The Last Ship
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2025 by Walter Reimer

Prompt:  manage

A group of people gathered on the wall of the fortress of Portus Dubris to watch.  As the ship tacked out of the harbor, a few of the spectators waved, while one or two prayed.  One of the onlookers, a brindle-furred canine named Roger, glanced at his friend.  “Do you think they’ll be back?” he asked.
His friend Nigel was also canine, but with fur the color of charcoal.  He shrugged, a paw absently adjusting the cross around his neck.  “Don’t know, but with the last of the legion gone it’ll be up to us to look after things.”
“But the barbarians – “
“Are barbarians, yes,” Nigel interrupted, “but so were we before they,” and he nodded at the ship as it headed for the gray line of the mainland, “first came to our shores.  We’ll cope with them, find a way to live with them.”
“But . . . the roads, the basilicas,” and Roger’s eyes widened.  “My villa . . . “
Nigel gave a soft laugh.  “I’m sure everything will be all right.  Sure, there are a few things we can do without – “
Roger snorted.  “Like the wines you like, the ones from southern Gaul?”
His friend sighed.  “Yeah, I’ll have to learn to live without it.  But beer’s not a bad substitute.”  There was a short silence as they watched, until the ship was lost to their view.  Nigel clapped his friend on the shoulder.  “Come to my house for dinner?”
Roger thought it over before nodding.  “Sure.  I can help you drink your wine.”
While the last ship went to join their general and defend his claim to the throne of the emperors in far-off Rome, the two friends laughed as they left the walls of Dover, each secretly unsure how their society would deal with the press of the northern and western tribes and the lack of a guiding paw from across the narrow sea.