me! You'll always be here". She touched her chest. "Like she has always been here". Her soft hand rested on his and she felt his heartbeat.
He died in her arms, smiling, after a long, tender lovemaking, just as Rachel did so many years ago.
Gro lit his funeral pyre herself and, accompanied by her sons and her brother, travelled the long way to Rome to place the urn in the family tomb. Then she sought audience with the Emperor.
Not Drusus, who had died five years previously, but his eldest son, whom she almost considered her own after the years he had spent at her home.
The sovereign understood and granted her wish, but sadly.
One morning, at dawn before the Midsummer feast, people from a remote village on the northern coast of the continent looked alarmed out to the bay, where three red sails slowly grew larger. They were with long intervals visited by the dark men in their shining armour, but always only one of their big ships. A legend of the tribe told that another time, many, many summers and winters ago three ships with red sails and many warriors had come and brought great wealth to the village, but that was also the time of great evil. Two offerings to the Sun God had mysteriously managed to escape and, even if they had been replaced, the God had been angry and hid His face for a long time behind clouds bringing great rainstorms and thunder. Crops had been destroyed, boats sunk and men drowned, and most of the village burnt down after lightning struck the chief's hut one night, killing him and his family. Would that happen again now?
Gro stood in the bow of the trireme, watching the coast rise out of the bay. ‘Right on time', she thought and turned to her brother.
"Are you still certain?"
"I am", he calmly confirmed.
Like she, he had been left behind when Gwen died of a sudden fever.
"So this is the place where you nearly died?"
A tall, blond man in a red cloak spoke from behind.
"This is the place where we will die, my son", Gro answered.
"Yes, Mother".
He exchanged a sad look with the equally tall and blond legionnaire beside him.
"Tonight", Arn confirmed.
"Yes, Father", the legionnaire sighed.
Soldiers swarmed ashore, rounding up the villagers and confining them to their huts. Slaves raised a large red tent and two elderly people, white-haired, but still strikingly beautiful, were rowed ashore, accompanied by five big men. The party went up to the sacred place where everything had been prepared for the night's festivities. The fire had been built and the sacrifices were ready.
Six pairs of frightened eyes stared at the strangers, who for a moment stood looking silently at their naked bodies, painfully tied to the poles.
Gro whispered, shuddering: "Release them and bring them to the galley".
"Yes, Mother".
She turned away.
"Take good care of them".
"Yes, Mother".
She retired to the tent with her brother and stayed there while slaves prepared a sumptuous dinner and others replaced the fire within the sacred stone circle with a funeral pyre, built with sandalwood logs and soaked in scented oil.
It was late when the five younger men left the tent. Gro's eldest son looked up at the full moon.
"Have you secured all of the villagers?", he asked the centurion commanding the guard the Emperor had sent with his old friends on their last voyage
"Yes, Tribune".
"Put them in chains, but not until we've returned to the tent. I don't want my mother disturbed by their cries and she must not know about this".
"No, Tribune".
"The transport should be two days behind us. You know what to do".
"Yes, Tribune".
"When they have been brought aboard, you will see the village destroyed, completely, as if it never were here".
"Yes, Tribune".
He was dismissed and the five sons settled down to wait while the silvery faced goddess continued Her journey across the dark sky.
When Her almighty brother's face the next morning appeared over the horizon, they emerged from the tent, carrying two bundles, wrapped in the purple, gold-rimmed cloth, the Emperor had sent them.
They carried their burdens to the sacred place and placed them side by side on top of the logs, lighted a torch each, stood for a moment in prayer, and then started the funeral pyre. Flames soared high against the sky, while the Sun God slowly revealed His face. He seemed to be smiling.
He had finally received what was His.
Postscript:
This is fiction, fantasy, but partly based on facts.
The story takes place in what is now known as Scandinavia (Ultima Thule), possibly Denmark, in Britain, in the cities London and Bath (Aquae Sulis), both founded by the Romans, and of course in Ancient Rome. Massilia is the French seaport Marseille.
The time, though, is more dubious. It could be Rome under the Flavian dynasty in the latter half of the first century AD, but at that time the Scandinavian tribes were far more developed than described here.
It is a fact that the second Flavian emperor, Titus, destroyed Jerusalem and expelled the population, and that he did have a most unpleasant brother, Domitianus, who followed him on the throne and lived to die an old man. Coliseum was built under the Flavians, in 80 AD.
A decurion was a military commander of ten men, roughly a sergeant. A centurion commanded 80-100 men, like a major. A tribune, a colonel, and a legate, a general, were second in command and commander of a legion, a regiment of up to 6.000 legionnaires, professional soldiers.
Vigiles were a corps of policemen and fire-fighters in Rome.
A proconsul was the civil and military administrator of a province, often a very lucrative post.
Roman senators were elected, but only within the ranks of the Patrician class.
Most Roman emperors held or had held military rank when proclaimed, often by the elite Praetorian guard, though some marched on Rome from the provinces, supported by their own men.
Galleys could have from one up to five of six sets of oars on top of each other. A trireme had three.
Nobody knows what early Scandinavians called themselves, but authors of historical novels often use Gro, to grow things, for girls, and Arn, a hearth, for men. Armin and Thor are well known early German names.
Who invented the Welsh longbow, nobody knows, but it was a decisive factor in several battles during the latter part of the Hundred Years War (mid 14 th to mid 15 th century AD) between England and France
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