Three Rivers waited at the trailhead carrying Marcus' short sword and flanked by his twelve armed men. Marcion's round cheeks were dark with ash and his arms loaded with books. From everywhere rose shouting and alarm bells stirred by the steamboats' destruction.

"I did that!" Marcion stuck out his chin. "Now can I work for you?"

"Take only what you can run with," Marcus told him, glancing at Three Rivers.

She nodded. "The trail breaks north over the first rise, Marcus Trogia. We will head to the Nantico. Their envoy has already agreed to help us."

"And from there?" a voice boomed out of the wilderness, and Marcus and his companions were surrounded before Quintillius' echo faded. "It's a long way back to Rome."

The thirteen Romans' swords unsheathed, ready to blood. Most of the Ambrosian weapons, Marcus noticed, were pointed at his head. Northmen filled in the gaps, led, of course, by a grinning Hallbjorn.

Quintillius strolled through the projectiusmen as if walking his garden. "Why did you do it, Marcus? I will confess that I did not expect that even from you."

Marcus stiffened but refused to answer.

"I will order my men to kill you," Quintillius said evenly.

"Then be quick about it, old man." He glanced at Three Rivers and the quaking Marcion. "As for your spies—"

"They didn't betray you. You were seen by soldiers rushing to the steamships. Now answer my question. Why did you spare Azanties' life?"

The old Greek stepped into the torchlight, hands clasped behind his back. "Not that I shall complain, I grant you. But I confess that after I watched you leave the demonstrations in such a wicked state, I rushed home to make my final arrangements."

Marcus' voice sounded flat to him. "As you said yourself . . .  killing you would have done no good."

"Indeed, he was correct." Then Quintillius stood directly before Marcus, in the line of fire—close enough to become a hostage. The young general remained still.

"But are you certain that was the only reason?" Quintillius prodded. "I saw your remorse when I spoke of Vetera and Aelia Capitolina. There is still honor in you amid a dearth of it in the Empire. And I saw the light in your eyes while you watched the steamships. So you retain the capacity for awe as well."

I will die, Marcus realized. The thought brought no fear. Rather it sharpened his clarity, as if his recent exhaustion was rest and the paths of his life, right and wrong, prepared him for this lone path left to finish.

"I ask that you spare my men and Three Rivers and Marcion," Marcus said. "They did my bidding. But you will not take me alive. I have been manipulated since my ship was captured. The Northmen in bringing me here, you in keeping me here, even—" He glanced at Three Rivers and his throat caught. He turned from her one last time. "But no more. If I could not control my life, I shall control my death."

Quintillius nodded absently, picking up a book Marcion dropped—Archimedes' On Methods. The older man paced a moment before answering.

"They will go free, all of them," he finally said.

"I thank you for that, general."

"So will you, general." He opened his other hand to reveal Marcus' pocket watch. "I did promise this back to you by nightfall."

Marcus' mask dropped, as did his jaw, but he quickly regained his composure. "You told me I could not leave."

"I did tell you that, didn't I?"

"And that you would kill me if I tried to board the Northmen's ships."

"You didn't try." He glared at Azanties' apprentice. "Of course I can't allow you to keep Nikolaos' notes. Or for Marcion to go with you. But he was promised a Roman education when he is older. And it is much easier to do—or invent—something when you know it's already been done, wouldn't you agree?" The boy's protest was chopped off by a swift glare from Hallbjorn.

"But—" Words failed at last. "Why, Quintillius?"

"Why spare you, old friend? Because Rome needs you. Shortly before you arrived, one of Hallbjorn's ships brought news of a great naval battle off the coast of Jutelandia after Rome tried attacking the Scandian homeland. Both of Maxentius Caesar's sons were there. Both perished. When Maxentius is soon called from life, you will be Caesar."

The invasion I knew would fail, Marcus remembered.

Marcus told Quintillius against his better judgment, "All the more reason for you to kill me, if you aren't lying."

"Maxentius and his sons would have let their men die to save their own lives. They would have murdered Nikolaos and burned his library rather than taking books. They would have begged for their lives facing my men. Had you done any of those things, Marcus Varrus, you would now be dead."

Quintillius clapped his hands on Marcus' shoulders. "Damn it, Marcus! I know you, just as you know me. And you know if the Northmen don't hack Rome to pieces, Constantinopolis will. In the end all three will be war-wrecked and then Persia will move in, or the Han Empire or someone else. If there is no peace then there will be nothing left of Rome in ten years. I know you're a reasonable man—and that you have the spirit to enact that reason."

He stepped back, cheeks florid. "I have said all I will say. The decision is yours."

Marcus tilted his head. "If you free me, what makes you believe I will not return with fifty ships and crush Terra Ambrosia? And I will take your mechanical secrets with me."

"Not our greatest invention." He glanced toward the book in his hand. "The one we've already started spreading throughout the Empire."

He opened pages filled with Latin text. Perfect lettering, so perfect as to be . . . 

Mechanical.

Quintillius scowled. "You also don't have fifty ships to spare. Besides, you don't know how many ironships we have . . .  and this land is vast, filled with resources. It provides everything we need. Return for war and we will meet you with a fleet superior to yours in every respect. And we will know you are coming."

"A peace envoy to the Northmen will be seen as weakness." Marcus shook his head. "Their invasions will be worse than ever."

"Not if Prince Hallbjorn parlays with you."

"Prince?"

"His father is Harthrathi, after all."

"The king of the Northmen!"

"And Vinlandia. You were off the Vinlandian coast when your ships were intercepted."

"Maxentius is an oath-breaker," Hallbjorn told Marcus. "But you own honor."

Quintillius moved close to Marcus' ear. "Return for peace and you will find us great allies, as I have promised. Freedom does much for a nation—and a man. You are free to choose as you will."

The Atlanticus was calm and sparkled they way the air shimmered in Marcus' vision. The sun was behind them as they sailed for southern Britannia. Three Rivers returned his gaze at her with a smile. Her hand was on the rail of Hallbjorn's flagship, and he blanketed her fingers with his own.

"What will the Romans think?" she asked. "When you bring home a Skraeling as . . . ?"

He clasped her hand tight. "They will be free to think whatever they wish."

For Dr. John Bruton