conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a story about Roman, Macro, Cato entitled When the Eagle Hunts.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When the Eagle Hunts: Winter, AD 44: After a series of bloody battles, Camulodunum has fallen to the invading Roman army.\nWhile en route to join them, General Aulus Plautius\'s wife and children are shipwrecked in a storm, and fall into the hands of a dark sect of Druids who now demand the return of their brothers taken prisoner by the Romans.\nAt the same time, Durotriges tribesmen raid several towns near Camulodunum and the Second Legion under General Vespasian is sent to repel them.\nThey stumble upon a village whose population massacred.\nNoticing the village has not been entirely looted, the Romans surmise that the raiders intend to return, and so lie in wait to ambush them.\nAfterwards, a local merchant liaison, Diomedes, secretly executes the survivors of the ambush and sets off on a vendetta to avenge his murdered family.\nCenturion Macro and Optio Cato are summoned to General Plautius\' tent, and tasked to infiltrate enemy territory and rescue the hostages before they are sacrificed to the Druids\' dark gods.\nTheir only assistance is two British guides, Macro\'s infatuation Boudica and her cousin Prasutagus, who was once a Druid and can guide them to their secret places.\nAfter several false leads, the group raids a Druid lodge, but find only Diomedes impaled on a spit.\nThe merchant informs them of a Druid headquarters in his dying moments.\nMacro attempts a daring ambush, but is wounded and unable to rescue the prisoners.\nTime is running out, as the Roman army is approaching their location in its continuing campaign against the Durotriges, and the Druids will execute the hostages before letting them be rescued.\nCato disguises himself as a Briton by painting his nude body with woad, then investigates a secret entry point.\nFinding it unguarded, he returns and leads a small band of Romans to infiltrate the stronghold and rescue Plautius\'s family whilst it is under siege.\nAfter desperate fighting, the General\'s wife and children are rescued from being burned alive, and Cato manages to kill the Head Druid but is seriously wounded with a sickle.\nHe awakens days later in a brand-new field hospital in Calleva Atrebatum.\nDespite his relief at having his family back, Plautius decides that no special commendations will be given to Macro or Cato, as they only did their duty.\nVespasian convinces Plautius to allow him to reward the two officers with special phalerae, and Cato with a promotion to the rank of Centurion.\nMeanwhile, Macro is disappointed when Boudica tells him that she is engaged to marry Prasutagus, and even if she was not, she is too much of a Briton to have a relationship with a Roman officer.\nEarlier in the novel, Macro realizes through his conversations with Boudica that even the "friendly" British tribes, such as the Iceni, are fiercely independent, and might do terrible damage if the Roman occupiers do not treat them with respect.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: \nWhile en route to join them, General Aulus Plautius\'s wife and children are shipwrecked in a storm, and fall into the hands of a dark sect of Druids who now demand the return of their brothers taken prisoner by the Romans.\nAt the same time, Durotriges tribesmen raid several towns near Camulodunum and the Second Legion under General Vespasian is sent to repel them.\nThey stumble upon a village whose population massacred.\nNoticing the village has not been entirely looted, the Romans surmise that the raiders intend to return, and so lie in wait to ambush them.\nAfterwards, a local merchant liaison, Diomedes, secretly executes the survivors of the ambush and sets off on a vendetta to avenge his murdered family.\nCenturion Macro and Optio Cato are summoned to General Plautius\' tent, and tasked to infiltrate enemy territory and rescue the hostages before they are sacrificed to the Druids\' dark gods.\nTheir only assistance is two British guides, Macro\'s infatuation Boudica and her cousin Prasutagus, who was once a Druid and can guide them to their secret places.\nAfter several false leads, the group raids a Druid lodge, but find only Diomedes impaled on a spit.\nThe merchant informs them of a Druid headquarters in his dying moments.\nMacro attempts a daring ambush, but is wounded and unable to rescue the prisoners.\nTime is running out, as the Roman army is approaching their location in its continuing campaign against the Durotriges, and the Druids will execute the hostages before letting them be rescued.\nCato disguises himself as a Briton by painting his nude body with woad, then investigates a secret entry point.\nFinding it unguarded, he returns and leads a small band of Romans to infiltrate the stronghold and rescue Plautius\'s family whilst it is under siege.\nAfter desperate fighting, the General\'s wife and children are rescued from being burned alive, and Cato manages to kill the Head Druid but is seriously wounded with a sickle.\nHe awakens days later in a brand-new field hospital in Calleva Atrebatum.\nDespite his relief at having his family back, Plautius decides that no special commendations will be given to Macro or Cato, as they only did their duty.\nVespasian convinces Plautius to allow him to reward the two officers with special phalerae, and Cato with a promotion to the rank of Centurion.\nMeanwhile, Macro is disappointed when Boudica tells him that she is engaged to marry Prasutagus, and even if she was not, she is too much of a Briton to have a relationship with a Roman officer.\nEarlier in the novel, Macro realizes through his conversations with Boudica that even the "friendly" British tribes, such as the Iceni, are fiercely independent, and might do terrible damage if the Roman occupiers do not treat them with respect.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When the Eagle Hunts
  Macro glared at Cato. The boy was mad, quite mad; he was bound to come a cropper at the first obstacle. The thought of Cato, undeniably bright and courageous but still a little naive and rough around the edges, in the hands of some devious Briton and his woman filled Macro with dismay. Damn the boy! Damn him! There was no way he could leave the lad to his own devices.
  Before the situation could degenerate again, Vespasian stood up and shouted an order for more wine to be fetched. Then he stepped between his general and the two rankers and motioned towards some seats to one side of the tent.
  Macro and Cato walked over to the seats and eased their tired bodies down onto the comfortable cushions.
  Macro snorted with contempt at the idea, and shook his head in despair at the alacrity with which his optio seemed to embrace the chance to die a grim and lonely death in some dark corner of a barbarian field. Cato, for his part, wondered what else he could have done in the circumstances. The Roman army did not tolerate the sort of insubordination Macro had displayed – and to a general no less. What the hell had come over him? Cato cursed his centurion and himself in equal measure. He had said the first thing that had entered his mind and now felt sick at the prospect of venturing into the land of the Druids, sick at the certainty of his own death. Beyond that there was only a cold anger directed at that part of him which had so wanted to spare the centurion the wrath of his general.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When the Eagle Hunts
  Macro glared at Cato. The boy was mad, quite mad; he was bound to come a cropper at the first obstacle. The thought of Cato, undeniably bright and courageous but still a little naive and rough around the edges, in the hands of some devious Briton and his woman filled Macro with dismay. Damn the boy! Damn him! There was no way he could leave the lad to his own devices.
  Before the situation could degenerate again, Vespasian stood up and shouted an order for more wine to be fetched. Then he stepped between his general and the two rankers and motioned towards some seats to one side of the tent.
  Macro and Cato walked over to the seats and eased their tired bodies down onto the comfortable cushions.
  Macro snorted with contempt at the idea, and shook his head in despair at the alacrity with which his optio seemed to embrace the chance to die a grim and lonely death in some dark corner of a barbarian field. Cato, for his part, wondered what else he could have done in the circumstances. The Roman army did not tolerate the sort of insubordination Macro had displayed – and to a general no less. What the hell had come over him? Cato cursed his centurion and himself in equal measure. He had said the first thing that had entered his mind and now felt sick at the prospect of venturing into the land of the Druids, sick at the certainty of his own death.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The spring day wore on as Prasutagus led them along narrow tracks, all the while keeping the horsemen and their wagon in view, and closing the distance only when there was no risk of being spotted. It called for an exhausting degree of vigilance. By late afternoon they were still some way behind the enemy, but close enough to see that the wagon was protected by a score of mounted Druids in their distinctive black cloaks.
  Prasutagus merely shrugged and urged his horse along an overgrown track winding up the side of a hill. The Druids were obscured for a moment behind a line of trees. The others trotted after him, until they stopped in an overgrown track just below the crest from where they could see the Druids below, still heading south-east. Macro was riding at the back, watching the column, when Cato suddenly reined in, causing Macro to yank on his reins savagely to avoid riding into the backside of Cato's mount.
  As Macro eased his beast alongside, he too could see the vast expanse of multi-tiered earthworks rising up from the plain ahead of them. With a recently developed eye for ground, Cato took in the neatly overlapping ramps that defended the nearest gateway, and the well-placed redoubts from which any attacker would fall victim to enfilading volleys of arrows, spears and slingshot. On the highest tier of the hill fort a stout palisade ringed the enclosure. From end to end Cato estimated the hill fort must measure nearly half a mile. Below the fortress, the rolling wooded landscape was divided by a serenely meandering river.
  Cato had the grace to flush with embarrassment at his precocious remark, and Macro nodded with satisfaction. Didn't do to let these youngsters get too full of themselves. Up ahead Prasutagus had wheeled his horse round and now raised his arm to point at the hill fort. He was grandly illuminated by a halo of bright sunshine against the blue sky as he spoke.
  Despite his sarcastic response, Macro was still running a professional eye over the structure and wondering if it might yet be taken, once the Second Legion set to it. Despite the clever layout of the approach route through the ramparts, there was no sign that the fortress was designed to withstand the attentions of a well-equipped modern army.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The spring day wore on as Prasutagus led them along narrow tracks, all the while keeping the horsemen and their wagon in view, and closing the distance only when there was no risk of being spotted. It called for an exhausting degree of vigilance. By late afternoon they were still some way behind the enemy, but close enough to see that the wagon was protected by a score of mounted Druids in their distinctive black cloaks.
  Prasutagus merely shrugged and urged his horse along an overgrown track winding up the side of a hill. The Druids were obscured for a moment behind a line of trees. The others trotted after him, until they stopped in an overgrown track just below the crest from where they could see the Druids below, still heading south-east. Macro was riding at the back, watching the column, when Cato suddenly reined in, causing Macro to yank on his reins savagely to avoid riding into the backside of Cato's mount.
  As Macro eased his beast alongside, he too could see the vast expanse of multi-tiered earthworks rising up from the plain ahead of them. With a recently developed eye for ground, Cato took in the neatly overlapping ramps that defended the nearest gateway, and the well-placed redoubts from which any attacker would fall victim to enfilading volleys of arrows, spears and slingshot. On the highest tier of the hill fort a stout palisade ringed the enclosure. From end to end Cato estimated the hill fort must measure nearly half a mile. Below the fortress, the rolling wooded landscape was divided by a serenely meandering river.
  Cato had the grace to flush with embarrassment at his precocious remark, and Macro nodded with satisfaction. Didn't do to let these youngsters get too full of themselves. Up ahead Prasutagus had wheeled his horse round and now raised his arm to point at the hill fort. He was grandly illuminated by a halo of bright sunshine against the blue sky as he spoke.
  Despite his sarcastic response, Macro was still running a professional eye over the structure and wondering if it might yet be taken, once the Second Legion set to it.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: One of the most enduring symbols of pre-Roman Britain is the huge complex of earthworks at Maiden Castle in Dorset. It impresses the eye of any visitor and stirs an imaginative empathy towards those who would have had to assault such apparently daunting defences. Yet Maiden Castle, and many other hill forts, were no match for the legions and were stormed and reduced within a short space of time. One wonders why the Durotriges continued to cling to their belief in the defensive properties of hill forts even as they were being systematically destroyed by the Romans. It was not as if they lacked the example of a more effective method of defying the legions. Caratacus was enjoying far more success with his guerrilla tactics. Despite such evidence, the Durotriges remained bottled up in their hill forts when the Second Legion was unleashed upon them. Perhaps blind faith in the promise of ultimate salvation given by their spiritual leaders kept them there.
  Compared to the voluminous evidence of Roman history, not much is known about the ancient Britons and their Druids. With almost nothing by way of a written heritage, knowledge of these people has passed down to us through legend, archaeological evidence and the partisan writings of more literary races. What can be surmised is that the Druids were held in great respect and not a little awe. They bestrode the Celtic kingdoms and were frequently approached for advice, and for arbitration between disputing tribes. The Druids were the guardians of the cultural heritage and memorised vast quantities of epic verse, folklore and legal precedents, which were passed down through successive generations of Druids. They formed a kind of social cement between the fractious small kingdoms that, at one time, sprawled right across Europe. Small wonder that the Druids were a prime target for Roman propaganda and were harshly repressed whenever Celtic lands were added to the burgeoning Roman empire.
  Yet there may have been a darker side to the Druids, if we can believe some of the ancient sources. If human sacrifice took place, then it did so in the context of a culture that took great pride in collecting and preserving the heads of their enemies; a culture that had devised methods of torture and execution that repulsed even the Romans, whose love of the carnage of the arena is well-documented.
  With their geographical spread and cultural peculiarities, the Druids were not a homogenous body, and would have had their factions, much like contemporary religions are riven by competing interpretations of dogma. The Dark Moon Druids are fictional, but they represent the extremist fringe that exists within any religious movement. They stand as a corrective to that naive and nostalgic re-invention of Druid culture that parades around Stonehenge at certain times of the year. And, as I complete this work, they stand as a timely reminder of the extremities to which religious fanaticism can be taken.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It impresses the eye of any visitor and stirs an imaginative empathy towards those who would have had to assault such apparently daunting defences. Yet Maiden Castle, and many other hill forts, were no match for the legions and were stormed and reduced within a short space of time. One wonders why the Durotriges continued to cling to their belief in the defensive properties of hill forts even as they were being systematically destroyed by the Romans. It was not as if they lacked the example of a more effective method of defying the legions. Caratacus was enjoying far more success with his guerrilla tactics. Despite such evidence, the Durotriges remained bottled up in their hill forts when the Second Legion was unleashed upon them. Perhaps blind faith in the promise of ultimate salvation given by their spiritual leaders kept them there.
  Compared to the voluminous evidence of Roman history, not much is known about the ancient Britons and their Druids. With almost nothing by way of a written heritage, knowledge of these people has passed down to us through legend, archaeological evidence and the partisan writings of more literary races. What can be surmised is that the Druids were held in great respect and not a little awe. They bestrode the Celtic kingdoms and were frequently approached for advice, and for arbitration between disputing tribes. The Druids were the guardians of the cultural heritage and memorised vast quantities of epic verse, folklore and legal precedents, which were passed down through successive generations of Druids. They formed a kind of social cement between the fractious small kingdoms that, at one time, sprawled right across Europe. Small wonder that the Druids were a prime target for Roman propaganda and were harshly repressed whenever Celtic lands were added to the burgeoning Roman empire.
  Yet there may have been a darker side to the Druids, if we can believe some of the ancient sources. If human sacrifice took place, then it did so in the context of a culture that took great pride in collecting and preserving the heads of their enemies; a culture that had devised methods of torture and execution that repulsed even the Romans, whose love of the carnage of the arena is well-documented.
  With their geographical spread and cultural peculiarities, the Druids were not a homogenous body, and would have had their factions, much like contemporary religions are riven by competing interpretations of dogma. The Dark Moon Druids are fictional, but they represent the extremist fringe that exists within any religious movement. They stand as a corrective to that naive and nostalgic re-invention of Druid culture that parades around Stonehenge at certain times of the year. And, as I complete this work, they stand as a timely reminder of the extremities to which religious fanaticism can be taken.