Rise of Merovech

Chapter One

"Meroveus!" Councilman Cornelius Caecilius greeted informally stepping forward out of the shadow of his expensive Roman villa. "We are honored to host you once more! Welcome back to Castellum Menaporium!"

Merovech stared down at the man, holding tightly to the reins of his horse. The Councilman was beginning to show his age. Care lines creased his brow and his hair was sprinkled with silver and white. It would seem that to him Rome was not being kind.

The party behind Merovech shifted uncomfortably as a much too long silence ensued. The Councilman's smile wanted and he looked between the men of Merovec's party for guidance, but there was none. "I trust...there are no hard feelings?"

Merovech finally forced a polite smile. "Of course not, dear Councilman," he answered, gesturing to the men at his back. "My captains and I thank you for your generous invitation."

Seemingly pacified, Caecilius's smile returned. "We have a glorious feast laid out for you. And rooms have been prepared for you and your captains."

"That is very kind, but I prefer to spend any night before a battle with my men."

Caecilius's smile, only just returned, vanished, his eyes clouding with confusion and fear. "Battle, Meroveus? There is no battle tomorrow."

Merovech smiled a little. "In these strange lands, you never know which day will be your last. Each day and night are a battle."

Again, the Councilman was pacified and he let out a relieved laugh. "I had forgotten how much you like to jest, Meroveus! I can never tell when we are playing a game. But please, dismount your horses and come inside for some pleasures before we dine."

Romans were always so extravagant with their words, as if using this extended vocabulary was going to do more than confuse whomever they were talking to. Dealing with Rome's representatives as always an especially tedious task. And, by the Gods, how he hated them calling him by that foul version of his name!

The men dismounted their horses and handed them off to the mass of Greek slaves who had seemed to magically appear from around the villa. Merovech was hesitant as one slave came for his stallion. The massive silver beast was not to be handled by any random hand. He was a war horse, bred to face angry throngs of warriors. He was hot-tempered, temperamental and very specific about how he liked to be handled. Only one other man was brave and skilled enough to lead the horse. Most men just let Merovech interact with the animal, as it did not trust anyone else. But, Merovech slowly handed the reins to the slave, whispering calming words to the horse in his native language, which worked well enough.

"That horse of yours seems to be quite a hassle," Caecilius commented.

Merovech looked at him steadily. "He was not bred for companionship."

"Of course not," came the uneasy response. Merovech and his two captains were led to the villa and a small gathering of men waiting at its entrance. An older man whose stomach was so large it was causing him to sweat under the weight and pressure smiled pompously at him.

"So this is the famous Meroveus?" he asked in a loud, greasy voice. "Attila's bane, Defender of Rome! He looks every bit the Barbarian Warrior!"

His voice sounded like he still held a large helping of tough meat in his mouth and the stains on his tunic did little to ease Merovech's disgust. It was a disgust shared not only by his comrades at his sides, but also by the much younger Roman staring at the visitors. He was not as smartly dressed as the pig beside him, but obviously took care of his garments and even greater care of his appearance. Merovech, however, was not impressed and more thought the boy looked like he would have the scent of a sour scrap of linen. Not that he was going to get any closer to the boy to get a good whif to confirm.