The opulence of the villa was quickly becoming undone, giving way to the functionality of an army headquarters. Fine works of art and sculpture were quietly being set aside, put under guard, away from the idle hands of enterprising staff officers. Utilitarian bunks and camp beds were being squeezed into any open space to accommodate Remus’ immense combined staff. Those few servants who hadn’t run off were immediately impressed into service as cooks, groundsmen, and whatever duty soldiers could not be spared for. Remus couldn’t help but express a certain amusement at the sheer number of commanders massed in one place, each used to a certain deference from their lessers, now in close contact with those who expected deference from them in turn. Even in the midst of triumph, the political games at headquarters would never cease. If he wasn’t on the verge of laughter, he would scowl.
”Awfully nice of Romulus to leave us this fine house, general,” Classicus said, directing several
protectorii to place their bundles against a fine wooden wall to one side. The main reception room, where the refugee Imperator had once held private dinners and audiences with close friends, was now being stripped and turned into a massive planning room. Knots of officers in field uniforms were spread throughout the room, as if the entire affair was an elegant party. It reminded him of the court in Rome, complete with whispering courtiers, which made him blink, seeing how everyone in the room had so recently acclaimed him Imperator. Surely the army was slowly shifting to a courtly manner as they approached their prize. Mainly it made for an excess workload for him and his top commanders. The large numbers of local magistrates clustered on couches shoved into a far corner, the better to give them comfort and get them out of the way. The imperial senators, some of whom had trickled in during the past week, Remus had swiftly flung back to the city. If this Senatorial conspiracy was going to yield fruit, then no one would be allowed to shirk their duty. All hands would be needed.
The requests poured in, several per minute. The latest report from Claudius, including his interesting conversation with the ambassador from Constantinople. He’d have to think on that later. Reports from the Dalmatian army in Venetia, who had unceremoniously flung Theodoric out of Siscia and had recaptured portions of Norcicum and Pannonia. There were the latest tallies on acquisitions of grain, livestock, and servants impressed to serve the army’s massive logistics. And letters from anyone and everyone who considered themselves important in Italia, begging him for this or that. To give their son a high position on his staff, to send a patrol to fight local bandits or rescue their town from a Romulan garrison, and hundreds of offers to marry their daughters, which would have made him grin if the prospect hadn’t been so terrifying. Women were a foe he was fortunate enough to have had little experience with on the field of battle, save for their wailings and screams when their husbands and sons were put to the sword.
With a sigh he sat down on a proferred chair, showing one of his first expressions of gratitude for anything Romulan, enjoying the comfort of the soft cushions. It was a rare luxury for someone on constant campaign from Italia to Gaul and back.
”You may wish to get used to such comforts,” Classicus had said with a wink, reminding Remus of the soft future that many Imperators could look forward to. He grimaced and stood up, not wishing to confront that temptation just yet.
More and more human traffic bustled in and out of the rooms, couriers, parties turned away from an audience with Remus, and new arrivals seeking such a meeting. One caught Remus’ eye, primarily because the woman was leading the group, rather than trailing them. Her robes billowed matter of factly, and that and her flashing eyes were causing many a head to turn. A small boy trailed behind her and from the expression of the guard escorting her, he had been given short shrift mere moments ago. Like charging cavalry, they bore down on Remus, who found some of his amusement returning.
Classicus stepped forward to interrogate the guard and head off the party, engaging in a whispered conversation with both soldier and the woman. After a few moments of intense discussion, the general nodded and his head and turned to Remus with raised eyebrows. Leading the new arrivals forward, his eyes flickered to the empty chair, which Remus found himself occupying, still glancing from woman to boy. When was the last time a woman or boy had ever graced one of his headquarters? King Clovis’ grandson perhaps, now safely ensconced in Soissons. But a woman? He didn’t have time for this.
”General, may I present the niece of the late Senator Arcadius? This is Hesta Tiberiana and young Saturnius, her ward,” Classicus said smoothly, having sufficiently recovered from his initial speech with the woman.
Remus struggled to recall just who Arcadius was, knowing little of Senate politics since the death of Markus. He vaguely remembered Markus speaking respectfully of the old Senator, even if the two had bickered enough in their time. Perhaps that was responsible for the woman’s piercing gaze. His eyes flashed back and he was gratified to see her look away. It was a good thing to remind the Senatorial scrappers of their place. The boy continued to look curiously at him, and he did his best to ignore him.
”I have heard honorable mentions of Arcadius, which does credit to all in his family,” he said, trying to recall the platitudes that people such as these liked to hear. Already around them, a backlog of couriers and newcomers was clogging the room, waiting for Remus’ ear, some scowling openly at the impertinent girl and her party. That alone gave her an extra few minutes in Remus’ presence, the better to annoy the political types around him.
Hesta bowed politely, though her eyes kept gazing at him, refusing to stay deferent even when he stared her down. It was becoming a challenge of sorts, pointless, yet hard to resist continuing.
Classicus cleared his throat, stepping forward with a piece of paper in his hand.
”She came with this. It looks like Regulus has come through for us after all.”
Remus took the scroll and opened it to read, though he hadn’t needed to.
”He’s secured the northern gates with his men, general!” Hesta suddenly blurted out. Remus’ eyes widened for a moment and he paused his reading.
”If you send your army down to the Porta Salaria
, you can catch----“
”I have already given the commands, milady,” Remus said, his words slashing across the woman’s temerity.
”If you will excuse me, I have much to tend to. I thank you for bringing this message to my attention. Classicus?”
Understanding his role, the general swept forward to guide both woman and boy away, seeing to their needs as the latest in a batch of refugees clogging the imperial villa at Veii. Hesta looked suitably abashed, he thought, with a small smile of triumph, though hardly cowed. Woe to the next man to come across her path.
With squeals of delight, the next party swept forward to harangue him with their pleas. It would never end, he sighed, trying to stand and get away from the chaos. He called for his horse, wishing to reconniter the Aurelian Walls. Porta Salaria, indeed, he snorted to himself. As if he would only seize one gate. He would take three in the north, leaving the Porta Ostia to Claudius’s column and the Porta Latina to Viator’s men moving northwest. If this Regulus had done his part, it would be over tomorrow. His glance returned to the letter as he escaped from the room.
Amidst the haunting glow of torches, the lead soldiers in the column passed through the open gateway, giving the
primicerium a small feeling of relief which he quickly hid under his permanent scowl. From the tops of the walls, foreign faces stared down at them with a certain smugness. Whoever these fools were, they’d done their job and the western column had breached the
Porta Flaminia. Hooves came from down the road as a horseman passed through the gate and dismounted nearby. Their young officer always enjoyed a bit of flash, hopping down with the appropriate jangling of his
semispatha.
”There’s been some street fighting near the Mausoleum. Looks like the Custodiae couldn’t get anywhere near the gates in time.”
”Such a shame,” the old ranker growled. He’d wanted to put those flashy fools to the test in real combat.
”All gates seized then?”
”Yes. These friendly rebels have taken this gate, also the Porta Pincia, all the way to the Porta Salaria. Most of the Custodiae are surrounded at the old Praetorian camp, very ineffectual.”
”Sir!” There was some shouting from the far side of the gate, causing both ranker and officer to bustle their way through the crowded gate, ignoring the column’s marching to find the source of this latest disturbance.
Off to the east of the
Via Flaminia were a series of old tombs, those of the Domitia clan if he remembered. Before Constantine’s Edict, Christians used to bury their dead in crypts in this area. A small basilica had been built nearby, and it was from this building that a group of twenty or more robed figures were being escorted under guard.
”What is all this?” the officer snapped. He hated delays to the schedule. They had to push past the Campus Martius before any opposition could form.
”I protest!” one of the robed men shouted.
”Your men defile God’s house!”
With a harsh smile, the officer stared from guard to figure to church.
”Is that so? Or perhaps the house was already defiled. What do we have here, soldier?” he grunted, overriding more protests.
”Well, sir, we secured the grounds, put a guard in front, and checked inside to see if any soldiers from the garrison were hiding. Instead, we found these. Some of them look like priests, but look at the rest! No priest I know wears such fine robes,” he said, sweeping forward and pulling aside one person’s brown ribes. Underneath, the vivid blue fabric shone vibrantly. The officer and
primicerium’s eyes rose considerably.
”God’s house, you say?” he said with a growing smile.
”And which aristocrats have decided to become priests so conveniently as justice marches down the Via Flaminia?”
Before anyone else could speak, another figure threw their robes aside, and the officer found himself starting at a young man in gold-trimmed robes, eyes flashing on a bearded face. He looked familiar for surely the officer had seen him----
”On your knees in shame, fool!” the man yelled,
”that you should disrespect my mother so!”
Some of the soldiers took an instinctive step back yet when no one said a word, he continued his harangue.
”Well? Kneel, you miscreants! Your emperor commands you!”
Realization dawned at once and for a moment, the officer could feel the tug to obey but the reality of his situation quickly followed and his smiled returned.
”Ah yes, the emperor. And your mother, I presume. The army was wondering where you were spending your holiday. It is a shame that your career as a priest will have to be interrupted.” He signaled to one of the guards.
”You’ll come with us to headquarters.”
”I will do nothing by your order! I am Romulus, your Imperator!”
”You were Imperator. Prisoners do not give commands,” he said smoothly, beckoning to the guard with growing delight. He would stamp his role on this whole affair and become a general by nightfall. The escorts swept forward to gather their charges.