QuoteLosing Faith and Finding Life
Face ClaimHenry Cavill
Eppitacos grinned quickly at Cinnia's wink and took another quick drink as he listened to her answer. "I see..." he said, contemplating her answer. Still not long removed from the conclaves and lessons of the Druids, Eppitacos' mind still worked inquisitively, taking in everything and breaking it apart to ask more and learn more. "That is a good answer for what you want to do, and of course Britannia will appreciate your sword," he did not think of any of the soldiers he was now in command of as being his but rather the gods'. "... but that isn't what I asked," he returned her wink.
"Surely there is more to you than an arm to hold a sword." He paused to look her over, standing proudly in a dress that didn't seem to exactly fit her build - or what he could see of it. "When the Romans are defeated, and you return to your own betrothed, then who will you be?" He simply assumed she, too, as a member of the nobility was spoken for.
In that moment, Eppitacos knew exactly who he was, and he believed the gods were constantly reminding him. If only he knew the years of struggle - internally and externally - that laid in wait for him. But he was still young, and brave, and ignorant... for all his confidence.
"Cinnia, cousin of Ysulda," he said, repeating her name and her place in the midst of things. Even in their politics the Brigantes were more developed and complicated, for the sheer number of families claiming some connection to the royal house.
He smiled at her compliment. "You think so?" And then chuckled despite himself. "My advisors all told me to prepare something, but I thought it might be more rousing to speak from the heart." He said, making a fist of his right hand and tapped it against his chest.
He took a drink of the warm honeyed beer in his goblet and then asked a potentially deep question in a rather simplistic way. "Other than being the cousin of Ysulda, who are you really? Or, who do you want to be?"
Eppitacos had been raised to observe nature, and observe people. First as a Druid, and for the rest of his life to that point as a fighter. He could understand how a person felt, or what they might be thinking based on how they stood, or how their eyes darted frantically back and forth.
Truthfully a part of him hated that for everything he had earned, all the riches and glory, he was still beholden to this frightened woman in the middle of a bunch of trees. That his newfound freedom could be taken away with a simple call for help from her.
But, there was a chance to diffuse any sort of escalation by way of his name... only he presumed it was from the fame attached his his Briton name.
"My real name is Eppitacos," he said, still adamant on being truthful. "Surely you've heard the name? Briton warrior? Gladiator?" Though he was a modest man, he found it hard to believe she had not heard his name.
"Calpurnius is a new addition," he continued. "I was purchased from Caesar by the Vestal Calpurnia and by her earned my freedom." He hated even saying those words: that he had earned his freedom. Freedom wasn't a thing to be earned, or owned, or even given. He was sure this Roman woman disagreed.
He watched her eyes continue to jump from him to the clearing behind him, to the roadway beyond the trees and the noise of the traffic upon it.
Eppitacos caught her every moment from her stilted breaths to the way her foot caught against the incense burner and brought a grimace to her face. Yet her fear held her in place. He heard her warning: That she had a freedman on the road ready to protect her if needed. Before he could say anything to reassure her that he had no ill intent, she spoke again, questioning who he was and what he was doing. Both valid questions considering the circumstance.
"I haven't any weapons," he said first, keeping his arms raised and his voice as calm as possible. "So you don't need to call out to anyone." Though he didn't remember seeing any freedmen waiting by the road.
"My name is Servius Calpurnius Eppitacus," he said, deciding it a safer move to give his Roman name than the Briton one - though he had no way of knowing that the woman he was speaking to was a relation to his former master Calpurnia.
Why had he entered into those woods? "I don't have a good reason for being here," he added, honestly. "I simply noticed an opening in the wood and thought I might explore. Then, I saw you and wondered if you might be in some sort of trouble.
"I can leave if you prefer."
Still not into his second decade of life, Eppitacos found himself a king. Just a year ago he had been Diolain, a bastard born to a Roman slave; a member of the priestly caste who found his way of life being rapidly erased from the world as the Romans pressed on in their colonization. It was less than half a year ago he had made himself known as Eppitacos, the son of Caratacos. The news spread quickly that the warrior-priest and son of Caratacos had continued raiding Roman lines and harassing their efforts, and soon enough Cogdobunos - brother to Caratacos and Roman-made ruler of the Catuvellauni - wanted to meet his nephew. Eppitacos at first made no overt moves against his uncle's position. Instead, he continued to maneuver as he always had: against the Romans. In time it was Cogdobunos' jealousy and insecurity that led to conflict. Even then, his uncle deferred to the Roman governor to settle the matter. Eppitacos, instead, deferred to the traditions of their people and challenged his uncle directly.
Cogdobunos could not decline combat, and so he fought, and he died. Eppitacos, still nineteen, was named king of the Catuvellauni and with his rise a fire of resistance against Rome had been reignited. For the first months of his rule, Eppitacos trained his people in a new way of warfare against the Romans, and meanwhile he reached out to the other tribes to gather support and convince them that the gods were on their side; that they could defeat this new and seemingly unstoppable enemy on their island.
The greatest of all the tribes, by far, were the Brigantes both in their wealth and the might of their army. Though a king ruled the Brigantes, their nobility stemmed from a female founder, and it was their queen who held the power... and it would be her daughter Ysulda, who would hold the kingdom next. In an effort to garner the support he knew he would need against the Romans, Eppitacos offered a betrothal to the still preteen Ysulda in exchange for the power to call upon the Brigantine army when needed. Queen Cartimandua and her king agreed to the terms, and a feast was planned to celebrate the arrangement and the future of a free and united Britannia.
It was the second such celebration in all of Eppitacos' life (the first being after the victory over his uncle), and though he had received no lessons in court manners, he relied upon his natural confidence and charisma to guide him. As they feasted many came forward whom had fought with his father; some who remembered Eppitacos' own exploits in the first war against the Romans... all of them pledged to lend their chariots so long as Eppitacos for for Britannia, and not himself.
He was called upon to make a speech, and he kept it short. Talking of his commune with the gods. Of the spirit of his father that remained within him. Of the spirit of Britannia that they all needed to protect. There was applause and some shouting in agreement, and then the feast broke into an unorganized mess of people meeting and speaking with one another.
Eppitacos had not spoken with his eventual wife-to-be, but he really was unsure of what to say to her and so he continued making the rounds, speaking to anyone who caught his eye.
He quickly found another young woman in his sights, her hair adorned in flowers, and her frame draped in a blue dress that was kept in place with a belt held securely in place with a finely-crafted buckle. Her dress marked her as nobility, and he found himself curious as to who exactly she was. So he took a step toward her.
"Evening," he said with a quick smile. He thought there was some similarity in her features and those of the princess, and he wondered if they weren't related. "Might I ask your name?"
Eppitacos had been a free man for almost a month. Calpurnia, whom had purchased him by way of proxy at the private auction held by the Caesars earlier in the same year, had surprised him with an early Saturnalia present. As she had said: "This year, your freedom won't end after a week of celebrations." As was the custom, and as he felt obliged to do, he took her gentile name, and took the name of his mother, then added on his own to officially restyle himself as Servius Calpurnius Eppitacus... though to most he was still Eppitacus, or just Epp.
The first thing he decided to do with his freedom was leave Rome. As much as his curiosity of the greater world outside of Rome interested him, he hadn't once in over ten years had an opportunity to truly see the countryside. The Romans had built the greatest city the world would surely ever know in Rome, but he knew that they had come from hills and pastures the same as his people.... once upon a time. And so he desired to see these lands for himself.
He started south, with his initial destination set for Neapolis. The trip took him just under a week, though - by way of a suggestion from a rather drunk soldier at a taverna - he ended up traveling on to Pompeii. He had never seen so many bordellos on one street as he did in that city... but he enjoyed himself. What little money Calpurnia had gifted him was spent quicker than he anticipated. Once he was out, he debated whether to try and etch out a life in Pompeii, or somewhere else, or return to Rome. In the end, Eppitacos decided that Rome offered more opportunity by way of his patron Calpurnia, and so he made the return trek.
After days walking he entered a stretch of the roadway that was crowded by foliage on either side. He felt a sudden flashback to his home, where roads had been made through nature, not on top of her. He thought about how, in his previous life, he had been among the trees, looking out on the Romans stomping forward on roads. Now he was stomping just the same. It had been some time since he simply wandered the woods. He wondered if he could even speak with nature anymore, as his Druid fathers had taught him.
With a deep breath, Eppitacos stepped away from the roadway and into a small sliver of the world the Romans had decided to let be.
He felt suddenly alive, surrounded by the quiet of the trees. But he quickly realized he wasn't alone. He stepped forward, not entirely carefully, as the path continued farther into the woods, until it seemed to open just slightly.
His eyes caught sight of a woman standing alone and he felt his curiosity take over him.
What's she doing here alone? He thought to himself. Could she be in trouble?
Thinking back to the signs he had seen at the mile markers about brigands, Eppitacos took his eyes away from the path and surveyed his surroundings.
Another step and this time a twig snapped beneath his foot.
He instinctively looked down, and then immediately up to see that the woman had turned in surprise. He held up his hands... well, his right hand and the stump of his left forearm to show that despite his certainly ragged appearance, he meant no harm.
"Apologies for the surprise, domina," he said, as gently as possible while thinking to himself, "Please don't scream."
For the better part of the year, Eppitacos had been apprenticing under a common blacksmith in the heart of the subura. The man, Burrus, was a Spaniard, but had known of Eppitacos for his fights in the arena, and had assumed - correctly - that having the former champion of the arena, who was freed by the Vestals, working for him would increase his business. Burrus had crafted for Eppitacos a new forearm and hand of iron that was fitted to his elbow and strapped around his arm and shoulder in order to stabilize it. He still lacked the finesse of his natural hand, but the addition allowed him to carry more, and generally do more in every day life. It also allowed him to learn the basics of smithing himself.
Though Eppitacos preferred practicing the craft, the majority of his time was spent delivering Burrus' orders across the city. To have their tools, weapons, or trinkets delivered by someone as famous as Eppitacos had been was a great delight in itself (and helped with Burrus' higher prices, when compared to competitors).
His delivery that day was to a barber, but rather than deliver directly to the shop itself, he was directed to meet with one of the tonsor's slaves, who would guide him. He arrived at the meeting point just a little later than he intended, but was relieved to see that the slave he was supposed to meet hadn't yet arrived. He found a tree overgrown on the corner and sat himself within its shade, his back against its trunk.
Some time passed and a group of children gradually appeared, playing dodgeball. One particularly well-placed throw hit its target, but the ball bounced hard right to stick within a branch of the tree out of reach of the children. Eppitacos looked up at the noise, and stood from his spot. The children, most of whom recognized him, seemed caught in the moment. With a grin he reached up and tossed the ball into the ground at the middle of the children.
Eppitacos gave a quick wave of his natural hand and began to sit down again. He thought he might as well watch the game while waiting on the slave whom who assumed would be able to recognize him as the children had.
Without a chance to say anything more on the thoughts that had captured his mind as they continued their discourse, Eppitacos simply resumed his characteristic half grin. "Interesting, indeed," he said, echoing her feelings on meeting again. "Perhaps the gods will see to it that we cross paths again. Hopefully in better circumstances," he added.
The guards came to attention as they were called for, and they quickly grabbed Eppitacos as instructed. He gave a quick nod to Cynane and then let himself be taken away to meet whoever his new owner was.
"Claudia Caesaris," he said, repeating the name. He had heard it before, and knew simply based on the name that she was either the daughter of Caesar or a close relation. "Sounds like you've done well for yourself... considering the circumstances." Eppitacos wondered whether he would be chosen as a guard, as a showpiece, or as something else more demeaning. His thoughts spiraled into a stream of conscious that soon came out as words.
"In my youth I was raised to be one of the priestly order. I was given up as an orphan, but taken in by the drui in order to serve the gods. I decided that I could serve the people by fighting for them." He paused, and let his eyes settle on Cynane's for a few long, quiet moments. "Do you hear the gods? I thought I used to see them. It was like time stopped and for a moment I was in their world." He realized he was staring at her, though he wasn't really seeing anything at all.
"But, the more I fought, the less I heard them... and now they're silent. Most of my life has been fighting, but now that the gods have taken my arm, I wonder if they will give me their voices again?"
He smiled somewhat sadly, and then found his attention drawn to a quick rise of noise in the adjacent room. A buyer had come forth.
Was it a pity? Eppitacos wasn't so sure anymore. In the end Britannia became Roman regardless. He had foreseen that outcome before he was betrayed and captured, and had sought to find another way around it... but what use was there in dwelling in the past? Whatever their role, the gods had seen to it that Rome triumphed, and the Britons either died as they were or became a lesser version of their conquerors - whether free or not.
And then Cynane asked the real question of importance: Where would he end up? Eppitacos followed her gaze to the main hall, where the banquet and auction was still playing out. "We shall see," he said softly. He doubted he would have any value as a warrior because of his injury, and he also doubted that any of the nobles saw him as anything more than a fighter. Caesar had done his best to paint a different picture of him, but from what Eppitacos had learned, Romans were quite entrenched in their stereotypes of barbarians. Which got him thinking...
"And you- where did you end up? Who is your master?"
Topics I Participated In
Cinnia had finished her training for the day early on, so that she could ready for this party. Gone were now the spears, the shields and the swords and the armor. Instead she had been dressed up, which didn’t happen all that often. She’d always been more comfortable in the convenient clothes for battle, rather than the inconvenient dresses they made her wear for occasions like this. But her father, Owen, had told her not long ago that there was a great celebration to attend for everyone who mattered in the Brigantes tribe. And that included her family, for Owen’s brother was the King of the Brigantes. And now it would be made official, that the princess Ysulda – Cinnia's cousin – was to marry one Eppitacos, the new and young King of the Catuvellauni. And so she would be wearing a dress.
She had not really met him before, but of course she’d heard about his victories and she was curious to see this young man, who was now suddenly king of one of the other tribes. She wore a light blue dress over her white and light flax shift this afternoon. Around her waist was a leather-belt with a very finely made belt buckle. Her hair had been done up on her head and her sisters had put flowers in her hair, even!
Together, the whole family arrived to the celebration of Eppitacos and Ysulda. There was a feast, food to be had and drinks to be had. Cinnia was 16 years old and of course she had attended weddings and celebrations and the festivals that marked the wheel of the year, but this was different. She got the sense that this really mattered. She stood together with her own family, not far from the most important couple tonight, when Ysulda's father declared the betrothal official and the druids would declare it sacred. Together, the two tribes would now stand against their common enemy, Rome. And together, they would defeat Rome and send them back to the hellhole they came from!
Afterwards, the proper festivities began and Cinnia suddenly found that her brother and her sisters had drifted from here. And there he was, suddenly, not so far from her. The young king Eppitacos. She looked at him over the edge of her cup of mead, he wasn’t too bad looking at all. Ysulda was lucky, she thought. She was betrothed to a King, who was also known as a warrior and he was good looking. He had it all, didn’t he? Would she ever be so lucky and marry such a man? One could only hope he was nice too. And now he was looking her way. Gods, this was stupid. As if she stood a chance, when he was already claimed by her cousin.
December, 74AD - the Via Latina, a day's walk/half a day's ride from Rome
As was customary, Horatia lit the sprig of incense in front of the marker, erected some way back from the dusty road that drove south to Naples. Unlike many of the funerary monuments constructed on this route, the one she came to visit was set back into the forestry - concealed from travellers, and secluded. Her arms were covered in a thin film of goosebumps at the memories that flooded her mind in this place, and why she had deigned to visit, in secret. It had been twelve years but everything was as vivid as if she were reliving it yesterday; the wight of the toddler Titus in her arms, the ear piercing scream, the smell of blood, the feeling of fingers working under her tunica1. She swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. This was an evil place, full of awful memories, but one she had to visit.
A year after the incident she had erected the stone to Decius, the man that had lost his life here. He was a slave, his absence hadn't been commented on or noticed by her parents in law, or Aulus when he had returned home some seven years later, but Horatia keenly felt his loss. He had protected her, even in immense pain. He had been kind. And so she visited every year she could, on the anniversary of his passing, of that fateful day. She never told her husband or own family where she was going; insisting that she was going to visit a friend in a villa and so needed a horse and her freedman; employed for her protection. Said freedman stayed well back from her, standing with the horses on the road. Neither did her husband or her family know about the little monument she had erected; she used funds from her father which she had informed him was for repairs to a women's respite home in the Aventine. She had then told her parents-in-law a similar tale to get double the funds so she got her stone and the women got their home. Everybody won, but poor Decius.
She sniffed back her upset as she crouched in front of the marker, until she heard a twig snap; somebody walking through the clearing. She spun around on her heel and blinked, trying to figure out who it was.
1 Horatia is thinking about her flight from Rome to Baiae in the civil war, as recounted here.
It was not only hot but crowded in Aventius. The city’s sights and sounds only caused Aculia to jump every so often like a jittery rabbit, it likely made her look peculiar as she marched through the streets with her body hunched over, eyes to her feet, and her reddish-brown hair, like a curtain, masking her unemotional face and the hideous scar her master, Marcus, had carved against her jaw. It was very noticeable, massive and had healed terribly, having bled on and off, even weeks after. The swelling had since gone down, allowing her to talk with better ease, and her eye closest to the gash no longer watered at random. At times, however, it lacked feeling.
She enjoyed what freedom she was awarded during excursions outside of the barber shop. It reminded her of when she had been free, let to roam the wilds of Gaul like a feral animal, which was so unlike the bustling Rome and her role in it where was more akin to a trained dog. But she had work to do, any dalliance with the colourful world around her might cost her. She was to retrieve a man named Eppitacos, aide him in his delivery. That was it. When she finally came upon the agreed spot, Aculia halted to remain in the shadows, merely setting her eyes upon this Eppitacos. Her master might have hurt her but she needed to know the type of man he was doing business with.
Would this man interfere, dragging her away from her master where her future was uncertain? And yet, there was a war within her, she could feel the tension in her chest. If the man proved to be reliable enough for her to overlook both her fear and pride, she could ask for help. They were both well away from Marcus’s ominous eyes. He had no presence out here, even if it felt like he was there with her in the shadows.
Instead of approaching Eppitacos just yet, she remained there, gripping the side of the building, hair in her face, watching his every move just the way she had done back in Gaul as a hunter. To survive Marcus’s wrath, she had to decide on how to behave.
April 74 - After the events of "Consider Yourself an Investment"
After the bidding had ended, Eppitacos was taken from the side room where he had been told to wait and returned to his cells to be cleaned and dressed. He was sure there was a buyer, but who it was and what they wanted with him he didn't have a clue. Few words were spoken, and he didn't ask - he would find out in due time. After the preparations - a good hour or more - he was taken through the maze of hallways and small adjoined homes that create the imperial palace and out one of the many heavily-guarded side entrances. With guards around him, he was stopped just in front of a small litter. The carrying slaves stood around it, and four guards - not imperial - were around them. One of them spoke to him.
"Your Domina awaits you. Step in," he said. Eppitacos was surprised he was being told to step into the lectica with his new domina, but he took it to mean there was some small amount of trust. He nodded, stepped forward and pushed aside the heavy curtain and took the seat open to his right. After he sat, he looked forward but could only see the silhouette of his new owner.
He decided to speak up and simply said, "Domina," and then waited for her reply...
Weeks had passed since the fateful night where the fates intervened to change the course of Eppitacos' life. Albinus had made good on his word that Eppitacus would remain safe and fully recover, and for his part Albinus took a vacation with his wife to Naples to get away from the commotion of what had happened. As soon as he had recovered, Eppitacus was taken from the ludus and shackled in the lower levels of the slave housing within the palace. He was held there for a matter of days - presumably as Caesar contemplated what to do with him - and then was brought out, washed, shaved and trimmed, perfumed, and dressed only with a tight-fitting wrap around his waist. He was to be sold.
An elderly slave woman came to tell him as much. Without saying a word or questioning a command, Eppitacos was guided through a labyrinth of tunnels, hallways and stairways until at last he was standing in the palace proper. "Wait," he was commanded. He stopped and waited. The elderly slave nodded to a guard who stood by the doorway. Eppitacos could hear commotion beyond the walls fall silent. Then Caesar's voice.
"Friends, I hope you have enjoyed the dinner. And now, we are to the main event of the night and the reason you are all here. I have in my possession a number of slaves with various skills above and beyond what a normal man or woman might possess. There are times, however, when I must take note of my investment and consider it returned. Most recently this has occurred with a gladiator you all know." Quintus turned to the doorway and the old woman waved her hands at Eppitacos to enter.
As he walked into the room, Eppitacos make initial eye-contact with Caesar and followed his lead as to where he should stand. Expecting a platform, he was surprised when Caesar walked up to him and wrapped an arm around the back of his shoulders before he continued his speech.
"Eppitacus ...well, ninety-five percent of him." Laughter filled the pause and then Caesar continued. "This man is known by all of you as a great warrior, and that he is. Or was. I'm not sure now. But he is more than a fighter. A Briton, yes. But a Barbarian he is not. He is smart and cunning. He defeated several of Rome's greatest generals with an army the tenth of the size, and with a tenth of the professional training. He has been in Rome now for these last years, and is nearly a Roman. He speaks Latin, speaks the Briton languages, and still has his wits about him.
"His life is one that I spared, and I will not have it taken in the arena. But, with feelings as they are toward Britannia among the people at the moment, I cannot give the man his freedom," Caesar added, explaining political reasoning behind selling him. "You few were chosen guests because you are the prime among Rome's elite, and by taking this man into your household, you are a patriot beyond others. Now, bid away." Caesar let go of Eppitacus and the old lady slid up behind him.
"This way," she said, and moved him to the far side of the room. "Wait." She said again. So he waited and watched as the Romans talked and debated and slowly but surely they came over to inspect him, interview him, ask about his arm, ask to be shown his stump, touch his stump, and more. He did not object outwardly, but a small, burning part of Eppitacos could not stand the light in which he was being examined. Who were these Romans to look at him in such a way?
Weeks earlier Eppitacus and three other fighters from the ludus had won a great bout for their lanista, securing him a very large sume of denarii. In his jubilation, Albunus gave his winningest fighters each a single percent of the winnings, along with the freedom to celebrate as they pleased so long as they remained within the confines of the city and within the eyesight of two guards each. Eppitacus traveled with only one guard, as usual, though Albinus had insisted he travel with another out of consideration for the wound he had received in the fight. Small cuts and bruises were to be expected, but in the last fight another Briton, Cogus didn't fall into formation when he was expected to and as a result a spear tip found its way into the soft tissue between Eppitacus' shoulder and chest. The wound wasn't deep or overly serious, but had been enough to weaken him. After the fight, Cogus was beaten and sold to a mining slaver and Eppitacus was given rest as was necessary for his full recovery.
In total honesty, Eppitacus had grown tired of fighting. Since his youth, since his father's war, he had been fighting. Fighting for his own pride, for his people, for his homeland, and for the past ten plus years for Albinus' and status and the mob's entertainment. He remembered a lifetime before when the priests had told him that the ground does not sprout new life from the blood of the dead. He didn't listen then, but in time he came to realize exactly how disconnected from the gods he had become. He seldom prayed. When he did it was to the Roman gods, and always for show because of some ceremony or another where Albinus needed to show his clients or rivals how civilized the great king of Britons had become under his watch. Eppitacus played along... because it was easier. No longer was he the fierce Briton king who defied the odds to win - now he played former Caesars and great Roman generals, and killed his own countrymen... most likely men or sons of men whom had fought for him, and believed in his cause in years past.
The night started with a visit to the brothels, and continued with Eppitacus and his guard Marianus visiting their preferred tavern. The tavern was a place owned by a legionary-brother of Marianus', and thus the old guard drank more than he could handle. Eppitacus left him to enjoy his bliss and decided to return on his own. As he walked through Rome, which at that hour was mostly asleep, his path wound through the Subura and he found himself unable to resist the call to visit the British sector of the slums. With the end of the war in Britannia - at least temporarily - Rome had become flooded with Britons. Both those who sided with the Romans and decided to try their luck in the city, and those who were enslaved and sold... though the latter far outnumbered the former. Of the slaves, those who found their way to freedom took up residence in the Subura. Where one settled, another came and soon enough a community flourished. Eppitacus had made no effort to visit the region, not sure if he would be welcomed or booed. British opinions on him had been split when he was still fighting for Britannia, and he doubted they had changed.
Even still, this night - perhaps with the persuasion of alcohol still running through him - he strolled through Little Britannia and found himself standing in front of a statue of a goddess named Britannia and at her side smaller representations of other Roman deities. His eyes fell on the image of Minerva, though the name carved into her base was Sulis - the all-seeing. Suddenly overcome with memories, Eppitacus fell to a knee before the shrine and invoked the gods he had for so long ignored.
To be continued...
Other Characters by this Player
- Military Tribune
- 40 posts
- Player: Chris
- Face Claim: Aaron Jakubenko
- Location: Judaea
- 6 posts
- Player: Chris
- Face Claim: Brett Tucker
- Location: Rome