“Fool! This is Draco Drusus, son of Dolaman Drusus. A great Vigiles Legate, he has distinguished himself as a fearless combatant, and peerless mind, one not with to bandy words or blades.”

Draco barely looked at the unctuous little man at his side, a so-called translator, his services had been purchased heading into port, though already Draco began to tire of the sound of his voice. Especially of how he spoke to others of him.

Draco was not so pompous.

Yes, he was renowned, and yes, many called him peerless. But Draco was a man, made of blood, phlegm, and yellow and black bile like any other.

Draco had also never been raised higher by request, till now. He had instead remained at his post as Vigiles happily till his father was given post elsewhere as Legate himself, and Draco lost the protection of his father’s name. So it was, he was remanded, take the promotion, or not be allowed to venture out and work where he was needed.

“Tell them I have seen this before, this is not the work of monsters in the woods. It is poison. His neighbour covets his land, so he laid root for natal plumb. There see it, in the brush. It is what is making his family sick.”

The white flowers shone brightly from the underbrush.

“I will, at once, great legate.” His translator turned and relayed the news to the farmer, and Draco issued orders to have a Medicis visit.

“Please, tell the great legate we thank him.”

Of course, Draco heard them, he was well taught. Born of a Hellenes Father, and an Aegyptus mother, he had been born and raised in Rome, he learned many languages and could speak even several dialects from the Gaulish, and Pergamon territories, but no one needed to know that.

His father was old school, as he called it. He had married his mother because she had bested him in a fight, and only strong women bore strong children. So he had pursued her with his wits, and eventually, she had succumbed to his charm.

As such, Draco was raised with proper tutelage, etiquette, and lacked for little.

Except, stimulus.

“I wish to see the other side of town,” he informed his Primus, “Take the translator with you.”

Primus Stoic, laughed, “Off to get into trouble are you?”

Draco didn’t acknowledge the remark, he just smiled, and turned from his guide’s route, instead heading away from their camp residences and down a side street to an alley towards the Roman Road.

Here he saw life, felt joy, heard the world, children playing in the street, chased with sticks and calling themselves heroes names. Over left, an old man taught his grandson the ways to mend a fishing net. Near the basin of the river, a group of women washed, watching him with predatory smiles, for them, he gave a nod, which sent them to giggles.

It all felt so pure, so good.

Which was why he could not ignore the itch in his arm.

The purple cloth tied about his wrist shivered and shook as he crossed another street, pausing only to let a large cart trundle past, then finding the door he sought, a door haunted by Manes.