Chapter 1

First chapter, introduces characters, begins telling the two plots.

Act 1

The End

Chapter 1

The night grew dark and long in the city of New Rome, Sicily. Rain dropped gently upon the roof of the War Department. The ancient building had stood since the first Republic began. It still held the same stones laid down thousands of years ago. Yet tonight, they would crumble. The fate of New Rome, and the entire Republic, was set in the hands of those inside the building. The future did not look bright, as all but three of the occupants were dead.

Three dark figures were seated around a map table. One was slim yet strong, feminine yet powerful. She sat in her chair with grace, and not a wrinkle could be seen on her trim naval uniform. The blue breeches and red field jacket were as perfect as the day they were first folded. Dozens of medals aligned the shoulders, and her hat rested on her chair. Her eyes told a different story however, as they burned with anger, confusion, and sorrow all at once. Their deep blue color was in fitting compliment to her fair blond hair.

A second figure was pacing in front of the other two. His large bulk was no matter for his own custom fit uniform. The crimson field jacket and black breeches designated him as a horseman, and the gold shoulders showed him to be an officer. His medals dangled at his chest, and his saber slapped at his side. He was a mess, and sweat dripped down from his shaggy brown hair. What was once a picture of pristine and elegance was now a heaping mess of fear and distress. He paced back and forth while speaking something to the third figure.

“This can't be happening, this can't be happening! Do you realize what's going on? I'll tell you. We are dead. We are going to be stabbed, shot, maimed, and butchered all at the same time! And I'll tell you something else. We could have been gone by now. But we had to stay, didn't we? Didn't we Cassius?”

Cassius, the third figure, stood at the map table, with his hands on its edges, studying the layout of the map. It showed the location and whereabouts of the remaining forces belonging to the Republic's military. They numbered very few. The capital had stark defenses drawn out, and the troops were marked with little black dots. Outside of the city, a massive blob of green could be seen. All of New Rome was surrounded by this gathering of green, and was like a pebble in an ocean. The green represented the enemy troops.

Cassius wore the traditional uniform of an infantryman. His uniform was khaki and brown throughout, from his boots and trousers to his shirt and trench coat. Years of fighting at the front in numerous battles had worn away any color, from his clothes and his soul. His helmet was nowhere in sight, for it had been lost days ago in a nameless battle, still waiting in a forgotten trench. The only protection for his head was his wavy brown, currently dirtied and sweaty. Normally, his vest would be covered completely if he wore all his medals, so only one was ever worn to meetings. The Mark of Caesar, the nation's highest honor. A simple olive branch crossing a gladius told all who saw it of the heroism of the bearer.

“Caligula, I'm busy. Rant your complaints at Valencia, if she would care to listen. Let me study this. I know I can get us out.”

Biting his lip, Cassius stared at the map in concentration as Caligula, the larger man, turned to face the woman. He started, “Vale, do you believe this? He exp-” before she cut him off.

“Caligula, listen. Crying about and spelling out our impending death is not helping the matter. If you wish to live past the hour, I suggest you either help Cassius with a plan, or perhaps you can go ask the Empire if they would ever so kindly march around us. I care not to be buried under their army.”

Caligula stuttered a bit at the brash and bold outburst from Valencia. After all, he was not used to such ill treatment. Caligula was an officer of horses, a gentleman and always surrounded by fellow gentlemen. He was always invited to the Senate Balls, and always had a charming woman around him, hanging onto to his every, educated word. This disaster that had so suddenly sprung up on his fledgling nation was tearing his world apart. He needed a drink.

“I...I need a drink. Where's the wine? I need some wine!” Caligula started fumbling around the small, dark room. He knocked over the chairs not seated, and threw books off of desks. He saw the glint of glass on the floor, and was about to retrieve the bottle of wine he found, when he saw who was holding it.

“Ah. Yes. General Hephaestus. You are still dead. Give me the wine!”

Caligula proceeded to take the wine from a corpse wearing the uniform of the Supreme Commander of New Roman Forces, but also was missing a large portion of its head. The General, and the rest the leading staff, had decided that suicide was superior to living their lives under the boots of the Empire. The three survivors had a hard time arguing with that logic.

These former men of life had been the most steadfast in resisting annexation by the Empire, and had even been the ones to declare their independence. They fought to what they saw as the end, and decided that the Roman Empire would not have the satisfaction of killing them. A trivial point, but heroic nonetheless.

“Caligula! Take the damned wine and help me out please. This is hard enough. I have a plan, but I need your assistance.” Cassius waved Caligula over to the map. Caligula snatched the wine with a snarl and skittered over to the table. While the two men bickered and debated possible means of escape, Valencia walked over to the cracked window to watch the scene outside.

She tread carefully over broken glass and shattered skull fragments. Valencia dearly wished that the men who had killed themselves would have decided to space out before shooting. That would have at least left some space on the floor, and they would not be in such a crumpled mess. Her entire country was on fire, yet she still desired cleanliness.

The city was in chaos, as would be expected. With the Empire quickly approaching the capital, refugees and deserters alike were fleeing in droves. No one thought it worth living clamped in the iron fist of the Empire. After all, if they did they would not have seceded five years ago. The Empire had harbored hate and animosity since then, and was now to reap its revenge. The only reason they had held back from the instant of the secession was due to political pressure from the outside world, and another war with the Aztecs. The Republic has seceded during that war, which only helped to fan the flames.

The Empire had allowed the fledgling nation their little island of Sicily, as well as Corsica and a small bit of land in Africa. They had purposely forced the New Roman Republic to be so spaced out, in order to weaken them. Now, after a falsified event that made it seem as if the New Romans had attacked the Empire, troops had been mobilized. After five months of surprising resistance, the Empire had arrived at the doorstep of their disobedient child.

Valencia witnessed a group of five young soldiers, or rather former soldiers, steal a horse and cart from a decrepit old woman. She sighed. This is what her country had come to. They had stood staunch and proud for five years, when it was just words flying across rooms and debates. Now with lead following, and in most cases proceeding, Valencia knew this was to be a quick, bloody fight. Her Navy was useless here, and so she felt the same. She thought back to the days of when she first signed up for the Navy. The days of youth and vigor. The days when she first met Cassius.

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The sea blew a cool breeze through the young girls' hair. The salty air tasted sour in their mouths, but they took no notice. Today was a special day for them. Today was the day one of them was chosen to sail to sea. Each of the five was eighteen years of age, and each had trained all their lives for this chance. In New Rome, women were prized for the sea. It was said to bring good luck, and they were damned good cooks. However, one girl in particular did not fancy such lowly tasks. She wanted fame, glory, and her own vessel. This girl was named Valencia.

Born to a merchant and his wife, she lived the expected childhood. She spent her time either tallying goods or helping with the ship's work. The Clairvoyance was the pride and joy of her father. He did not buy it, nor win it in a gamble. Instead he had worked on building it when he was a child, with his father. It is perfectly understandable then, that when Valencia wrecked it in the Mediterranean that he disowned her completely.

She thought it was an innocent mistake; she was only 10 after all. A storm had blown her off course during the night and into the rocks of Sicily. However, no one else did, let alone her poor father. Without a ship, he could not send his wares across the seas, to places such as Imperial China or the Briton Tribal Nations. Losing his ship lost him his life and daughter. Ironically though, Valencia managed to prosper from her banishment, becoming a cook and cabin girl for an Empire Captain. That was her first taste of the Navy, and she craved more.

That was eight years ago. Her captain had put her name forth to become an official member of the Roman Navy. She would sail in the Caesar's fleets, serving the men food and luck. A few women, less than 10 in the entire history of Rome, had ever gotten an officer's position. No one had ever been given the honor of Captain. Valencia, like most young women of that time, knew she could prove herself fit for the task. She did not realize that was the dream of every single girl ever to sign on to a ship. In fact, had a certain incident not occurred, along with Cassius, she would not even been alive.

“Alright ladies. Gather up, single file now.”

The officer in charge, a Captain, walked back and forth in front of the women, searching them for anything out of place, any single detail under-par. He craved to punish them and send them away. This was his Navy, and he wanted perfection.

“Women of Rome reporting Captain Sir! Awaiting orders!”

All five of the women saluted briskly and sharply. They would not allow the Captain to find fault. Excellence was their profession, and they worked it well. They stood waiting as he checked them all; praying they left nothing out of place.

He was apparently satisfied. His grunt of approval sent silent joys through all of them. They knew that they could handle whatever tasks he set before them. Nothing could catch them off guard, the women thought. Of course, that means they were.

“Since this is the Navy, and not some cruise line, you all get a combat mission as a test. I hope that suits your fancies. You will each go aboard a separate transport, and assist with tending to the men. They know their mission, and you do not. Keep it that way. Dismissed!”

With those words, the fates of all five were sealed. How short the seal was would be found out all too soon. Valencia sighed, and trudged aboard her assigned ship, transport 17. She walked up the gangplank, received permission to come aboard, and boarded the vessel. The ship was not a massive one, nowhere close to the size of the battleships the Empire sailed. It was not a small ship either. Transport 17 was one of thousands of ships dedicated to carrying soldiers, horses, supplies and weapons to wherever the Legions marched.

This particular transport was an ancient model, hence its low number. Valencia could see rust patches along the metal hull. Barnacles clung everywhere below the waterline. She sighed. Someone was going to have to clean this place, and she knew it would have to be her. As tough as she was, Valencia had a soft spot for cleanliness. Some thought this very womanly of her, but a clean ship was a safe ship. Something she could have learned before she sank her father's boat.

Valencia stood at the guardrail facing the dock as she waited for the ship to be loaded. Trucks drove up to the wharf and unloaded hundreds of crates. After five hours of loading supplies, Valencia saw a hundred or so soldiers marching towards the dock. She could tell they were almost all fresh troops, by the way they walked and the lack of medals on their breasts. The dark uniforms of the infantry caused heat strokes in the younger recruits, but the longer they wore the uniforms, the more accustomed they became. She supposed this was part of some plan, but Valencia did not care too much. Soldiers were soldiers.

As they boarded the ship, Valencia caught her share of stares and whistles. Yes, they were indeed young and new. Her only solace to this treatment was that most of the young men would be dead within the year. Such was the price of a forever warring Empire. Yet, one soldier did not throw out catcalls, or stare at her with lust.

Valencia, however, turned to stare at him. His uniform had no crisp look, but instead looked tattered and worn. His helmet had dings in it, and his rifle looked scratched. She called over the skipper, and asked him who that lone, experienced soldier was.

“Sir! Permission to speak?”

“Permission granted. What is it, Ms...?”

“Valencia Cinna, sir. Um...who exactly is that one man, over there?”

Valencia pointed over to the soldier. The skipper looked, and turned back to face Valencia with an odd combination of excitement and regret.

“Why, that would be Gaius Cassius VI. He's the first Cassius to return to the mainland from his family's exile in the Briton Isles, almost 2,000 years ago.”

Valencia understood his confusing emotions now.

“Cassius the Traitor...his heir serving in the military? Isn't that...risky, sir?”

“Look at the lad, Ms. Valencia. He's seen combat. He looks like he did fine. A lot is riding on his shoulders. If he proves himself loyal, then his family can return to Rome, and their honor returned.” Valencia looked again at the young man. He couldn't be a year or two older than her, but his eyes said something else. They seemed to cry of a pain no one should suffer. The pain of being hated for something that happened centuries ago. She thought that those eyes were there to see Cassius the Traitor himself exiled from Rome all those years ago. It was getting cold, so she went below deck.

Reviews

[Max64]

This could become something. needs some polish, but you have most of the historical aliterations on the mark. Do you have in an easier to read format?

[Austin H.]

Well, to clarify E. Ryan, this is 1916. Leather doesn't stop a bullet, so they wore regular cloth uniforms just as they have since the rise of firearms several centuries back. The Prologue was written to really set the basis for the history, a crash course if you will, so I suggest reading it to clarify any confusion. Otherwise, thanks for the input.

[E. Ryan Miller]

To me, the beginning seems slightly confusing, in part because of the way you describe the dress of the characters. I'm very rusty on this part of history, so I could be wrong, but weren't the soldiers of this time wearing armor, leather, and such? Also, the sentence " Her entire country was on fire, yet she still desired cleanliness." seems out of place with the rest of the paragraph. Before you are talking about her movements, etc, and then you suddenly switch to her thoughts. Of course, this could be only me, but maybe you could create a new paragraph or italicize?
However, after that, this really picks up speed and interest. I love your characterization of Cassius the younger so far, through Valencia's eyes. Definitely intriguing. Also a minor point, but I love your choice of names. They fit with the story very well. Your syntax and diction also gels very well with your story overall - everything fits the time and subject like it should.

[KittyStarr1101]

I love this write. Good job :D