I thought this was the end of it but alas. Need one more part….
——
“Retreat!” Lucius bellowed, charging forward to spread the message among his men.
The soldiers began fanning out, heading toward the camp—only to veer around it when they saw it had been demolished.
“Run! Retreat!” Mantius and Lucius rode along the edges, guiding the men ahead. Their voices were hollow in the night, barely audible over the screaming and the clatter of armor and swords around them.
“To the ships!”
“Those on horseback, take as many as you can with you!”
Geta stood frozen again, rooted to the ground as chaos swirled around him. Then, across the clearing at the edge of the forest, he saw him—his uncle Aelius. Geta’s eyes flicked to the figure standing next to him, clad in robes of sky blue—so pristine they clashed violently with the muddied browns and bloody reds of the battlefield.
It had to be the leader of the Alimani.
Geta squinted, trying to see more clearly. The man stood still—eerily calm, untouched by the carnage. Soldiers surged past Geta, but he remained locked in place, staring.
“Geta! What in the hell are you doing? To the ships—now!” Lucius’s voice snapped him out of his trance.
Geta blinked, then turned and forced his legs into motion, trailing after the tide of men fleeing toward the sea. The clash of swords and screaming voices faded behind him as he fixed his gaze on the back of Lucius’s head, who kept glancing over his shoulder.
But as they reached the shore, new horrors awaited them.
Several ships had been set ablaze. The Alimani had found them. It couldn’t have been long ago—no word had come from the guards meant to protect the vessels.
Geta and Lucius lingered at the edge, swords drawn, cutting down the enemy where they could as the soldiers scrambled aboard the remaining ships. The water gleamed indigo under the night sky, white waves lapping at the shore, indifferent to the carnage.
Lucius slashed through the throat of an Alimani soldier. Blood sprayed across his arm. Geta stared—after all this, he still hadn’t killed a single man.
“Get on the ship, Geta,” Lucius growled through clenched teeth.
“After you!”
Lucius’s eyes flared. “Are you insane? Don’t be a child. You’re no use to me on land. Get on the damn ship.”
Geta stared at him helplessly.
“I will—but don’t be a fool. There’s no use, Lucius. It’s all in vain. We’ve lost.”
Realizing he was only distracting and slowing Lucius down, he turned his horse and led it into the shallow water, climbing aboard one of the vessels. Relief washed over him when Lucius followed moments later.
They pushed away from the burning coast, leaving behind the wreckage—flaming ships and lifeless bodies scattered like broken oaths.
Geta sank to his knees on the deck, overwhelmed by the devastation. Lucius stood beside him, his leg pressing lightly against Geta’s shoulder. His face was tight, grief carved into every line. He looked out across the water with eyes that had seen too much.
Seven boats. That’s all they had left.
Seven… out of fifty.
Sirmium was free. But the legions were shattered. And once again, the empire was reminded: Rome’s shadow was no longer feared by all.
Geta shivered. He wondered how long it would be before Rome itself came under siege.
⸻
Two Weeks Later
“You asked for me?” A soft female voice.
Geta looked up from his work—mending blankets in the hospital wing. It was a task he’d assigned himself days ago to keep busy. Since then, he’d been fixing whatever he could, offering help where it was needed—while avoiding Lucius, and his own thoughts, as best he could.
Selene, Laurentius’s wife, stepped onto the patio where he sat, his legs stretched into a patch of sun.
She was beautiful—large grey eyes, straight raven hair. Her voice, soft and melodious, betrayed no weakness, though Geta knew from stories she had fire in her. Yet now, her eyes were dull, ringed with exhaustion. On her hip, a two-year-old girl clung to her—dark-haired like her mother, but with deep, solemn eyes.
Geta set the fabric aside and stood. “Yes,” he said, gesturing to the broad stone steps. “Please—sit.”
Selene lowered herself onto the step, placing her daughter on her lap. Geta sat a level below her.
He cleared his throat. “I wanted to speak with you about Laurentius.”
Selene’s eyes went glassy. She chewed the inside of her cheek and looked away.
“I thought you’d know more than I do.”
Geta shook his head.
She sighed. “He’s… he’s been away a lot lately.” Her gaze drifted to the horizon. She cradled her daughter closer, resting a hand on the girl’s head.
“Something happened about three weeks ago…” Her voice faltered. “I tried to negotiate—with Aelius. To let Laurentius come home. The lies, the secrecy… it was killing him. He couldn’t sleep, he—”
She broke off, swallowing hard. Her knuckles whitened.
“When I was there… Aelius tried to force hims—” She stopped midsentence, but Geta understood.
Geta stared at her in horror. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “I understand.”
He reached for her hand. It was ice-cold. He held it in both of his, trying to rub warmth back into her.
“I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
She nodded faintly. “Yes. He’s just been gone longer than usual. I think he knows what happened. I didn’t tell him, but he always knows.” Her eyes flickered to Geta. “I suppose he’s not at court either?”
Geta offered a solemn nod.
Selene’s eyes met his, just for a moment. “Laurentius… I think he’s planning something,” she whispered.
“I’ll ask around. See if I can locate him.”
Selene nodded.
They sat in silence for a while, until the girl in her lap started getting restless.
“Arte is hungry. I should head home.”
Geta got up and walked her to the gate.
“You’ll hear from me.” He promised her.
⸻
After asking around outside court, Geta found out Laurentius had left the city about two weeks ago. No one knew exactly where he was staying, not even the pub owner he often visited. So Geta headed out to the coast of Portus Pisanus—a harbor town on the Tyrrhenian Sea, from where ships departed to Sardinia.
He spent a few days asking around the surrounding villages. Eventually, he found out Laurentius was staying with a potter in Luna, a nearby city.
They met at a tavern on the outskirts of Luna.
Geta could tell right away that Selene had been right. Laurentius knew. He looked utterly broken—Geta had never seen him so helpless. It physically hurt to look at him.
“I can’t do it anymore, Geta.” His hands were in his lap, his voice drained. “I did what was asked of me for months, to keep Selene, to keep Arte safe, and… it still—it didn’t—I couldn’t…”
Geta took in the sight of him and squeezed his shoulder. “I was very sorry to hear it.”
Laurentius didn’t reply. Geta took a sip of wine.
“Selene is worried about you.”
“She’s always worried.”
“She thinks you’re about to do something.”
“Mmm.” Laurentius frowned and stared ahead, visibly uneasy.
“There’s a lot you don’t know, Geta.” He glanced at him briefly, then looked away, shifting uncomfortably.
Geta felt his own heart rate rise. “What is it, Laurentius?”
Laurentius played with the hem of his tunic. It made Geta restless.
“Tibirius found out something a few weeks ago. It’s about Caracalla.”
Geta’s heart sank. He feared the worst.
“He’s dead?”
“No. No, he’s okay. But…” Laurentius looked at him.
“He’s not with the Alimani. He never was.”
“What do you mean? Where is he?”
“With your uncle.”
Geta stared. He couldn’t speak.
“You must be mistaken. I was there—I didn’t see him.”
“Oh Geta, you know how easy it is to hide someone.”
Geta felt faint. “I don’t understand.”
“It was all a game—a way to keep us hooked. We were so easily fooled, both of us. It’s almost laughable.” But there was no humor in Laurentius’s voice—only fatigue.
Geta sat in silence, numb. Everything slowed. He couldn’t form a single thought. Caracalla had never been a captive. Everything they endured. Everything he put Lucius through. The lives lost.
All for nothing.
Geta slumped in his chair, fighting back tears. Laurentius rubbed his back and let him sit in silence. His eyes burned, his throat dry as sand.
Then Geta spoke.
“I must see him.” He got up. “I’ll sail out this morning.”
“See who?”
“Caracalla. And my uncle.”
“You don’t have a ship.”
“I’ll board the first leaving for Sardinia.”
“Wait.” Laurentius grabbed his wrist and pulled him down. “What are you planning to do?”
“Killing Aelius,” Geta replied, still shaky from the news he’d just heard.
“You think I haven’t tried that in the past weeks? Months, even?” Frustration edged Laurentius’s voice.
Geta sat down again, the storm inside him growing.
“That man is impenetrable,” Laurentius added. “Take my word for it.”
“Nobody is impenetrable. He’s human. He can die.” Geta’s eyes burned with conviction.
Laurentius shook his head slowly. “I’ve tried nearly everything. He has a security ring around him tighter than the imperial treasury. If you so much as look at him with the wrong thought, his guards will run you through. They can smell fear.”
“I won’t be scared.”
“Oh, please, Geta. Don’t fool yourself.”
“I won’t,” he repeated firmly.
Laurentius looked down at his hands. “Listen. I couldn’t afford to be reckless—not with Selene and Arte. But neither can you.”
“I can. I have nothing left to lose.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No,” Geta said, his voice growing hoarse. “I used to think I was worth more alive than dead. I thought I could protect Caracalla, keep Lucius alive. But both were lies. Caracalla was never in danger. And Lucius… I’m only a burden to him now.”
The words came out in one breath, calm and resolved. He surprised himself.
“Laurentius is safer without me around—it’s true. And Caracalla doesn’t need me anymore.”
Laurentius stared at him for a long time. “Don’t talk like that, Geta. It’s not true.”
Geta huffed and rested his chin in his hand. Silence stretched between them.
Then, after a few minutes, Geta said, “I’ll stay a few days to think through a plan. Then I’ll sail out, whether you come or not.”
Laurentius leaned back, threading his fingers through his raven-dark hair. Geta looked at his sharp but tired face, the scars above his brow and tricep—scars Geta had never learned the stories behind.
“Fine,” Laurentius said at last. “I’ll join you.”
“Good,” Geta nodded. “But you have to promise me something.”
“What is it?”
“It has to be me who does it. You watch my back. If you trust Tibirius, get him involved. But I won’t let Selene lose a husband or Arte her father.”
Laurentius hesitated, then nodded slowly.
“And I need to see my brother,” Geta added.
“Let’s focus on one thing at a time, yeah?” Laurentius muttered. “Last I heard, Tibirius was staying in Luna—near the marble quarries. Quiet enough place to lie low.”
⸻
The Next Afternoon — The Cliffside Meeting
The three of them met at the foot of a rocky cliff just outside Pisae (modern Pisa), far from the bustle of the port and markets. The wind carried the scent of salt and wet pine. There, they finalized the plan.
“It’ll be suspicious if we all show up at once,” Tibirius said. “I’ll hide you near the left wing of the villa, in one of the old stone alcoves outside the servant quarters. Laurentius will lead Aelius past that spot. We deal with his guards. You take the shot.”
⸻
Two Days Later — Arrival in Sardinia
Rain lashed the coast as their ship anchored near Nora. They moved quietly through the streets, then the wilds inland. Half a day from the estate, Geta hung back while the others went ahead.
When night fell, Tibirius came to retrieve him.
“Alright, follow me. Quiet as the grave.”
They slipped through the trees toward the high walls of Aelius’s estate. The stones were slick with moss and rainwater.
“We’ll use the old tunnels,” Tibirius whispered. “Hidden entrance is beneath the oak tree, backside of the estate. Stay low.”
Tibirius helped Geta over the wall. As Geta landed, his ankle rolled slightly. He bit back the pain and didn’t speak.
They crawled through underbrush. Tibirius dug into the soil until he found a rusted iron ring. He pulled it open slowly, revealing a narrow, dark shaft—the entrance to an old servant tunnel.
“Go,” he whispered.
They crawled through mud until the tunnel widened. The scent of mold and damp filled their lungs. As they climbed higher, the walls became brick and stone. Thin lines of light filtered in from slits just above ground level.
Geta’s heart raced. He could feel Caracalla’s presence—he had to be nearby. Was he imprisoned here? Was he free? He thought he heard laughter echoing—his imagination, maybe. Or not.
They reached a wider hall. The ground turned from mud to carved stone.
“Do you know where Caracalla is?” Geta whispered.
“I do,” Tibirius replied. “But not now. Don’t get distracted.”
Geta gripped the dagger in his cloak. He had played this moment in his mind a hundred times. Aelius in thick robes. Maybe a layer of scale armor beneath. The throat. The eye. He had to end it fast.
They reached a stairwell that led up into the estate.
“Wait here,” Tibirius whispered. He pressed Geta back into the shadows of the stone.
A few moments passed. Tibirius returned and nodded.
“Follow me.”
They moved quickly through the hallways, hugging the walls. The villa was quiet—the storm muffled everything.
At last, they reached the designated spot: a stone alcove near the left wing, half-shielded by a marble column and overgrown ivy.
“Stay here,” Tibirius whispered. “I’ll join Laurentius and Aelius. We’ll come past here in about fifteen minutes.”
Geta nodded. His hand gripped the dagger tighter.
His fingers were slick with sweat.
And then he waited.