Triumphant

Marcus set down the empty tankard of beer and pushed his plate away from him before settling lazily back into his chair. The captured city, Vicus Alemanni, or Vicus for short, had been a great target to plunder, and not only had the soldiers taken their fair share of treasure, but wagons filled with coins, jewels and caravans of slaves had been sent back to Rome, showing that the campaign was well worth the rewards.
The Warlord’s Hall was huge and, surprisingly, to Marcus’ tastes. Simple, clean and warm, it was a good place to hold his banquets, and the cooks had outdone themselves preparing meals for Marcus and his entourage of officers. In the centre of the Hall a huge rectangular table stretched down the length of the room and Marcus sat at the head of it, Nero and other officers thronging the sides. Quintus, Marcus’ chief medical officer, groggily got to his feet and held out his goblet, which was probably empty.
“For our honoured dead.” He said solemnly, and all at once the Hall went quiet as each Roman’s face turned to stone and they all snapped to attention, goblets, glasses and tankards raised high. Slaves scurried to fill each up with whatever they happened to have at hand, and eventually every Roman was ready to drink.
“We will not forget them.” Marcus promised before downing his tankard, and each officer followed suit. When they sat back down each man seemed sharper and more down to earth, the smiles and grins of a minute ago gone and replaced with frowns and tense looks.
“What now?” Nero asked.
“I think this deserves a Triumph.” Marcus replied to the surprise of all. Marcus stood up and leaned on both of his outstretched arms. “Think about it! We’ve conquered the last of the Alpine tribes and have protected all the towns on the frontier! An entire tribe subdued in a single campaign! If that isn’t worth a Triumph then the Emperor is mad.”
“Some would say he is.” A voice at the end of the table mumbled.
“Watch your tongue!” Quintus snapped, leaping out of his seat and glaring to the end of the table. “I won’t believe that a madman sent us here, and I certainly won’t believe that our brothers died for a mad man.” He snapped, before settling back down into his seat, quietly fuming. Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“If we get the triumph all will be well.” He said lamely. He could see Nero squirm uncomfortably before he talked.
“And what if we don’t get it?” He asked uneasily. Marcus simply waved his hand.
“I know the Emperor; I’ve talked to him myself. He won’t let this go unrewarded, I know it.” Marcus only wished he could believe what he said.



*
Aulus refilled his glass with some more wine; to take in what Servius was suggesting, he would need it. Servius on the other hand, wasn’t fazed in the least by his most recent plan.
“One more time Servius, run it through for me one just one more time.” Aulus pleaded, sitting up on his recliner couch. Servius jumped out of his and began to walk all around in front of Aulus as he explained his idea again.
“Valentinanus simply can’t run the Empire, and if power passes to Leontius we’ll be in even more of a bigger problem, since he’s even more corrupted and spiteful than his father.” Aulus nodded in agreement and listened intently as Servius continued. “I think you’ll agree with me when I say that the Emperors are running the Empire into the ground. So, imagine if the Senate was reinstated as the head of the Roman State, and not the Emperor! No more wars fought for the laurel wreath of the Caesars, instead the Senators would hold power in Rome, just as it was meant to be.” Servius’ eyes had lit up by the time he finished. Aulus stirred in his seat.
“That sounds…magical. But how exactly would we convince the Flavius’ to abdicate? I’m not quite sure they would take kindly to this plan, and we would most likely be fed to the lions.” He pointed out. Servius simply shook his head and laughed.
“I thought knowledge came with age. No offense.” He remarked, noticing the perplexed look on Aulus’ face, who simply waved his hand. “We have them both killed. Both dead, and the line of Emperor’s will end.” Silence met this sudden outburst of treachery, and Aulus looked around the room to ensure that none of his family or slaves was nearby.
“Idiot!” He spat, standing up and confronting Servius. “Kill the Emperor? Do you want me to kill you? You forgot who I’m loyal to.” As he turned away Servius grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.
“I’m loyal to Rome, and at one point so were you. But I see the high life has bought your loyalty, and now you don’t care what happens to our people. Fine. Seems I didn’t know you after all.” He scathed. Aulus stared at the floor in amazement; Servius was right! He had betrayed Rome to accept the tryranny of the Emperor and now Romans were paying with their livelihoods. Aulus leveled his eyes with Servius’.
“What do you need?”



Servius Flavius; Servius the Spymaster

*

Leontius Flavius never liked being sent away from Italia, but if it was war that called him then he relished the opportunity for glory. And when his father had ordered him to make war with the Eastern Empire he had nearly cried with joy. Taking almost 2,000 men with him he had landed at the gates of Athens and taken the city. From there he had marched north, taking Thessalonica and Sirmium before he was suddenly recalled to Rome by his father. And now he was once again in the Eternal City, the bastion of all things Roman. And what could be more Roman than his father’s palace?
Marching through his father’s courtyard he must have looked like a hero out of the Histories: strong, sun kissed from his years of fighting and giving off an aura of command, he was truly a Roman hero. If only his father greeted him like one.
Valentinanus was seated on a luxurious chair, as always, and was surrounded by a crowd of men of great influence within the city. Again, as always.
“Father, all of Macedonia and lower Hellas bows to you now.” Leontius announced as he kneeled at his father’s feet on the cobbled stones and bowed his head. Best to pretend to be a loving and dutiful son than a warmongering lunatic, he thought.
“And Constantinople?” His father asked slyly. Leontius tightened his jaw, annoyed that his father had brought it up, since his departure from Greece had stopped further conquest.
“I was making preparations to march on the city when you summoned me. But I had my spies scout out the province and managed to land some in Asia Minor. There aren’t enough Eastern troops to defend the city if we attack, and Asia Minor has too few men to send as reinforcements.” He replied, satisfied that his answer was good enough. Valentinanus smiled and placed both of his hands on Leontius’ shoulders.
“Then rise, rise!” He insisted, happiness in his voice. When Leontius was stood up straight he was a full foot taller than his dwindling father, who took in his son’s appearance with pride.
“Look at him, isn’t he a model Roman? Like Augustus himself, and as commanding on the battlefield!” He announced to the men stood all around, and to the growing crowd of friends that was beginning to surround them. Leontius couldn’t help cracking a smile.
“Leontius, it’s been too long!”
“Let me get a look at you, Highness!”

By the time all of the guests had left it was dark, and the moon was waxing high in the dark sky. Leontius and his father were both reclining on couches in the magnificent torch-lit guest room.
“So father, why did you really send for me from Greece? There must be more to it than simple loneliness.” Leontius scathed, making his father laugh harshly.
“Yes boy, you are right, I’ll give you that. The true reason for you being here is that I have an important announcement to make, one that I want the entire city to bear witness to.” Valentinanus replied, stretching and lying fully out on the couch. Leontius shifted onto an elbow and perked an eyebrow inquisitively.
“And I don’t surprise you’ll tell me exactly what announcement that is?” He asked cockily. Valentinanus looked at his son, eyes accusing him of idiocy.
“Leontius, you’ve been fighting in Greece for two years. In those two years you’ve captured three of the most important cities in the entire province, defeated armies three times your size, and you’re asking what I recalled you for!” Leontius nodded his head, although suddenly an idea came to mind, and his eyes flashed greedily with realization. Valentinanus saw this momentary spark of genius and chuckled. Maybe his son would make a worthy Caesar after all.

*

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to be back in civilization!” Nero announced as they rode past another market stall with amphorae’s of wine stacked high and exotic fruits on display. Behind them Marcus and Nero’s bodyguards slithered in a long, single column through the winding streets of Rome. It was time to demand the triumph, and time to do so in person. Nero, cheery as ever, was ravaging away at an apple, eagerly throwing silver coins to passing beggars.
“Keep that up and every Tiber-rat in the city will follow us!” Marcus snapped, trying to keep his horse moving through the crowds of people that thronged the paths.
“Calm yourself brother, we’re in Rome! The home of our forefathers, the centre of the known world! You could try and be happy at the very least.” Nero replied as they came up in front of the Emperor’s palace. Nero dropped his apple in amazement and his jaw followed suit; he had never seen Rome before, and such a beautiful building was something out of stories, not reality. Marcus, who had seen Rome many times, was not dazzled by the Palace or its sumptuous gardens, but was drawn to the guards in front of the gates. Riding over to their Centurion he saluted and introduced himself.
“Ave Centurion, I am Marcus Flavius and this is Nero Flavius. We are the commanders of the Phoenix Legion, conquerors of the Northern Tribes. We request an audience with the Emperor.” Marcus demanded, his voice loud and clear for the guards to hear. The Centurion whispered something to one of the guards, who ran off to the Palace and returned several minutes later before reporting to the Centurion.
“The Emperor will see you.”


Following the slave through the magnificent house of the Caesar’s seemed to take an age, and with Nero gazing in awe at the beautiful mosaic floors and elegant paintings on the wall what should have been a brisk walk turned into a forced march as Marcus called time and time again for Nero to catch up. With Nero finally in tow Marcus turned a corner into what seemed to be some king of throne room: a long red carpet led down the room past sturdy marble pillars and Palantine Guards to the Emperor, sitting down and awaiting them. As they briskly walked along the carpet over to Valentinanus Marcus whispered suddenly and quietly to Nero.
“Let me do the talking.” Nero nodded and, satisfied, Marcus walked faster than Nero until he reached the Emperor first. He saluted and waited for Nero to follow suit before standing to attention.
“Your Highness, I am Marcus Flavius and this is Nero Flavius. We have just arrived from the Alps, having just defeated Rome’s enemy, the vicious Alemanni tribe, as per your orders.” Marcus reported. Valentinanus nodded fairly and waited for Marcus to continue.
“In the battle for the city we lost just below a thousand brave Romans, killing upwards of two thousand tribesmen, and sent thousands of slaves and pounds of gold back to Rome. As well as this we finally eradicated the Alemanni, a hated enemy of the Empire that has constantly raided Noricum. It is for these reasons that we request a Triumph.” Marcus’ voice shook slightly towards the end but he managed to compose himself and waited patiently as the Emperor stared at him, an awkward smile on his face.
“I regrettably refuse you.” He said cheerfully. Marcus burned with hate, but subdued his emotions and calmly asked why. Valentinanus barked out a harsh laugh and explained.
“My son, Leontius, is to be awarded a Triumph any day now for his conquest of Greece. Unfortunate that you were not quicker, else I would have eagerly given you the honour! But all the same, we will find some way to celebrate your conquest. Prayers to remember the fallen and festivals over the Empire are appropriate I think. Other than that, I can give no more.” The Emperor replied. Marcus, stunned, simply bowed slightly and began to walk away, his eyes wide and staring into nothingness. As Nero followed him his confusion was overcome with rage.
“Nero, how soon can the Legion march?” He asked.
“A runner could reach the legion within a week or so. Why do you ask?” Nero replied.
“We’re going to march on Rome.”