[IB SAI:AAR] The Last Pagan Emperor (UPDATED 08/05/2021)

[Alwyn]

I'm sorry for not commenting before. It sounds like the Emperor has managed to discipline his troops even in the chaotic aftermath of the storming of a city - but it also sounds like the Emperor's sources of information on his enemies are limited. I wonder how the siege of Nineveh went and what the Shahanshah was doing, during these events.

[Justinian Australis]

Well Alwyn, as to the Shahanshah and his whereabouts and response...I literally have no idea. I have not seen him on the map at all. Perhaps there is trouble domestically that is preventing him responding or the 'White' Huns are pouring over the borders and causing chaos?

Information is hard to come by in these days but rest assured there will be something about the siege of Nineveh, which is ongoing, at some point.

Back to the story...finally!

*and as to your comment previously about whether something special was planned for the 100th chapter, I am afraid not as nothing really lined up story wise unfortunately.

Chapter C

The streets of Al-Hirah had finally been cleaned of the bloody detritus and waste of siege; its inhabitants having felt unbridled fury from the Roman troops and its famed commander Tiberius Secundus after they had defeated Persian forces attempting to drive off the invading Romans. The oppressive heat, the sand and flies and the obstinate enemy drove them to devastate anything and anyone that lay in their path. Fury abated, the conquerors turned to construction and returned the old Lakhmid Arab capital back towards something of a functioning city once again. The citizenry had been thoroughly subdued by the heavy and unforgiving hand of the Magister Militum. He had watched the surrounding countryside, spoiling for battle, driven to distraction by the tedium of administration of the mixed Arabic and Persian population and that of his own countrymen. Beyond the Tigris he knew of Persian forces encamped in the fertile regions of southern Asuristan but what they were planning he did not know. He could not yet leave Al-Hirah for local levies were needed to provide garrison duties. His own forces had taken a rather stiff blow in the previous battle before the walls of the city but they had been sufficiently rested, the wounded tended to and still comprised of sufficient strength to meet the enemy head on. Perhaps Susa would be the next destination but he would await word from the Emperor.

Tiberius been riding through the desert with his retinue and guard, inspecting likely points to place outposts, thankful that the heat of summer was long past, when he spied to the east an unusual disturbance of dust and it stretched for a good number of miles. ‘Approaching army’ he knew immediately and thought to himself. He was still at least five miles from Al-Hirah and was about to send riders to raise the alarm when he spotted a turmae of cavalry, attired in typical Arabic garb, sweep over a low rise in the land and had spotted their standard. ‘Romans?’ queried one officer. ‘So it would seem Fravitta’ Tiberius replied, though the men remained on their guard and expertly formed a defensive posture. He beckoned his aide back to him, the one who was prepared to ride hard for Al-Hirah. As they drew closer he could see these were not Persians in disguise thankfully. He trotted away from his guard and the approaching cavalry pulled up, kicking dust and sand about. Having been in the vast expanses of Mesopotamia at least twelve months now, Tiberius had not gotten used to the dust and dirt that invaded this part of the world.. He preferred the cold and the frequent gloomy conditions of his adopted home of Britannia, having been born in Poetovia.

‘Salevete!’ Tiberius called out. The greeting was returned. ‘And who might you be and what is your business here?’ he asked casually. A handsome young man of twenty three rode forth, of darkened complexion and a strong gaze. Tiberius instantly recognized him as someone born in the Illyrian provinces and whose ancestors were as such. ‘A fellow Illyrian!’ Tiberius exclaimed happily before he could reply. ‘Yes, I am of Sirmium.” He dismounted his steed, as did Tiberius and both men clasped hands. ‘As to my business, I am Majorianus Nevitta. I have been sent by Augustus with additional forces for the war. I am also the Vicarius Orientum...newly minted, so to speak’ he said with a crooked grin.

Tiberius nodded. ‘A lofty position for one so young...whose pole did you grease lad?’ he asked with a mischievous glint. Majorianus winked back but offered no retort. ‘Any relation to the famed Nevitta?’

‘I am his nephew. I never met him but his last stand is one to be sung about and lauded for eternity’
‘I can already tell by the graces of the Gods that you did not inherit his manner of speech. Slow and boorish. Fine commander however’

‘Well, I am ….” Majorianus interrupted Tiberius’s personal introduction. ‘Yes, Magister, I know who you are. I have never seen a portrait or bust of yourself but you are very clearly the Magister Militum Tiberius Secundus, the mighty vanquisher of the Franki and Saxons.”

“I hear that they are not so vanquished after all” spat Tiberius. ‘News from so far away is hard to gather and is always outdated but the Franks in particular refuse to die. I hate every last one of those rat bastards’

‘I never had the pleasure of their perfidy. Besides I am not a military man, my business is administration. I have the usual military training and education but my path lies at the end of a penna, not a sword’

‘Very well then Vicarius, so long as you do not interfere in military matters and stick to your penna, then we shall have no quarrel’ added Tiberius in a neutral manner but Majorianus detected a slight threatening edge to his words. Tiberius was indeed not to be trifled with. ‘Fear not Magister, as the preeminent military man behind the Augustus the men are at your disposal.’ he replied amiably.

‘Good, good. Lets head back to Al-Hirah shall we? I am thirsty and there is much wine to be had’ He looked over his shoulder to note that the army were coming in view. Marching in tight order, the Vicarius was no slouch Tiberius noted when it came to discipline, the army comprised of Syrians and Persian levies, as well as a contingent of Gothic cavalry. Among them marched contingents of the Flavian legions, those formed by Constantius I Chlorus, easily identified by their round shields with a thin red ring around the outer, a white inner ring with red and yellow rings. They were very capable infantry.

‘You should know, we have a deputation among the ranks from those Lakhmid Arabs requesting an audience with yourself. They joined with us outside Palmyra”

“What do they want?’ Tiberius asked as he mounted his horse

‘I do not know, they only stated they were looking to establish a high level meeting. I am no negotiator or diplomat so I allowed them to ride in the van” explained the Vicarius. ‘I suspect they ultimately wish to meet in person with the Augustus’

Tiberius simply had a mind to funnel them north to Ctesiphon, where the Emperor was currently but then changed his mind ‘They can come through me first. It may be of some entertainment as to what they have to say’ said Tiberius.

[Alwyn]

Congratulations on your 100th chapter, this is one to savour! You've got me interested in the relationship (and tension) between Tiberius and the young Vicarius, and (like Tiberius) I'm eager to find out what the deputation want.

[Justinian Australis]

Chapter CI

The quartering of the legions and provisioning took the best of the day and into the night. The bulk of the reinforcements had to encamp beyond the walls on account of unsuitable locations to house so many men. Looking from the walls the legionary camp appeared as if a miniature city with its multitude of tiny lights had emerged from the desert. Security was tight and appropriate sentries were placed in the advent of a sneak Persian assault, as the surrounding countryside and beyond the Tigris was still volatile and its fortunes fluctuated seemingly with each passing hour. The men were at the ready but as the night drew into the dead of early morning it became clear that there was no threat.

The day dawned bright and sunny, the cool of the desert night lingering as a stiff northerly whipped brisk winds across the landscape as winter begun to set in. Men on sentry duty rugged up the best they could, those who patrolled the streets fared only marginally better at been able to move and keep themselves somewhat warm. The buzz of the day’s market activities was still in its infancy as a few shopkeepers and traders begun preparing their stock for a hard days bargaining. A delegation of ten men, with a cavalry escort provided by the Romans, moved through the markets, fully cognizant that this was once the capital of their people, once again exchanging among the hands of foreign powers. It pained one of the men to see the Roman troops march it’s streets. The Persians had not been cruel masters, even this current Shahanshah who though decidedly less tolerant than predecessors, had treated the Arabs with courtesy even upon annexation of Al-Hirah and had allowed an Arab governor to oversee its management. It was a rare event when a considerate Roman governor took command and Tiberius Secundus was showing no signs of breaking that mold. The Emperor could be as wise and benevolent as all of the great philosopher rulers of days past but it mattered little when his subordinates showed none of the same attributes.

They were guided towards the residence of the Magister, with labourers and various artisans working upon the center of Al-Hirah political life to be more in keeping with Roman architecture. It dismayed the men to see this in a physical manifestation and not merely what they had heard in passing back from their long journey from Petra. At the very least they had seen that the temple to Allat had remained unmolested, one of the three daughters of God. The servants of Allat could still be seen moving about, so this provided some comfort that their ways and Gods were not been downtrodden by the conqueror. It was something they supposed… They had little in the way of information from the Vicarius Majorianus in their travels. He had seemed a decent and honourable man but could say little about Al-Hirah for he had not been in the East long and had just been appointed to his position by the Augustus. Any hopes or pretenses had evaporated in the early hours of the morning, as mist did upon the rising of the sun.

They had found the Magister waiting in the courtyard of the residence, along with Majorianus. The Magister sat simply upon a reclining couch and had empty dishes before him. An optio escorting the group stood forward and announced their arrival. ‘Dominus, Aws ibn Qallam, representative of the Lakhmid King, Imru al-Qays II” Tiberius beckoned the man over to a seat in front of him. It was simply a small stool that no doubt reminded the guests of their inferiority in this situation. ‘Very well Aws ibn Qallam, you have not traveled so far to not bring something pertinent for my ears”

“You speak on behalf of the Augustus?” he asked directly. Aws ib Qallam could see quickly Tiberius would be a boorish and difficult host, unlike what he knew of the Augustus. Tiberius snorted. ‘Of course I do….the same as you on behalf of your master Aws ibn Qallam. Now out with it!”

The emissary grimaced inwards. This was not going to end well but he had promised his Lord and Master Imru al-Qays II that he would speak directly and without preamble, no matter the outcome. The pride of the Lakhmids, subdued and laid low in recent years but unbroken, demanded it, no matter who sat inside the walls of Al-Hirah. ‘Very well Magister, we have no formal relations with the Romans and my Lord wishes there to be an accord reach between us”

Tiberius looked askance. ‘That’s it? Diplomatic relations? Which could have been broached in formal written correspondence?” He lent forward then stopped. A smirk came across his face as the realization dawned upon him as he leaned back into the couch. He waited for the emissary to reply ‘There is no easy way of putting such a question to you...or even your Lord, Magister. For you have driven back the Persians from our lands. We rejoice at this development, even though the Persian’s never demonstrated cruelty to us” the emissary prodded onward. ‘But there is no freedom to be had under the yoke of another master.”

Tiberius fought back the urge to laugh. He spoke. ‘You, Aws ibn Qallam, certainly have some serious stones about you to come here, in person and ask me what you are about to ask. Pissant little kingdom you are from though, I have to grant you that”

‘Hostility helps no one” replied the emissary.

‘Nor does your position in this world!” Tiberius growled. ‘Do you feel you are about to make a grievous mistake emissary?’

‘Seeking liberty is never a mistake Magister and I ask you this, regardless of the outcomes, to free Al-Hirah and return her to its people and leave this land! We beg of you!” Aws ibn Qallam stated, his voice only just tremulous at sitting before the Magister and making such a demand. He should have gone to directly to the Augustus, not to this crude, cruel war monger who had not an ounce of compassion in his sizable frame. He looked over the the Vicarius, who had not expected this turn of developments and his jaw slightly ajar betrayed this. He may have been booksmart but Majorianus was still wet around the ears to the nature of the world and had no doubt missed the intentions of this travelling party. He would need to learn fast.

Tiberius’ eyes provided a window to his thoughts. He was amused at the audacity of this emissary, of these Arabs into thinking they could make such a request. Woe to the conquered ran through his mind, finding a historical phrase suitable for the moment. He may have looked ponderous and slow witted but the outward veneer was just that, a veneer that hid intelligence. Granted, Tiberius would probably think in such terms if he found his nation under the boot of another, desperate to break apart the shackles of their conqueror and set a course for self determination. Who wouldn’t wish so?

The Franks did so with monotonous frequency for the Romans held their territory beyond the Rhenus. That angered the Magister though, for the Franks were dangerous and numerous and fine warriors, he would admit as much and vast quantities of blood was shed to keep them in check and subjugated. The Arabs too had demonstrated their military capabilities, their weapons were among the finest available but were less numerous and threatening to Rome (they tended to live peacefully at Aliat and Yathrib) and in no position from their capital at Petra to dictate anything. This amused Tiberius. In any case, Roman rule was right and proper, the Magister rationalised.

‘Be content emissary that we do not march into what’s left of your world and bring about its end. Seek comfort in the fact that I or the Augustus will allow you to govern what’s left of your kingdom without molestation” he lectured, before adding darkly ‘Unless you give us a reason to intervene.”

The emissary maintained a portrait of neutrality, showing no reaction to the refusal of the Magister. It was a fool errand he knew, with the barest of threads connected to reality, a reality where they may be able to regain what was lost. Even his monarch would confide this to be the case but one had to try didn’t they? The Magister simply stood and turned his back, showing clearly he had no further interest in the Arabs. Far more important issues than that of some tiny Arabic kingdom’s own interests demanded attention. The delegation left under the guard of the Roman cavalrymen to prepare for their long journey back to Petra.

The Magister turned to Majorianus. ‘Will you continue to maintain that you knew of their mission, Vicarius?” he asked pointedly. ‘Magister, I knew nothing, they said little other than what I told you the other day” he replied defensively. ‘They waste my time with such silly notions!” said Tiberius, letting the matter drop. ‘Let them be content with providing men and arms for the greater good of the Empire and the even hand of Roman justice” Any Arab within Al-Hirah would have choked at hearing the description of Roman justice. To Tiberius, the punishment meted out to the citizenry was just and correct. There was no black and white here, only the colour of Roman justice...which would often run red.


**for some reason this editor bugs out worse than a fly drenched in Mortein. Multiple different fonts even when you have the right one selected, bold paragraphs here and there...you try and hit backspace and for some reason its takes to the beginning of the paragraph and you delete a heap of words before you suddenly realize....

[Alwyn]

It sounds like Tiberius is very confident of his position and the position of Rome, I wonder if he will regret his response to the emissary in future. Good update!

**for some reason this editor bugs out worse than a fly drenched in Mortein. Multiple different fonts even when you have the right one selected, bold paragraphs here and there...you try and hit backspace and for some reason its takes to the beginning of the paragraph and you delete a heap of words before you suddenly realize....

I'm sorry to hear of your problems with an editor. I wonder what editor you're using - or if you mean the editor here on TWC. (I type chapters in LibreOffice, start a new post on my AAR thread, switch the new post to source mode (using the button with two As on the left hand end of the Quick Reply toolbar) and then copy and paste the text from LibreOffice into the post here.) If you mean the editor here on TWC, I wonder if you'd like to report the problem in Questions & Suggestions.

[Justinian Australis]

Well, I'm back. I have the interest to carry this story, with a few additional chapters been written these last couple of weeks since my interest for Total War returned. For those that still venture into these parts, this chapter 102 and the war against the Sassanids has gone well so far, with the Romans taking stock for a period of time.

Chapter CII

“We must ensure the Persian’s are starved into surrender. Even with fifty thousand troops, it would be a bloody massacre in which victory would be no certainty” Avidius cautioned against suggestions of storming the city

“Thirty thousand starving and desperate Sassanid troops sallying when it becomes intolerable…the siege itself could last another year at least. Time we can ill afford!” the reasoning voice of one Tribune countered. “We must not underestimate Cambyses in this situation”

“Indeed, desperate men in desperate circumstances may become utterly unpredictable” Julianus mused. “Yet, as Avidius mentioned, sending men into such a heavily garrisoned city would cause such carnage, I bear not think of it. The siege must continue as planned and the siege works protected at all costs” The Tribune backed down from his thoughts and fell silent at the word of the Emperor.

“Casualties at Nineveh will be considerable under all envisaged outcomes. The sooner the reinforcements arrive the better” Among some of the officers, veteran men, some formerly of the employ of Constantius II who knew the region well, had forcefully argued to Avidius prior to the invasion to wait until all forces were assembled. Yet the Emperor was not to be swayed.

The Emperor turned to the serious looking Anatolius, master of the correspondence. He clutched tightly a number of scrolls, almost as if they were about to be crumpled under his iron grip. ‘Anatolius?”

“Augustus, I received this just last night from the Magister Militum Praesentalis Tiberius Secundus” He handed over the scroll. The Emperor unravelled it and carefully scrutinised it before speaking about its contents.“Tiberius Secundus has reported that Al-Hirah is firmly under Roman occupation, the Satrap dead but he suffered quite heavy casualties. His Scholae was decimated, as was one cohort of the Flavia Victrix Constantina. He is reinforcing some cohorts with local troops where possible. He has had Al-Hirah secured for some weeks but apologizes for the slowness in his response. He notes that Majorianus has arrived with additional men’”

“Excellent news my Lord” said Avidius. “It protects our southern reaches”

“Indeed it does, but beyond that, Arabia is still in Persian hands” observed the earlier vocal Tribune.

‘Curious he waited so long in informing you my Lord’ mused one Tribune.

‘Are you implying something, Tribune?’ queried the Augustus but he quickly waved the Tribune to silence before he could reply, noting that Anatolius had more to say.

“I beg your pardon my Lord but the messenger reported that there were numerous scattered bands of Persian’s either side of the Euphrates. They appear extremely disordered, acting on their own initiative as it were. It appeared to them that there was a good deal of burning occurring to west toward Al-Hirah”

One of the officers scoffed. “They’d hurt themselves more with such a stupid tactic more than anything else. They will starve themselves into submission”

“The Magister has mentioned that he has sent off the local nomad Fursan to scout the desert regions to see of any Persian movements in that region” Julianus continued, waving the officer to silence.

“Scouts have reported that the Persian general Vayaspara has moved south towards Al-Hirah” one tribune mentioned. “His forces are not massive but numbered enough and experienced to cause trouble. It was he who brushed past the fortifications north of Nineveh”

‘Then he must be dealt with immediately, lest he gather further strength from these isolated Persian forces or worse, relieve the siege at Nineveh, ' the Emperor declared. “I need someone to take a detachment from here, with local troops and we will meet this Vayaspara head on. From what I can gather, there is little else opposition and we will shortly be in firm control of Assyria. Then we shall consolidate, fortify the passes and begin preparations for our next advance. Avidius, see to the commander and his orders”

There was no verbal opposition, the Emperor radiated a new found authority that few found hard to resist and defy. Having firmly laid the caligae into the ribs of a floundering enemy, one that had vexed and humiliated Rome in years past, certainly lend considerable weight to his voice. Among his staff and in the ranks were men who served Constantius. Many simply had shrugged their shoulders, as soldiers are wont to do and got on with business. Others of course where much harder to please and always needed one to watch them in turn. Bring down the Shahanshah however and anyone who ever had any doubts over Flavius Claudius Julianus’ right to the throne, would cast those aside and accept him without question.

The Emperor dismissed all present, save for Avidius and several other high ranking officers and went through the details of the advance against Vayaspara. After a further hour or so deciding the time to march,which would not be another three weeks, as Vayaspara was closely watched, the sun had rose high in the deep blue Assyrian skies of summer. Events from beyond the unpacified lands of Assyria slowly trickled towards the Emperor for his consumption, with those deemed of priority quickly dissected and orders quickly sent out, as fast as possible in such a vast and expanded dominion. None since Trajan had ruled over such vast domains.

Whilst the campaign so far was a success, elsewhere problems sprouted like weeds along the via’s of the Empire. The Huns had laid waste to the area around Cherson and had finally captured the settlement after being initially repulsed. Early reports suggested that the feared massacre of its inhabitants had not occurred. The ever quarrelsome lazyges, had built their numbers sufficiently to entertain the idea of invading into Pannonia and causing all manner of havoc on the poor inhabitants of the farms. They had attempted to besiege Sirmium before deciding that watching stone walls and waiting for victory was not in their interest before dispersing back over the river. Once more they descended upon Sirmium in enormous numbers. They harassed the forts to the west of their capital. In all their dallying and indecision, it allowed the perpetually frowning Julius Athanaes to burst a blood vessel and call up Arcadius Corbullo.

Silent for over a year, in large part due to the sound beating that Corbullo had delivered to the Goths, the Tervingi had once more begun increasing their strength, mostly due to the growing threat of the Huns, with a number of Gothic war bands sighted in close proximity to Moesia. He had received the early reports of Corbulo yet again proving his worthiness as a great commander, perhaps worthy enough to be afforded Gothicus to his name. The Emperor marvelled at Corbullo’s advance deep into Gothia but knew no more beyond this. Disturbingly in Brittania, a large host of Caledonians had landed on the western shores of the far north of the island and attempted to wrest control of their former possessions. Dagalaifus had been on hand, commanding the Ripensis and auxiliary Frankish soldiers who were stationed in the region advanced to meet the threat and destroy the invaders. It was a worrying sign for the Count of the Saxon Shores, for never before had the Caledonians shown any propensity for seaborne assaults. How many more men lay across the seas in Hibernia waiting for an opportunity to cross? This prompted a general levy of the Britanni Seniores legion to bolster the islands forces.

Worst of all, in a litany of misdeeds and troubles initiated by the enemies of Rome, one great enemy of the north, whom had been routed by the legions of Rome and forced into flight when the last of their settlements burned, had returned in great numbers. Tens of thousands of the Franks poured back westwards after been evicted from the lands of the Vandals. The fire of revenge still burned within their hearts, the song of their ancestral lands calling them onwards and word that their great nemesis Corialanus Phocas had left the region for Rome spurred on the great invasion. They eyed off Campus Chatti but bypassed it from the north and instead made Augusta Cheruscorum, the capital of the Agri Decumantes Prima. In their way however was the man known among the men of the north as Julianus “the Brave”.

[Justinian Australis]

Chapter CIII

The sounds of wooden cups , filled or otherwise with wine, made an almost musical sound inside the tavern. Peel of laughter broke out as did angry shouts and curses with monotonous regularity, with the occasional push and shove that spilled over in to street violence amongst the less savoury members of the citizenry. A group of three men sat to one side in a less boisterous part of the popina, paying no heed to the revelry around them and also paying no heed to the subtle glances been sent their way that more streetwise individuals would have noticed. It was still only early in the evening and this popina near the Imperial docks of Tarentum was the center of activity, allowing relief from the dreary mundanity of day to day existence amongst the lower classes who heavily frequented these sorts of establishments. All manner of immoral and base behaviour went on here, gambling and prostitution, violence and the like brewed within its walls and spilt into the alleways and streets. The Imperial officials, though disapproving of such misconduct, did little to curb such behaviour or had tried and failed and simply turned a blind eye, except in more serious fomentations of illicit behaviour.

The three men seemed not to care about the popinas reputation, for they had come for nothing more than a good time and perhaps a little mischief. Wine and women they could have elsewhere at their fingertips but the danger appealed to them and so they sat with in its dimly lit walls and downed cup after cup of wine. The liberal approach to alcohol and the money they were throwing the way of the owners had begun to attract some soon to be unwanted attention. “So you off to the desert eh?’ slurred a short and heavy set man with a fat nose and bushy brows. He looked as if the gods had begun making a human being but gave up halfway through at the impossibility of it and left it at that.

“Yes, sadly, father has requested my presence’ replied a youth whose complexion indicated he had seen more sun than most his age, having been born in the colder far reaches of the realm before being sent to the sunnier and far hotter climes of Italy. His next port of call would add to his already dark skin tones. He was nicknamed ‘The Berber’ for his dark complexion.

‘Time for your military education!” the first man slurred jovially.

‘Better places to do so than in the far reaches of a cursed land of sand and heat!’ he complained bitterly.

The first man shrugged indifferently. ‘Just think of the whores eh? Of the exotic sort you’ve not seen in these parts!’ He laughed boisterously. ‘They’d probably be full of sand!” the other man said, who’d remained quiet until now. When upright he stood at least two heads taller than the others but had a handsome Gallic face. ‘Be like rubbing your cock on a limestone wall!’ he laughed hysterically to himself. The others in their drunken state thought it hilarious too and the mood of the morose youth improved if for a moment.

‘Why worry? The war goes well from what I hear anyway, those Persian dogs retreat with their tail between their legs’ said the man’s unfortunate looking companion. ‘You wont need to lift a sword or shield’

‘Perhaps...perhaps your right but still, I could be in Rome doing as I were before, not a care in the world but now my father suddenly shows an interest after not given the slightest damn after sending me to Rome.”

‘Dont go then!’ rasped the short man.

‘Maximus will drag me by the hair through the ocean and the desert to get me there if he had to’ moaned the young man.

‘Mmmm, best not be angering Maximus then with acts of defiance’ the short man agreed.

The youth looked about the tavern, saw several men looking at him turn their heads away but gave it no thought. ‘Friends, I think I am going to call it a night, before Maximus comes looking for me’

‘What? So early? Nothing has happened yet!’ moaned a companion. The young man simply shrugged and stood up. ‘There is nothing stopping you lot from enjoying the finest delights of Tarentum’ He swayed slightly as he rose, the sweet wine having had its effect upon him. ‘Good evening to you’. He walked slowly away from his friends, who just let him go about his way and they continued their liberal wine consumption. He exited the popina into the hot Tarentum night that refused to offer any relief from the days terrible assault of heat. Two men also followed him from the popina, eyes upon him keenly lest he slip away into the night. They waited until they had moved well away from the drinking den and into a warren of alleys and dirty narrow streets before they pounced.

‘Where you going boy? Bit early to call it a night eh?’ one of the men rasped. Despite his inebriated state, the boy was startled into alertness and his heart begun racing as he turned to confront the voice. ‘Wh-what do you want?” he stammered in a half squeak, suddenly realizing he was in a world of trouble and had found himself in a situation that all Romans were warned from a very young age not get into; Roman streets in the night time whilst alone. ‘All that money you got. Give it” one the men ordered. He slowly produced a knife and pointed it at their quarry. ‘Oh God no! I-I-I don't’ have anything!’ he wailed. ‘Don’t kill me!”

‘Liar!’ the robber spat. ‘We saw that pouch of yours! After this we’ll rob your friends too. Now give it and I might not stab you right here and now!’ The young man trembled and muttered under his breath a stream of frightened words, fumbling for the pouch which he threw at the feet of the men. ‘Please leave me!’ he pleaded. The men picked up the pouch and checked its weight, grinning at the tidy little pay day they had just earned. Their delight was abruptly shattered by a voice behind them.

“Best be given that back to the boy’ The voice was controlled and edged with menace. The thieves slowly turned around and were confronted by two more men who stood at least a head taller than them. The youth did not comprehend what was happening in his state of terror. ‘Yeah? Or what?’ one of the thieves sneered as they both produced knives and waved them before the men. The man who spoke looked at his companion, turned back to the thieves and sighed. Without warning he had grabbed the knife arm of one of the men fiercely and then struck him with his free hand, a blow that shattered his nose and dropped him to his knees. He dropped his knife which was kicked away. He wailed in pain. ‘You bastard! My nose!’ Blood poured from it. The other thief thought to drop his knife, knowing he was no match for these men. He tried to back away but the other man grabbed him and roughly shoved him into a wall that caused him to hit his head. The blow knocked him out cold. The man with the broken nose was allowed to scurry away.

One man walked over to the youth who looked up at the shadowy figure. He leaned down and roughly grabbed him by arm and dragged up. ‘Maesius Secundus’ he growled. ‘You have so much to learn. Your father would have had me over a slow fire if you came to harm’

Maesius realised it was Maximus. A trusted agent of his father who had collected him from Rome and brought him to Tarentum for the journey east. ‘No idea how you slipped my attention but mark my words boy it won't happen again’ he hissed. Maesus trembled from his near brush with death and at the annoyance of Maximus. ‘I thought I was going to die!’

‘If you weren’t the son of the Magister Militum then what would it matter if there was one less naive fool in the world?’ he muttered. Maesius was suitably chastened. ‘You wont tell my father?’ Maximus did not look at him as he beckoned him to follow, with the other man walking behind. ‘Not if you give me any more reason to. Time in the desert and at Tiberius Secundus’ side should hopefully toughen you up and open your eyes to the world around you and your growing responsibilities’

[Alwyn]

A welcome return for this legendary AAR, and an exciting encounter, it sounds like Maesius does have a lot to learn!

[Justinian Australis]

Hey Alwyn and thanks very much. We shall see if Maesius does take his life lessons to heart.

Just a quick update to whats happening for those reading...on the previous page, its reported that the Caledonians have landed in Alba and are fighting to reclaim the homeland...now, Dagalaifus has responded and is now prepared to attack the invaders.

Chapter CIV

The Britones Seniores had finally arrived...three cohorts all told, not as much as he would have wished but at such short and desperate notice, Dagalaifus could not be choosy about waiting times. They brought with them the scutarii., those horsemen who formed not mobile field armies but those who manned the borders and were more of a patrol force than anything like a genuine heavy cavalry unit. Again, Dagalaifus could not afford to be picky with the cavalry he got. He had received word that a certain Maximianus was on his way with additional men, those who had retired from the Roman army at some point but still loved a good scrap, but only for those willing to pay handsomely for their skills. Hang the expenses, there were invaders to be killed. Despite the desperate situation, he did not force march his army. He confidently calculated that Dal Raida would hold until he arrived. V and VI Secundae Adiutrix held the walls and though not on the same terms as the Comitatensis, the ripurian forces were capable enough and trained enough.

Dagalaifus was almost right. As he came into view of Dal Raida, afforded an almost unbroken view as he came down towards the plains, he could just make out the circumvallation of the settlement. It was no easy task, for Dal Raida was a heavily fortified settlement that sat higher than the surrounding countryside, a carefully chosen location by the Caledonians. One could see the ocean from here and a multitude of islands, with a long finger of land that seemed to reach out to the mysterious island beyond from which they came. The exploratores had been sent off earlier and had now arrived back, duly informing the Comes that the Gaels where in the final stages of launching an assault. Regrettably they had been spotted by Caledonian patrols. Dagalaifus scowled, hoping to catch the invaders between his army and the walls but it was not to be. It was not known whether the Caledonian's had any inkling on what the scouts represented but the Comes would soon find out.

Now Dagalaifus marched his forces hard and on coming across the beleaguered settlement, the Caledonians had dropped their siege equipment prior and retreated to a more defensible location. The Romans stopped only long enough to turn the siege weaponry into smouldering ash, leaving burnt rings of grass around chunks of scorched timber. Several men also were admitted to the city to converse with the garrison commander Mauricius. It would seem that they had believed the scouts represented something much bigger. They had not thought the Romans would arrive so soon but no chances were to be taken. It was a wise choice.

The Caledonian war chief had no wish to be hemmed in, trapped in an indefensible location and slaughtered wholesale. What good did a last desperate heroic stand that got them all killed do for the Pictish cause? Uuredac was a practical man. Heroism was one thing but sheer suicidal stands was another. Better stand and fight in a proper location. He was confident however, for he knew that the Roman garrison troops were just that, garrison troops, not the heavy mailed and armed men he had heard about trampling his country under foot all those years ago. Even if they were those legions of old, so what! His champions wielded fine weaponry and armour, perhaps even better than that of the Romans.

The Romans moved fast, forcing the Caledonians to react. Too late did they realise that they had been pushed into a wide open plain that sloped towards the bay by the rapidity of DagalaifusÂ’ intent. Either side were dense scrub and trees which bent and swayed in a stiff westerly. There was nowhere to go but either forward into the Romans or into the sea. One benefit though was that the Romans had shunted the Caledonians towards their boats, currently beached and in a safe location. Should the battle turn against them, escape by sea was an option where they could return to fight another day. Victory was sought but a single defeat did not mean utter ruin. There were more men ready to bring the war back to the Romans. If only they had all embarked at onceÂ…

Fiobh, the fishermen who had greeted Uuradec on his arrival, fidgeted nervously as he stood in the front row of the fianadi sleamor, the pikemen who formed the bulk of the Cierthene (Caledonian army). He had been used by the Romans in times past as part of the garrisons in the forts or settlements. It had been a long while since he grasped a pike in anger, preferring the slightly less dangerous past time of dragging nets laden with fish from a boat. It all felt familiar though.

He felt immense pride as his two sons, Breth and Talorch, too young to form any real part of the army but old enough to go to war, found a place in the dimba. Those fleet footed javelin throwers were of young men who were not ready to stand toe to toe with a determined foe but throwing a javelin in anger was better than nothing. So long as they did not get caught in the open, they would learn valuable lessons about warfare the way his people fought. Uuradec dismounted from his chariot and begun walking among the men, shouting encouragement, barking orders and berating those who appeared to be weak of constitution. He began ordering his troops into position. He tried to prevent as best as possible any flanking manoeuvres by the Romans. The dimba hid behind the line infantry, the chodaoer and the fianadi whilst the cavalry claimed the wings. Uuradec held the centre just behind the archers, covered by men wielding enormous long swords capable of cleaving a man in half. They were the champions of Caledonian warfare and could often swing the battle in their favour. Either side stood men completely naked save a large wooden shield on one arm and a sword in the other hand, covered in blue tattoos. Utterly fearless, swift and savage they were, ready to explode into action at the merest provocation and the mere sight of a naked men intent on your death was often enough to disturb the enemy.

Dagalaifus saw the Caledonians ordering their forces and smiled sardonically. Open battle, your worst nightmareÂ… His Frankish allies formed a long single line, Chattians, Salians and Ripurian alike, each in their own native attire but each carrying the same terrifying weapon of war, the frankeska. As Romans marched forward a ghastly howl erupted among the Franks, as if wolves suddenly appeared in their midst, a howl designed to upset the enemy. The deep throated howl that carried across the field, along with axes clanging on shields created a cacophony of terror. Dagalaifus even joined in the howling, so impressed by the noise created by the foederati troops.

‘Look at them standing there ready for your axes!” Dagalaifus pointed enthusiastically towards the enemy. He jumped down from his horse and ambled along the lines. ‘They thought they were clever, they thought they could outsmart Rome! They thought they had the safety of their boats to carry them away! Oh by Jupiters hairy arse how wrong they were!” He laughed riotously. ‘Watch this!”

As if on cue, thin wisps of smoke began to rise from beyond the Caledonian line. Fiobh had stood transfixed, and not a little fearful, at the howling of the Frankish infantry that he had not heard a man cry out among them, soon joined by others calling in distress. ‘The boats! The boats are burning!” Uuradec himself spun around and howled in rage. The treacherous bastards! Some men began to instinctively move towards the beach to douse the flames but it would have been a futile gesture. Men on horseback could be spotted fleeing the scene, the Roman scutarii, a hand picked group at that, who had raced on ahead at the Comes orders.

Some of those who had raced to try and save the boats received a shower of javelins for their troubles as the scutarii boldly rode close to the enemy before wheeling away as the heavy cavalry went to engage. They swung wide away from their pursuers, fleet of hooves and rejoined the Roman line. A tinge of fear gripped Uuradec. Without boats there was nowhere to escape to. If they survived the battle, they’d still be hunted all over the land with few places they could hide as there was no doubt that the Romans would pursue every last one of them until they were dead or enslaved. Uuradec looked about him, looked at the dead men with javelins protruding from them, looked at his line of troops. More than a few looked behind fearfully, particularly the young ones. It shamed him to see fear in the older warriors eyes. ‘Look forward damn you! Look forward!’ he cried out. ‘Where would you run to anyway? To the enemy is the only way!" They would have to stand and fight and prevail over their Roman host or utterly perish.

The Romans marched onward and down towards the massed Caledonian army, steadily, without remorse. The heavy infantry were then placed in front of the long line of Frankish allies, heavily armed and armoured and intimidating. The Romans drew up short before the enemy and quickly the archers were ordered to take up firing positions. Standing at the front were the naked and unshielded warriors who bore the brunt of the angry flight of missiles. On the left amongst the dimba stood both Breth and Talorc and with a mixture of excitement and anxiety, they heard the cries of Uradec for the junior warriors to advance and drive off the missile troops. Despite the encroaching anxiety, both men eagerly obeyed. As they hollered and screamed, they saw the archers begin to withdraw. They did not fall back completely and instead formed up before the lanciarii, which caused the dimba to suddenly halt. The archers then begun reloading their arrows and they realised they were easy targets for the Romans. They then turned around to reach the relative safety of the lines. Breth heard the awful twang of sinew and moments later the grotesque symphony of arrows piercing flesh. Around him and Talorc men stumbled and fell in great numbers, as the Romans did not relent in their attack. Much to his relief the Romans targeted the dimba on what was now his left. The poor dregs suffered horrendous casualties; over half of the unit had been decimated. There was no stopping for the wounded or dead; the wounded would have to make best they could.

Unnervingly the Romans ceased their attack and simply waited. Breth could then hear shouted orders and see waving flags from the signifers and finally the body of Romans moved forward. Uradec did not wait to see where they would halt. He ordered the naked warriors forward, along with several units of spearmen who could scarcely keep up with the unbridled insanity that the aumue boai possessed. Dagalaifus was forced to halt the advanced and the archers needed no encouragement to retreat behind their sturdier armoured brethren. The Caledonians quickly withdrew upon forcing the Romans to halt, who were now only several hundred yards from them. Dagalaifus then decided to taunt the Caledonians by sending the archers again forward, drawing more of the Picts to rush towards them, ignoring UradecÂ’s bellowing orders to the contrary. The Comes could see that slowly order and discipline was breaking down among them, who were unused to such tactics. Their warriors desired hand to hand combat; the Romans were not about to oblige them.

Fiobh watched with growing despair at the impetuosity of his countrymen. He was glad his sons still walked the earth as far as he was able to tell. He knew how the Romans fought. He had wished that Uradec had not allowed himself to be drawn into such a situation were the Romans would always prevail. They shouldÂ’ve scattered to the nearby hills and launched guerilla raids, the type of warfare that the Romans had never grasped. Yet here they were and the Romans seemed to have unending supplies of arrows. They still had not unleashed their deadly javelins, nor the ferocity of the franceskas. All he could see looking forward was scores of dead countrymen. He doubted now that even the bravery of Uradec and his men on chariots could do much to sway the outcome. His mind wandered into realms of fear and despair and could only imagine what his sons felt. He was yanked from that bottomless pit by the sounds of more shouted orders and eruptions of cheers and howls. The Romans now closed in.


The Frankish allies and the legions closed quickly before halting less than fifty yards from the Caledonians. The naked and screaming beserks could be clearly seen. Some lurched forward and then back to the lines before the madness of their minds took hold and they rushed towards the Franks with absolute abandon. This inspired the Caledonian cavalry to attack simultaneously, as Uradec roared his encouragements and brought himself to the thick of the action. The beserks did not get to launch themselves upon their enemy; the hideous carnage of throwing axes stopped them dead in their tracks and those that did not get hit completely lost their nerve and turned around to flee. Dagalaifus could see that his Frankish right was under pressure from the cavalry and quickly wheeled his force to support them. As they approached the cavalry suddenly broke. Dagalaifus laughed. ‘Cowards! Look at them flee back to hide under their mothers dresses! Run them down!’

On the left, unaware of this yet, DagalaifusÂ’s Sarmatian cavalry was nearly undone for their brash overconfidence. Caledonian spearmen, along with missile troops and a handful of the champions who wielded terrifying long swords boldly attacked the impetuous Sarmatians. They had believed themselves superior but the desperate enemy gave them much thought and they wisely withdrew after having suffered casualties. Elsewhere the mounted mormaers charged at the Franks again. Leading from the front, Uradec cleaved his way through several Franks. It emboldened those around him but he was abruptly halted in his merry carnage by an axe that crashed into his chest and sent him falling from his chariot. Despair hit the mormaers hard and they gave up the fight. Seeing the Caledonians turn before them sent the Franks into a frenzy who quickly charged what was left of the Caledonian forces. Madness and fear swept through the ranks; FiobhÂ’s unit was about the only group unclaimed by the temptation of flight but he saw the youngest warriors, including his sons abandon themselves to find safety.

A bizarre situation developed where the Caledonian cavalry regained their senses and returned to the fray. They galloped towards the Franks but then stopped short, as if frozen by indecision. Hurled axes soon forced them to a decision; flight. Dagalaifus and his guard came thundering to the action again. Though in his sixties, the Comes still professed a love for the chaos of battle. He had the cavalry surround the panicking Caledonians. FiobhÂ’s own band had been overcome with fear and they too ran for their lives. He could only join them and hoped they could get away to safety. The Romans were relentless as the cavalry chased anything that moved. Fiobh looked back from horseback and begun to weep, tears driven by shame of defeat and the certain loss of his sons. The remaining cavalry had helped whoever they could flee by taking on extra men. He could see the dimba been crushed beneath the Roman hooves and it was clear that both his sons were dead and the patriotic ferver that had consumed his countrymen aimed towards the restoration of his proud peoples were brutally extinguished.

[Alwyn]

This is good, I enjoyed your accounts of the units, the commanders and the experiences of individuals such as Fiobh. Dagalaifus seems to be an effective general, despite the limitations in numbers and quality of his troops.

[Johnadiw26]

I am glad this AAR is alive, welcome back

[Justinian Australis]

**For those who still venture into these parts and read this story, I apologize for the lack of updates. I inadvertently stumbled onto Crusader King 2 and got a little too carried away with the Byzantines...and may have possibly started an AAR as well. Anyway, on the with the show. I use occasional entries by a fictional historian to give readers a quick glimpse into other events across the Roman world that do not warrant inclusion into the narrative, as, well, it would become so damn wieldly and bloated.

Chapter CV

Histories by Justinianus

Excerpt taken from ‘The War against the Caledonians’

...Dagalaifus had thoroughly crushed the incursions of the Caledonians, few surviving and making their way back to their homeland across the sea. He had believed the situation saved, that the lands that the Romans now occupied to be free of strife and malcontents but perhaps his great success had clouded his ability to judge the situation with an even temperance for their were still many among the inhabitants that professed their heritage as that of the Caledonii and had been heartened at the attack upon Dal Riata, despite the crushing defeat, that perhaps the Romans were not as secure in their holdings as they had beleived and rumours of discontent and subversion begun spreading as a plague did through the dirty alleys and hovels of Rome.

Before long another band of men had risen to the north and begun raiding with impunity, destroying anything that was seen to be Roman. Incensed at this, Dagalaifus marched his entire force to them and drove them before the castra at Inchuthill. They were greatly outnumbered but showed courage to stand and die like warriors. Perhaps now realizing his folly, Dagalaifus took measures to secure the peace of the land by removing as many malcontents as could be located to other parts of the realm where they would cause no issue, the ringleaders though not allowed such magnanimity and as such were promptly executed. Additional Roman forces were dispatched to the furthest reaches to ensure that no further violence was repeated.

**There are fragments of Justinian’s writing pertaining to the sudden eruption of the Quaddi across the Danube who caused much destruction in the region before settling their rapacious gaze upon Carnuntum, whose inhabitants would have been used to having the tribes to the north casting their gaze upon the city but other the years it had stood tall as an insurmountable object that the Quadi, Vandals and lazyges had failed to penetrate. We only read of the Quaddi been driven from the walls with heavy losses after the arrival of Serrenianus and his Illyrian legions but precious little of the battle itself. However as far as the arrival of the Huns on the Danube and in large threatening numbers, Justinianus writings have survived largely intact as part of the Histories

Excerpt taken from ‘Regarding the Huns’

From the north of Hadrianopolis, east of the Carpathians, those vast unending plains had lain quiet, free of disturbance from man and beast since the days of the great march by Arcadius Corbullo, the Vicarius of Dacia who had been given emergency command of a legion to prosecute the war against the invading Goths who had attacked as far as Thessalonicae before Corbullo and with the Achaiaen Proconsul Serrenianus drove the Goths back beyond the Danube with much sweat and blood expended. Corbullo did not stop there and instead pursued them beyond the Danube, killing their King Veduc in the process and becoming known amongst the surviving Goths as the Terror of All Goths and let it be said to all that it was a reputation much deserved. He had advanced as far as Tyrus upon the coast, laying waste to all and sundry before returning to the confines of the Roman world.

Lately however it had been seen from the great castellum Phoebiana that the Huns had begun pouring into Dacia. Such hideous beasts they were to behold. I had since learned that their origins were said to be the swamps of some forsaken land where they subsequently began to wander. Of short stature and an ugly countenance they bore themselves upon sturdy horses and practices the art of war with their bow and arrows, which blanketed the skies like dark clouds. This they excelled at, woe betide to any who attempted to pursue them and their fleet of foot horses, they would thus meet their doom as their lancers crushed them under foot. It was a method of war that the Roman race had experienced in times past, notably the Parthians but the passage of time had left such lessons to the pages of history and not in the minds of men who were among the living.

The depredations of the region, such as the revolt at Hadrianopolis only recently crushed by Germanianus and lingering effects of the Gothic attacks of years past had left few men to main the forts. For these Huns they found eyes elsewhere and fresh pastures for their horses to feast upon and for riches for their riders to spirit away. Thus they attempted to assault Phoebiana so they may drive deep into Roman territory, as it was poorly garrisoned and they believed victory within easy grasp. However these marauding bands of savages had not heeded any lessons that the locals may have imparted to them, for as frantic dispatches arrived at Sirmium begging for aid, did Arcadius Corbullo drive his army eastwards, crossing over the Danube to assist. He was no fool however and had studied the methods of warfare that the various peoples beyond the defences employed, having fought against the Goths who had employed Huns in their ranks. Corbullo took the foothills of the Carpathians and goaded these Huns into attacking.

They were unawares of the reputation that Corbullo had earned and expected victory to be theirs. Corbullo did not rise to the bait that the Huns set before them, having disciplined his men to withstand the storm of arrows the Huns employed, also having positioned his men where it would reduce their effectiveness. His own missile troops did their work and caused much carnage and consternation among the Huns that several of their bands did break and flee. Corbullo carefully managed his infantry to throw their javelins only when directed. This too had the desired effect of destroying Hunnic morale. Some of their lancers engaged with the infantry line but were repulsed with great loss. Forgetting his training momentarily, Corbullo ordered his infantry to attack down hill at the disordered Huns, as did the cavalry who routed the bulk of the army. Some who had fled earlier returned to the fray and begun harassing the Romans who no longer had the advantage of terrain but skillful use of their own cavalry, combined with the infantry, corralled them like sheep and one by one drove them away. Corbullo was not without loss himself, losing an entire wing of cavalry who had dared venture too far; realising their folly too late they were shot and hacked to pieces but victory had been his very handily. Another battle was fought, this time the Huns who attacked, were more wary of Corbullo’s tactics and suffering greater losses, Corbullo defeated this army too, for now clearing the plains of the Huns, in which another large host had headed back north at the news of the heavy defeats. Corbullo thus returned to Sirmium to reprovision his forces.



Excerpt taking from the chapter ‘The Armenian Wars’

Claudius Secundus had led a large host of Armenia allies from Trapezus, having under the orders of Augustus, planned the attack in meticulous detail, to ensure that the Persians would not be able to respond effectively as they would be under assault from many directions. I cannot say that Augustus' true aim was the restoration of the Armenian crown, for the Persians had utterly vanquished its existence and claimed it as their own but perhaps would allow the Armenian’s some form of independence under Roman watch. The lands of the Armenian’s have always been a fertile ground for discontent, difficult to govern and hold and perhaps more mundane matters such as securing their northern borders were paramount concerns in Roman minds. As it were, Archaeopolis was chosen to be a fortified position in which Rome may use as an army base in which to launch further incursions into the mountains.

Archaeopolis was lightly guarded and not seen as important by the Persians, with it protected only by low walls in which Claudius’ siege weapons turned into rubble with little effort. The defenders had managed to send for help but their numbers remained insignificant to that of the Romans, whose forces consisted of Azat infantry and the cataphracts, with contingents of Alans who were simply chasing the highest bidder and had no stake in the restoration of Armenian lands to Roman rule. These hapless reinforcements were driven off with heavy losses by the mounted archers as the Romans easily breached the walls and poured into the ancient town. Its Persian governor, whose name I cannot recall, fought stoutly as his elevated position demanded, forcing some of the Armenian infantry into shameful flight but was soon enveloped from all sides. Claudius managed to halt the killing and was able to capture the Persian governor but as to his fate I cannot say for nothing else is known. Showing alacrity in religious matters Claudius demolished the temple to the Christian god, which caused great consternation among his Armenian allies and began erecting places of worship for the Roman pantheon. Only the skilled hand of diplomacy and the subtle use of threats kept the potential for rioting as just that, a potential. The new governor of Lazica began sending requests for garrison troops until such time as the people were properly accustomed to Roman governance, ever wary of Armenian proclivities for rebellion against those who sought to master them.

[Alwyn]

I like the way that you use fragments of ancient historical writing to show what's happening elsewhere in the Roman world. It sounds like Curbollo's victories were particularly important for ther future of the Roman Empire.

[Justinian Australis]

Chapter CVI Part One

Julianus had realised he had not been upon the balcony and to see Ctesiphon from a higher vantage point, as he paced his bedchambers late into the night. Though the night was usually a fount of inspiration and activity for the Emperor, this night was not for him to spend it into its depths and early morning conversations with aides or men of learning or reading through voluminous manuscripts and reports that came from all corners of the Empire. He was very tired, dull headaches plagued his waking hours ensuing irritable responses to even the most minor of issues brought before him. Enough of this prattling nonsense from the Persians he often thought, forced to intervene in matters than even his capable subordinates seemed unfit to deal with. He tried to sleep in the luxurious surroundings but that was denied him. He stood at the balcony, clutching a goblet of Assyrian wine he hoped may put his mind in a better disposition for sleep. He looked out across the city, seeing tiny pinpricks of light here and there. Even at this late hour he could hear merriment coming from his soldiers enjoying what the elaborate capital of the Persians entailed, that being wine and women; there was no satiating this lot the Emperor thought, even after the city had well and truly been placed in Roman hands and administration. They were soldiers however, their lives often short and brutal and their experiences were largely in the now. Anything that may divert their attention from the realities of their profession, anything could bring instant pleasure and gratification, was eagerly consumed. There may not be another opportunity for them to have their fill.

He could not resist but to look upwards. The skies were clear, allowing a full glimmering display of the heavens, which the Emperor drank in with his eyes, marvelling at the celestial arrangements. Somewhere out there secrets were held from Julianus, hidden behind the shimmering array of stars. One day he felt he would return to Nature and if denied answers in life about The One and existence, he would finally learn it away from his corporeal form. He had felt he had come close and had indeed gained many revelations, when he found himself before a starry realm one night as he dreamt, brought about by the immense burden of office, the trials and tribulations of civil war and strained relationships. A place where he felt the presence of mentors and critics alike, not seeing but sensing, their words transformed, soothing or harsh, into his thoughts that opened his mind to the way forward.

Anyone could have entered the chambers and begun shouting in his ear; he would have not heard them, standing transfixed before the heavenly bodies. Just as he had done so as a child, which brought about curious responses from those around him but also critical admonishments. He knew more of what surrounded him now but it was still a place of fascination and a little child like curiosity thrown into the mix. It’s immensity made him feel childlike in its presence. He looked at the moon, reminding him always of the sensation that it moved in an opposite direction to that of other heavenly bodies. Julianus knew better of course but when transfixed, it felt as if it did. It took an almighty effort to move away from esoteric meanderings and to those more mundane and immediate. He had imagined someone had entered his chambers but upon returning his thoughts back to earth, there was no one there. Only the slowly diminishing sounds of soldiers growing satisfied from their dalliances could be heard.

Would sleep come? Probably not, even after he moved on to another a goblet of wine. He looked at the correspondence but decided against opening any of it. No point in seeking out further information, for he had it all, as much was practical, following the recent meeting with his officers. No further word arrived from the Magister, nor from Nineveh. The Emperor had dealt what he had hoped to be a crippling blow to the Persians upon defeating Vayaspara and very little stirred in the East, with the Persian’s seeming to be in complete disarray and unable to mount anything more than local, chaotic and disjointed responses. He moved away from the balcony and back into the private residence and sat heavily on the bed and sighed. He reached for a manuscript that he had left there previously, held it momentarily and was about to read it when he heard an urgent knock on the double doors.

‘Come in’

One of the household guards pushed the doors open and he was greeted by the haggard features of Anatolious, the master of correspondence. It appeared he had been fortunate enough to be able to sleep unlike Julianus as he appeared to have been woken from a heavy slumber.

‘What brings you at this awful hour Anatolius?’

Anatolious barely concealed a deep yawn. ‘I bring you news from Nineveh and it is not good. The messenger that arrived had rode hard and reports that a huge Persian army is about to arrive at Nineveh to relieve the siege’

The Emperor sighed. ‘Is this the official Persian response then? Why not head to Ctesiphon?’ he queried.

‘Who can say Augustus, except that their timing is less than ideal. If the messenger is correct with his estimations then they should be upon Nineveh within a day or so. Castinus Laelius is….was, by all reports, preparing for a major assault on the city for it appears discontent is rife within’

‘Heavens above! He is not to assault the city. Get that man back to Nineveh and tell Castinus, should he deal with this attack, no he will deal with it….to starve the city into surrender! We cannot afford to waste men on storming such a place. Many will die!’ the Emperor fumed. Had not his orders reached the young Roman general? Was he driven by the sheer glory of capturing such a prize as Nineveh? It would almost be as crushing a blow to the Persians, so the thinking went, to capture such an important defensive position but Roman soldiers were a prized commodity. The advance had gone perfectly so far but as always he could do with more men. New cohorts of the Comitatensis at various important legionary bases were raised, as were trustworthy allies among the Ghassanids but one could always do with more men, just in case.

‘As you wish Augustus. What will you do?'

He sighed heavily. ‘It is too late to do anything from here. Just inform Avidius and have him meet me at dawn. It will be up to Castinus and Aurelianus to uphold Roman virtues Anatolius. I remain but a spectator but one who relies on others to tell him what is happening. I wish I could be at many places at once’

‘As you wish Augustus. You should sleep, well...at least try’ he said gently. Julianus merely nodded and waved off the master of correspondence. Sleep, what in the name of the gods, is sleep? He moaned as it refused to embrace him.

[Alwyn]

The ageing Emperor's wonder at the night sky and his memory of similar moments as a child is an evocative moment. The contrast between the Emperor's desire not to waste men and the (apparent) hopes of the young general for a quick, glorious victory works well too - as well as the difficulty of an Emperor trying to run a campaign based on the limited information he has.

[Justinian Australis]

Chapter CVII Part 2

Hundreds of miles to the north west, however, Castinus Laelius had no problems sleeping. No matter the time of day or the stresses of it, Castinus would fall asleep easily and would wake refreshed and buoyant, much to the annoyance of others around him. It made the men beneath his command resent his constantly attentive nature and vigorous approach to anything. Though young he was a fine general and had demonstrated it, which garnered him grudging respect from his subordinates. They at least knew he left nothing to chance when it came to their care and wellbeing, never forgetting that he himself was a soldier and knew of their harsh and brutal life. It did not mean he was soft and loose of discipline, he just knew how to look after his men. Images of victory drifted through his dream state, the walls of Nineveh falling before his siege weapons, his men breaching the ruins to claim the city and all of its riches. The dream state was intruded by voices, urgent voices, telling him to wake. Reluctantly his mind turned to the intrusions and bleary eyed and still clutched by the remnants of sleep, he sat up in his cot.

‘What, what is it?’ he rasped. ‘Mardonius? Is that you?’

‘Yes Comes. You must get up. Our forward scouts have reported a massive Persian host closing quickly upon us’

This jolted Castinus from the last vestiges of sleep. ‘How many and where?’

‘How many I do not know but they are due east. They will be here just after sunrise’ he reported.

‘How did they get so close before being spotted?’ he asked, a little angry now. Mardonius could only shrug helplessly. ‘They somehow crossed the river unseen and did so quickly’

Castinus shook his head and reached for some water. ‘Go, see the men roused and ready to advance. Send word to Aurelianus as well and get him here and his men post haste!’

Mardonius, Castinus’ cheif legatus, left without further word and he soon heard shouted voices and the ringing of bells sounding the alarm across the encampment. He hoped that Kambyses, the satrap of Nineveh, would not take the advantage to sally forth at the arrival of his brethren. The additional numbers of Aurelianus would probably see to it that he remained in place, watching and waiting at the outcome. As dawn approached, the frenzied activity of the Romans did not go unnoticed upon the battlements. Eyes turned to the east soon spotted a huge host of Persians sending up spires of dust into the remnants of night. In the sunlight that would soon bathe the plains of Nineveh, the gleam of the mail of the Savaran and their brightly coloured riders would become obvious.

Roman observers noted that the advancing Persians were numerous in cavalry, the heavy Savaran that the Persians employed. Among them were the Parsi, one of the great clans that held a special position in the spah and provided the shock cavalry. They were to be feared for they could cause terrible carnage. Castinus himself was not lacking in the cavalry department, for he had recruited among his ranks men who could ride in that fashion, mostly Persian defecters. Aurelianus himself had one wing of the cataphractarii but had lesser armoured wings of the Promoti who were still experienced men nonetheless.

As the Romans poured onto the fields in formation, thanks to the marvellous discipline instilled in them, the Persian host halted a mile from their position and waited. Winds from the east had slowly begun to pick up and begun pushing the dust towards the Roman position. It was not heavy and all encompassing but enough to cause a small degree of consternation in Castinus for the time that it would obscure the field, for the Persians could advance quickly and attack. Castinus thought he could hear the rumbling of hooves getting closer but it was merely the cavalry positioning itself. To the Comes, all he could now hear was the wind rustling a strand of trees to the left of him and sounds of agitated horses and murmurs amongst his men. He looked off to the left and could see Nineveh from his vantage point. The Romans had met the Persians with the advantage of higher terrain, as the Persians moved through a wide valley. They were confident there was no possibility of ambush for the hills were low and devoid of concealing plant life. They had stretched their line quite thin hoping they would encircle them. The Comes hastily moved his forces further up the ridge behind him as he noticed the Ghassanid light cavalry peel away to his left and right and shadow his cavalry.

Upon this ridge he noticed that this was not the only Persian force they’d be fighting this day. To his right he observed a smaller force approaching slowly and among them the unmistakable shape of elephants. Coming from Nineveh was another force, which had to have been Kambyses.

‘We appear to have extra visitors’ mused Castinus.

‘Any additional orders sir?’ queried Mardonius.

‘No, remain as is. We have the advantage of terrain. Their horse will tire just trying to reach us’

‘The elephants sir?’

‘I see only two’ he replied indifferently. ‘Kambyses risks much today Mardonius’ His legate nodded in agreement. ‘But we must not underestimate them, for he could be the difference for them today, such is his skill in battle. Return to your position Mardonius’

If Castinus thought that the difficulties of the terrain would slow the Persians down, he was wrong. They came towards him quickly and he watched with some degree of fascination the ponderous Savaran close on his men, leaving the infantry trailing in their wake. Among the Joviani and Herculiani seniores that comprised his centre, he could hear the officers shouting, both threatening and encouraging their men to hold firm as contact became inevitable. There was the clash of iron horsemen and shielded men that was unmistakable in its sound. The surge uphill had slowed the cavalry somewhat as the infantry braced themselves for the hit. The Savaran swung their axes and clubs at the Romans in anger. The Roman infantry held firm, not giving an inch and after a period of to and fro, began pushing the tiring cavalry inexorably down the slope. Missiles surged over their heads as the Syrian archers and slingers did their business.

Armenian levies came upon the Roman right and were no match for their counterparts. It seemed only in the briefest amount of time that they soon turned around, having suffered much carnage, to flee the battlefield. They hastily darted through and around the grivpanvar and the Parsi heavy cavalry, unnerved at how easily the infantry had been repulsed. Castinus rode over to the right to see the early rout. His line of reserves waited patiently for combat, hoping for a slice of it but it appeared as if they may not be needed. Several centuries of the infantry attempted pursuit but quick orders pulled them up before they completely exposed the line.

The left side of the Persian line soon routed at the sight of their comrades losing heart. The Romans poured missiles into their fleeing flanks. Again the Romans desired pursuit but the firm orders of their general stayed their eagerness. It was turning into a bloody mess, the Roman left and right cavalry wings having been thrown into the fray. Those initial routing Persians soon found courage as Kambyses drew close to the action. Heartened by the arrival of the famed commander, they returned to the action. The reinforcements on the right threw themselves at the Roman right flank with the Roman heavy cavalry holding them at bay. A unit of hired Persian infantry were pushed into the mass of fighting men to reinforce the line.

A courageous group of Persian cavalry skirted the chaos and began attacking the Syrian missile troops. Castinus himself rode his guard towards them before any more damage could be done. More instances of Persian cavalry breaking through the lines occurred with soon the reserves having to protect the artillery with additional Persians attacking the Roman missile troops. What had been an ordered line disintegrated into a number of chaotic battle zones. On the far right, the Persians had been thrown back with catastrophic losses, though a small group fought on. The Persians kept attacking at what was left of the centre.

Roman casualties slowly mounted, though as far as Castinus could tell, at least half of the Persians had been killed but they still fought on obstinately, urged on by Kambyses. As the day wore on, the battle ground down into a stalemate. Even with Kambyses surrounded on all sides by Romans, the Persians kept fighting, the garrison of Nineveh showing much courage and bravery that impressed even Castinus. The far right of the Persian attack had finally been repulsed and sent scattering across the field, so he brought what remained of his men there and threw them into the maw of steel and flesh. ‘One more great effort, men of Rome! One more and we will rout them!’ Castinus encouraged loudly. He knew his men were utterly exhausted. The invaders had been no pushovers. He fielded ongoing reports from his junior legates and, having done some quick mental arithmetic, had worked out he had nearly a quarter of his men either dead or seriously wounded.

The extra men thrown into the fray by Castinus started to take its toll; even the famed guard of Kambyses began to waver in the face of angry Roman determination. Completely and utterly surrounded, Kambyses was brought down by a savage thrust of a legionary's spear, piercing through his back. He fell from the horse dead and all resolve of the Persians broke, turning tail and fleeing as best they could from the field. Castinus was in no mind for leniency. Having been wounded and losing three quarters of his own guard, he opted for total destruction. He paid particular attention to several units of Roman deserters who formed part of the missile and light infantry. He captured all of those who fled and later made a grisly example of them from the walls of Nineveh. At least a hundred corpses were left to hang from the walls, at the mercy of the elements and hungry scavengers.

Upon conclusion of the battle, the Romans had lost one quarter of its forces. His heavy cavalry had taken heavy losses, with few recovering enough to be able to ride again, unlike his heavy infantry who at least half were able to return to service. Aurelianus had not made the battle, not that Castinus had needed his services but he did wonder at his absence. Later he would find out; he too had been attacked by the Sassanids in what was a coordinated move. As he was engaging Kambyses and the reinforcements, to the north and by the banks of the Tigris Aurelianus had barely made it three miles before he was checked by an additional two forces. They had attacked in the early hours of the morning, with torches still required for illumination. A Persian noble by the name of Dayotan had led the attack. They had provided strong resistance but ultimately the Romans prevailed and routed the attackers.

[Alwyn]

Welcome back! The arrival of the Persian army is well done and your writing makes the battle exciting - the attack by the Persian cavalry on the Syrian missle troops looks like a dangerous moment. I wonder if the victors of these battles will be able to take advantage of their victories, considering the losses they suffered.

[Justinian Australis]

**Thanks Alwyn. Well, I would have been able to say what the Romans would've gotten up to after the battles at Nineveh but unfortunately I have to go through and play the battles again, among a few others, as I had to reinstall the whole damn game after it refused to run in Steam. I had all the saves but somewhere, somehow, every one except for the quicksave (the one right before I clicked to end the turn....) disappeared into the void and I am left with the chore of taking on the Persians again. I have one more update written before I have to go back to the drawing board to continue the narrative. This may possibly take a bit as I venture off on long service leave for a few weeks at the start of next month but considering this has gone long stretches without been updated then it doesn't matter

Chapter CVIII

It was unbefitting conduct Coriolanus Phocas could admit but the law regarding breakaway provinces was clear; they must be punished severely and brought back under the Imperial banner. This Coriolanus Phocas had done with ease, with the islands of Sardinia and Corsica. They had existed outside the Imperial domain for at least ten years since the civil war began, happy to administer themselves in lieu of any Imperial governors. What had happened after however was rather unbecoming; a general slaughter of as many people in Caralis as Phocas could lay his hands on. His hired thugs, men who once marched under the banner of Rome and now marched to the highest bidder, ran amok and gathered all and sundry and subjected them to unspeakable atrocities.

Upon the shores many had fled to but were cornered and subsequently butchered. Their corpses littered the sands and blood seeped into the white coarse grains. The waves lapped at the bodies as if trying to drag the them away and rescue them from their torment. A group of men still lived and one was dressed more imperiously than the others. Servianus was his name. To all intents and purposes, he could be regarded as Augustus, having ruled over the two islands. He was sixty four and the former Dux of Campania who had fled to the islands upon the advance of the Emperor. He had hoped, rather irrationally, that he would be allowed to continue on ruling the island while he lived and then it passing back into the Imperial fold on his death. However the days of client kingdoms had long since passed, the days of Palmyra but a distant and foggy memory. After all, it was a Roman province and such arrangements were unacceptable.

He did not plead or beg. His fate was his to accept and deal with it, reconciling himself to a journey into the afterlife. “Thank you Servianus for administering Sardinia and Corsica so wisely in the absence of Rome” Phocas said with a sarcastic flourish “Yet you must know what awaits you for severing all Roman authority and presuming so arrogantly that you may do as you please” Servianus ignored the gaze of Phocas, instead casting his own gaze upon the still and utterly blue waters of the ocean. Birds in the distance, gulls at that, circled above a commotion on the water. Corralled bait fish were been decimated by unseen predators and the noisy birds feasted on the carnage. Arrogance… he smirked inwardly. Phocas was the epitome of arrogance Servianus thought. He had heard the tales of his blustering ways, how the success against the Franks and Saxons had inflated his own self worth and led to certain ideas that others may not be happy with.

Phocas turned around to follow Servianus’ gaze and observed the play of life and death on the ocean. Phocas laughed. ‘How appropriate for the occasion. It appears that the Lord has a sense of humour. I would say that you and your underlings are the fish and I am the predator. My men are like the ravenous gulls feeding on the scraps of death’ He thought himself quite clever and those with him laughed along. ‘Don’t worry Servianus, your family will be well cared for. Your own personal fortune will go some way to alleviating the debts imposed by a triumph. Not all the way but it’s a start” Phocas then hardened and looked at Bossianus. He simply nodded. Bossianus grunted at a group of men bearing swords. They stepped forward, grabbed each man by the hair. Their heads were crudely yanked back and short swords swiftly drawn across their throats, adding to the blood already soaking the beach. Phocas watched, somewhat uneasily as the men died in gasping bloodied agony, uselessly clutching their gaping wounds, for a slit throat of another man caused him discomfort. The sounds of burbling blood, the gasping and the wide horrified eyes of the dying mixed with the distant screeches of the ravenous gulls and the splashing of hunted baitfish caused Phocas to wince inwardly

Phocas turned away from the grisly scene, having witnessed enough blood and death of other Romans to last him a lifetime. They were traitors he thought to himself, as a tiny part of his conscious begun to lecture him for his hubris, his arrogance, his carelessness, the deaths of so many Romans to lawless mercenaries who didn’t give a damn about anything other than coming away laden with spoils. That voice sounded distinctly like the dead governor before him. Where is your Christian compassion?’ the voiced asked accusingly, the screeching of starving gulls adding to his annoyance of his suddenly piqued subconscious. Where was the Emperor’s compassion at Antioch? He fired back. Damn you, all I do is for the Empire, for the greatness that is Rome. The accusing voice within fell silent. He was troubled. He looked around and spotted a man standing behind the group of soldiers who stood by himself, a dispassionate observer.

‘You shall be rewarded for your assistance Leontius Classicus” Phocas announced to his new ally that had assisted in the reclamation of Sardinia and Corsica. Leo bowed submissively, the thirty year old having resided in Corsica for the last few years as life quietly passed by in these seemingly forgotten parts of the Empire, unattended to by the Augustus or anyone of importance. The arrival of Phocas with his army had been time perfectly. Desperate to break free of the monotony of Caralis, he took his chance and managed to ingratiate himself into the Phokade camp, providing assistance for a man where money was no object but was gratefully received nonetheless. He offered his own retinue and was able to open the gates at the right time and had rounded up all the important officials for Phocas to deal with.

‘I only wish to serve Caesar but if I may ask, what will you be rewarding myself with? Leontius ventured without a shred of humility.

‘The hand of my daughter Pompeiea in marriage, Leontius. I will welcome you into my family as a son” It did not matter that she was just a girl of thirteen, she was Phocas’ to marry to whom Caesar wished. Leo would be more than useful for Phocas. For Leo, ties to such a wealthy and powerful man could open many doors to power and wealth. Leontius bowed deeply at Phocas and expressed his gratitude, Phocas turned back to the ocean, ignoring the bodies before him and casually taking in the expanses of the ocean. Leo stared at the back of Phocas’ head intently, all manner of thoughts filling his head. With their deaths, not one rebellious province remained outside of the control of Rome. Dimiddi in that unwanted deserted wasteland in the far south east of Africa didn’t count, though it was once ruled albeit briefly by the Romans, for it was a pointless exercise in madness to maintain the old Berber capital. Phocas stepped over the bodies and turned his thoughts to the Triumph that was been prepared in Rome in his absence.

[Alwyn]

I'm sorry to hear about the loss of your saved games. Phocas is an interesting character - a ruthless one, yet there is that little voice of his conscience.

[Justinian Australis]

Chapter CIX

Fourteen years past had Rome last seen anything this grand. Constantius II had entered Rome in 357 AD in an adventus, several years before Julianus would defeat him in battle near Corinth. The old men of the city who could recall, among the Senators and the shop keepers and the mule drivers and city guard would remember a spectacular sight. A solemn one but spectacular one nonetheless. A golden chariot bore the Emperor through its streets, flanked by the intimidating clibinarii. It was hard to tell where the horse started and the steel ended. Rows of orderly infantry, among them the jovii and the hercules legions marched in time towards the senate house. It would have impressed the unsure that Constantius II was in charge and that no pretender could stand before him. The events in the coming years would completely challenge that projection.

The bored, the curious, the excited and everyone in between gathered in tight throngs of humanity who massed along the Via Sacra from the Capitoline Hill down to the Forum and onto the Coliseum. A greater body of humanity milled about among Forum and the great entertainment precinct, more excited for the games and races that had been promised as part of the triumph of Corialanus Phocas. Phocas had dipped into the pages of history for inspiration, for a triumph had not been held in Rome since the victories of Diocletian and Maximianus, sixty eight years ago. Only the oldest who had the good (or bad) fortune to have lived so long could recall it. Phocas’ triumph was unusual, for it had been the sole preserve of the Emperor but here the Caesar was granted his triumph for his victories against the Franks but pointedly forbidden from bearing the cognomen Germanicus for it was the Augustus’ to claim, among that of Allamanicus, Gothicus and Parthicus. That and Phocas had to pay for it from his own purse. The financial costs stung Phocas hard but he had gained a considerable fortune from the plunder of Frankia and other pursuits, his abilities as an administrator saw him skim revenue from the taxation of Roman citizens wherever he went and of course the unseemly ravaging of Sardinia and Corsica.

Phocas rode resplendent in his golden chariot pulled by two magnificent Arabian mares. Standing before him in his chariot were his two sons Nepotianus and Sextus, both ten and seven. The blonde curly headed boys were the epitome of handsome young boys but those who knew them knew them as detestable little reprobates who hated one another intensely, even worse than Caracalla and Geta had. For now though they were overawed by the sheer spectacle of the event. Behind them in a lesser chariot where his wife Constantia and her daughter Pompeia. Her future husband did not warrant a place directly within the entourage, instead, riding on a horse with a number of other retainers, Leontius Classic was left cooly regarding the back of Phocas’ head. Ahead of the chariots and taking pride of place at the front of the joviani and herculiani where detachments from the Legio Flavia Victrix Constantina and of the Lanciarii Gallicani who were in ceremonial attire, helmets and shields radiant in the sun. No doubt they were pleased to be away from the frontiers and enjoying the occasion and the trappings of civilized life instead of suffering long moments of monotony punctuated by brief flashes of sheer terror on the battlefield.

Behind him, past the retinue riding behind, were ragged and miserable men on foot, chained about the neck. They were strange and frightening to behold for the average Roman citizen, men who inhabited the nightmares of children and soldiers who were renowned for their battle lust, their bravery and honour among their kin but lambasted as uncivilized, barbaric and unworthy by Roman propaganda. They were Frankish prisoners, as well those among the luthungi and Cherusci and other numerous tribes that Rome had beat down and subjugated and they numbered in the hundreds. Phocas had taken many more and had them sold off into slavery without another thought to fuel the industry of Empire. These unfortunate wretches too would end up in the slave markets as well, their final destinations unknown but an unhappy ending awaited them no doubt. Phocas’ ending however, had yet to be written. He was not blind as to the optics; allowed by the Emperor to have his triumph but anything else was forbidden and that the Emperor even so very far away watched him closely. For the visitations of the Imperial agents many months back whilst still in the north had demonstrated to him that the arm of the Emperor was long indeed. He had no desire to stand forth and attempt to cast aside the Emperor for all intents and purposes, he ruled as one in the West while Julianus ventured into the Persian empire. He looked at his sons; everything from here out was for them. He did not doubt however that it could all fall apart and that Julianus would decide that he no more held a place as Caesar. He had to be careful with his footsteps, had to make the Emperor believe that he was still loyal to him but quietly offered a prayer to God that his plans would hold. The long game would be worth it if the Almighty deemed it to be acceptable.

Phocas and the procession finally came upon the Senate house, where the same men that had attempted to stand before him but in the end capitulated, watched on with a mixture of concern and dread. They as a group were pleased that Augustus had taken out of their hands the responsibility of allowing Caesar this triumph but still did not like or approve of what they witnessed. The bluster and threats of Phocas had deeply unnerved them. They knew their place in the Roman world, an illustrious body but without any power, with no recourse against the whims of whoever was Emperor. An Emperor who though Pagan had never deigned to set foot in the ancient city but had allowed their existence and provided at least for the preservation and upkeep of important temples and institutions. Marcellus Pulcher, the most respected and revered of Senators among them, welcomed Phocas into the chambers and onto the floor. This time, mindful of the last time that his men had threatened bloody massacre within the Senate house built by Julius Caesar, Phocas had his men unarmed and they stood behind him as he took the middle of the floor.

All those seated arose, with Pulcher having come before Phocas at the platform that beheld a simple seat, that had in times past seated those who courted the Senate for their approval. It had been empty for many years. ‘Corialanus Phocas Ceasar, we welcome you within these hallowed walls. You bring fame and prestige to all of Rome, as demonstrated by your triumph’ Pulcher intoned impassively. Phocas stood rigidly, though thinking the Senate as irrelevant but he still courted their support, for then at least the people of Rome would be behind Phocas if he had the proper support from and the respect for, of the venerable institution which still meant something to people in this part of the world. Phocas was pleased that this time things proceeded in a far more civil and courteous manner.

‘It is my honour to induct you to be as one of us, a Senator of Rome!’ Pulcher stood aside and gestured to Phocas to take his place in the chair, which he dutifully did. He gestured for his two sons to stand beside him. Among the gathered men, polite applause rippled throughout the congregation. Those who had stood against prior kept their words of disagreement sealed or chose not to be present. Phocas waved the gathering to silence. ‘You honour me with a place within your hallowed walls. You shall be rewarded for your generosity. I shall see to it personally that Rome will return to her glory days, no longer considered irrelevant and your privileges of old shall be reinstated!” There was additional applause, some looks of surprise and a few audible gasps. What those privileges would be, Phocas did not elaborate. There where men who had been impressed by his promises, though vague, gathered around him, shaking hands and attempting to ingratiate themselves with Phocas, with the threats of the last meeting in their mind who had nothing more than self preservation in mind. There were others still far less impressed by what they saw. They knew Phocas to be a greedy, scheming man who despite having made vocal his loyalties to Augustus, was anything but and servicing his own ends where what matters. They arose and left the Senate house, muttering amongst themselves at the ruin they were sure was to come