Washing Away the Old

Paullus woke to the sound of muffled, soft chanting and prayers coming through the stone wall of his bedroom. Frequently this was the way he was woken up, as the monks of the hermitage never seemed to need sleep, their faint tones both soothing him to sleep and lifting him back into consciousness.

He never took part in their prayers despite their invitations which now came less and less often. He did not share their religion and despite their kindness, Paullus felt an ocean of space between them that kept him from getting too close, despite more than a decade spent here. It was more than religion, though. Paullus had just been a boy when he was foisted onto the monks, and his lofty birth, combined with a generous gift from the Emperor his uncle, gave him an elevated and slightly ostracized position. Given he was part of the royal family, Paullus wouldn't be forced to join a religion that was alien to the Empire. The monks would look after him, but no effort would be made to force him into their position.

The generous gift also added on to the hermitage: a single room so the boy could sleep apart, as was fitting. The hermitage, staffed by 15 monks, only had one other set of sleeping quarters that they all slept in. Such a luxury for Paullus had the side effect of keeping him from bonding with the monks the way they did each other. That was if Paullus even could have bonded with them. Even now, the closest one to him in age was still twice his own. He had little to offer in terms of conversation, his memories of the outside world being so young.

He propped himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he lay in the straw bed. Only a small sliver of light peaked through the window of his room; another luxury. The night had been hot so Paullus had slept nude, still leaving his long hair in the leather thong it was wrapped in. Undoing it to oil and rebind it had become tedious despite Paullus' lack of other activities to occupy his time.

Standing, Paullus took his undyed brown tunic from the wall hook, slipping it on and fastening it with the plain cord that went with it. He looked just like the rest of the monks that populated the hermitage, excluding his youth and the long beard the others wore.

He stepped over to the small table on the other side of the room, reaching out to touch the only item in the whole hermitage that could be considered 'personal'. It was a sun medallion made out of gold, small enough to close up in a fist. He fingered the metallic rays, the points worn dull from years of gentle manipulation. He let it sit in his palm, lifting his hand as if to weigh the little charm that so loudly declared he was not of the church that the monks around him were. The last gift his mother had given him.

"I hope your shade rests easy." He spoke the words softly to himself. The same words as countless other mornings. He wasn't sure if he actually believed his mother was now a shade, or that if she was she could see him, but it was a small comfort. He used to say similar words about his father, brother, and sisters, but they had faded from his memory. His mother hadn't.

He didn't know what compelled him, but today he lifted the little sun up to his lips, pressing it to them. The metal was warm from his palm. He let his eyelids droop for a moment, picturing the moment she handed it to him. He took a deep breath, remembering the smell of lavender that always seemed to emanate from her.

The sound of hooves beating the dirt road leading through the hills toward the hermitage leaked in through the bedroom window. Usually, the supply carts that came in to feed the hermitage made little noise; they didn't move fast and there were never more than two. Paullus noticed the sound of prayers coming through the wall had stopped, too, and moved to the window to see what was coming. His heart dropped out of his chest as he saw.

A line of riders was galloping down the hills towards the monk's residence. They were dressed in green tunics, dark armor visible over the top, with dark cloaks billowing behind them as they advanced. Bright white oval shields hung on the saddle's sides and dyed green plumes of horse hair stuck up over the crown of each helmet. The boy knew without being able to see that their breastplates would have a scorpion emblazoned on them.

They were the Praetorian Guard, the personal bodyguard and attendants to the Emperor, and, by extension, the royal family. Paullus still had vivid memories of them coming to take his father away. His mother had been angry, but she had remained stoic when they led him away. When they came for his older brother, considerably older than himself and already of age, his mother had wailed and screamed. She had not survived long enough to see them take Paullus' two elder sisters.

Paullus' fate was not theirs, though. Even then he knew they hadn't survived their arrests. The slaves and household freeman had been frantic as Praetorians had shown up day after day to arrest a new member of the family, not sparing the fear and speculation of political murders for the young boy. By the time they came for Paullus most of the household had fled with whatever they could take. Being the last of the family to go, Paullus remembered his uncle the Emperor himself coming to look around at what was left of the palatial estate. When he had looked at Paullus the boy could remember seeing real sadness on his face, maybe even tears in his eyes.

"You look very much like she did." He remembered him saying, probably referencing his mother, the Emperor's sister. Perhaps that, as much as his young age, had been responsible for his rehousing in the hermitage rather than strangled in a dungeon like he had come to believe the rest of his family had been.

Paullus had lived in fear, always wondering if the next day would bring the guard back to claim him; a change of mind from the Emperor, making up for his mistake of sympathy. Weeks had gone by, though, then months, then years. While the fear may have still been at the back of his mind, it crept further and further back, no longer a day-to-day care. When his age of majority came the fear ramped back up considerably, now being old enough to present a threat as a potential usurper. While it had not been that long in the past, the fear had subsided as it looked as though he had truly been forgotten about. Until today.

Paullus' hands were balled up in front of him in an anxious parody of the position the monks prayed in to their lone God. He had stepped back from the window, no longer watching the strange group of Futa that made the Praetorian Guard descend on the hermitage. A very small section of the population, Futa were naturally taller than their male and female counterparts, seemingly randomly birthed from mothers with male or Futa partners. They were seen as considerably more impetuous, more martial, than men, and naturally made excellent warriors. As such, the Praetorians were staffed exclusively by them. Paullus could remember one of them scooping him up and placing him in her saddle as she bore him to his isolation.

"Paullus, my lord." Paullus nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice next to him. The elderly monk had opened and closed the door, entering without a sound, or at least without Paullus realizing it.

"I am sorry to startle you, lord." The elderly man apologized, a hand nervously fidgeting with the long grey beard hanging from his chin. The monks had never taken to calling him brother as they did for each other. Another small exclusion. "I thought, maybe, that you might like to pray?" His voice was slightly shaky, his tone a combination of nervous energy and haste. It was apparent that the Praetorian's arrival had drawn him to the same conclusion.

"Thank you, Brother Firmin." His voice was barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around the small golden sun, the pointed rays digging into his skin despite being worn down. He didn't even feel them as he hesitated to answer, mouth slightly open as he strained to hear the sounds coming from outside. The brother's hands incessantly stroked his beard.

"Fifty of us. Water for the horses. Quickly." He could hear the muffled yet demanding voice of one of the horsewomen.

"There is still time for your soul's salvation. The afterlife is eternal." Paullus locked eyes with the old man in front of him, his own filled with fear as the moment of his nightmares seemed to draw to an agonizing reality. The monks were scared as well, but the fear was not for himself. He reached out, gripping the much younger man's wrist. "If you-"

The words were cut off and he moved away from Paullus as the door to the outside opened, light pouring into the room. Paullus' eyes winced at the sudden intrusion of light. It was soon dimmed as the tall woman dipped her head under the doorway, not made for someone of her height in mind.

It took a moment for more than her silhouette to become clear to Paullus, but when it did his eyes settled on that scorpion symbol on her chest armor. Day-to-day Praetorians didn't tend to wear armor, merely a tunic and sword belt, but this woman was in her full panoply. Dark riding boots were laced up to just below her knees, the hem of her green tunic just meeting them. Her hips were wider than a typical legionnaire, the black segmented armor cinching just above them, sword belt buckled with the blade sheathed and hanging by her side. Her arms had metal greaves, her heavy chest tightly armored, black pauldrons covered her wide shoulders. One hand rested on the rounded pommel of her sheathed sword, the other was wrapped around the plumed helmet that she had pressed against her hip.

Paullus' face had to tilt up to look at the woman's face: he was of average height and still she towered at least a foot above him. She had a neck thick with muscle and a strong jaw. Her long dark hair fell in ringlets just past her shoulders now that it was no longer concealed by the helmet. She had dark eyes, high cheekbones, a larger aquiline nose, and full lips cast in a slight smirk. Her skin was that of an olive completion combined with obvious time spent out in the sun. She cut an aristocratic figure that wouldn't look out of place made of marble.

"Is this my quarry?" The armed woman's voice was almost playful as she strode imperiously toward Paullus. He didn't move, more out of fear than any misplaced determination, but his body seemed to almost sage into itself. Stopping just in front, the Praetorian towered over him, the young man's eyes tilting to look at her but his head stayed level with her chest. Her hand left the sword, raising slightly to cup the boy's smooth chin, tilting it upward towards her.

"There's the giveaway." Her smirk turned into a broad grin as her eyes flitted between Paullus' eyes. It was his most identifying feature and a particularly obvious one at that. Paullus had one eye that was a dark brown, almost exactly like his mother's, but another that was a pale blue bordering on silver. It was a striking feature that had ruled out hiding his identity.

"Legionary, please-" Brother Firmin whined from the corner, silenced by an abrupt shh from the Praetorian.

"Are you Paullus Fabius Saturninus, son of Livia?" Paullus nodded his head slowly against her cupped hand.

"I don't imagine you get much news of the outside world here, do you?" Her eyes briefly turned to the older monk who shook his head. She removed her hand from Paullus' chin, the boy not moving, still staring up at her with fearful doe eyes. She turned and placed her helmet down on the side table next to the bed before turning back to address him.

"I am Tribune Attia Nerva, Commander of the Praetorian Cavalry. In the last few weeks, the capital has seen some... upheaval. I suppose you could say that about the Empire as a whole." She chuckled as she tucked some loose curls behind an ear. "The Senators and Equestrians have been complaining, rioting, and stabbing each other in the back, as per their usual." She shrugged as if this was a normal occurrence.

"Unfortunately, some members of the Senate took advantage of the chaos and assassinated your Uncle, the Emperor." She paused for a moment to let it sink in, the smirk never leaving her face.

Paullus blinked. He had never really known his Uncle outside of being responsible for his life now, and the death of the rest of his family. He had lived in fear of him, but after a while, the man was too distant, too amorphous for him to even feel like a man anymore. Knowing he was dead meant... nothing.

"His death is quite the tragedy." She continued to smirk. Paullus wondered for a moment if she was aware that all the terrible things in his life could be traced back to him. "The Praetorians were overwhelmed trying to keep the rioters in check, and unable to prevent his untimely death. Naturally, the cavalry was not in the city, so unable to play any role in aiding him."

Brother Firmin was beginning to creep to the side, edging for the door. He was not a worldly man, but the knowledge of the Emperor's death combined with the arrival of the Guard could mean trouble for the rest of the hermitage. Nerva didn't even look at him as she continued.

"His death brought on even more violence. The city was soon ablaze, both metaphorically and in some cases literally. It did not take long before each of his three sons had died as well." Paullus didn't know his cousins. There were three boys, or at least had been, all older than him. "Truly a tragedy. When the last son, Mettius, was killed, the city calmed a bit. The realization that a centuries-old bloodline was being extinguished had a cooling effect." She looked about the bare room.

"When the Senate and Assembly convened to try to decide what should be done with this vacuum of authority, they were at a loss." She took a step forward. "Until someone remembered you." She brought her hand up, tapping the boy on the nose for emphasis.

"...me?" Paullus' reaction was muted.

"Indeed. The very last person with a drop of blood from the founder of the Empire. Everyone was very glad that we had still been blessed with the chance at an Emperor with divine blood... and also one not affiliated with another faction." She smiled as if at a private joke. "Tensions have eased with every side agreeing that you should be acclaimed Emperor and the Praetorian Guard Cavalry was dispatched immediately to retrieve you. We wouldn't want anyone wicked getting to you." She winked at him.

It took a moment for Paullus to understand just what this meant. Not only were they not about to take him outside and behead him, but he was going to be made Emperor! The deaths of the rest of his extended family made little difference to him, although he had always thought the Praetorian Guard was practically untouchable. Part of their oath was to be willing to die to protect the Emperor. If he, along with the whole royal family, was dead, how could there be Praetorians left?

"Blessed be the Lord." Brother Firmin whispered as he clasped his hands in front of his head, bringing his forehead down, eyes closed. Still reeling, Nerva sidled around Paullus, her strong arm wrapping around his torso, hand lightly gripping his waist.

"We'll start right away. The capital is a few days' ride; we left before the dawn in the hopes of retrieving you with enough time to continue on." She began to walk towards the open door, effortlessly moving the boy along with her arm while her other reached out to pluck the helmet back up as they went. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground.

"My lord, if you would like to-" Brother Firmin stepped towards Paullus, hands outstretched, only for Nerva to quickly don her helmet and use the now-free hand to push the Brother back, hand to chest. He flopped on his behind, the wind seemingly knocked out of him. Paullus would've recoiled, but the arm around him kept him in place.

"Do not attempt to touch the Emperor." She kept the smirk and her voice was, if anything, haughty. As if the title 'Emperor' was merely an extension of her own power. She didn't slow as he fell, pulling Paullus out of the hermitage and into the warm dawn air.

Around him were the horsewomen of the Guard, mostly still mounted. Some of the monks of the hermitage had brought out bowls full of water for the horses or offered their own cups for water as they ran back and forth refilling the waterskins of the Praetorians. One of them spat their mouthful from a cup, tossing the vessel into the dirt.

"I didn't ask for a cup of your piss." The Praetorian snarled at the monk. "Wine, fool. Give me something with some body."

"Apologies, my lady. We do not drink or store wine here." The monk's voice quavered with fear. The Praetorian spat at his feet in response.

"Here are your loyal Praetorian Cavalry, or at least some of them. The wing of the Praetorians that does the most work." She spread her arm out expansively at the group, the women atop the horses giving him broad grins and smiles but nothing professional that someone would expect from the elite soldiers. Even Paullus knew this wasn't how they would've greeted his uncle when he was Emperor.

Two of the horsewomen cantered over, each leading another horse by the reins. One had a shield and lance attached to the saddle, the other bare. From the way Nerva took the horse, gently petting its mane, he could tell it was hers.

"Have you done much riding?" She asked him without bothering to turn her gaze from the horse. Paullus looked at the other animal. Even for horses, these seemed particularly large. He felt a tug of anxiety at being around such strong, powerful creatures. He thought they seemed fitting for their Futa riders as they brought up much of the same feeling in him.

"Uh, no, never." He was still not over the shock of being told he would be Emperor. He was motionless, bewildered at both what was happening and the speed of it. "The hermitage has no need of horses."

"No riding ever? And no wine?" The woman who had spit at the monk asked incredulously. The boy shook his head. Nerva flicked her wrist and the rider with the other horse pulled it away.

"No matter. You'll ride with me." She turned to him, pulling him up next to the horse's flank, positioning an arm under his armpit.

"Wait! I... I don't even have sandals on! And-"

She didn't bother waiting, placing her other hand under his arm and hoisting him up into the saddle with an 'eep!'. After releasing him she gripped the saddle's pommel, pulling herself up behind him. The saddle was crowded and she pressed him up against the front of it with her body weight.

"You won't need your sandals or anything of this mean clothing for that matter. We're a few hours ride from an actual town. We'll take you there..." One of her fingers touched his hastily tied, oily hair, "and get you a thorough bath. We have clothes that will be more fitting to your new station." She shifted in the saddle, taking the reins as she crowded him even further forward. The back of his head lay pressed against her armored chest. "Decima." She addressed the women who had asked after the wine. "Take two others and ride ahead to Kosa. Make sure the public baths are empty."

She made a small click with her mouth, turning the horse. "Praetorians!" Her voice became a bellow, surprising Paullus as he hunched down. "We have our Emperor!" A hand gripped Paullus' much thinner wrist, lifting it up. Every soldier's fist flew into the air, a loud celebratory cry sending a flock of birds into the air. It didn't seem like they could all be cheering for him. He hadn't done anything, didn't know how to do anything, and these were soldiers. Did they really want a young, inexperienced, know-nothing Emperor in charge?

He didn't get a chance to vocalize it before he felt Nerva flick the reins, tighten her thighs around the horse, and they began to move on at a brisk but moderate pace. Paullus kept his hands on the pommel of the saddle, balancing as best he could, watching the riders she had signaled to head out in front much quicker. As they crested the hill he took one look back at the hermitage. All the monks were outside looking on. He thought to wave, but the jostling of the horse kept him from moving his hands. He swallowed hard before turning his head back forward, toward where the riders were heading.