One hopes this proves to be a positive marriage, and not something that will turn sour.
Res Gestae Gentis Lartiae - a Roman Restoration AAR
- Thread starter Eludio
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The idea of the Roman Consuls is very interesting. Are there just regular dukes/kings/viceroys ruling in the other provinces of the Roman Empire?
CK2plus has a very nice "Imperial Government" for Roman style empires, which works a bit like automatic viceroys. I toyed with the localization a bit, so now I have Legati ruling counties, Legati Augusti ruling duchies, and Proconsules ruling kindoms (Roman Provinces)
Why don't you call characters by their Nomen and Cognomen so it's easier to differentiate between them?
I though about that, but I've grown quite fond of Iulius Lartius, and calling him Lartius Rufus or I. Lartius Rufus feels a bit cold, now. I do think more and more people are going to call him just Rufus from now on, which is what I wanted to introduce with Gallienus, but we'll see.
The State of the World II
Maps I promised, maps I giveth thou!
Don't ask about the mess in Britain, had nothing to do with me...
In dark green is Consul Iulius's area of influence, in lighter green Consul Valerius's.
The island of Sicily is under Proconsul Fulvius of Sicilia (she was Rome's first Province after all)
Found out that Orthodox is orange, Iconoclast is purple (huh)
The Red colour is Hellenic, as is the white coloured Rome.
Hellenism is not spreading that fast, but it's not doing too bad.
Maps I promised, maps I giveth thou!
Don't ask about the mess in Britain, had nothing to do with me...
In dark green is Consul Iulius's area of influence, in lighter green Consul Valerius's.
The island of Sicily is under Proconsul Fulvius of Sicilia (she was Rome's first Province after all)
Found out that Orthodox is orange, Iconoclast is purple (huh)
The Red colour is Hellenic, as is the white coloured Rome.
Hellenism is not spreading that fast, but it's not doing too bad.
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Thats.... on me. I found the normal Pagan interface very "unRoman", and while changing the files I found the Indian UI, and figured I liked red bricks better than blue ones for my Roman Empire.
I actually can't wait for the Carolingians to do something! I won every war with them thus far, but I would like to see what would happen if THEY attacked. Or, even better, if the pope finally called the Crusades. I mean, I have the guy surrounded on all sides, you'd think this would be a good time to ask the (still) strong christian rulers to gang up on me.
Chapter XI: Pax Romana, Bellum Provinciae
A crown of orange blossoms was placed on the fiery orange veil that adorned her hair, gathered in tresses separated by small strips of cloth. The hairdo had been prepared the night before, and she had slept in a red hair net to prevent it from being ruined. On her shoulders rested a saffron coloured mantle, and beneath it she wore a simple, hemless tunic, fastened at the waist by a woolen belt, held together not by a buckle but by a double knot. She looked wonderful. She had to, after all. For it was the day of her wedding.
Vibius smiled broadly as Romylia was presented to him, silently mouthing his thanks to Venus and Cupid, and squeezed her hands tenderly as he took them in his own. Together they walked towards her home’s atrium, accompanied by the Imperator’s family and friends of the couple. In that (not so) humble city house Vibius had given his lover at the birth of their first son, were now standing some of the most important men in Roman political world. Consul Aulus Iulius was there, of course, acting as one of the groom’s best men, sharing this duty with the Legati Augusti Julian Etrurius and Salvius Lartius, the Imperator’s own brother, that had for the occasion left the rule of Alexandria in the hands of his trusted Pius. The Proconsuls Taxiarches Monothes of Thracia and Constantinus Fulvius of Sicilia had also been invited to the event, along with Pontifex Maximus Drusus and Legatus Marcellus Armentarius.
In the atrium Iulius Lartius was waiting for them, carrying the scroll which was to be the legal proof of their union. One by one, the groom and bride’s witnesses placed their seal upon the contract, binding the two together, in accordance with ancient Roman law. Iulius then moved, knife in hand, towards the holy altar upon which two servants had placed a small sheep. With a swift cut he silenced the beast’s bleating, and then proceeded to observe its internal organs, doing his duty as auspex, so that he might guess the fortunes of the couple. He liked what he saw, and with a shining smile he announced that the gods looked favorably upon the union.
Vibius beamed at the news and looked at his future wife with the eyes of a happy child. If but for a moment, he was no longer the Imperator Augustus of the Roman State, but simply a man about to marry the woman he was madly in love with. She smiled at him as she pronounced the words that would close the ceremony.
“Ubi tu gaius, ego Gaia.”
“Ubi tu gaia, ego Gaius.” he replied, still beaming.
Friends and family exploded in cheers. Their yells of “feliciter” and “Talasio” were heard even on the other side of the Tiber, and even the usually shy Consul Valerius made his voice heard loud and clear. More than simply a moment of private celebration, the marriage was a chance for them all to put aside their duties and burdens, to let go of the obsessing thoughts of war and rulership that occupied their days. As they entered the banquet room they forgot about being the figureheads of the Roman Empire, instead becoming a group of friends that had come together to celebrate the happiness of two of their own.
The wedding feast was a lavish thing. Romylia and Vibius were lying on the same triclinium, in the Roman way, at the furthest side of the room, beneath a fresco depicting the loves of Mars and Venus, while all around them guests ate and drank, either sitting or standing, on an assortment of couches, chairs, and cushions. As if in a bucolic mosaic, he fed her dark red grapes, she offered him a cup of wine, and everyone could see that they were happy. The banquet lasted until dusk, as was tradition, when the guests formed a procession that was to accompany the bride to her man’s home. In this particular case, the Imperial Palace on the Palatine Hill. At the head of the procession walked five torchbearers and a number of flute players, while all around them friends and family members were singing gay and festive songs.
Behind the five torchbearers came old Iulius, himself carrying a torch around which were intertwined hawthorn branches, making way for Romylia at which sides walked Aulus Iulius and Julian Etrurius, whose duty it would be to carry the bride across Vibius’s doorway, without letting her feet touch the ground. The Imperator himself stepped behind his wife, who often looked back to him smiling. He was living in pure bliss. Crowds of onlookers stared wide eyed at the procession, being allowed a glimpse into their Caesar’s private life.
Aulus and Julian did their duty wonderfully, jokingly laughing that happiness had made fair Romylia light as a feather. Two friends of the bride walked at their side, carrying one a distaff and the other a spindle, while it was Frontina, Romylia’s sister in the Mithraic Mysteries, that accompanied her to her husband’s bed, as the guests slowly began to leave the house. There Vibius stripped her of her orange veil, let her saffron mantle fall to the ground, and untied the knots of her belt. And there they lay together, for the first time not as lovers, hiding in the night, but as husband and wife, forever united in the eyes of Gods and men.
“Good morning.” Romylia moaned tenderly as Vibius kissed her on the forehead.
“Good morning, dear wife.” he whispered, still barely believing his own words.
“Do you think the citizens of Rome will pardon me if I keep their Imperator here for a few hours longer?”
“I’m sure they will understand.” he smiled coyly as he embraced her.
Their moment of tenderness was interrupted by a knock on the bedroom’s oaken doors. Vibius turned to look at the doorway, but in the end simply shrugged and returned his attentions to his wife. A few moments later, they once more heard knocking, this time more insistently.
“WHAT?” Vibius shouted as Romylia giggled and covered herself. Tiberius, one of the court’s eunuchs, stepped into the room.
“A thousand pardons, master.” he said, bowing low. “But Legatus Augusti Etrurius is here to see you.”
“I saw Julian yesterday!” Vibius complained. “Tell him I am indisposed, he’ll understand!”
“It seemed urgent.” the man shrugged. “But you are right, master, some things are much more important that the State’s well being.”
“You should go.” Romylia whispered. “I will be sure to wait for you.”
Vibius sighed. “Very well, but we’ll continue this later. What days do we live in, that servants treat us with less respect that our enemies?”
Romylia chuckled. She was quite fond of Tiberius, and knew the man bore her husband great love. Vibius was surely of a different opinion as he stepped out of bed and put on a tunic.
“Fine, you smug jester, lead the way. And you have just earned the honor of going to fetch some wine for me and my guest.”
“Truly, and honor I do not deserve!” Tiberius bowed, ever trying to weasel out of his duties.
“Oh but I think you do. Now let’s go.”
Julian Etrurius was waiting in the peristyle of the Domus Augustana, in that part of the Imperial Palace where, now that the Domus Flavia had been fully renovated, only friends and members of the court could enter. He was walking in circles around the colonnade, and Vibius wondered how many laps he had already completed while waiting for him.
“Venator!” Vibius called out, addressing his friend by his cognomen.
“Caesar.” Etrurius beat his chest. The Imperator beat his lip. So this really is an official visit, he thought.
“I must say, I did not expect you this early in the morning.”
“I did not expect to be up this early in the morning, after yesterday’s banquet!” Julian smiled. “But I have important news to share.”
“Well? Do tell.” Vibius said impatiently, as his friend was taking his time.
“You see, a message reached me from Florentiae this morning. It seems the Frankish King Karloman has decided to offer you a gift for your nuptials.”
“So kind of him.” Vibius frowned. “Now will you speak plainly? It is too early for riddles.”
“Karloman has declared war on the pretender Tancrad!” Etrurius was as happy as a child. “The Western and Central Frankish rulers fight with him, as do the Italian dukes. They no longer recognize the Carolingian Emperor as their sovereign.”
The Imperator was stunned, but slowly a smile crept on his face. Tiberius stumbled into the courtyard, carrying a wine skin of capuan white. Vibius noticed him, and gestured at the servant to come in a hurry.
“Pour Tiberius! Three cups, and drink a toast with us!”
“Master? What are we celebrating?”
“An occasion the Gods have served us on a silver platter!” Vibius poured part of his wine on the ground, in a small libation. He smiled. “Divide et Impera!”
“LOOSE!”
The creaking of a Ballista was an ominous sound, but to Vibius it meant only one thing: victory for Rome. He often lamented the lack of a general well versed in siegecraft, but with the recent technological marvels that his military advisors had built, the conquest of Modena would still be a trivial task. He almost regretted relieving Legate Chazanes from his position as Magister Militum, but he had never met a man as skilled in the art of war as the Warchief of the so called “Herculeans”. Besides, the Legate of Sardinia was better suited to be on the battlefield commanding a flank than in Rome coordinating the whole army.
“Ksar!” Captain Orvar of the Varangian Guard walked towards him, as always butchering Caesar’s name with his foreign accent. Vibius bowed his head slightly at the Norseman, who immediately remembered to pound his chest.
“Ksar Lartius, grave messages. From Genoa. Men from Trégor. Three million.”
Vibius sighed, and Lord Eugenius, his Magister Equitum, could not hold back a chuckle.
“I hope you mean three thousand? Otherwise I’ll have to suppose Britons breed faster than rabbits.”
“Hah, but not faster than Norsemen!” Orvar grinned and grabbed his crotch, oblivious to the fact that the Romans were making fun of him.
“Thank you, Captain. You are dismissed, and have earned yourself a nice flask of wine.” Vibius smiled, then turned to the Magister Equitum. “Eugenius?”
“Yes Caesar, I’ll take care of the Britons.”
“Good. Take six thousand men, that should make them run for the hills before you even cross swords. And make sure the Tregorians do not flee towards Gallia, not Italia.”
“You will stay with the besiegers?”
“Yes. I don’t have high hopes for it, but if we do manage to capture the duke of Modena, I’d like to speak with him myself.”
“Of course, Caesar.”
“Vale, Eugenius.”
“Vale, Caesar.”
Vibius stared at the curious figure of his Magister Militum for a while, as Eugenius went to assemble the army that was to protect the Italian border from Orvar’s three million Britons. Some called him Vibius’s right hand man, but there was mockery in those words, for the Master of the Horse lacked a right hand himself. The man had served for years in Iulius Lartius’s legions, before he came to the Imperator’s attention for his ability as a field medic, and was employed as Caesar’s court physician. With his stump he could not stitch any wounds, but he had assistants for that, and his knowledge of remedies, both natural and occult, more than made up for it.
Yet the man had learned much more than how to treat cuts and bruises in his time in the army, and Vibius had started to rely on the man’s skill as a commander ever since his uncle had retired to private life. Friend was a big word, considering the Imperator barely ever saw the man outside of his official capacity, and the man at times showed a cruel nature Vibius did not approve of, but he had proven to be a faithful and skilled collaborator.
And still, I cannot shake this feeling of dread, he thought, grimacing.
Thus the Imperial armies began a forced march towards Cremona, with Vibius himself commanding the legions in a desperate attempt to rescue his friend. The Carolingian forces had at first only slightly outnumbered the Romans, but many men had perished in the fighting, and the latest reports spoke of a couple thousand men making a daring stand against five thousand barbarian warriors. Bishop Folkhard’s men had cut off Julian Etrurius from the recently conquered fortifications of Cremona, forcing the Legate to meet him in the open field.
Vibius cursed loudly when his men finally reached the battlefield. After a moment of respite, the Carolingian forces were once more charging against the exhausted Romans. Vibius saw the man commanding the few remaining imperial soldiers was not his friend, but a man whose name he ignored. Folkhard himself was in the thick of the melee, shedding the blood of Roman men besides his warriors, a cruel smile on his face. Vibius felt the anger build up in his chest, shouting in anger as he kicked his horse’s flanks.
“SONS OF MARS!” he roared at his men. “FIGHT FOR YOUR ROMAN BROTHERS! ROMA VICTRIX!”
Vibius would have given up all of his riches for a chance to see the Bishop’s face as he turned to witness twelve thousand men, heavily armored and armed to the teeth, charging towards him. A rain of spears and arrows poured upon the Carolingian men, striking down a good five hundred soldiers before the two armies even met. When they did close the distance that separated them from the enemy, the Romans ran through the barbarian army like a flooding river, finding little resistance from the Franks most of which tried to run as soon as the first lines had clashed together. The Imperator himself rode deep into the enemy lines, surrounded by his mounted Praetorian escort, roaring like a madman as he aimed for the enemy commander.
Vibius was so blinded by his fury that he did not even realize he was now alone, his men having become entangled in the masses of enemies that separated the Roman lines from Bishop Folkhard’s position. Not that he would have cared much. He kept riding hard, cutting through the Carolingian lines as if they were made of air, until a well placed arrow stopped his horse in it’s gallop. The beast reared before falling to the ground, luckily for Vibius, for although he fell on his back at least he was not crushed beneath the animal’s weight. He shrugged as he got back up, his eyes still fixed on the bishop, who was now but a few paces from him. Lartius jumped on the man, slamming his shield into the bishop’s face. He fell upon Folkhard with all his weight, and both men pummeled on the ground. Holding him down with the heavy oval shield, Vibius pulled up his sword, ready to bury it into the Frank’s face, but stopped his gesture a the last moment.
“Surrender, you son of a whore, and we’ll let your men flee.” he spat in the bishop’s face, and the man meekly nodded his head. After all, in his fury Vibius must have appeared to the holy man as a demon come from the deepest reaches of hell to punish him.
“Emperor.” he bowed his head at Vibius, reckoning it was nonetheless wise to show a modicum of respect to his captor. Lartius frowned. The word had a very different connotation in the Frankish tongue. One the Imperator did not wish associated with him.
“Call me Caesar, or not at all.” he said coolly, then continued without waiting for the bishop’s response. “They tell me it was you yourself that cut down my Legate, the recently departed Julian Etrurius?”
“My lord, let us not dwell on the past.” the bishop smiled. “After all, many things are done in war, but we must not let them get in the way of peace.”
Vibius arched an eyebrow: “Peace? Of what peace do you speak of?”
“My lord?” the bishop paled, but kept smiling. “Let us not jest. I know for a fact that my Emperor Tancrad Karling has recognized your power over Mantova.”
“That he did. Very skilled at recognizing the obvious, your Emperor. Soon, he shall also recognize my power over Mediolanum and Pedemontis.”
“What? But… Karloman had offered you a truce!” the bishop was not smiling anymore. “Your name shall be cursed by all christian men if you break it!”
“That he did. And that it will.”
“But then… What will happen to me?” Folkhard’s words trailed off, his throat tightening.
Vibius got up of his chair, his cape swelling up behind him as he stepped towards the bishop. The man took a step back. Lartius was much more terrifying now, in his silent anger, that he had been on the battlefield, screaming in bloodthirsty rage.
“You, bishop, have struck at the heart of the Empire, killing countless sons of Rome. Do you know what happens when you strike at the Empire?”
Folkhard swallowed loudly, unable to take his eyes off Vibius’s. Had he managed to, he would have seen, behind him, outside of the tent, the Roman soldiers preparing a pyre beneath what was to be his cross.
“The Empire strikes back.”
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So Vibius gets what he wants, though at some cost. Even with that, it seems he'll be a much happier fellow than Iulius, in all aspects of his life since he actually married the woman he loved.
Props on the "three million" bit. Lovely little example showing, rather than telling, the Norseman is speaking it as his second language.
Props on the "three million" bit. Lovely little example showing, rather than telling, the Norseman is speaking it as his second language.
Thanks ahahah Orvar is certainly an interesting guy: he is a chaste, but proud whoremonger (a modifier I had never seen before), and even though the wordplay would not really make much sense in classical latin, I reckoned the Varangians do not actually speak classical latin.
As for Vibius, he is the first one of my character that does not marry either for profit (be that eugenics or court intrigue), so we'll see where that goes. Julian dying was not something I expected, especially not so soon, but it did give me the chance to write in the "Empire Strikes Back" scene I was looking forwards to.
Truth be told, I'm actually pushing for it. All of my recent conquests have been Roman Reconquest CBs, but I hoped to build a bit of religious tension with my truce breaking.
I mean, besides the Ecumenical Patriarch (Manuel is still kicking and hates my guts) all the Christians are a-okay with an apostate ruling Rome.
Sidenote, that gives me an idea for a chapter.
Now I just have to father a secret bastard so I can write in "I am your father"...