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Story 923
Another unfinished story from along the timeline above, the "ANNALES BREVIS."
I
ROMA Ianuaris of MDCLXXVI A.U.C. (923 A.D.) Inside the Curia Iulia, one of many meeting places of the ancient House, Senators made the rounds and greeted everyone worthy of a greeting, and then took seats as befitted their respective ranks. Senatorial attendance was optional, for an informal gathering there appeared to be a great deal in attendance. But this was an exciting day, a dispatch from the great Lucius Vitellius Probus Pius was to be read. He had been sent to the Province a few months ago to aid the Western Empire in their fight against the Franks. “Order, order.” a voice used to the acoustics of the hall commanded. It was the aged Princeps Senatus, Gnaeus Aurelius Symmachus, the leader of the Senate. “Please take your seats men, we have business to attend to.” His right arm, raised in an attempt to gain attention, went down. He walked solemnly towards the front of the hall to take his curule chair of honor, and sat in the ancient fashion, left foot tucked underneath the stool, right extended out. A breath or two later and the hall had quieted down. A few lictors grabbed the ancient bronze doors of the House, and opened them to reveal the Dux, Castus, in military dress. His office was technically military, and hence he was allowed to appear this way in front of the Senate. He strode in briskly for his 50-some years. He had the look of a man with too many affairs going at once, and the stern, almost angered, look of a man content to make sure each one is properly attended to. He quickly ascended the four steps of the dais, and with a sharp twirl spun his paludamentum, the scarlet cloak of Rome’s chief military man, behind him and promptly plopped himself on his stool. Being less apt to honor the nuances of Roman politics, he did not sit in the customary manner. He leaned forward, hands gripping his knees and arms bent slightly at the elbow. His eyes scanned the seated members with a skill that reminded one of a hunter, but that was just his look. He wanted no more than to get down to business. He raised his right hand, giving the floor back to the Princeps, “Proceed, Conscript Fathers.” “Thank you, Lord Dux.” Gnaeus looked away from the Dux and out into the crowd of Senators. “Noble Quirites and Fathers of Rome, we are assembled here to hear news of a new war, and a new commander. Our esteemed Master of Soldiers for the Frankish War, Lucius Vitellius Probus, has sent Rome a missive detailing the landings of our troops and the disposition of the armies of our Brethren in Arx.” He paused to catch his breath as he unrolled the letter. Being cumbersome, an old man managing anything dressed in the archaic toga was impressive. He gave a slight cough to clear his throat and began. Conscript Fathers and Quirites of ancient Rome. The Tenth Legion has arrived safely in Roma Occidentalis to the cheers of the populace. I delight to inform you that the soldiery were offered the use of the city garrison’s barracks, fabulously appointed, but declined in favor of setting up a marching camp outside the city’s walls to stay until we are prepared to depart from Arx. Arx, the castle, is a fitting nickname indeed for this fabulous city. Roman from foundation to roofing tile (even if in some places in the Eastern way), it nevertheless smacks of a fortress. The imposing walls do promise a safekeeping of all the citizens and officers who have accompanied this expedition, and the Emperor pledges any who opt to stay here are absolutely safe. I would dare say that trade could easily take place in the sheltered harbor by which we arrived, if the Conscript Fathers were to allow it. Overland routes are not as safe as some at home would think. According to the local trade magistrates, the roads to Liguria are still fraught with Frankish brigands not yet apprehended since our last conflict. As per the schedule, the legion is to march out of the capital with the Western forces by the middle of Februarius. Though I have had little time to personally review the training, equipment, and demeanor of the Occidental troops, I can vouch for their numbers. Present call up consists of four legions of Praetorian troops, which are, from what I gather, the best trained. Additionally are six legions of conscript troops, which are drawn from the cities of the empire which have been granted Councils of Plebs. These are equally well-trained, but armored significantly less. Finally, a recent introduction to the West, queer but quite welcome, are units called Villae. These formations are the privately raised troops of powerful Roman lords who managed to preserve their villae, manors, during the centuries long Frankish occupation. They exist somewhat outside the regular chain of command, militarily and as for their autonomy. They report directly to the Emperor instead of to Prefects and the like. In exchange for autonomy, the private armies have been drafted into the total Imperial forces as needed. At present, the Emperor has called one heavy horse unit, two lighter scouting skirmishing groups, and three light infantry regiments of similar caliber to the conscript regulars. I beg forgiveness for the monotony of this dispatch, and it’s brevity. But I must attend to the logistics of upcoming marches. I ask for the Senate’s prayers and offerings to Victory, and Ave Roma! “Well,” Gnaeus Aurelius began, rolling the scroll, “unless anyone has any suggestions for the reply, I say we vote him more funds to keep the soldiers in good health. The treasury is notoriously tightfisted, but we all know that this is the proving ground. If we display to our brothers in the west that we can fight valiantly, we may be able to secure the everlasting accord we need betwixt the Empires. “The West is firmly marching toward dominance of what was lately Gallia. In short time, old provincial names will resurface to oust the Gothic- or is it Frankish? -names that usurped the Latin ones. The people are still closer to us than their current overlords, all we need do is step back into our rightful place to become masters of the world once more. Symacchus turned on his heel to look at all the assembled Senators. “The only thing able to stop a Roman is another Roman. All too often,” said Gnaeus with a sigh, “that is who does. When the barbarians threatened from across the rivers, we were killing each other for the title of Princeps. When we were done wiping Roman blood on our togas, we saw that German kings ruled in our own provinces. Now that Occidentalis is on the rise, I fear we will eventually see a return to internecine strife. That was our last lesson. We, as Romans, do not need to learn it again. For that is what we do, pick ourselves up from defeat and either learn from ourselves or from our enemies. In this case, ourselves. The time is NOW to ensure that once we have our foot back down on the German neck, we keep it there!” Gnaeus’s hand was sweating as it crushed the letter from Lucius. In the second tier back, a young Senator stood up, “You are absolutely right, Quintus!” The room braced for impact, Marcus Clodius Milo was known to be a radical, “But the fact remains that we, here, in this room, are the only true Romans left! I agree that helping the West is our best chance at security. They even share our culture to some degree. But the solid foundation of what is Roman lies right here, beneath my and all your feet, and that is Rome herself!” Another ranker Senator yelled out, “What are you saying Clodius? Not support the West? They’d come turn us into a province faster than you could burst another blood vessel on your forehead.” A light chuckle ensued, followed by the hum of debate. Gnaeus Aurelius looked tired, this debate had raged before, and this was exactly what he meant. “Fathers, please. Not only are we speaking out of turn, Marcus Clodius, but we are speaking in the selfsame way I am talking about.” Composing himself, Gnaeus continued, “For the time being, and to avoid filibuster, I say we simply take a division of the house to determine to grant more supplies and foodstuffs to the troops. With the intent of showing the West we need no help from her in order to help her defend her own. All those in favor pass to the right of the curule dais.” The Senators moved, and the motion passed. “Alright then, it’s done. Now, if we wish to discuss future policy regarding our relationship with the West, I propose we let the noble Dux speak first. Marcus Castus, do you wish to speak?” The voice that came from the man was as gruff as his face, and equally sharp. “I will.” He stood up and went to the center of the hall. Standing in a manner reminiscent of military attention, he started, “It is my opinion that, and this is a personal point of view, to call yourself Roman when not being from, or even a part, of a state that possesses not the eternal city itself is ludicrous. However,” he seemed as though he was reading something he had already planned to say, like he was reading an invasion, so military was his style, “for this same reason might Arx find motive to absorb our city into its own in order to legitimize its claim. Though I do not see the practical purposes for such a move at present, the general principle upon which a military man survives is not to plan for what is prudent, but what is not. Especially when regards the enemy. And for a military man, everyone must be considered the enemy. Lest you become trapped. “I could venture farther into this lecture, but I think my point is more digestible when put like this,” The Senate was wrapped in his words, precision and forthrightness were appreciated when most ever heard was jargon designed to mislead. “Occidentalis is our sympathizer, as we are hers. We are descended from the same father, but are as brothers estranged too long lusting for the same woman. In this case, the woman is former might, former stature, former respect. We can trust our brother, so long as he is not close to the ultimate goal. I would very much like to see the realms rejoined, but at present neither side is willing to let the other be the Rome.” With that he gathered himself and began to walk to the dais. Hundreds of throats ached to bellow comments, but the Dux was obviously in no mood to debate. The law stipulated that were the Dux not present, foreign policy could not be discussed at a Senate meeting, as this was ultimately his province. Castus mounted the platform, excused himself and left the Curia. The fate of the Romes, for now, was suspended. II Gallia aut Francia From Martis to Iunius of MDCLXXVI A.U.C. (923 A.D.) Lucius looked on the Emperor in a way noticeably different than the Emperor’s actual subordinates. Many of Emperor Valentinus’s military men were nobles, intriguers and politicians who had managed to get their positions by talk. Occasionally a man was about who had earned his scarlet sash via merit. But these were few and far between. As it was, they were generally lower ranking. But when the time for battle came, Lucius Vitellius was pretty sure they would be the ones truly running the show. Divoiulio stop the pompous aristocrats from taking the field! Surely, then, we would all die, thought Lucius. Being nearly as byzantine as the Eastern Empire, Valentinus could feel eyes watching him. Such was a skill learned when life was spent at court. The emperor turned on his horse, in his brilliant Praetorian armor as best he could, “Well, Lucius Vitellius? What do you think?” “Of what, Domine?” An archaic term in Rome. Lucius’s mind stumbled as he tried to recall if the west styled its emperor ‘Augustus.’ All he could remember from his history lessons was that the West fancied its emperors to be gods. “The field,” he pointed to the northeast, left of where they were marching, where the shallow river valley flattened into the plains the ancient Senones had called home. “We can see quite some way. I think we haven’t fear of attack yet. The Franks will move slowly with their heavy horse armies. The muster itself would take a few months I imagine.” “Domine, I agree. But that all rests on the presumption that the Franks are oblivious to our intrusion of their territories. As it stands, I do not see how they could not know yet. We have been assembling for some time in plain view.” “What would you do in my position, Lucius Vitellius?” The emperor glared at Lucius. But his eyes invited free speech. “Well, majesty, assuming I ever had such a large baggage train, I would keep it on the roads. Where we hug the river, we risk a major setback if we were ambushed. If on a road, we would more easily escape annihilation.” A smile tugged at the corners of the Emperor’s mouth. “So you find my route faulty?” The reaction Valentinus had hoped for was surfacing. Lucius was not sure how to respond to the Emperor. Such a figure was not relative to Latium. Lucius fumbled with the words, “No, Emperor. I was only stating...” “Ha! Calm down. I was just assessing you. No need to be scared Roman! We are on the same side.” Valentinus turned and jolted his horse a few paces forward to his cluster of officers and began to talk. Lucius started turning thoughts over in his head. Roman? Why did he call him Roman? Assessing? Who did he think he was? The man already poured out the air of an oriental potentate. He wasn’t arrogant, to be honest. But was a little bit too sure of himself. Lucius did not trust a man who was unafraid. In order to maintain one’s balance, you had to think clearly of consequences. As one of his tribunes rode up, Lucius decided right then that, with these nobles in charge, the war’s objectives could not be obtained unless the Saxons or the Franks made serious blunders themselves. “Sir!” the fresh faced Tribune squealed as he approached. “Mile!” boomed Lucius, “calm down, man. You act like that and every soldier marching will think you a coward. Discipline your emotions or you will get none of the same from your troops.” “Yes, General.” “Very well then, what is it?” “Our scouts, sir. They report masses of Frankish troops heading in this direction.” “Why do the Occidentals not report the same to me? You are sure that it was the enemy? The Britains are to be assisting us and have similar military gear. It could have been them.” “General, no. They had Germanic banners. Not the Celtic strand of the Britains.” “Watch who you call Celtic, Tribune. These Gauls across the land have been subdued, but not vanquished. Be sure you mark that. All they have left is their heritage, and we mustn’t offend them, not now with all of our pieces set so precisely.” Spoken like a true Roman. Politics behind the war. Understanding that war was nothing more than an extension of politics by other means. Not some game to acquire glory or prestige. Glory was nothing but the natural and fortunate byproduct of victory. Victory, in most cases, but especially this, was no more than a pompous name for survival. “Alright,” Lucius scanned the countryside looking for the best terrain. He smelled an ambush. “Go back to the legion and calmly alert the other Tribunes.” “Sir, they have been alerted. They aren’t panicking, but suggested we bring the news to you to allow you to decide our next course of action.” “Of course. Then tell the Tribunes to slowly break ranks and alert the Centurions in their respective cohorts to similarly disseminate the news down to the rankers. Keep it quiet, do not instigate panic. Orders are to be prepared to drop their packs as they are at a moments notice. Be ready to fight. Hides off the shields and pilae in hand.” “Done, General. What about the Westerners, sir? Shall we not tell them?” “I certainly would not breech protocol and alert lower officers than the general staff up ahead. I will persuade them to do what I am. But they command their own forces.” As the Tribune was preparing to buck his horse back down the column he paused and gave shooting glances to the low hills around. “Might I inquire your prediction, sir?” Lucius knew what the Senatorial hopeful was thinking. “Just mind yourself and your Centurions and they will hold the boys together. I fear the Occidentals need to be taught a lesson or two before they respect the Franks. In which case they may lose some men. But as for us, well, the Frankish pickings won’t be so easy when it comes to the Tenth from Rome.” Lucius gave another look behind him down the line. “Also, detach a Century from the First Cohort to guard our baggage. With all that unattended train to loot, I presume that any baggage even lightly defended will be avoided by the Franks. They move too fast. If possible, move it towards the middle of all the baggage as well. If our Century is to close to Western troops, it may become involved in the fray. We want those men guarding, not fighting. For god’s sake they are mostly cooks and clerks.” Lucius gave a wry smile to the Tribune who understood him. Prima Cohors was something of a light duty group, looked down upon by your common ranker, who nevertheless wanted in for the better pay. “Now go!” “Yes sir!” ***** Carl, mounted on his horse, looked through the trees at the column of soldiers. So long it seemed a gift from Jupiter! Look at the column, oblivious to the Franks, baggage train completely exposed and running for so many miles, half the goods would be to Lutetia before any soldiers knew the attack had started. He hardly knew what to attack first. Should it be soldiers, not braced for impact, or the baggage, a tethered lamb outside the wolf’s lair. Just then a lieutenant trotted up. “My Lord, we have all the horse ranged along the treeline, a few paces back, as you ordered. Do we attack?” “Wait,” was all the stern voice said. The vassal did not know if that was his order and dismissal, or if the King of Neustria had further orders to give in a moment’s time. Not having an order to attack, nor wanting to look the fool, he rotated his horse to the right and sat watching the column go by with his lord to his left. Other lords and thanes milled about on horses, pages galloping about with flags and banners of different fiefs trailing behind them. “I’ll give a signal. Wait for it, then charge at the entire length of the column. Tell the other lords that attack the baggage not to dawdle, get their goods and retreat with them immediately. If we get their provisions, we need to make off with them quickly before the Romans take them back.” “Yes, milord.” With that he galloped off. Carl watched him for a moment, then turned his mustachioed face back to the column. ***** |
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