City of Swords

[Long lost Caesar]

The year is 363 AD. Rome rules over the known world, although it is split into East and West. Valentinanus the Wrathful rules over the Western Roman world with an iron fist, preaching Christianity to his followers and dragging the Empire into decline. His son, Leontius Flavius, awaits the day his father will die and pass over to him the Empire. But there are some men who would rather see the Rome of old reinstated, with the Senate in power. If such a dream could be achieved, then maybe Rome can be saved….

Glory of Rome

Marcus the Gambler had never felt at home governing a city. So when Oppius Flavius relieved him of his duties at Avaricum and word was sent to him to subdue the Alemanni, Marcus was jubilant and marched his huge army across Gallia with lightning speed. Then word reached him to wait at the frontier for a fellow general before crossing over into tribal territory.
Marcus marched out onto the wooden battlements of the camp and scanned the horizon for his expected company. Probably some lapdog sent by Valentinanus to spy on me! Marcus mused as he squinted into the distance, the setting sun barely bringing light to the hills all around.
And then he saw them, forty or so horsemen, following a rider far ahead of their column who was riding at an unimaginable pace. Marcus tried to recognize the face but the light was too poor, and even when the rider wheeled his mount at the foot of the wall before Marcus he couldn’t properly make out the man’s features.
“Who are you?” A familiar voice from the helmet questioned. This man was clearly the general who would accompany Marcus on his upcoming campaign against the Alpine tribes: he was wearing an ornate muscle cuirass, his strong shoulders had a flowing red cape draped across them and his red crest was unmistakably that of a general.
“Marcus Flavius, commander of the Phoenix Legion. Who are you?” Marcus retorted, even now trying to recognize the figure before him. The general let out a bellowing laugh and took off his helmet.
“Is that any way to treat old friends?” He asked, a huge smile spreading across his dark face.
“Nero? By the Gods, it’s you! Open the gate!” Marcus ordered, glad to know that his second-in-command would be someone he could trust. Nero rode through the gate and Marcus descended the steps to greet him. As Nero dismounted off of his magnificent steed his German bodyguards began to file through the narrow gateway, eyeing the Roman soldiers with disdain.
“Gods be praised, I never thought I’d see you in a million years!” Marcus said to Nero as they embraced. Nero returned the embrace and drew back, looking at his friend.
“I was just as surprised when I was summoned here. But of course, I didn’t complain. And now we return to the battlefields again, back to where we belong.” Suddenly Nero became serious, and he ascended the steps of the palisade and peered out dramatically in the direction of the mist covered mountains.
“So that’s where we’re going. Can you hear them Marcus?” Nero asked, his hazel eyes transfixed on the mountains.
“Hear what, Nero?” Marcus asked, drawing close to his friend and looking at him with concern. Nero finally looked at Marcus, but his gaze penetrated deep through his friend, as if he was searching his soul. Then he laughed weakly, before looking back into the distance.
“Nothing, don’t worry. The sooner we kill those tribesmen and take their capital the better.” And as soon as he turned back to Marcus he was smiling again, not a trace of his previous seriousness left to be seen. “Now then, would it be too much to ask for a meal?”

*

“Have you heard about Leontius?”
“Yes, the Emperor has sent him off to ‘conquer Hellas’ or something ridiculous. It won’t work you know.”
“I know.” Servius replied, nodding darkly. Aulus Flavius had sent word to him across the entire empire: a messenger had sent for him all the way from Italia, crossing the Alps, Gallia and all of Hispania to find him in Corduba. And now he and Aulus were casually strolling through the magnificent palace gardens of Ravenna, safe in the knowledge that not even Aulus’ household slaves were anywhere near them as they spoke. As Aulus walked over to a row of growing olive vines he noticed Servius stare into space and stand still, as if struck by the thunder god himself.
“Servius, are you alright?” Aulus asked, not sure if there was any need for worry. His young friend set his perplexing gaze on him, eyes wider than seemed right.
“Aulus, by the Gods, we can save Rome!” He said, grasping Aulus by his opulent robe and keeping a firm grip on him.
“What are you talking about?” Aulus asked, completely confused by this sudden outburst of patriotism. Servius let go of him and began pacing up and down, moving his hands and muttering to himself as he went.
“Of course it will take money, it would take a madman to accept it, but if it works, oh Aulus, if it works!” Servius looked at Aulus and burst into laughter. “Gods above, if you could see your face now!”
“Gods above, if you could hear yourself now!” Aulus replied. Servius walked over to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
“Don’t pay another thought to it Aulus, at least, not now. Best to wait until the time is right, then all will be revealed. Are those olives?”

*

Marcus watched in satisfaction as the Alemanni filtered out of the cities wooden gates, attempting to distract him with the bulk of their army, infantry, whilst Nero spotted the cavalry leaving by a side gate.
“They think they can out-flank us? Well let’s give them a surprise. Foederati, move to the left flank!” Marcus ordered. At his bidding the Germanic spearmen began to take up positions at the furthest end of the left flank, allowing the more heavily armoured Comitatenses to engage the infantry while the spearmen confronted the cavalry.
From their position oh the hill Marcus’ army could see the entire barbarian army as it began to advance out of the city, and he wouldn’t have paid the flanking cavalry any more attention if he didn’t know that there were two Warlords among them.
“Nero, take three of the Foederati cavalry units and position yourselves behind the spearmen. As soon as the cavalry are engaged with our infantry, smash into them.” Marcus ordered. Nero nodded and, as he rode to his position, called for three units of cavalry to follow him, leaving only one unit of horsemen to defend the right flank. It was a risky gamble, but the infantry could protect themselves, and if his gamble paid off Marcus would be congratulating Nero on butchering all of the Germanic cavalry before the day was over.
By now the horde of tribal infantry was advancing up the hill, and from the looks of things they were beginning to tire.
“Archers, fire at will!!” Marcus roared. The officers commanding the archers gave the order to fire and three hundred arrows whistled down into the ranks of spearmen, causing confusion and thinning out the ranks. So far so good, mused Marcus. Now for the next step.
“Comitatenses, loose!” He bellowed, throwing his hand down for dramatic effect. A trumpet sounded and the two lines of swordsmen began to hurl their javelins into the seething horde of barbarians. By now they were being steady demoralised, with the absence of their general, the hill and the incoming fire all weighing heavily on the minds of their men. Marcus signalled the advanced and all at once the archers stopped firing and the infantry sprung to life, roaring as they charged down the hill and clashed with the assorted tribal soldiers. Caught off guard by the sudden advance the barbarians were unable to prepare for the charge and archers, raiders and spearmen all became one giant fighting unit, desperately trying to stop the disciplined Romans from encircling them. Then Marcus saw them.
There were at least four hundred mounted warriors, and the greater parts of them were bodyguards to the Warlords leading them, and Marcus knew that they would fight to the death. It was time to see if his Foederati were up to the challenge, and he ordered them to form a line blocking the cavalry off from the Comitatenses, intent on letting his swordsmen annihilate the infantry. The Warlords were a terrifying force, and they hammered into the ranks of his spearmen, sending them flying. As Marcus led his own bodyguards into the fray eh called for Nero.
“Now Nero, flank them and surround them!” At first he didn’t think Nero had heard him, but then he saw the immense line of cavalry on the hill surge forwards, working in unison as they moved to encircle the cavalry.
“Cavalry! Cut off the fleeing infantry!” Marcus ordered to his free unit of Foederati cavalry on the right wing, and they thundered down the hill and around the ring of embattled infantry and crashing into any that managed to escape the ring of enclosing Romans. The time for orders was over, and Marcus steeled himself for the struggle ahead. Everything was in order, now it was time to lead by example.
His horse leapt over the body of a fallen Roman and he lashed out with his sword, the harsh steel finding its mark in the belly of a barbarian horseman. As the stunned warrior fell to the floor Marcus wheeled his horse around three times and hacked and slashed at the unarmoured horsemen all around him, furiously unleashing all of his rage with each and every blow. Then, through the mass of soldiers tearing away at each other, he saw the two German Warlords. Father and son alike were giving heart to their men, butchering any of Marcus’ men that came near to them. Both of them were wearing heavy armour, and each also had a winged helmet, like that of the Celtic Gods. Marcus let out an animal roar and charged forward, slipping through the ring of bodyguards around him until he was within arms reach of the son. As Marcus slashed his sword across the boy’s throat he heard the King let out a hellish scream, unlike any other cry Marcus had ever heard on a battle field. The boy’s body hadn’t even hit the floor when the King hurled himself off of his horse, crashing into Marcus and sending both of them hurtling to the muddy floor. Marcus couldn’t throw the huge warrior off of him and was reduced to trying to punch him in the face, but his fists simply cut and bruised on the cheek guards of that magnificent helm. The distraught King drew a knife out of his belt, and Marcus prepared to accept death without fear.
But then he heard a cry of ‘Roma Victrix!’ and a bodyguard ran his spear through the Warlord’s chest. Then another spear found its mark on him, and then a javelin was hurled into his shoulder. Bloodied and butchered, the defeated King rolled onto his side and the entire Roman army cheered as Marcus was helped to his feet and then back onto his horse.
“Marcus! Marcus! Marcus!”
Jubilant with victory and enthralled by the spirit of his men Marcus stood up in his saddle and victoriously thrust his blooded fist into the air.
And as Nero saw his friend basking in the glory of his victory he suddenly saw a Roman of old in his comrade. Maybe Marcus was Romulus reborn, sent to defend Rome and bring peace and prosperity. Maybe.

Marcus Flavius: conquerer of the Alemanni, saviour of Rome?

[mini]

that font looks familiar! :p


gl, looks interesting.

[Frodge]

ooh I like it, i look forward to future chapters with relish, when will they be btw

[Long lost Caesar]

@ frodge- in a few days, i need to make up the rest of the story but ive got something in mind

@mini- karma

[Hooahguy]

is there loyalty in 1.1?

[Frodge]

No this is BI isnt it

[Hooahguy]

then this must still be 1.0, since BI doesnt work for 1.1 yet, AFAIK....

[Hax]

Read. Better.

The AAR isn't for EB. <.<

[Long lost Caesar]

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.”