[i][b]The Wild Goose Chase[/b][/i]

Aboard the trireme that was conveying the delegation to Britannia, 19th Legion Legionary Titus Licinius Nerva Flavianus carefully paced along the walkway that spanned parallel to the rowing deck, his hand on the pommel of his [i]gladius[/i] as he kept a stern eye on the [i]remiges[/i] who manned the ship's oars. The dull thud of a drum pounded in his ears, each trio-arranged row of freed-men sailors heaving to and fro as they worked the oars at a steady, calm pace - the wind had died down earlier that morning, so until it picked back up again, these men would have to earn their pay the hard way.

He had only received a rudimentary briefing from his cohort's centurion a few days ago - accompany an expedition to the Britannian island across from Gaul and (along with the rest of the 9th and 10th Cohorts, who were currently separated across two other vessels accompanying this one) protect the delegation until their work was done. If they got jumped, however, a message would have to get sent back to the rest of the legion camped in Amorica, where reinforcements can be mobilised and sent across. 

A part of him, however was apprehensive - only scattered rumors had reached his ear about Britannia, and even then, it was likely that more then half of it was unreliable, at best. Instinctively, he clutched at the small, visible icon of Minerva that hung around his neck, inwardly praying that, if something went wrong on this voyage, that she'd send warning to Neptune as soon as possible.