September – December 476
Despite the relative ease of taking over the rulership of Italia and the avoidance of any major transitions in Roman government and society, Odoacer was immediately beset by many concerns. Externally, there were the many tribal neighbors to contend with. The Vandal Kingdom had a history of raiding southern Italy from their territories in Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica. Another threat was the Visigoths to the north and west. Early tidings came in late 476, when King Euric began making noises about the status of Provence. Having originally ceded this region to Julius Nepos in 475 – in exchange for full independence, Euric now saw an opportunity to once again press this claim, particularly with Odoacer being new to rule in the absence of the Western emperors. When the Visigoths threatened war, Odoacer, who had enough troubles on other fronts, backed down and formally ceded Provence back to the Visigoth Kingdom.
Another threat came from the east, where the Ostrogoths, under Theodoric Strabo, were eyeing the virtually unprotected lands of the upper Dravus. Though Roman garrisons of limitanei, forgotten and unpaid, still lingered. There were no armies in the region large enough to deter the Ostrogoths. Unlike Provence, however, Odoacer had no intention of ceding this region and war soon broke out mere months after the fall of Augustulus. Ostrogoth armies began to pour into the Dravus valley, aiming for the strategic settlement at Aguntum. Beleaguered, Odoacer had to act quickly to raise forces to fight Strabo.
The Ostrogoths moved quickly to take advantage of the discord in Italia
Across the Adriatic, there was the ever-present opposition of Julius Nepos who, with Romulus Augustulus now fallen from power, saw his own opportunity to press his imperial claims. Late in the year he sent a message to his kinsman, the Emperor Zeno in Constantinople, who had conferred the dignity of Patrician on Odoacer and had received the western imperial regalia. Though he officially backed Nepos, Zeno would not provide military support nor did he send the regalia. For Odoacer’s part, coins issued from the Imperial mints at Mediolanum and Ravenna bore the image of Nepos, giving nominal recognition of the ‘emperor’. No tangible steps, however, were initiated. This satisfied Zeno and Odoacer, and Nepos was left to plead and plot.
Internally, Odoacer was careful not to offend any of the local powers and administrators on the peninsula, in order to avoid any discontent. In particular, this meant a certain respect for the prestige of the Church in Rome and its Bishop, Simplicius. The Roman Bishops enjoyed and diligently maintained a superior prestige and dignity amongst the various patriarchs of the Church. Since the Council of Chalcedon in 451, the Roman Bishops or Popes, titled the ‘vicar of Peter’, were embroiled in the Monophysite controversy. In addition, the Bishops in Constantinople continued to press their rights to equal prestige with Rome, which had been granted at Chalcedon, yet which Simplicius vigorously opposed. Odoacer distanced himself from these controversies and left the administration of Rome primarily in the Bishop’s hands. The Imperial Senate, which continued to decline in importance, was allowed to persist, though its advisory powers grew less and less. Beyond these local institutions, there did not seem to be any internal threat to Odoacer’s position as his first years in power progressed.
They leaned against the cool stone walls, enjoying the brief respite from the late summer heat. The corner also allowed them to escape the crowds of hawkers and citizens who bustled through the main passages of what had once been a magnificent edifice – the
Trajaneum, Trajan’s market. Though the structure itself still stood, Remus noted glumly how few of the stalls were properly utilized. Many times they had to expel poorer residents who had sought shelter here, the forgotten
humiliores. It was like this all over the city, he thought, as he enjoyed the chance to take some of the pressure off his weary feet. Around them they could hear the shouted languages of a truly imperial market, though less Latin and Greek and far more guttural languages than before, Remus sensed.
Since their return from the north, the field units had been swiftly folded into garrison duty, Remus’ own veteran cavalry unit now keeping an eye on the markets of Rome, their horses useless to them. In fact, their mounts had been one of the first things to be taken from them, given to Odoacer’s household cavalry units and were no doubt dying now in the war against the Goths.
”You think Aguntum’s still holding out?” he thought idly, coughing as he did so. The stale air of the market, even less crowded than in its prime, was enough to bother him. Around them the noisy reverberations of voices and footsteps echoed. Odors of exotic foods and crafts drifted past, a musty queasy atmosphere. The midday sun sent beams of light through windows and shrewdly placed openings in the ceiling, which served to keep the narrow passages lit. The occasional torch on the walls added their own glow to the interior.
Modestus didn’t affect to notice his words. He continued stomping his foot on the ground after another of Rome’s spurious rodents.
”Who knows? Strabo’s a pig and worse in the field I’m sure. Whether Odie has enough sense in his head to beat him? The Gods know, I don’t.”
Remus smirked.
”I thought you didn’t believe in the gods?”
Modestus replied with a barking laugh.
”Well, God then. Whatever the powers want me to believe, that’s fine with me. Gods, God, Goddess, it makes no difference. I like to keep my head firmly fixed to the rest of me.”
Remus smiled and glanced around the corner to watch a pair of old ladies wander towards some of the nearer shops. Dismissing them as any trouble, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
”I hear we’re going into the field soon,” Modestus remarked innocently. The big man’s voice couldn’t help but boom out into the narrow corridors. No doubt if there was a Goth spy, Remus thought, he’d know everything before long. Remus said nothing, pursing his lips and keeping his eyes shut.
Noticing this, Modestus at last turned to his friend and commander.
”Maybe we’ll get our horses back…be worthwhile hacking some Goth heads, mind you. I want to tear my hair out over this place. Boredom is a poor word for it, too...Latin. Cities are boring. It’ll be good to go out on campaign again.” This time he looked over at Remus, whose face appeared wooden. Finally, he opened his eyes.
”I won’t be joining you, Modestus.” He let the words hang, looking up to meet the man’s eyes for a moment before turning away.
Modestus simply stared at him, as if the words had washed over him.
”I figure in a few days ----“ and then he trailed off, his blonde bear bristling as he frowned. Something in the way Remus looked told him that this was serious and not some respite from war or such.
”Not joining me…what are you on about?”
Remus stood up from the wall and turned to him, mustering what control he could find over his emotions.
”I’ve resigned my service, my friend. Last week, to Karek.”
Modestus spat.
”Karek?!?” That foul beast…the man’s a Rugian, no better than the filth on the ground. Why they ever made him an officer…Curses, Remus, why’d you go and tell him? I guarantee that those who shouldn’t know, now know.” Then his frown grew into an intense expression and he took a step closer to Remus, easily towering over the sturdy yet shorter officer.
”You want to know why, I suspect?” He didn’t blink and heaved a sigh that seemed to drain emotion from him.
”It’s simple really. I no longer believe in this army. We’re commanded by idiots and barbarians.” He instantly regretted the choice of words.
Modestus put his face right next to Remus’ and glared.
”I’m a barbarian!” he said, jabbing himself hard in the chest.
”There’s no emperor anymore, nothing left to call Roman. All I’ve done since Arretium is stand here and rot. I’ve fought in several major battles, and I’m a damned good cavalry officer! I’m used like chattel. They underpay me, take my mount, and spit on the traditions of our unit. You were a barbarian, Modestus. But this army made you Roman.” His face was expressionless as he said this. His broad face grew taut with the intensity of his emotions. Struggling to keep them in check, he glared back at his friend. He had known just how difficult this was going to be.
Modestus scoffed, stepping back and making a show of looking around him.
”These aren’t the legions of old, you know. Caesar and his ghosts are dead. We fight and we get paid, simple as that.”
”Then surely you notice we receive only a quarter of what we once received three years ago? And fighting? Do you honestly count the vagabonds we evict from the market as worthy foes?”
Modestus frowned and looked at Remus, his face unintelligible. Behind the Germanic features and facial hair, the man was a mask.
”We’re fighting the Goths now. They’ll send us into the field for sure. Good veterans like us. I’ve already heard the rumors.”
But Remus shook his head.
”Odoacer is a fool for having left us here.”
His friend paled slightly and suddenly looked from side to side. Then he pushed Remus hard against the wall.
”Hold your tongue, man! You’re the fool, shouting out in a public market. I’m sure the man’s informants are already writing down your words. What did Karek say?”
Remus struggled to extricate himself, but Modestus was holding him firmly against the wall, the stone rubbing painfully against his shoulders.
”He said…well, he accepted. Regretfully, of course. Asked me to serve out the month.”
Modestus released him and smacked his own head.
”A fool, a fool. You’re naught but a fool. Karek is biding his time, the viper. God’s Eyes, he won’t let you go! He can’t. If you go, the rest will follow. You know how the men respect you. No. Karek is simply waiting. He’ll make a move soon. You, on the other hand, are in danger. And for the dumbest reasons I’ve heard.”
To his own surprise, Remus laughed, which helped to ease some of the tension.
”You’ve always known my mind, Modestus. Some call me antiquated, old-fashioned. Yet I am a soldier and this is no longer an army. I have to go, if just to get away from this farce.”
It was clear what Modestus felt about this, yet he said nothing, merely shaking his head weakly.
”We’re not finished with this. But our shift’s over and we need to get somewhere secure. Come on.”
Modestus turned to walk down to the nearest doorway, and Remus made to follow. They were brought up short, however, by approaching footsteps, these sounding with purpose. In moments, around the corner came three men dressed in the gray tunic of the city watch, the
urbanii. The one leading them, a pale man with a plumed helmet and smug expression, glanced quietly at the pair, his eyes gleaming.
”Good, so you’re still here. This makes things less…complicated.” He turned to his men.
”If you please, men. Decurio Remus Macrinus, you’re to come with us. After handing over your weapon, naturally.” His eyes gleamed, and Remus knew the man actually wanted a confrontation.
”What’s the meaning of this?” he barked in his best command voice. The man merely smiled, and the two guards were eyeing him intently. Occasionally they glanced over at Modestus, whose girth clearly unnerved them.
”I’m sure you know. Karek wishes to discuss the matter further. Come, come. We can be calm about this.”
Remus said nothing and simply stared at Modestus. He could see it already, in his mind, what was to come. They’d all heard the rumors, the disappearance of Pryopius, and little tolerance for outspoken officers. He had been a fool to think he could simply resign. He’d said it himself. This was no army, and there were no principles left. Remus could see what lay in front of him, if he went before Karek. Modestus must have seen it too, in his own thoughts, as his expression darkened.
”God must loathe you, dear Remus. But…” His hand suddenly flew to his belt, where he quickly grasped the hilt of his sword.
”Fleuhanan!” he bellowed, then catching his language.
”Fugi!” Run, Remus, his words echoed.
It all happened so swiftly. The pale man’s eyes widened and he swiveled towards Modestus. Every man was going for his weapon, Remus included. His view, however, was obstructed by his friend rushing forward, even before his sword was out. With a crash, he barreled into the three guards, knocking them across the room. Swords came out and soon the first blows of combat began. Remus drew his sword even as Modestus continued to shout.
”Run, you fool! There’ll be more coming. You can’t stay here! Get out of here, Remus!”
His instincts were propelling him into the melee and everything in him raged against the thought of leaving his friend. Yet the shouts echoed in his mind, which added to his inner turmoil. Modestus continued to shout, and between blows, he sent a few glares his way. Footsteps could be heard racing towards them and Remus didn’t know if they were spectators or more guards. He swore and gritted his teeth in frustration.
”Run!”
At last, he found his feet, and he turned to run, even as Modestus knocked a guard down. Sparing his friend a last glance, Remus raced to the doorway, anger and guilt washing over him as he struggled to escape.