I…well I thoroughly enjoyed this. You are an excellent writer, and in my opinion everything from here on out hinges on your plot. Keep it unique and interesting and you will be good to go!
Unlikely Visitors
The sun gradually materialized behind the horizon. The last stars faded away, shunned by the powerful beams of summer. Darkness slowly receded, uncovering the vast forestlands. The trees’ dew reflected the sunlight and was like gems and a dark, green sea. A hawk glided over the landscape, casting a proud shadow on the land, and crying high-pitched screams of dominion. Flavius Acteus Scaeva was now sixteen years of age, yet the miracle of dawn was still spectacular to his eyes.
Every morning since his early childhood, despite the cold and the blackness, he left the villa and rode through the woods. He crossed the Danube, and when he reached his favorite, tree-less hill, he dismounted, sat in the grass and admired daybreak. At times, his mother Actea accompanied him, but in any case, he never broke his ‘tradition’. He loved his home, nonetheless felt awkwardly peaceful when in forsaken locations such as the vast forest that bordered his territory. It was his haven.
Sometimes, here, you get a little wordy. You have gone through it very carefully, and I think the result is that a few sentences here and there are overworked (for example, the second sentence in the second paragraph). It isn’t that they aren’t fine the way they are, but you could smooth them out to make for easier reading.
He felt something nudge his shoulder. Unsurprised, he softly rubbed his horse’s jaw. Done yet? The mare was right. As a landowner at the boundary of the East Roman Empire, he was burdened with responsibilities.
This took me a few tries to understand. I think it’s because he isn’t really actively doing anything when the horse comes over to pester him. Maybe you could reword her question (“Let’s go” etc) to make it a tiny bit clearer.
“Don’t you ever wonder what could be hiding in these boundless woods?” he questioned dreamily, gently stroking her thick mane, “Nothing ever comes in or out. Someday, you and I have to find out. Of course, for you, it’s just trees and fern. It doesn't mean much to you, does it?”
Nothing comes in or out? Animals love transitional areas—there should be plenty of life overlapping the border between woods and fields.
Still clumsy from not moving for an hour, he fitted his helmet on his skull, stood up and mounted the animal. Flavius was a fairly tall man, short-haired and rather thin. He wore a knight’s armor and a red cape, a gladius attached to his belt. His eyes, quite immobile, were slightly slanted and his skin, emphasizing the darkness of his coal-black hair, was pale as the moon.
“Lord Flavius!”
The landlord peered behind his shoulder and grinned widely. A short, red-haired boy dashed up to him. Unwashed, humbly-clothed and bewildered, he looked more like a rabbit with a pack of wolves behind him, but that wasn’t too astonishing.
Eh, this is confusing. The analogy is a little stretched.
“What is it, Garret?”
The boy panted, lolling his head on the saddle as Flavius caressed his long tangled hair.
This seems less like the fond gesture of an adult with a child and more like one between a pair of lovers. Even a child that is comfortable with an authority figure like Flavius would surely maintain some semblance of respect and personal distance.
“My lord,” gasped the strident voice, “Glad you’re back.”
From where?
“Come with me next time, boy,” he chortled, “Now, tell me what can frighten a brave warrior like you?”
“I’m not frightened,” he grunted, frustrated.
“Forgive me, then. So?”
“My lord, I was chopping wood with my father not far from ‘ere. That’s when we saw the monster.”
“Monster?” They both stared at each other. The child was slightly unsettled by this grave, frozen gaze but did not look away. Suddenly, Flavius burst into a warm, loud laughter.
“A monster!” he chuckled, “A bear, to be more precise!”
“No bear, my lord,” stated Garret determinedly, “I saw it. I—”
“Do you remember last year’s dragon?” he chuckled, “You almost killed the poor beast, which was nothing but some Eastern ambassador’s mount. Not counting the specters you saw by the lake—”
“Listen, please! You’re concerned!” he cried, holding his reins.
Flavius frowned, slightly annoyed. “In what way does it concern me?” he inquired.
“It had antlers and a croaky voice. My father threatened to kill ‘im with his axe when the monster approached. That’s when ‘e spoke to us. He spoke an odd tongue that sounded like nothing I know at first, before passing to a rough Latin that we barely understood. He talked about someone named Markan, or Mukran, or something like that. We told him we knew no such person, but he insisted. In the end he left us, muttering to himself. That’s when my father said I ought to warn you.”
“You’ve done well.”
The mare bristled and grunted. He tightened his grip on the reins and glanced around him, suddenly invaded by fear.
“Over there!” Before he could answer, the child gestured toward a cloud of dust in the distance, which turned out to be seven riders advancing in their direction. He frowned and shielded his eyes with his palm. One of them held a wide, writhing banner. His eyes widened as he noticed the two keys and the crown on the flag. “Well I'll be,” he muttered, “Emissaries of the Pope.”
It’s a little unclear here if the monster is related to the Pope and his men. If so, I think you need to strengthen this comparison a little further, just to straighten us out.
He gently tapped Garret on the back of the head. “Go,” he said. The boy ran off instantly, but instead of going home, knelt behind a nearby bush and observed the scene.
When no more than twenty feet lay between them, the riders halted. At first, no word was exchanged as Flavius eyed the strangers. Unlike his own horsemen, who bore at most greaves and bracers, the men were entirely confined in steel, head and all. They held their spears high, but remained motionless. Their mounts were equally still and armored, letting out an occasional grunt, which could very well have come from a boar.
Rather impressed and slightly uneasy, Flavius gulped and spoke clearly. “I am Flavius Acteus Scaeva. You are welcome to enter my land, but I must know your reasons and intentions.”
In response, the leading rider snatched the flag, and planted it deeply into the soil. His horse reared and gnashed her teeth, before trotting toward the young lord, and as he approached, Flavius distinctly heard his breath trying to blow past the metal of the helmet.
“I am Priscus, General of the Papal Armies. I have come to inspect this region.”
As he removed his helm, Flavius discovered a pale, aged, and hard countenance, and two inexpressive eyes. A black scar ran from his left cheek to below his chin.
Just nitpicking, but scars are not often black if they are the result of trauma (penetrating or otherwise).
“You must be exhausted, General Priscus,” stated Flavius with a nervous smile, “We have food and shelter for you and your men. Rome is far.”
“The road was long indeed,” he replied, without nodding, “Fortunately, we had with us a talented guide who saved us much trouble. Someone, it seems, you are not unfamiliar with. Tell me if I am wrong, Saxon.”
A second rider parted from the rest. Though his traits were masked by a helm, he bore no body armor, no breastplates or greaves, garbed in a brown tunic, a longsword strapped on his back, which he pulled out and pointed at Flavius. “Don't stare, insolent rascal.”
It’s not clear who is talking here.
The young man chuckled, much less tense. “Why don't you take that rusty pail off your head, Algar?”
The rider flung off his helm, and Flavius recognized that long, blond hair and these deep, azure pearls on both sides of a straight nose.
“Well,” grinned the landlord, “It seems you haven’t changed one bit!
“Men our age rarely change, my friend.”
They dismounted, ran, and literally crashed into each other, laughing, weeping, regardless of Priscus’ inexpressive glance and his knights’ cold looks. Flavius didn’t have many friends other than the peasants and the soldiers of his territory, but he had been through so much with Algar the mercenary. Both had done their military service in the East, where they had participated in a campaign against the Sassanids. Together they had marched in the desert with monstrous loads on their backs, stayed awake all night long for the watch, been whipped for having stolen an extra food portion, and so on. And now they were united once again, and nothing else counted.
When he deemed he had waited enough, Priscus chose to speak up. “What you see here is nothing. The rest of my men are a mile away, they will come shortly.”
Flavius turned to him with a puzzled look. “More men? Why?”
“We had better speak of it inside,” he answered, and leaned toward him..“The matter is of great importance,” he said in a lower tone, “And hunting spies does not seem to be your first priority.” He pointed his chin toward something behind Flavius. The man jolted back and sighed in relief. “Garret! Get out from behind that bush and return home!”
Just then, Priscus rode his horse toward the boy. Flavius narrowed his eyes. “What the...”
The horse came to a halt right before the aghast child, who dared not move. Both remained motionless for a couple instants, before the General released a faint smile. “Garret?”
“Y...yes sir,” he mumbled, and wished he'd never come here in the first place.
“Are you afraid, Garret?” he asked.
“Answer him, Garret,” called Flavius, but he fell silent when Priscus sent him a cold stare.
“Are you afraid?” he asked again.
“No sir,” he blurted finally, drops of sweat streaming down his cheeks.
The General's grin widened. He stretched out his gloved hand and touched his shoulder. “A fine boy you are.”
Another horseman galloped in their direction, and Flavius recognized one of his own men, the elderly Marcus. When he reached Priscus he stopped, sword in hand and lifted up threateningly. “Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?”
The General spoke no word, but his henchmen immediately flanked him, blades unsheathed. Flavius and Algar mounted their steeds and followed close behind.
“Peace, Marcus,” quickly said the young landlord, “These are General Priscus and his men. They are from Rome.”
Marcus discerned the flag and the symbol. At once his jaw fell open, and he inclined his head. “Forgive me, my General,” he muttered submissively, and despite his offense, Flavius did not appreciate seeing his most faithful guard with this attitude.
“It is nothing,” stated Priscus, “At least this land is better defended than I first believed. Now, if you will escort us to the villa...”
They all set off towards the fortifications in the distance. As he drew nearer, heading through the fields, Flavius was warmly saluted by the harvesting peasants. Usually, some even treaded up to him and bantered in pleasure, but their intimidation before the foreigners would not let them.
“They seem to like a lot,” coughed Priscus, “Do they fear you?”
“The wolves and the barbarians give them enough to reasons to fear,” he shrugged. The General gazed at him for a while. This Flavius surely was nothing like the other lords he'd met.
They passed under the portcullis that allowed access to a small court between his dwelling and the wall that surrounded it, and which the sentinels on the fortification had raised at the sight of their arrival. Without being summoned, a stable boy scurried up to them and started relieving them of their mounts.
Priscus gestured toward his men. “You five, patrol around the building while I speak with Lord Scaeva. Algar, come with me.”
Flavius' eyes widened. “Do as you wish, but I can assure you that the area is well guarded.”
Priscus ignored him. “After you,” he spoke, standing aside the entrance to the villa. Flavius sighed and lead the two of them to the atrium—a vast, fresh room, adjacent to the garden , which was delimited by a several white pillars, and with a mosaic floor and basin of water in the center, in which bright rays from an opening in the ceiling flowed, and with a bench at each side. The atrium had always been the best room to receive guests in the summer, as it was the only place where one could escape the oppressive heat. They all took a seat on three different benches, while a servant brought them a dish of grapes and cups of wine.
Priscus looked around him, with a satisfied grin. “A pleasant room, I must say. Whoever built this villa could only have been...” He paused, and his pale eyes brightened. “I almost forgot!” he exclaimed, “Where is your most illustrious mother, Actea?”
Flavius froze. There was a question he hadn't expected. And precisely the one he hated to answer, yet his mouth opened under the pressure of the General's stare. “Actea passed away last week.”
Algar gasped. “How so?”
The young man clenched his jaw, looking downwards. “She was perfectly healthy, despite her age. And one night, she fell sick and left us the following morning. There was nothing we could do. Medicine and prayers proved futile. And we...” He broke off, breathed heavily, feeling Algar's hand laid on his shoulder. “We never found out what it was.”
Priscus nodded silently, solemn and as unreadable as ever. “Please forgive me. To be honest, I knew your mother rather well. I dare say we were close friends.” He then shuffled for something in a leather bag tied to his belt. “I believe this belongs to you then.” He pulled out a small sachet. “She gave it to me many years ago.”
He handed it out to him, and Flavius opened it reluctantly. A carved, black artifact fell in his palm. A bird made of ebony, with outspread wings, a tall crest and a curved beak. The family's emblem. The young man's breathing came to a halt. Now that Actea was no more, he was alone, the last his line, the last of the Actii. All other members of the family had died out, most in battle.
Flavius squeezed the object in his hand and rested his head on his fists, eyes shut. He panted and trembled, ashamed but unable to look at his visitors in the eye.
“Lord Scaeva?” Priscus cocked an eyebrow, and Algar winced uneasily.
“Yes, yes, forgive me,” he stammered, lifting his chin, and trying to smile, “Please forget it.”
The General's wide open eyes remained fixed on his. “I believe I have ventured where I shouldn't have. Perhaps it is better if we talk tomorrow. A conference shall be organized at twilight, at my pavilion.”
I’m going to interrupt myself to say that I love this scene.
Flavius exhaled, resigned. “Thank you.”
Priscus and Algar stood up and headed out of the atrium. “Still remember,” spoke the old general as he treaded off, “You are all in danger. Double the guard, and make sure the peasants are safe.”
The Saxon anxiously peered behind his back before leaving.
You fool gritted Flavius, You're unable to hold a conversation. What will Rome think of you now?
Painful memories of his mother began to haunt him once again.
He had stayed with her all night long, and as dawn rose, knowing her time had come, she demanded to be alone with her son. Her wrinkled yet once so vigorous face was battered with fatigue, and her curly silver hair were no longer thick and healthy. Both were sitting on the couch in her room, waiting.
“Don’t be anxious,” he had uttered with mock relief, “You’re just convalescent. Soon you’ll be just like before.”
“Aye. I’m afraid soon you’ll never have to worry for me again.”
“Don’t say that! I forbid you!” he roared, and Actea may have been terrorized if she did not know it was her son furiously grasping her arm. Instead she raised her chin indignantly and glared at the young man.
“What is it now? A few weeks are enough for you to forget all I’ve taught you? I thought you knew better than ignoring respect. I’d say you’re still a child. Greece isn’t far; find some good pedagogue to finish your education.”
That last phrase whacked his mind so hard that all his anger instantly turned into compunction. Full of despair, he squatted on the floor, his back against the wall, burying his face within his hands.
He felt an arm on his shoulders and a hand rubbing his backbone.
“You still have much to learn, my son,” spoke the elderly woman, kneeling beside him, “You’ll keep losing people you love throughout your life. We are shooting stars in the night sky.”
“Mother,” he grunted, “If you think what you’ve just said is going to relieve me one bit, you’re strongly mistaken. Besides, it surprises me that you use such a stereotyped explanation. I’m passed that age, mother!”
She gently took hold of his hand and pressed it against her heart.
“When I knew your father would never come back,” she sighed, “I sobbed for weeks. I longed to rejoin him, wherever he was. You were my only reason, my only purpose to stay alive. If I leave today rather than fifteen years ago, it is thanks to you alone. Before I go, let me give you your last lesson.”
Her breath quickened and her grip on his hand loosened. For a moment, Flavius believed that he had already lost his mother.
“Remember one thing,” she croaked nonetheless, “I have never forced religion on you. I have always believed you were clever enough to find the truth. As you’ve noticed, throughout my life as governess I’ve done my best to steer clear from any relations with Rome. Do as you wish, but one day you’ll learn to dissociate God and the Church. Until then, now that our land is in your hands only, rule with a mother’s care and a viper’s caution. Seek justice as long as you live, and you will be free. Never let anyone influence your thoughts, always believe in yourself, and you will discover that independence is the greatest of powers.”
The dissociation of God and Church? I am a little confused here as to what she is advocating.
Before long he found himself in the middle of a vast ocean, in the apex of a dreadful thunderstorm. He struggled to remain at the surface, panting and gargling as the titanic waves played with his body. Finally, he was washed against a large rock emerging from the water. For a while he felt strangely safe, standing on the hard stone, untouched by the wind, watching the billows thrashing around him. However, although a voice deep inside him urged him to keep faith, he was increasingly frightened, and the rock that held him began to sink into the abyss. A giant, snake-like figure with glowing eyes shot out from the waves and roared, shattering his ear-drums, before diving its enormous head toward him, jaws opened.
Crack!
With a gasp he woke up. A storm was raging outside but nothing compared to what he had seen. With relief he gaped at the mosaic on the floor, representing the monstrous sea creature Leviathan assaulting a galley. His imagination had carried him too far.
Flavius watched as the rain poured from the hole in the ceiling to the basin just before him, like helpless, godly tears.
“My lord?”
“What?” exclaimed Flavius, startled, “Oh, it’s you, Marcus.”
The old guard grinned and stepped up to him. “Forgive me my lord, I just thought I should let you know that the remnant of the General's men have arrived, and have set up their camp East of the villa.”
“How many?”
He shrugged. “I would say a little over a hundred.” He took another step. “My lord...”
“Marcus?”
The guard wavered. “Allow me to ask you—forgive my rudeness—who are they exactly? What have they come for?”
Flavius smiled took his arm gently. “I understand your worry, Marcus. Yet I can assure you that there is nothing to fear. They have come to protect us, and we should be grateful for it. You can trust me.”
“Oh, I have served you and your mother for as long as I can remember,” he chortled, as he walked out, “Still, I have tried speaking with these strangers. All I can say is that they are like nothing I have ever seen.”
Truly, Flavius too had been destabilized by the General's riders, and had little idea of what to think of them. Yet this Priscus greatly intrigued him. His cavernous voice, his incredible eyes, his scar, all traits matched perfectly with his authoritative yet unexpectedly kind character. He was both eager and nervous at the thought of the meeting the next day. However, the frightening man's last words before he left preoccupied him most.
Yep. I have surprisingly little to say about this. It is excellent. I do hope that you continue to post what you’ve written on here for our enjoyment!!!
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