“This will not be the type of campaign you are used to, Imperator,” Viator said, still hunched over the campaign table. His gruff voice and bearing were evident signs that he was one of the few who could speak boldly in the emperor’s presence, at least without fear or calculation. He had earned that right with his key support and it was reflected in his strategic appointment as Dux Dalmatica.
“Sending two legions overland might seem a careful path, yet…”
“I did not say I was sending both overland, Dux,” Remus said pointedly, though with a twinkle in his right eye.
“I ordered the Third to move two days ago by way of Aquileia. I have plans for that port and it’ll do good to show the flag to the local citizens, let them know that the barbarians are truly gone. It’ll also clear a route of supply if it comes to that. The Fourth, once Claudius finishes its retraining, will embark from Ancona and Ravenna for…Salona,” he said, his finger following his train of thought on the map. Ravenna’s port, once the greatest in Hadriatic, had been largely destroyed during Claudius’ siege and was only just beginning to be repaired. Lesser points, such as Ancona, would be have to utilized.
The old Claudian army, veteran as it was, had been remodeled into the Reman mode over the past months, divided into three
multam legions: the III Calor, consisting of the oldest crack soldiers in that force, and the IV and V Italica, each approaching five thousand in number, accounting for prisoner recruits, both barbarian and Roman. There were also new drafts of young citizens just coming of age, Italia’s youngest generation being sapped for war. It was an unpopular measure, and one which he was tired of hearing about when he attended Senatorial sessions.
“Glycerius’ old stomping ground?”
“Vero,” Remus said with a raised eyebrow.
“I knew the Bishop a little. General Ovida detested his type, always plotting for his lost throne.”
“Odoacer led him into the perfect trap so I never got to know the man.” The memory made him drift into the past, to the time when yet another exiled emperor had fallen through, leaving him one last choice: the boy Romulus. What sort of man would Glycerius have been if he had managed to take the throne? He was known to be a plotter, a churchman in name only, and not much of a commander in the field. Another Romulus, then? It didn’t matter now. Fortune had made Remus take power for himself, which perhaps he should’ve done all along.
“What I meant was,” Viator cut in,
“Glycerius was an orderly exile, if too ambitious for his own good. You’ll find Salona’s port in decent condition. What of the season? Do you fear the risk?”
Dismissively, Remus paced away from the map, his boots echoing on the bare stone floor.
“Roman armies traditionally feared movement by sea, dreading the pagan gods who governed the waters. These are more enlightened times, yet the superstition lingers I’m sure. This will make a fine point and the journey across the Hadriatic is short. Besides, it will make practice for Africa.” In his mind, it was a trade off, assisting his new Roman ally with crushing what was left of the Ostrogoths in Pannonia in exchange for recapturing Africa Province. There would be even worse heat there.
“And no doubt your enemies won’t expect such a swift move,” Viator noticed shrewdly.
“You mean to go head on then? I have to admit I thought you’d strike the Danuvius and roll up the Goths steadily.” His tone seemed torn between wariness and admiration.
Remus nodded absently, already running calculations in his head, of men and materials.
“It would be the safe play, certainly. And no doubt what Theodoric expects. But he’s wanted revenge since our last clash and I intend to dangle it for him. Besides, a strike against Sirmium will end this war quickly. Then I can turn to Africa and bring this empire back into form.”
“Just so you understand this type of fighting. You won’t have the open terrain for set piece battles, Imperator. Your heavy cavalry will be too cumbersome and of little use. It’s light cavalry and if need be, the infantry when it comes to that. You’ll have to choose between quick maneuvers up mountain passes and a bludgeoning attack when facing an obstacle.”
“Is that how you and Ovida did it?” Remus had studied as much as he could of the Dalmatian defense against Ostrogoth and Roman attacks from the north and east, and had picked this general’s brain clean. Though little known outside military circles, the years of constant mountain warfare against invading armies had earned the Dalmatians a fierce reputation and grudging respect from their Italian comrades. It was primarily for this reason that the Dalmatian Legion, Viator’s own mountain troops, would never have a legion number. They would also spearhead the coming campaign.
“In reverse, yes. You’ll need the right combination of caution and decisiveness,” Viator added, his eyes studying his ruler intently, gauging whether his words would be heeded.
“At times you’ll have to attack frontally and other times avoid such a blow at all costs.” The Dux was old, though his eyes still showed some spirit. His dress was less fashionable than some of the Italian officers, practical for use in the field rather than for show. Even with his new rank, the general was used to months spent away from cities or other such luxuries. It was a perspective Remus was glad to have.
Not responding directly to the general’s pointed remarks, Remus returned to the map and stood next to Viator, keeping quiet for a time. Despite the fatigue he felt, it was invigorating to be back in the field, planning his next campaign. Mediolanum was hardly the field, of course, yet it was leagues closer to Pannonia and the Ostrogoths. And far enough away from the tendrils of Rome…and politics. Politics, his brain repeated. There was never an escape…
“If I were to sweep into the Danuvius from the west, it would take months, rolling up each fortified settlement and enemy detachment as I went. By the time I met Anastasius’ promised army, it might be at Aquincum or even Vindobona.”
“So striking Sirmium is about securing those provinces for the West?” Viator asked, frowning. They both hated the political considerations as much as the other.
“Possession is the key, Dux,” Remus agreed reluctantly.
”Sirmium is the gateway to the upper Danuvius. If I secure that early, I can give the East their victory, reclaim Noricum and Pannonia in quick succession, and it’s on to Sicily and Carthage.” Reclaiming the provinces and arriving at a permanent settlement with Anastasius would be separate matters, however.
“If Theodoric cooperates,” Viator added quietly.
“That dustup in Venetia was a scarce victory, Imperator,” he added. Remus well know this, having taken significant losses in bringing the Gothic King to bear, the first foe who had been able to slow down his heavy cavalry.
Their conversation was soon interrupted by the piercing sound of a spear slamming the stone, a
Custodiae marking the latest interruption.
“The Augusta,” he announced, his expression a mask.
Hesta swept in, her eyes alight, taking in the vast rounded chamber, completely devoid of decoration save the large wooden table with a map and two generals. Her lips curled in bemusement at the sight and quickly she approached Remus and bowed.
“My lord,” she murmured.
Remus studied his wife for a moment before glancing at Viator, who nodded in understanding, rolling up the
vellum and departing with a click of his boots and a bow. Generals weren’t bent on ceremonial. A ruler and his wife however…
He nodded to Hesta, who was a study in decorum, her robes bright yet tasteful, conformed to give an impression of control and dignity with only a hint of power.
“Wife,” he said by way of acknowledgment. He was still uneasy about her presence in Mediolanum, not because he disliked her presence – far from it sometimes – but because she undermined his ability to run his headquarters as he saw fit. This ruined city would be as far as she could go, he had made abundantly clear, and she seemed satisfied with that. Hesta had the disturbing notion that Mediolanum was an imperial city, not a military headquarters.
“The guard made an awfully loud bang, milord,” she said casually, intertwining her arm with his and gently pulling him away from the table. It was a habit, and if they rarely spoke informally, even in private, she insisted on a modicum of affection. He rarely objected anyhow.
“I thought the floor would be done this morning?”
Remus sighed and resigned himself to more domestic matters, at least for a moment. Part of him felt he owed it to her, some obligation of marriage, even if he’d rather finish his briefing with the
Dux Viator.
“They came this morning with that scarlet vessel of war,” he said wryly, thinking of the poor fools who had had to lug it into the room, only to incur the imperial wrath at interrupting more serious matters.
“I sent them away. There’s plenty of time for that after we break camp.”
“You’ll have to face such decorations when you return,” she said with a small laugh.
“It’s an inevitability you can’t escape. Of course, that isn’t the real reason I intruded so openly,” Hesta said, smirking.
“Aside from the obvious pleasure at spending a few moments with my husband, I wanted to discuss a few matters about the residence, and some of the layouts for the nearby thoroughfares…”
“Can’t it wait?” Remus growled, not wishing to be dragged into another discussion about Mediolanum’s layout. Part of the reason he had shifted his headquarters from Rome to Mediolanum was to escape the stifling grasp of domesticity. The Senate, the courtiers, the clergy, his wife, were all yapping at his heels like puppies, begging favors from their master. It was one of the aspects of power he detested the most, and why he had delegated much to those like Regulus or Selenus who prospered in such settings. The balance in the bureaucracy between Regulus and Genucius, the debate over the Lupercalia or chariot racing, the dimensions of the bedroom mosaics, all of this drove him to distraction. Mediolanum, gutted by several battles in recent decades, was essentially a giant walled encampment, with few standing structures left. Most of the remaining had been torn down when Remus led his army against one of the last Italian strongholds, breaking Odoacer’s hold in the north.
With no public baths, hardly any running water, and no theater or forum, it was a place that attracted few of the indulgent aristocrats who preferred the charms of restored Rome. Secretly, he feared that if Hesta remained and brought these amenities back to Mediolanum, the court would naturally follow, barking all the while with their latest proposals. Thus far, his only concession to civil considerations was permission to build a new church dedicated to the late Ambrose of note. Laurentius – Caelius Laurentius, who was not to be confused with Mediolanum’s own Bishop, Laurentius Litta – had dropped hints on the matter. Remus, who had come to adopt Laurentius as a kind of personal confessor and who appreciated the priest’s running interference with the rest of the clergy, granted the favor. He persuaded Regulus to loosen some funds from the Treasury with minimal fuss, and already a fine foundation had been laid. It was said to be larger than the church in Constantinople, the one in honor of Sophia. Annaeus’ reports were no doubt sparking calls to tear that one down and build an even grander
Hagia Sophia. Such was faith in competition, he mused.
Hesta, however, was another matter. She had entered his life like a maelstrom, and certainly - in private - he would admit that her curls preoccupied him from time to time. And there was something to be said for holding something soft during the dark nights. What she excelled in, however, was purpose and control. Remus had been happy to cede most of the menial tasks to her aspirations, leaving her to govern the household staff, from chamberlains to cleaning. With that auspicious beginning, she soon graduated to hearing some of the lesser pleas from those who came to beg favors from the Imperator. Dealing with the concerns of small merchants, for example, or even those citizens fortunate enough to attain an audience, was something he had little patience with. And naturally, her eyes had alighted on architecture and the other comforts of imperial life. In some ways, Remus viewed her as a partner in some of the lesser governance, somewhat aggressive with her ideas, yet companionable.
Such as now, for instance. If he wasn’t so preoccupied with the urgency of preparing his army for war, he might’ve liked to stay with her a bit longer, enjoying the feeling of arm on arm. Not now, however.
“Oh very well,” he sighed, anticipating her objections. Her smiles were always too cryptic to read, and he simply didn’t have the time.
“They can put in the grand carpet tonight, if it suits you,” he said, his eyes weary even thinking of it.
“I’m leaving for Aquileia tomorrow,” he said, as if that had been his original plan.
“You’ll be returning to Rome then?”
“Of course not,” Hesta giggled, pulling him closer.
“I have more plans for this city, dear husband. Which brings me to another question, and then I’ll let you return to your war. It concerns the Via Aemilia…”
Eagerly awaiting an update!
