Text of a letter from Ragoczy Germain Sanctus-Franciscus at Vindobona to Atta Olivia Clemens at Emona, carried by private courier.

To my long-cherished Atta Olivia Clemens, Ragoczy Germain Sanctus-Franciscus, as I am known here, sends greetings.

I have your letter of January 7th with me, which, I am pleased to say, has actually reached me after going through Alexandria and Narona to arrive in Vindobona, where I am staying at present. I have acquired a house and suited it to my needs. It is far from lavish, but it is sturdy and the roof does not leak.

Out here at the edge of the Roman Empire, I am struck with the hard life these people are willing to tolerate all for the privilege of calling themselves citizens of Roma. This city may have walls and a Legion, but it is little more than a typical border village, a rough place under constant threat of attack from beyond the frontier. Those foolish enough to go beyond the city gates may take their lives in their hands, as many reckless Romans have learned. There are times going out of the house is enough to bring mortal danger upon one. Just a month ago, the factor of the Legion here was found beaten to death on a dung-heap, not ten paces from the Legion barracks.

Rotiger is with me still; he has this household-limited though it is-well within his command, and he has gained the trust of the local merchants in all his dealings with them, so that what few luxuries reach this place, we have first claim on them, foreigners or not.

I am enclosing with this a few new jewels toward any costs that you may encounter in pressing your claims on your Roman property when you return there next spring. I am assuming you are still planning on such a journey, and that you will find the decuriae of Roma as avaricious as I did. Think of it as a return on your generosity to me during my stay there, a decade ago.

Speaking of that time, last month I was delivered a message informing me that Melidulci has succumbed to fever and has had her body burned, supposedly in tribute to the customs of the old Republic. She left a goblet to me, as a remembrance of her, which surprised me, given her protestations of no strong attachment. It may be that over time, her affection increased, or her memories may have altered her understanding of what we had in our time together.

That does concern me, now and again. I think my memories are true, and I rely upon them to be so. Yet over the centuries, my vision of them has changed, and I occasionally fear they will become so distorted that I can no longer depend on what I recall. It is those times when I value you most deeply, for you and I share almost two centuries of memories. Between you and Rotiger, I know I will not lose my link to the past, or not completely, and that gives me solace that I thought I would never know again. From the deepest chamber of my unbeating heart, I thank you for that, and for your constant love, which I return in full measure until the True Death consigns me to the realm of memories.