Knights of the Western Empire

Hippo Regius, Numidia
Vandal Kingdom
Anno Domini 461



"Because of the wretched state in which Mauretania had been left by the Vandals, Majorian decided instead to land at Hippo in Numidia, which he besieged. All his plots having failed, old King Gaeseric now hoped to stave of defeat by harassing the Roman supply ships and the besieging army itself.”
-Gibbon, Decline of the Roman Empire

Titus and Majorianus were walking along the beach towards the waiting ship, alone except for the dozen or so of Scholae Palatina troops who were responsible for the Emperor’s security. In the old days they would have been called praetorians, and they still wore the same purple cloaks, but their equipment was very different – long thin spatha swords instead of short, broad gladiuses and flexible and light scale armour instead of the stiff and heavy Lorica segmentata. The Legionaries of Caesar Augustus would probably have mistaken them for barbarian nobles, and indeed some of the guardsmen were tall and fair like very few pure Romans were. On the other hand, there weren’t that many pure Romans these days. Even Aetius’s father had been a barbarian, so the guardsmen might well have been Italians, despite their appearance.

Behind them, slightly hazy in the simmering heat of Numidia, they could see the towering white walls and monumental roofs of a great city. Hippo Regius was surrounded by Roman siege works and under constant battering from Roman catapults. The mighty walls had not been well maintained by the Vandals, and were now crumbling in places. Within a week, at most, Majorianus would storm the city and move on to Carthago itself, to lay siege to the lair of King Gaeseric. But for the moment, he had time to send off the young Roman who had saved his fleet, his campaign and probably his reign with a personal farewell and a mission.

‘Are you sure your father won’t suspect anything, Titus?’ Majorianus asked.

‘He shouldn’t, Imperator. I said that I was going away to Baiae with Cassius and Camilina and wouldn’t be back for a month, but I actually never said when I was coming back. And I never made any comments about me overhearing his conversation with Ricimer, so there’s no reason why my father should suspect where I have been or what I have been doing. Ricimer won’t know that you’re aware of his treachery.’

Majorianus stopped and looked long and not entirely benevolently on the young noble. ‘How casually you lie to and betray your father, Titus. I appreciate that it is for a greater good, but still… you shouldn’t be so cavalier about it!’

Titus looked at his Emperor as if he’d been slapped. ‘Imperator! I love my father, but I love Rome more, and you’re the only hope the Empire has. You are like the old Emperors, like Trajanus or Marcus Aurelius, great and glorious…’

Majorianus made an exasperated gesture. ‘Stop that! Great and Glorious indeed! Let me tell you something about the Great and Glorious old Emperors; Trajanus, the old sodomite, never went far from his collection of pretty young boys and the great and wise Marcus Aurelius was just about the only person in the whole Empire unaware of his wife being a voracious slut and his imbecile son a gladiator’s bastard!’

Titus looked sick to his soul. ‘Please, Imperator, don’t speak like that. Whatever their faults, they WERE great men!’

‘No, Titus, Rome was great in their time, and they were just men. Nothing more, nothing less: men, with all their faults and weaknesses, doing their best for the state. So perhaps I am like them in that I do my best too, however inadequate that might be. But that does not make me Great or Glorious: you have seen that I have my faults and weaknesses too, of which taking a cup of wine or two too much when the burden of responsibility feels too heavy to bear is only one. I hope you at least can forgive me for that, even if I’m sure history will not.’

‘Imperator, please! If I said something to offend you…’

‘You’ve earned the right to offend me, Titus Aetrius, because I owe you everything, and will ask even more of you. But first, just so you know who it is you’re dealing with, let me tell you of how Ricimer and I seized power, how we disposed of the Augustus Avitus.’

‘If you please, Imperator.’ There was nothing else to say.

‘Well then, the Noble, Great and Glorious Julius Majorianus, at that time a lowly General, and his ally, our Father the Patrician Ricimer, we ambushed Emperor Avitus as he was returning to Italy, after trying to raise support for his cause in Gaul. He fled from our men to a nearby church, and claiming sanctuary there, he thought he had saved his life. Poor Avitius, how wrong he was! The Noble and Glorious Majorianus besieged the Church, preventing any food or water from reaching the Emperor. Avitus offered to surrender, even to abdicate if I just allowed him to leave unharmed, but I knew he wouldn’t keep that promise and I would never be Augustus as long as he lived.’

‘So what did you do? Did you violate the sanctuary?’ Titus asked, fearing to hear the answer.

‘Ah, certainly not! The Great and Glorious Majorianus is a good Christian, and would never profanate Holy ground. Instead, I simply kept up the siege until he died, screaming and half-crazed by thirst and hunger. Then I picked up the Imperial diadem from his emaciated body, and thus began the Glorious rule of the Great Augustus Julius Majorianus…’ The Emperor shuddered despite the oven-like heat. ‘Some times, I cannot sleep because I still hear Avitus’s screams. That’s one of many excuses I have for having a second or a third or a fourth cup.’

Titus didn’t say anything, afraid to fan the flames of Majorianus’s ferocious self-contempt. Certainly, the Emperor was very far from the noble ruler he had pictured in his dreams, the Messiah of Rome who would right every wrong and avenge the Vandal sack of the Imperial city. Titus had been but a boy at time, but he would never forget the grinning Vandal warriors helping themselves to whatever they wanted in the home of Lucius Aetrius. His beloved nanny, a lovely greek slave-girl who had been closer to Titus in most way than his aloof mother, had been among the various possessions taken onto the Vandal ships that day. Later, when his father had offered to buy her back, he had learnt that she hadn’t survived what the Vandal warriors had done to her during the passage back to Carthago. He had carried a bitter hate and thirst for revenge since that day.

When Majorianus became Emperor, having already defeated an Alemanni invasion as Magister Militium and soon thereafter a Vandal raid in Campania, a hope was lit in the hearts of many young Romans who would never forget the sack of Rome, that day of humiliation that for many had ended their carefree childhoods. Since then the new Emperor had defeated the Burgundians, Visigoths and Sueves in turn and brought most of Gallia and Hispania back under Imperial rule. Majorianus seemed invincible and when it became known that he would next try to destroy the Vandals, he became a hero for a generation of Romans.

Unfortunately, their fathers did not share their appreciation for the new Emperor. The far more practical Ricimer had been correct in his fears that Majorianus’s reforms would turn the Roman Senatorial aristocracy, on the monetary contributions of which their rule depended, against them. It was not possible to conscript very many from the rural population of Italy into the army, because it largely worked as peons on the great latifundia of the senators of Rome and Ravenna, and these senators did not want to loose the income they derived from their work. Instead they preferred to donate cash to the Imperial coffers for the raising of mercenary armies. To a great extent, these senators had also controlled the bureaucracy of taxation in the cities, which they ran with unchecked rapaciousness, leaving little for the state and more for their own pockets. To at least have some source of income independent of the goodwill of the Senators, Majorianus had cracked down on the corruption and greed of the tax collectors, and even gone so far as to forfeit all accumulated tax debt until that time, correctly realising that citizens that were in hiding to avoid being arrested for not paying impossibly high tax debts would not be working and paying any new taxes.

These reforms, however, meant less money for the senators, and they didn’t like that, not one bit. Their contributions had all but dried up, and while Majorianus was still rich with the tributes and indemnities paid by the defeated barbarian kingdoms, to be able to pay HIS barbarian mercenary armies, the Patrician Ricimer had had to come to an arrangement with the Senators. That arrangement had included, as a preliminary, the removal of Majorianus, the first step of which would be to deprive him of his reputation as a victorious commander. Then, as the Emperor returned to Italy without his own troops and Foederatii allies, he would be dealt with, much as Avitius had been.

‘Titus.’

The young Roman, deep lost in thought, returned to the here and present; a white beach in Numidia, baking under the sun of Africa and within sight of the besieged city of Hippo Regius. And face to face with the Emperor of the Romans.

‘Yes, Imperator!’

‘I have a task for you, if you will accept it. But first, tell me, do most of the sons of the senators feel like you about me?’

‘Yes, Imperator. You’re the hero of Roman youth, and more so if anything among the sons of senators and equites. You bring back the glory of Rome and… well… frankly… you piss off our fathers. That’s worth almost as much to many. Not me though!’ Titus hurriedly added, as Majorianus burst out in laughter.

‘Ah, that’s great!’ the Emperor said, wiping tears from his eyes. ‘I, the Champion of a revolt of youth! Who would’ve said it?’

Titus said nothing, but blushed with embarrassment. He liked to think the patriotic feelings of his friends were worth more than amusement, but it was always like that when you were young; nobody took you seriously. Then the Emperor did just that.

‘Titus, I’m going to have to do something about the Senators… tell me, are you a leader, or do you have friends that are? Friends that you can trust?’

‘Yes, yes and yes, Imperator. But please understand, it’s not like we discuss politics or anything, it’s just that, well, some people’ like my friends and me to some extent are more popular and set trends, like what colour the cloak should be, what chariot team to root for… you know. ’

‘Actually, I do. You’re talking about style… to be in or be last year. Fashion, if you will.’

Majorianus patted Titus on the back in a manner that was both friendly and knowing, and half led, half pushed him along towards the waiting merchant ship that would take him back to Ostia.

‘Well, my boy, you and your friends are going to start a new fad just for me…, a thing that will be all the rage in Rome for the next few months! This is what I want you to do…’​

Rome, Italia
Western Roman Empire
Anno Domini 461



There will be others to beat the breathing bronze with greater skill and grace,
So others too will draw out living faces from the marble,
Argue legal cases better, better trace the motions of the sky,
And so pronounce the cycles of the stars.
For you, O Roman, it is due to rule the peoples of your Empire.
These are your arts: to impose peace and morality,
To spare the subject and subdue the proud.
-Ovid

It all began one Saturday when Titus Aetrius showed up at the forum again after being mysteriously gone for the better part of two months. That in itself would have made him the centre of attention for at least a few minutes. Even though rumour initially had Titus gone to nowhere more dramatic than Baiae, Cassius Camilius and his sister Sosia Camillina had returned from the Campanian resort just a few days earlier, and they hadn’t seen the missing Titus, nor had he come to visit them, as he surely would have had he been there.

The attention Titus received went beyond that though; when he showed up, he came with the Flavian twins and Paulus Maximus – all very high rankers in the informal but internally all-important social hierarchy that was the microcosm of Roman Senatorial youth. What really caught the attention of every one of the young men and mostly pretty girls milling about in the cool shadows of the colonnade which framed Trajan’s forum was the fact that the four of them carried swords at their hips – something unheard of before. Swords were not for rich young nobles with social ambitions – they were for mercenary lowlife, social outcasts as far as this brat pack were concerned. And yet here were the coolest of the cool, all carrying a long blade (none of the youths could have identified the weapons as army Spathas if their lives had depended on it), on the left side in the barbarian fashion, and making no comments or giving any explanations about it!

Titus told his story about visiting some relatives in Tarraco, now that Hispania was pacified again, and then engaged in the usual inane banter, catching up about who was seeing who, where the next party would be that just HAD to be visited, which tailors were considered indispensable these days and how the chariot racing season was progressing. He couldn’t help grinning at the many stares he and his accomplices in this carefully orchestrated plot were receiving, and how many whispered comments were being exchanged when others though he wasn’t looking.

On Sunday morning, half the boys in the group carried swords too, although of the most varied kinds: most, those with insufficient social standing to do anything else than follow the lead of others wore Spathas too: those who had a more prestigious position and couldn’t just follow suit wore other kinds; the poorer had settled for antiquated short Gladiuses, others wore Macedonian Falcatas and one or two even costly Gothic Broadswords. Nevertheless, the trend was clear; a sword had suddenly become an essential accessory for the hip rich youngster. During the next week, it spread from group to group through the network of friendships and acquaintances that was the social life of young rich Romans. Titus and his co-conspirators decided it was time to move on to the next step of the plan.

They began by politely turning down invitations to Saturday afternoon activities, without giving any explanations about where they would be or what they would do. Only through the girlfriends of the Flavian twins (Titus and Paulus were currently single) did it become known that the four trendsetters would be practicing swordplay in the field beyond Porta Appia.

Thus it came as no surprise to Titus that when he and his friends began to receive instructions from the grizzled old Decurion that Majorianus had been considerate enough to ship along (with fifty other experienced soldiers for other kinds of instruction, who would reveal themselves later), a mob of their friends were watching curiously. Soon the rough old soldier was screaming instructions to dozens of young men clumsily practicing the standard forms of Roman cavalry sword instruction. Titus claimed he had hired him for the job. On Sunday, there was Church to attend to and not even these spoiled brats would have had the guts to disrespect the Sabbath enough to practice swordplay in the afternoon, but on Monday, the field, which was soon jokingly named "Field of Mars" after the place where the ancient Romans had trained and mustered their warriors, was invaded by a host of richly clad youngsters toting a variety of edged weapons. Conveniently, the single Decurion had now multiplied to a dozen former army instructors, all going under the guise of hired hands. The training sessions became customary, and since most of the young men – and even a few of the more tomboyish girls, who felt adventurous enough to participate – were learning quickly, training had its rewards. The instructors soon brought wooden practice weapons and padded pieces of protection, and delighted their pupils with arranging practice fights, far more fun than the mechanical repetition of the forms.

The more exotic choices of swords gave place to the weapon which the instructors favoured; the Spatha cleared the field of all competition and the personal style statements were made solely through the decoration and style of the sword belt. Only the gothic broadswords were kept by those few owning them since they could be used with Spatha techniques and were of better steel anyway.

As the weeks dragged on, new kinds of martial sports were introduced to keep ennui at bay: some Hunnish mercenaries gave instruction with the feared Hunnish short bow, mercilessly ridiculing the bottomless incompetence of their pupils. Needless to say, these improved quickly. Former Persian Cataphracts gave classes on how to ride and fight on horseback. Many of the sons of Senators and Equites were already accomplished riders, so these lessons soon turned quite advanced.

Titus watched the furious activity going on on the "Field of Mars" and smiled. Everything was working just as Majorianus had planned. Hundreds, if not thousands of the younger elites of Rome were being given some basic weapons training, and were having a lot of fun doing it. Their parents were intrigued, but beyond a few worried mothers admonishing their children not to hurt themselves – and inevitably, there were a few accidents, although luckily none too serious – most were happy that their spoiled brats engaged in activities more edifying than drinking, dancing or spending their gold.

Remembering his final conversation with Majorianus, Titus longed already for the next step of the plan, but feared what had made it necessary in the first place.

‘You know, even if it works, this won’t make them soldiers, Imperator.’ Titus had pointed out as he was getting ready to board the merchant, packed with old soldiers shockingly placed under his orders by the Emperor.

‘Do I, Titus!’ Majorianus had answered. ‘Do I ever! It takes a lot more than playing around with swords and bows to make a soldier. But it will save us time, and when Ricimer moves on me, time will be a very precious commodity. I’ll be back in Rome as soon as I’m done with the Vandals, and then…’

‘Then what, Imperator?’

Majorianus had already turned to leave, but looked back over his shoulder, his face grim. ‘Then, Titus Aetrius… we will have civil war.’​