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The air was fresh and crisp, sharp with the promise of Autumn. A high cold morning. Hiberius savored it on his second day
west of the Rhone. Five hundred years ago, Julius Caesar had crossed the Rubicon, saying, "The die is cast!" Now
came his turn to toss the knucklebones when the Rhone was crossed. In both cases, success or failure would determine the fate
of empire.
Praise Mitra, he hoped to do as well as Caesar. Hell, even if they killed him afterwards as well!
Wait till Ricimer finds out that the Hound has slipped his leash!
"Your other left, Sextus, you stoopid baastaard! Remember your drill!" Galbo turned to the two young military tribunes
"That's just so they knows I'm watchin'. 'E's one of my best!" The Primus Pilus stated proudly. Then turned back
to the column, "Keep your rank and file! Stay in step! Hold the line you motherless whoresons!"
Alla and Sindila
ignored that anatomical improbability. All three had been inseparable for several days now. On horseback. Galbo receiving
riding lessons whilst simultaneously instructing the tribunes on close-order drill. Despite his angry rhetoric (helped in
large part by his sore arse, thought Alla); It was plain that Galbo was fiercely proud of his scutarii. Every one of them,
captured bagaudae. Yet they still had no idea what Hiberius was after.
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The night was cold, even with trees to break the thin cold breeze that swept down out of the cisalpine foothills.
Milo shivered, barefoot and wearing only his tunica waited for the sign to begin. Paulanus had just dropped him off, wishing
him luck.
Best wishes from Paulanus! The world was getting stranger by the minute. Not as strange as Primus Pilus Galbo
sponsoring him to the brotherhood of Mithras. Surely not as strange as him accepting the offer.
He jumped when an owl
hooted behind him. That was when he noticed the light at the top of the nearest hill. That must be the signal. The nearest
hill was still quite a walk. Milo knew about walking. 30 miles a day with full gear rain or shine. He started forward.
Milo
pondered how his life had changed since he'd turned baugadae. Since he'd been caught. All his family were long gone. There
was rough comraderie amongst the baugadae, but the legio was his family now.
In a way, he supposed that joining the
brotherhood was affirmation of this. After all, what had the Christians done for him? When his sister was raped, he went to
the village priest. That well-fed worthy consoled him by saying that this world was illusion, that nothing in this life was
real, patting him on the cheek with hands that had never known hard work.
His sisters rape was no illusion. Her violation
and suffering was all too real. And it did matter! A man was supposed to defend the weak and fight the wicked! That was when
he'd killed the young knight who'd raped her. But he was seen. His father and sister had died because he was seen. The general
was right. He was stupid, clumsy and got caught.
The image of his father kept interposing with that of Galbo patiently
explaining the rituals of initiation. It kept Milo confused and angry. He wanted to be on the right side for once in his life.
Milo's angry thoughts bore him along tirelessly. He was halfway up the hill before he noticed. From where he was, the
source of the light could not be seen. There was chanting, but he couldn't make out the words. Milo quicked his pace.
"Ya dost Mithras!"
The words reached him when he crested the hill and a pleasant smell greeted him. His anger left and a strange peace filled
him instead. A bonfire was burning brightly within a circle of boulders. Stepping inside the circle, he recognized Paulanus'
cataphracts. They greeted him by name, offering him a curious-tasting drink.
He fell asleep as the sun rose. Milo dreamt
that he was a raven, flying at Mithras' shoulder as he raced the sun-chariot across the world. He would never be alone again
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