“Um, not to interrupt such an emotional family reunion,” Artorius said as the two Norsemen grappled on their feet. Magnus stepped away, catching his breath. He then turned and pointed towards his friend.
“Oh, Grandfather I want you to meet…” his words were cut short as Olaf punched him behind the ear, knocking him to the ground once more.
“You wanton harlot! I didn’t say we were done!” Olaf then grunted and waved his hand dismissively at his grandson before turning his attention to Artorius. “Ah, and you must be Artorius. Ye gods, but you’re a big one!” Artorius laughed at the assessment.
Age had robbed Olaf of some of his height, though according to Magnus he never was very tall to begin with. He was just a hair shorter than Artorius, with a long mustache that was braided on either side of his face. His still-blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, underneath a skull cap helmet. Though his appearance made him look like a barbarian, he was in fact very well dressed and his grooming and hygiene were immaculate.
“And you must be the famous Olaf,” Artorius replied with a chuckle. The old man gave him a friendly but hard punch on the shoulder.
“Don’t be such a bastard!” he bellowed. “I know you wanted to say Mad Olaf. It is okay lad, I don’t find the name offensive at all.”
“No, in fact he relishes it,” Magnus said as he rose to his feet, massaging the sore spot behind his ear that was starting to turn purple. “No other man shows such boisterous affection towards his grandchildren!”
“Hey, it keeps you sissy girls tough and on your toes!” Olaf retorted as he walked back towards his horse; a magnificent stallion that looked much too large for the old Norseman to handle. And yet he effortlessly vaulted into the saddle. Off of one of the saddle bags hung a very old, but well-maintained battle axe. The wooden handle was sun bleached and the blade bore the scars of countless battles, yet there was not a spot of rust to be found. The two friends walked on either side of the old man as they made their way back towards Ostia.
“Your sister will be happy to see you finally,” Olaf said, catching Magnus’ attention.
“Svetlana’s here?” he asked excitedly. Last time he had seen his sister she had been just shy of womanhood.
“No, not here,” Olaf replied with a shake of his head. “She’s back in Lugdunum. She had been visiting me and was accompanying me back to Lugdunum to see you. But when you were not to be found, she elected to stay and await your return, lest she should miss you. It’s no big deal; a good friend of yours is looking after her.”
“Which friend?” Magnus asked with some trepidation. The term friend could be used very loosely, especially when it came to someone offering to ‘look after’ his little sister.
“I’m trying to think of his name…” Olaf contemplated. “A fine fellow, that one; told me where the best spots in the city were to relieve my swollen loins! I think his name started with a V…” A look of horror crossed Magnus’ face and his stared at his grandfather wide-eyed.
“Valens?” he asked with a start. Olaf smacked his thigh and chuckled.
“Yep, that’s the name! A good man that one!” Artorius burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“Grandfather, you left my baby sister with Valens?” Magnus was horrified at the thought. “He’s the single biggest pervert I’ve ever met! The man will fuck anything that’s human with a cunt between its legs! I don’t want him anywhere near Svetlana!” Artorius meanwhile was laughing so hard that he had to grab a hold of Magnus in order to stop from falling over. “You’re not helping things, you know!” Magnus retorted as he shoved his friend off.
“I’m sorry,” Artorius replied, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “It’s just that the look on your face…”
“Oh Magnus, quit being such a big girl’s blouse!” Olaf replied with a friendly back-fist to the ear. “Your sister is hardly a baby anymore. Damn girl is taller than I am and very fit.” Magnus groaned at the thought of what temptation that would be for Valens, who while very much a friend was still someone that the Norseman did not want cavorting with his sister. “Svetlana can take care of herself, no worries,” Olaf continued. “The lad’s been nothing but a complete gentleman to her. Now stop fussing about it; you’re making young Odin here nervous!” He tugged gently on the reigns of his horse as if to emphasize his point. “At any rate, I’ll be coming with you back to Lugdunum. A fine city, that! Your Uncle Gunnar is seeing to my affairs while I’m out.” The two legionaries walked alongside the old Norseman and his horse for some time before Artorius elected to break the silence.
“Olaf, I understand you were at Actium,” he observed. A beaming smile crossed the old man’s face.
“Ay, I was,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “I went back to Rome a few years ago for the fiftieth anniversary celebrations. Sadly there are but a few of us left. I cannot believe it’s been more than fifty years. It sometimes feels like it was just last week. I was not a young man even then and yet so many of the veterans look so…well, old.”
It was not until they returned to Olaf’s lodgings that he continued in his story. It was a very high-class inn that only those with extravagant taste and plenty of coin could afford. So when the half-mad Norseman showed up the owners were at first keen to turn him away. Though his clothes were expensive and his hair and hygiene well maintained, he still looked ‘barbaric’ to them. It was then that he produced his pouch full of coin that changed their demeanor towards him. When he showed up with the two legionaries the patriarch of the inn was immediately out the door to take Olaf’s horse personally and see to his needs.
“Will you need anything else?” the man asked as Olaf dismounted.
“Yes, bring us some of your finest mead!” he answered before turning to Artorius and Magnus. “Come lads, let’s get drunk and tell some stories!” Magnus was still distracted, thinking about his sister and Valens. Artorius had to give him a hard nudge with his elbow to bring him back to his senses. Magnus just shook his head.
“Would you get over your sister and Valens already?” Artorius chastised. Magnus gave a short laugh.
“It’s not that…I know how Olaf gets when he’s on the mead.”
Approximately twenty men were lined up in front of Heracles. Hand-picked from dregs of society, they would serve him and him alone. In similar fashion to how Sacrovir had chosen his inner circle, Heracles had selected men with little left to lose. He had sought those of the most bitter and vile nature that they would do even the most repugnant of deeds for him. Some were thieves, others rapists, more murders, and some were a combination of all. Most were hiding from law and were grateful for the shelter and sense of stability that Heracles provided. It also helped that they would no longer be left starving to death in the gutters, to be feasted upon by rabid dogs. Now they would become the wild beasts that would prey upon the populace.
“What orders does Master have for us?” one man asked with his voice raspy; almost like the hiss of a snake. Radek’s face broke into a wicked sneer, though Heracles remained stoic.
“We have work to do,” he answered simply.
“Know that we will serve you, Master…even unto death!” the man with the raspy voice hissed. He kept his face hidden, though from what Heracles could see, the man’s hideousness was matched only by Radek’s mutilated face.
“Of that I have no doubt,” the Greek replied calmly. “And my enemy is now your enemy.”
“Rome is the enemy of any who loves freedom!” one of the men snarled. “They’ve perverted our lands long enough. I would rather see Lugdunum burn to the ground than have it occupied by those vile imperialists for another day.”