Chapter 15. The Bitter and the Sweet (I)
A hint of smoke fills the air, along with dust of charcoal and the savory scent of grilled meat. For the Britannic soldiers disembarking their transports, it brings water to their mouths. But once they’ve seen the source of the ash and flavor. Vomits quickly replace the saliva in their mouths.
Along the exterior of Rotomagus, piles of dead barbarians are burned to prevent the spread of disease. Soldiers on the walls watches in horror as wild dog packs, attracted to the smell of burnt flesh, sink their teeth into the charcoaled corpses.
In the mist of ashy smokes Legion upon Legions of Britannic Romans arrive at the docks to relieve the battle warry defenders. Their presence brought tears of joy to the defenders who now gather around to witness the deployment of Britannic legions. The garrison was reduced to mere thousand, but they no longer feel weak and alone.
They are no longer the only Roman force in miles out.
There is still order, there is still an Empire.
The soldiers gathered around the dock burst into cheers as a man in Golden helm disembarked, surrounded by richly decorated officers and Chi-Rho banners. A welcoming party consisting all high ranking officers of the city and Constantine’s vanguard stood at the end of the path led by Lucius Pansa, Marshal of the vanguard. And Severus Atticus, Prefect of Rotomagus.
“CONSTANTINE! CONSTANTINE!” The men began to chant as they threw themselves to salute. The man saluted them back, and brought about another round of roar.
“There he is,” Lucius Pansa whispered to Atticus as the column of officers approached.
Atticus nodded and stepped forth.
“Your Grace. I, Prefect of the Municipium, on behalf of the garrison, welcome you to our city.”
Atticus was finally close enough to get a good fix on this “Marshal of Britain.” He was well groomed, with a ridged face of sharp angles. He looked young, no more than forty. A trait he clearly tried to compensate with the bushy mustache sitting above his lips.
As he walked closer, Atticus can feel the aura of his presence. An energetic confidence generated by strong strides and a hidden smile.
He felt intimidated by the marshal’s presence. By the red crest and gold helm, by the horse hair clock he wore effortlessly around his neck, by the gold plate he wore on his chest, by the army now feverishly declaring its loyalty.
Constantine stepped onto the shore of Rotomagus already its conqueror.
The docks fell to dead silence as the men waited to hear the voice of their new master.
“I thank you for your defense of the city, and your service to the realm. Your tenacity is one which exemplifies the character of this Empire!” Constantine replied, but not to Atticus. He said these words loud enough for the soldiers to hear. And as he uttered those worlds, he looked at the faces surrounding him, and into the eyes of each defender. The port once again up roared in cheers and salutes, drowning any reply Atticus could muster.
Constantine marched on to meet with Pansa, and Atticus felt a strong hand gripping him by the elbow.
“I am Helvetius, Captain of the Guards to his Grace Constantine, please follow me this way.” The man said as he dragged Atticus to the side. At that moment, Severus Atticus’s face darkened as he finally understood their intentions. This is Constantine’s parade. He had already been sidelined even before their meeting.
He is nothing.
Pansa smirked as Helvetius yanked Atticus to the side. He had gone through great lengths to appear as if the Prefect was his equal. But now there’s no more pretending.
“My liege,” The General greeted as he came to the side of his Marshal, and briefed as they walked. “We’ve killed over five thousand Barbarian warriors and captured some eight thousand; mostly women and children. The men also secured heads of livestock to the tens of thousands, and enough grain to sustain our armies for hundred days.” Pansa paused, and swallowed his shame as he delivered the bad news, “we were not able to encircle the enemy. I estimate at least twenty thousand fled into the country side.”
“Good,” Constantine replied as he smiled at the soldiers leaning forward to witness his glory, “I want to herd them further inland. The more destruction they cause the easier for us to go in.”
“Ah, our man of the hour!” Constantine ended their conversation abruptly as they approach Lustinianus.
“Legate Lustinianus led less than a thousand men into the Barbarian camp and brought it to the ground. Of the four legions under my command, no man deserves more praise than him.” Pansa stood to the side dutifully as he emphasized to Constantine the contributions of Lustinianus. The Proud Legate swelled his chest even more upon hearing these words.
“Rules and discipline are pillars fundamental to the construct of this Empire, merits are dutifully rewarded and incompetence will be restlessly persecuted” Constantine nodded; Lustinianus can see the Marshal’s mustache curve on top of his smile.
Constantine paused, as if letting these words soak into his bones before proclaiming: “Caius Lustinianus, I name you Magister Militum to marshal over your own army!”
With these words, Constantine removed the sapphire ring on his finger and placed it in Lustinianus’s hands.
“Long live the Emp…Long live Constantine!” The sudden appointment left Lustinianus struggling to find his words. He flexed his legs to stop them from shaking. As he tried to knell, he felt Constantine’s hands under his elbow.
Just four months ago he was a nameless centurion slugging around Gratian’s ten. Now, he is a made-man by his own right. Lustinianus had already sworn to himself a thousand times he will lay down his life for Constantine. Now, he will swear a thousand more.
“Award these men!” Constantine ordered. The officers behind him brought out a large chest of Silver, and began to distribute the coins to the men.
The soldiers around are drowning in their emotion looking down at the freshly minted coin in their hand, some even weeping. One side depicted an image of a Roman soldier. The other side decorated with Chi-Rho sign between the letters Alpha and Omega.
A few literate soldiers began to explain the minted words to their comrades.
“A heavenly realm,” the inscription read, “Eternal, from beginning to the end.”
As the Britannic officers distributed their silver propaganda, Constantine moved to his son, and put a hand on his shoulder.
“You made me proud, son.”
“You honor me, father” Constans looked down. He didn’t want to reveal the doubt in his eyes; for his mind wondered how much Constantine said is for the men to hear.
“This is Aulus Norbanus,” Constans turned to introduce his adviser before Constantine can look into his eyes, “his efforts were paramount in securing the city to our cause.”
“Your grace, it is an honor to take part in such daring endeavor.” Norbanus greeted as he gave Rosalind a light tug, “allow me to introduce my wife…Rosalina.”
In front of all these high ranked men he introduced his “wife” with a Romanized name. Surely her identity will now be cemented.
“The honor is mine, to meet men who stood their ground in face of Barbaric anarchy,” Constantine replied with a wide grin, so wide that his eyes narrowed, “Never has it become more clear to me the need for new blood in the Senate. Together we will sweep away this plague of decadence.”
He then turned to Rosalind, who is looking at Norbanus half confused. “My lady,” insured Constantine, “When my armies sweep south we will restore to you what are rightfully yours, and take back what was taken.”
What else can Rosalind do but to nod, smile and thank.
“In front of all those men, you declared us husband and wife?!!” Rosalind’s whisper cannot contain her fury as she and a fully suited Norbanus walked through Rotomagus with a dozen armed retainers, “what happens when they go south and find your wife and children, what happens to me then?”
“You will live, comfortably and well,” replied Norbanus impatiently. Right now he has no time for her tantrum.
“As your bed warmer?” shot back Rosalind with disgust, “I should never have let you live.”
Norbanus did not bother to answer right away, but gestured his men to lead over his horse. Rosalind cannot bare this treatment, she stood next to her "husband" in anguish while he continues to ignore her.
“When I reclaim what is rightfully mine, when you sit atop of my villa overlooking my garden and sip my wine,” Norbanus sneered as he mounted the horse finally brought over by one of his bodyguard, “you’ll have plenty of leisure to regret your good fortune.”
“Where are you going?” Rosalind is screaming under her breath, her eyes wide and nostrils flaring with anger.
“My original mission, before our little detour: to restores the Aqueducts.” With that, Norbanus rode away. Leaving Rosalind stomping her feet behind a trail of dust.
“Romisch Schwein!” She cussed.
“Umm... My lady?” and it is at this untimely moment, a pale bold man with a waxed beard decided to approach her.
“What you do want?” Rosalind sized him up and down with impatience.
Now the German clearly realized the horrid of his timing, but he can’t back off now.
“I am Dornicus, the newly appointed Tribune of Rotomagus Garrison,” The German introduced himself with a nervous cough, “there seems to be some misunderstanding between me and your husband…”
“Yes, yes I’ve heard of you: the backstabber, the sellout,” Rosalind clearly has decided to channel her anger to this poor man pleading for her mercy, “Shoo dog, you will get no bone from me.”
With that she walked off, leaving Dornicus standing red with embarrassment.
I hope everyone is enjoying this on a mobile device. If not, I strongly recommend them. The formatting fits much better!
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Re: Fractured Eagle <Historical Fiction> -Updated 5/8
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