Rome

Theodonius' voice droned on. "Marcus Constantine, I think you already know, Flavius Stilcho, do you not?" He moved his bulk so that he could reach the bowl of grapes easier on the table as he watched each general eye one another warily.

"Only by reputation, my Emperor. My duties have kept me occupied in Egypt as you know." Contantine tilted his head in acknowledgment of the other general's military skills while he shook his head mentally at the choice of who was to lead the expedition to bring the Goths back into Rome's fold once more and end the rebellion in whatever fashion one needed to.

Stilcho slowly walked over and held out his hand to Constantine. "Welcome back, dear General. I have heard much about you--your reputation precedes you in many ways. How is Egypt?"

Constantine frowned. "We are wasting time here!" he angrily thought as he took Stilcho's forearm in a tight grip and shook it while Stilcho returned the favor. "Egypt is best left to the Egyptians, general." He half-bowed to his ruler. "In my opinion, of course."

Theodonius frowned. "Of course." He plucked a carefully chosen grape from its' stem, popped it in his mouth then continued. "We must move swiftly in order to stem the rebellion before it spreads to the other provinces. Rome must survive intact at all costs! You leave tonight--reenforcements will be forthcoming and you have permission to take whatever men you need by my command from the countryside to serve in the army in whatever capacity that is needed. I have written a proclamation to that capacity."

Both men glanced at one another, then nodded their assent on the matter. "And the supplies?" Stilcho inquired.

"Being assembled as we speak--normal rations of course. Anything else, you get from the land, understood? Our coffers are not as large as it once has been." The emperor silently eyed the men knowing full well that he could provide the army with more than the basic rations but instead preferred to use the money there for his own devices.

"Understood, my lord," Constantine said then turned to go. "May I have your leave to ready my men for the journey?" He waited and and saluted once Theodonius waved him and Stilcho out of the chambers.

Once outside, they both stopped; all time stood still as they each thought of how to reach an agreement as to how the power was to be divided among them even though they both knew that ultimately Stilcho would have the final say.

Constantine cleared his throat. "I'll assemble the men, you go and see to the boats. My sources tell me they are at Sparta and have surrounded it."

One eyebrow quirked upwards on Stilcho's face. "You dare tell me what to do? Remember who has the Emperor's faith and trust, Marcus Constantine. Remember it and mark it well!" His voice carried the tone of a veiled threat; he meant every word and every nuance in it.

Coldly, Constantine turned on his heel and strode away. Given the situation at hand, it was more important that Rome be whole again than to argue with the man. He had an army to run and run it he would--his way.

Stilcho watched him as he walked away, narrowing his eyes as he did so. "That man will need watching, " he whispered under his breath. "Most definitely..."

Outside of the walls of Sparta

The runner came through the tent door without pausing and fell to Alaric's feet, his breaths coming in labored gasps. "An army is approaching from the east, my lord."

Alaric paused what he was doing in consternation and roughly pulled the boy to his feet. "Repeat what you just said, boy."

The boy, who was no more than perhaps 13 or 14 years of age, shook in trepidation of what might happen should he displease the king but his duty won out over his fear and he repeated, "An army, lord."

Color flooded the king's face and he threw the boy back to the ground then in two quick strides, pulled open the tent flap to gaze at the horizon. "Where--which direction?"

The boy grabbed a cup off a low table and gulped down the contents. "From the east." He drew the back of his arm across his mouth to wipe it. "I was told to tell you that it is a large contingent--chariots, calvery, thousands of foot soldiers."

Alaric turned about; his vision swam and his head felt as if someone were crushing it. He placed his hands on both sides of his temples, wincing as he did so. "That many?"

He shook his head to clear the fogginess of his thoughts but it remained and he found it difficult to collect his thoughts. Someone needed to know this--but who? He thought hard on the subject for a few silent minutes as he silently went through his staff's names--those he could remember before finally remembering who was needed now.

But the man's name eluded him. He could see the face--but didn't know the name. The name. What was his name? Finally he brightened.

Darius! That was it--Darius, his general. He smiled in triumphant glee then stopped as the headache seemed to get worse after all the thinking he had done. He sank to his knees and cried out. "Darius! Someone get me Darius--he can fix this accursed headache!" His head sank to the floor of the tent where ut stayed as a man went in search of the general.

One of the sargeant at arms noticed that the boy still awaited the king's command. He gently pulled the boy to one side as the king moaned in agony in the background. "Go eat and rest, boy. You're going to need it."

The boy started to protest but found a finger pressed to his lips. "Get going--he won't notice you're gone."

The boy rushed out, leaving the sargeant at arms alone with the king. He shook his head in sympathy and pity as he looked at him then moved aside as Darius pushed past him into the tent.

He glanced at the soldier, then back at the king. "What happened?" he asked but he already knew what was happening. It's the poison, he silently noted with a sense of satisfaction. It's finally taking it's toll on him.

He went over and knelt by the king, pulled him over on his back to examine him then smugly smiled as one last thought entered his mind.

At last, my empire is almost a reality! At last!