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Chapter XII: The Souls of Men

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“What!?”


Vibius was astonished as Legate Ioustinos Chazanes announced he would not be part of the Italian campaign any longer. The man had always been a faithful commander, had even served as Magister Militum for some time, yet now, on the eve of the march on Piedmont, he had come to the Imperator’s tent, begging his leave to go home.


“I am sorry, Caesar, but it is so.” he bowed his head low. “Send me back to Sardinia, to ensure peace and order, as I have done until now. But do not force me to fight at the front.”

“I am surprised, Chazanes!” Vibius raised his eyebrow. “There are glories and honors to be gained on the front, and you would have me send you back to being a small regional governor?”

“It is so, Caesar.”

“And what reason have you? I would not lose a capable general for no reason other than him feeling homesick.”

“I would rather not say…” the Greek shifted on his feet, averting his gaze.

“Your Caesar commands you to.” Vibius regretted his words almost as soon as he said them, and could not believe how tartly he had spoken to a man that had never been anything less than the perfect subordinate.

“Might I speak freely, Caesar?” there was bitterness in the Legate’s voice, who was now staring at Lartius straight in the eyes.

“You may.”

“I cheered when you took Rome. I had had my fears when your uncle first openly proclaimed his faith, but in the end you both have shown you wanted the best for the Empire.” Ioustinos took a deep breath. “Yet now you burn a man to the stake after having nailed him to a cross. A man of the cloth mind you, a man of God. And you would have me march North once more? I would rather go back to Sardinia, to my beloved home which has prospered much under your Imperium. Where I can still believe you to be a good man, without having to witness the price that you pay for our well being.”


Vibius sat down. He did not know what to say. Feeling were wrestling inside his soul: part of him wanted to comfort Ioustinos, wanted to assure him that nothing had changed, and that he had but done what was required of him, but that he had not enjoyed doing it. Yet part of him wanted to scream out in anger, wanted to spit on the man who was defending his friend’s butcher. What man of the cloth? What man of god? The bishop chose to seek a warrior’s glory, chose to kill, ordered men to do the same. And paid the price for it. I killed him as I would have killed any other.


Then came a third voice. One that did not speak as confidently as the other two. It began timidly, as a child’s voice, weakly enough to be overcome by the other voices, yet as soon as Vibius heard it, it gained more and more strength, until he could hear no other. It was not anger, nor pride, it was guilt. That is not true, the little voice answered to the other two. Not as you would have killed any other, it reminded him. The cross was the cruelest punishment, yet you did not give him simply the cross. You burned the man alive, just as he was already suffering like no man should ever suffer. The punishment for apostates, a punishment the christians devised.


“You have my permission to go.” Vibius finally said, his voice little more than a whisper. “I will make sure the Senate recognizes the valor you have already show.”

“Thank you, Caesar.” Legate Chazanes beat his chest. He was uncertain the Imperator had even heard him, so lost as he was in his own thoughts.


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As Consul Iulius sneaked into the Imperator’s tent unannounced, clothed in a travel worn armor and carrying a jug of etrurian red, he found his friend slouching in his chair, gazing into the void with a dead man's eyes. He hadn't even noticed Aulus’s arrival, and sat in very same position Legate Chazanes had left him in, almost an hour earlier.


“Ave Imperator, surprise! Hey, Vibius! Are you there, old chum?” Iulius shook his friend lightly, and the Imperator blinked like a man woken from a long sleep.

“Aulus!” his voice was hoarse, and Vibius had to clear his throat before he could actually speak. “I was not expecting you so soon.”

“I rode ahead.” the Consul ad vitam eyed Vibius quizzically. “Is anything the matter? You look terrible!”

Vibius looked at the wine jug, and feigned a smile: “Better now. Etrurian?”

“Only the best!” Aulus Iulius beamed, and poured two goblets. Vibius sipped the wine slowly, still lost in thought.


“Am I a good man, Aulus?” he finally blurted out. Aulus Iulius was stunned, seeing Vibius looking at him with the eyes of a child about to break into tears.

“Where did that come from?” Aulus asked, his mouth remaining half open.

“Yesterday I was certain, and yet today I wonder, am I a good man?” Lartius himself did not know whether he was truly speaking with his friend, or merely thinking out loud. “I always thought that, all that I did, I did for Rome. That I was selflessly acting in the name of some higher calling. But is that true? Have I not in fact been simply following my own dreams, and these have, at times, brought the Roman people a modicum of benefit by mere chance?”

Aulus smiled sadly: “And what are these dreams you speak of?”

“These dreams…” Vibius pondered a moment before answering. “I dream of seeing Rome’s frontiers restored. Dream that Roman peace and Roman law might be spread far and wide.”

“And are they not the dreams of a good man?” Aulus put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. A warm summer wind flowed through the tent’s flaps.

“Ioustinos Chazanes does not seem to think so.” Vibius’s words burned hot in his throat.

“Who cares?” Aulus Iulius scoffed. “I can have the man digging ditches in the Egyptian sand with the snap of a finger.”

“And yet he is right. Does a good man persecute a people only because they do not share in his faith?”

“Have you ever?”

“How many Christians do you see in positions of power? In leading roles in the State?” the Imperator asked.

“Innokentios Toxias worships the Christ. And he is Proconsul of Macedonia and Greece!” Lartius still shook his head. “What is really troubling you, Vibius?”


Vibius took a deep breath: “Yesterday I ordered a man killed. I had him put to the cross while a fire burned beneath his feet. He was responsible for a great many Roman deaths, but that is not why I did it. I did it because I was angry. He had slain Julian, and thought the miter on his head meant I could not touch him. So I burned him, like an apostate… like they had burned cousin Lucrezia.”

“Vibius…” Aulus Iulius was at a loss for words. He had seen his share of cruelty on the battlefield, but had always been a kind soul. He swallowed hard before speaking again: “Do you want the persecution of Christians?”

“No, of course not!” the Imperator sighed. “But I am frustrated. The Gods have given us so much, why can’t our own people realize that?”

“Do you know why I chose to follow the Gods of Rome?” Aulus asked.

“Did you ever need a reason?” Vibius spat the words with more anger than he would have wanted to. “I’m sorry, Aulus… it’s been a tough day.”

“I chose to worship the Roman Gods because I recognized their power.” Aulus Iulius continued as if Vibius hadn’t interrupted him. “The Gods have given Rome it’s dignity back. I respect that, and I respect them. But for most people, Rome’s greatness changes little. They pray for peace and a good harvest, and pray to the Christ because, when those things do not come, he comforts them with promises of a golden afterlife. Those people won’t change their mind even if Rome conquers the whole world.”

“Then what is this all for? Who am I fighting for?” Vibius asked, close to tears.



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“For them.” Romylia’s escort had reached the encampment shortly after the Consul, but the Imperatrix had stopped at the tent’s entrance, not wishing to interrupt the two friends. As she stepped inside, her black curls floating through the air like a goddess’, Vibius’s face lit up, and he was, if but for a moment, freed from every preoccupation.

“Romylia.” he whispered, suddenly ashamed of the state he was in.

“You are fighting for those people, those very people who might very well never share your hopes and dreams.” she drew closer, and tenderly placed her palm on her husband’s face. Vibius took her hand and kissed it. “You fight for them because they are Roman, and you must show them that being Roman is the only thing that truly counts. Not the place where they were born, not the gods their fathers worshipped.”

“And how will I do that?” Vibius looked deep into her her dark green eyes.

“You will show them that being Roman means being at peace, and that Rome’s lands always prosper. That Rome is not simply the Legions in shining armor, or the golden Eagle on the war standards. Rome is it’s people. And they are that people.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Vibius rose to kiss his wife, as Aulus Iulius silently took his leave, closing the tent’s flaps behind him.

Romylia placed a finger on her husband’s lips: “Nothing.” she smiled. “But I wanted you. And I always get what I want.”

That night, the Imperator's thoughts were far from the troubles that harassed the souls of men.



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An interesting triptych of scenes here. I must confess I prefer the first - I found the internal thoughts very effective, and the imagery of the third voice very potent.

Don't take that to mean I didn't enjoy the other scenes though! The third caps the story very nicely indeed, smoothly. The contrast in the second scene between the despondent Vibius and ebullient Iulius is quite powerful too.
 
An interesting triptych of scenes here. I must confess I prefer the first - I found the internal thoughts very effective, and the imagery of the third voice very potent.

Don't take that to mean I didn't enjoy the other scenes though! The third caps the story very nicely indeed, smoothly. The contrast in the second scene between the despondent Vibius and ebullient Iulius is quite powerful too.

Thanks! I have been toying around with internal monologue for another project of mine, and I guess this is the bleeding effect!

When describing the Vibius-Aulus scene I guess I had Mad Men's Draper and Sterling in mind, with one being cool and pensive while the other had that optimistic confidence, I'm happy the contrast worked out.
 
I do enjoy a good internal monologue. I think yours worked nicely of seeing Vibius struggle with the realities of power and the potential of becoming very similar to one's enemy. I don't think the answer he received to his question from Romylia was a great one - but that is realistic. A rationalization. Iulius alludes to that, I think. But then he's different than Vibius - and also retired, where he can reflect on such things.

Also, may or may have been intentional, but I enjoyed the man who killed Julian received an apostate's death, given the last Pagan Roman Emperor was Julian the Apostate.
 
I do enjoy a good internal monologue. I think yours worked nicely of seeing Vibius struggle with the realities of power and the potential of becoming very similar to one's enemy. I don't think the answer he received to his question from Romylia was a great one - but that is realistic. A rationalization. Iulius alludes to that, I think. But then he's different than Vibius - and also retired, where he can reflect on such things.

Also, may or may have been intentional, but I enjoyed the man who killed Julian received an apostate's death, given the last Pagan Roman Emperor was Julian the Apostate.

Hadn't thought of that Julian bit hahaha

Otherwise yeah, I wanted to show Vibius’s crisis upon realising that even though he spent his life fighting the "Christian barbarians", aside from the mostly Hellenic ruling class, most Romans are Christian themselves.

Romylia's answer was the best she could give, then again, although not born in nobility, she has never been one of the people she speaks of, her father being an Imperial army commander. However she did make Vibius ponder upon the fact that maybe more military victories and more glory won't fix any problems.
 
Nice, i really liked this one and the last chapter, keep up with this style!

You mean you did not like the other ones? :oops::oops::oops:

Jokes aside, thank you. I started writing AARs as a way to practice my writing skills, it means the world that they have gotten better.
 
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Chapter XIII: Dusk of an Empire

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“I wish to be named Legato d’Agosto!”

“I'm sorry?”



Young Penno Berengling had managed to ignore every single form of politeness that was to be expected from a man addressing the Imperator, yet Vibius Lartius forgot all about it as soon as the Lombard lord made his absurd request.



“Legatus Augusti, lord Lartius!” the man repeated, thinking Vibius had not understood his accent.

“That is a position in the Roman army, Berengling.”

“Then I wish to enter the Roman army! As Legatus Augusti!” the Lombard grinned.

“You are to succeed your brother as Duke of Lombardy and Modena, am I wrong?” Vibius had no idea what Penno could possibly want.

“Yes, but I want to be Legatus Augusti.” the boy stubbornly nodded.

Did the kid hit his head as a child?, Vibius thought, then answered: “You are the leader of the Lombard foederati, most people would take Legatus Augusti to be a demotion.”

Penno Berengling looked at him quizzically: “But the Roman commanders in Italia are Legati Augusti. And they are more important than me.”

“One could argue you are not Roman.”

“Then I want to be!”

“Be Roman?”

“Yes!”



Vibius’s expression of stupor slowly turned into a smile. The senators watching the bizarre audience in the Domus Flavia’s Aula Regia were already giggling, and some of the palace guards had not been able to resist and had burst into laughter. Consul Marinus Valerius was resting his face on his hand, whereas Consul Aulus Iulius merely shook his head, grinning. He had never bore much love for the recently nominated commander of the Lombard Foederati, a title he owed only to the fact that, being the successor of the Duke of Lombardy, this had allowed Rome to peacefully expand its borders towards the Alps. The Imperator, on the other hand, was intrigued by the apparently simple Lombard youth.



“I could grant you and your people citizenship.” Vibius nodded, and most people present thought he was making fun of Penno. “But you would no longer be considered Foederati. You will obey the laws of the State, and will not answer directly to me, but to the People and the Senate of Rome, is that clear?”

“Yes, Cesar!” the Lombard beamed.

“Granted. This solves our problems, does it not, Consoles? There is no longer a need to restore the Provincia Cisalpina, and this will set a precedent, that every territory in Italia shall be under Consular control.”

And this makes the Berengling my problem, thanks a lot Vibius, Aulus Iulius thought as he sighed, but couldn’t blame his friend for seeking a quick solution to the problem. He had other things on his mind, after all.

“If there are no other matters to discuss, my friends of the Senate, I would call this a day!” Vibius slapped the armchairs of his throne as he rose up, and the Aula Regia slowly emptied.



Vibius Lartius smiled as he looked at the figures of Roman men leaving the hall: they were not the senators of old, garbed in white togas and tunics trimmed in red cloth, and many of them still wore jewelry, diadems, or gold threaded cloaks, but they were nonetheless Roman. The senate was truly back in Rome. Which made his position all the more precarious. The Senate in Byzantium had been but a puppet whose strings were firmly in the hands of the Basileus, at the time sole ruler of the Empire. Who knows, maybe one day they'll decide they don't need me anymore, Vibius pondered, and although he knew that was his uncle Iulius Lartius’s dream, he could not help but shudder at the thought. He smiled warmly as the Consul Valerius drew closer, but secretly wondered whether it had been a rash move that of suddenly giving so much power to the Consuls.




It is too late to go back now, let's hope for the best, the Imperator thought as he called out: “Valerius!”

“Caesar.” Consul Marinus Valerius bowed his head. “Has Consul Iulius already given you the news?”

“No.” Vibius smiled. “But I suppose you will?”

“Yes Lartius. This is important. Tancrad Karling is dead.” the Consul’s face was cool. “A Saxon warrior in the service of King Karloman of the western Franks, named Hoger de Guines, killed the pretender Emperor in the field.”

“A Saxon?” Vibius raised his eyebrows. “Fate sure has a taste for irony. And who have they named Emperor of all Romans this time?”

“Agiulf, the late Tancrad’s son.” Valerius grimaced. “But with the current civil war, whether his position will be confirmed is hard to say.

“I would say this is good news, but in truth I’d rather have them pick a leader, so we know who to chastise when we see Franks enter the Provinces.”

“The Senate will probably push for further expansion in Gaul.”

“I’ll dissuade them.” Vibius shook his head. “We must look east first, take control of the lands that separate Roman Italia and Dalmatia, so that troops and supplies might pass safely. Then it will be time to look to Egypt, although I hope that my brother might take care of that situation on his own.”

“You seem to have it all planned out.” the Consul looked at him inquisitively.

“Not really. As yet I have no idea when our eastern campaigns might start. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would go to my wife.”

“Of course, Caesar Lartius.” Marinus Valerius smiled and left the Imperator to his business.


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“Vibius?”

“Yes dear?”

“Do I look fat?”

“Now why would you ever say that?”




Romylia looked at her beaming husband reproachfully, but was unable to keep in a chuckle. Vibius hugged her tightly and kissed her on the forehead, enjoying the moment of peace as they lay down together in the gardens of their villa outside the City walls. He put a hand on her belly and caressed Romylia sweetly. In truth, she did not look fat at all, having handled her pregnancy wonderfully. Lord Eugenius, who in times of peace abandoned his military cloak and went back to being the Court’s Physician, had often joked that even with all his scientific knowledge he could not guess where she was hiding her child. In the first months of pregnancy Romylia had nevertheless attended court, masquerading her figure beneath loose tunics, and the visitors had been none the wiser. Now she made for an amusing sight, slim and graceful but burdened by a huge belly. Not that anyone would dare make fun of her. Besides Vibius.




“I’ve been thinking…” Romylia started, then punched her husband playfully as he feigned surprize. “If it’s a girl, I would call her Aaliyah.”

“Aaliyah? That is not a very Roman name.” Vibius grinned. “I’d have thought you would rather call her like your mother, not my grandmother.”

“Do you remember what you said to me, that day in the Basilica Ulpia?”

“That I love you?” he grinned again.

“Stupid.” she chuckled. “Of course you remember. I feel I owe her somehow.”

Vibius got up on his arm: “You don’t owe her… But if it means that much to you, I suppose I can think of worse names.”

Romylia stared into his green eyes: “Thank you.” she giggled. “And besides, we’ll have to pick names again, I’m sure.”

“Already thinking about that, are you?” he laughed.




It felt good, being with her. Away from the horrors of the front, from the fires of war that make even the kindest man cruel. At times he felt almost a feeling of guilt, thinking that every moment of bliss he lived in Rome was a moment he did not spend on the field, serving his people as their Imperator. Yet when he breathed in the sweet smell of the flowers Romylia had put in her hair, and looked at their little Aeneas running around the gardens, playing with his cousins, any anguish he might have felt disappeared immediately. Vibius’s brother Salvius had come back to the capital to be officially nominated Proconsul of Africa and Alexandria, and the Imperator took it as a chance to reunite the family. Even old Iulius Lartius had agreed to leave his beloved Aprutium, and was due to arrive any day.




“Well, let’s just say I look forward to it.” Romylia said after a moment of reflexion. “These past few months… you almost made me forget who we were.”

“What do you mean?” Vibius cocked his head.

“Despite the court, despite the politics, having you here made me feel like just another woman. Not the Imperator’s wife, but simply a woman madly in love with her man.”

He smiled tenderly: “Would you like that? A life away from Rome, as uncle Iulius envisioned it?”

“Perhaps.” she sighed. “It might seem strange to you, but in my youth that was my dream. A farm somewhere, a simple but decent life. A caring husband and loving children. Will that ever happen?”

“Not right now.” Vibius grimaced and looked away. He could still feel her disappointed stare. “But soon. Salvius is not exactly suited to govern a State, but young Lucius is growing into his own, and I think the Legions would accept the great Lartius Rufus’s son as their Imperator quite easily.”

“So you have thought about it!” Romylia beamed.

I have. And think it is a terrible idea, he thought.

“I have. After all, I’m happy wherever you are happy” Vibius stroked her curls as he repeated their wedding vows.




“Master Vibius!” the Imperator sighed, recognizing at once the high pitched voice of one of the few servants that dared call him by his prenomen. He could not hide a smile.

“Tiberius!” he shouted as he turned. “Always ready to disturb my precious few peaceful moments I see!”

“Now now, master, you give me too much credit! I only disturb your leisure when I cannot avoid to. Otherwise you know I would much rather imitate your glorious example and rest myself.” the eunuch grinned. “And how are you, mistress Romylia?”

“Quite well, Tiberius, thank you.” she sat up and smiled, offering her hand for the servant to kiss.

“I hope he is not giving you too much trouble?” the man asked reverently.

“None at all. It barely kicks.” Romylia had always liked Tiberius.

“I sure hope so! A man his age!” the servant turned at Vibius, and Romylia laughed heartily.

“You had something to say?” Vibius grimaced, pretending he had not heard Tiberius mocking him, and hiding a chuckle himself.

“Of course master, straight to business as always!” Tiberius pounded his chest, jokingly imitating a soldier. “I come directly from Spoleto, from the Papal court!”

“Where I sent you, I well remember. So why are you here now?” Tiberius, for all his impertinence, had proved himself skilled at subterfuge, and had been sent to pope Coelestinus’s presence, officially as an ambassador, but in truth as an informer.

“I have news I believed too important for a letter.” the servant turned spymaster raised his shoulders. “But if you would rather I go back to the Holy Father…”

“Be serious for a moment, you joker!” Vibius stood up, suddenly worried. “What are these news you speak about?”

Tiberius smiled widely: “The Pope won’t be crowning Agiulf Karling Emperor of the Romans!”

“That’s hardly news.” Vibius frowned. “Tancrad was never crowned by the Pope either.”

“Of course, because ten thousand Roman soldiers stood between them.” Tiberius shook his head, as if he were talking to a stubborn child. “This time it’s different! Coelestinus refused to give the man his blessing, and has instead excommunicated him.”

“So, who? Who did he annoint?”

“No one!” the eunuch smiled. “Don’t you understand master Vibius? The Pope has finally understood that there can be no such thing as a Frankish Roman Empire. He recognized Rome’s legitimacy. Our legitimacy.”



Vibius was stunned for a moment. Then, suddenly, he knelt next to his wife and kissed her. His day could not get any better.


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Titus Lartius had always been a handsome man. As wise as he was handsome, Vibius remembered his mother saying about his father. He had no real memory of the man, but now that he saw Titus walking towards him, he understood what Ioanna had meant. He was well built, broad shouldered, had the physique of a man that has spent his life training his body for battle. Most impressive of all were his eyes: he had a dark, piercing gaze, that made you feel as if though you would have revealed him your every secret. He had a stern face as he sat next to Vibius, but his lips curled slightly in a smile as he saw his son’s astonished expression.



“Vibius!” he exclaimed. “My, how you’ve grown.”

“Father.” Vibius could not understand how he knew that the man addressing him was Titus, but he did. “It’s been so long.”

“It has, son.” Titus Lartius nodded gravely. “And I’m sorry. Sorry I have not been here for you all these years.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, father!” Vibius smiled. “How could you? After all you were…” he paused.

“Dead?” Titus suggested.

“Weren’t you?” Vibius asked, frowning.

“I was.” his father smiled sadly.

“Am I?” Vibius was strangely calmed as he asked the question.

“No, of course not!” Titus laughed. “But I had to speak with you.”

“Oh father!” Vibius teared up. “Of course! Speak, please.”

“I cannot tell you much.” Titus shook his head, suddenly gloomy. “Yet hear this, son: be strong. Always. You might not realize it all the time, but the Gods love you. You must be strong, even when it might seem they do not. You must do that. For Rome. For yourself. And for your family.”

“I do not understand, father…”

“You will, son. You will. And when you do… be strong.”



Vibius awoke at Romylia’s side, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He looked at his side, but Titus was not there. The room was empty. There wasn’t even a seat at his bedside, but then again, he could not clearly remember where his father had been sitting. He turned at Romylia, watched her chest move as she slept peacefully. Vibius caressed her face lovingly, smiling sweetly.



“What time is it?” she moaned, not yet opening her eyes.

“Still early my love, I shouldn't have disturbed your sleep.”

“Is something the matter?” Romylia looked at Vibius, her gaze penetrating the depths of his soul.

“Nothing, dear, go back to sleep. You need to rest. For little Aaliyah.”



He kissed her tenderly, then turned on his side and tried to get some rest, still pondering his father's words.

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Dreams are portents, and seldom good ones. This apparent blissful period now feels like a calm before a storm.
 
Agree with @stnylan there- dream like that = something bad is coming. The only question is what.

I did enjoy the bits about Vibius not wishing to give up his power. It's clear he's much more in the Octavian mold than the classic Cincinnatus. Whether what comes ahead breaks him from that mindset or makes him even more steadfast will be interesting.
 
Dreams are portents, and seldom good ones. This apparent blissful period now feels like a calm before a storm.

Was it a dream? Or was it an apparition? I can't pick one myself, but yes, it was definitely an omen of things to come.

Agree with @stnylan there- dream like that = something bad is coming. The only question is what.

I did enjoy the bits about Vibius not wishing to give up his power. It's clear he's much more in the Octavian mold than the classic Cincinnatus. Whether what comes ahead breaks him from that mindset or makes him even more steadfast will be interesting.

Vibius is one of the most dangerous kinds of men: those that really believe that they are the right man for the job. We'll see whether this will make him a second Augustus or a Bond Villain type character in the long run...
 
Maybe Vibius needs to be dealt with *Coff* Assasinated *Coff* likes Julius Caesar, better to die like a hero than die to live to become a villain (I love that character so much that I can't stand to see him depart from the path to become Augustus and end up being Commodus)
 
Maybe Vibius needs to be dealt with *Coff* Assasinated *Coff* likes Julius Caesar, better to die like a hero than die to live to become a villain (I love that character so much that I can't stand to see him depart from the path to become Augustus and end up being Commodus)

Ah, CK2! The game in which your favourite characters either die young or start accumulating tiranny, rivals and slow legitimised bastards as if there were no tomorrow.
 
Ah, CK2! The game in which your favourite characters either die young or start accumulating tiranny, rivals and slow legitimised bastards as if there were no tomorrow.

So you either die a Germanicus, or live long enough to become Tiberius. (Or something?)
 
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Chapter XIV:
The Bond of Blood

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Blood. Blood everywhere. Blood on the floors. Blood on the walls. Blood on wood. Blood on marble. Blood on the medic’s linen sheets. Blood on his hands.


Vibius slammed a fist on the armrest of his chair, sending wood chips flying as he injured his hand. He did not care. He was sitting alone, weeping, in the middle of a dark room, avoiding the companionship of everyone, even the sun.


Why? He cursed silently, staring into the void, unable to close his eyes. Every time he did, that haunting vision once more presented itself in front of him. Where the consolation of the black void should have been, now he only found a sea of red blood. So he kept his eyes open, not capable of stopping the tears. If only he could have shut away the screams, maybe he would have been able to find some peace. But he could not. The shrill voices pierced his eardrums, and he thought he would go deaf. But he did not.


“Why?” he asked in a sob. He was starting to feel the pain in his hand now. He was almost thankful for it, hoping it would provide a measure of distraction. Instead it merely aggravated his situation, adding physical torture to his mental agony. Those thoughts were occupying his whole being, and there was no way he could hide from them. And he hated that. And he wanted to chase them away. And he felt guilty, felt like a coward, conscious that he had no right to be free of them. Not after what had happened.


“WHY!?” he shouted angrily, his anguish turning into rage. He had done always done his duty, to the State and the Gods. He had always been true to his word, always kind to those who deserved it, always forgiving those that showed repentance. He had done all he could to make sure law and justice would rule over the Empire, that it’s children could enjoy peace and prosperity. Was this the way that the Gods rewarded him?


Don’t blame the Gods, a little voice whispered to him, blame yourself. It is your fault after all. And he could not answer anything. Damn it all, he thought, it is my fault. He had been the one to promise King Bedros of Armenia his aid against the Iconoclast uprising, for no better reason than the fact he had married Vibius’s cousin Silvia. Sure, the King did promise to pay tribute to Rome, but Vibius knew why he had really helped him. And even if he had only offered to aid King Bedros for the good of the State, it was still his fault. Instead of letting Proconsul Stephanus of Phrygia handle the situation, as was his duty, he had sent his Magister Equitum to the front, in his own name, hoping to get credit for the victory against the insurgents. His fault that Eugenius had thus been occupied in Asia, and unable to perform his duties as Imperial Physician.


His fault. It was his doing. He had, with his actions, killed both Romylia and their unborn daughter.


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He could still remember Romylia's funeral. It had been a grandiose thing, organised by Consul Aulus Iulius at the State's expense, to honor “a woman that had been an example of Roman virtue”, in the Consul’s own words. Aulus had wanted to do his friend a favor by thus celebrating his wife's life, but, in truth, Vibius had hated the ceremony. He had walked with the procession the whole way, swearing to himself he would not cry in front of the crowd assembled to bide Romylia their last farewell. He might have been a grieving husband, but he was first and foremost their Imperator, and had to look strong for his people.


Romylia had looked peaceful in her bed of flowers, carried by twenty men of the city guard. No wonder the work of some skilled undertaker, for Vibius knee she had screamed to the bitter end. In front of her, four men carried a smaller, closed, casket, containing the remains of little Aaliyah. Vibius broke the promise he had made to himself at that sight, and walked the whole funeral procession with silent tears rushing down his face.


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In that dark, lonely room, Vibius’s hand had gone numb with the pain, but still he did not rise from his seat. He wondered: some said Tiberius had become the man Tacitus denounced so harshly when Augustus had forced him to divorce his beloved Vipsania, and had walked even further down the path of madness after her death. What would happen to him, now that not an adoptive father but Fate herself had taken away his loving bride? At the same time he did not truly care, unable to think of anything else except the fact that he would no longer see her smile in the mornings, no longer be able to kiss her sweetly on the forehead, nor hear her laugh at his own Tiberius, the eunuch servant’s, jokes. He would never again be able to trade stories with her, ask for her advice, be it on the wine he should serve or the wars he should wage. He would never even hear her voice, if not for her screams in his nightmares.


The knocking came light but firm on the room's door. Vibius did not answer. The knocking was heard once more. Go away, Vibius wanted to shout. Instead he remained silent. The wooden door was opened, if but a little, and a greying head, on which some red strands of hair were still visible, peeped from the gap. Vibius looked up, his eyes red from tiredness and crying, his mouth agape, unable to articulate a word. The newcomer stepped into the room just as silently, his face grave, and knelt besides the Imperator, still moving like a cat, even at his age.


“Uncle…” Vibius finally whispered, his voice hoarse and weak.

“I'm here Vibius, I'm here.” Iulius Lartius pat his nephew on the shoulder, smiling sadly. Old age had not robbed him of his good looks, but had given his once fearsome and penetrating gaze a sweet, grandfatherly, element.

Vibius sighed, ashamed that even the man that had raised him would see him in his condition, and finally found the strength to speak: “I thought you had already gone back to Aprutium.”

“How could I leave you alone with your grief?” the old man sighed too. He had been too young to remember his father Avitus crying for either his lover or his wife, but had never forgotten his brother Titus’s wife Ioanna lamenting the loss of her husband.

Vibius did not speak, but Iulius could see thankfulness in his stare. And a pinch of bitterness for interrupting his grieving.


“We will all miss her.” his uncle said, gazing deeply into Vibius’s eyes. “Romylia was a wonderful woman. Anyone that had met her would consider himself blessed.”

“She was…” Vibius whispered. “And now she is dead, because of me.”

“Don't say that!” Iulius Lartius raised his voice. “Don't you dare say that! There was nothing you could do. Cast those evil thoughts from your mind, Vibius. You must be strong.”

For Rome?” Vibius’s sadness turned into anger in his voice as he remembered the words his dead father had spoken to him.

Iulius shook his head: “No child, not for Rome. She can take care of herself for a while. I would say for your own sake, but I guess you would answer the you do not care.” the old man sighed again at the glance his nephew had thrown him. “So be strong for Aeneas.”

Tears swelled up in Vibius’s eyes as he heard his son's name. How much time had passed since he had last seen the child?

“How can I be strong for him, when I cannot be strong for myself?”

“You must find a way. You have lost a wife, but he has lost a mother.” Iulius voice was sweet, but there was some scolding in it. “He needs a father. He needs you. Be strong. For him.”


Vibius pondered a while, not moving nor speaking, silently praying to all the Gods for wisdom, courage and strength. For help. Suddenly he rose from his seat, his eyes ablaze and his hand still swollen: “I need to wash.” he exclaimed, a newfound vigor in his tone. “My son cannot see me this way.”

Iulius smiled sadly, glad to see the man he had raised like a son take his first steps back into the world of the living: “I'll tell the servants to go fetch some water.”


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Vibius found little Aeneas in the garden, lying on his back in the green grass, gazing absently towards the sky. The boy was dignified in his grief, not crying nor shouting. Nor, for that matter, speaking, which was unusual for him. He has more dignity than me, Vibius thought as he drew closer to the child. Aeneas did not notice his father approaching, keeping his eyes to the heavens. Vibius remained silent, not wanting to interrupt the boy's thoughts, and instead lay down next to his son without uttering a word. Above them, white clouds raced in the sky, but he knew Aeneas was not really looking at them.


“Papa.” little Aeneas finally spoke, turning his head towards Vibius. There were tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Come here son.” Vibius said, hugging the child tightly. They stayed there for a long while, Aeneas’s tears falling silently on his father's tunic as Vibius held the boy’s head to his chest, comfortingly caressing his golden locks.

“We should go see her.” Vibius said after some time. Aeneas nodded, his face still buried in the soft wool of his father's clothing.


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The mausoleum of Gens Lartia was, as per ancient law, outside the old Roman walls, in an area that had yet to be touched by Vibius’s great urbanisation project, necessary after the mass repopulation the city had witnessed in the eve of its restoration to capital of the Roman State. Vibius had no idea which one of his ancestors had built the round, columned edifice, as the inscription on top of the entrance had long faded away, but as far as he remembered every member of the Gens Lartia that had passed away had been put to rest in one of its many alcoves. The Pope had, after Iulius Lartius Rufus’s open adoption of the old faith, briefly tried to prohibit the custom. Uncle and nephew had responded by marching the Roman armies on the City.


Vibius drew a deep breath as he stepped into the mausoleum, knowing well that he was walking into hallowed ground. That was the last resting place of his ancestors, a place where one day, if the Gods willed it, he too would one day rest. He put a hand on Aeneas’s shoulder as they walked towards the niche on which the name “Romylia” had been engraved, and behind which rested the remains of his great love. A single tear fell onto his cheek as Aeneas stretched his palm towards the marble bust that bore the likeness of his mother. She was gone forever, and with her died their dream of growing old together, with Aeneas and Aaliyah and who knows how many other children.


But I still have him. Vibius thought, staring at little Aeneas.


“It is you and me now.” Vibius kneeled close to his son, taking the child by the shoulders and staring into his eyes. “And I swear to you, in this holy place, in front of all those that carried the name of Lartius, in front of Jupiter, king of the Gods and lord of the skies and all the mortals, I will always be there for you, son. No matter what, I won’t ever leave you.”


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Iulius' advice seems very timely, and he is perhaps the one person who could penetrate through Vibius' destructive grief.
 
Iulius' advice seems very timely, and he is perhaps the one person who could penetrate through Vibius' destructive grief.

That he is, although in the end I think Aeneas really is the one that saved Vibius’s life. Too bad she didn't give birth to twins before dying, or I would have named them Luke and Leia.

Damn, that was unexpected.

For you and me both! Romylia's death message was one of those moments in game where you go "oh F*uck". I usually can expect character deaths, but hers really did come out of the blue.