Day 7 - 9

Aurelian had indeed been right in his assumption that they would reach Siscia on the evening of the 6th marching day, an accomplishment in itself considering that the troops he was commanding had only just been campaigning in Moesia and fought battle after battle in the war-torn province.

Siscia, a major Roman outpost and civil bustling town on the Via Pannonia, provided the fatigued and stressed men, who certainly knew about the encirclement they were heading into, with rare worldly pleasures and a chance to spend the massive amounts of coin they had been given due to their success in the east.

Sex, gambling or for the more simple-minded individuals: Booze, could be found within the towns boundaries. Of course whenever alcohol was involved the pleasant night tended to turn into a combination of those three delights.

Nevertheless as the men enjoyed their rest and the warm stable houses of the military camp at Siscia, Aurelian and his staff were busy conferring about the situation once they arrived in Italia. Because considering the times of turmoil, they somehow already knew that there was at least one usurper already sprouting and festering in Rome’s heart with infinitely more to come out of their rat holes during the chaos.

Dismissing his advisers after a successful conversation about how to denounce his enemies and inspire disloyalty in other troops, the young emperor slumped into his lion-fur cushioned throne, playing with and spinning a coin with his predecessor’s visage on it, his dreads and fears only increasing as he shuddered at the mere thought of ending like them.

A gentle knock on the spruce door terminated his little diversion from the problems and horrendous predicament of the empire.

“Enter!” He shouted at the arrival, already anticipating who it was as someone important for his intrigue and great plan.

Entering the emperor’s chamber was a young, tall and actually quite handsome man who wore a simple brown tunic but also fine blue trousers with a little golden sun on their right upper side, a clear sign of his faith which elicited a smirk from the pious believer of Sol Invictus.

"Ave Caesar," said the man in a calm voice as he bowed his head, the jawline chiselled and the face finely shaven, he rather resembled a local minor noble than a deceitful scheming snake employed and paid by his graceful excellency, Lucius Domitius Aurelianus.

"Hello Corulus, please keep standing, I'll be curt," replied the roman ruler indifferently, his thoughts totally invested in a map of his precious empire, fractured into three pieces, separated by false ideals and greedy humans.

How many more uprisings, rebellions and usurpers will gnaw at your integrity?

A sorrowful question addressed to Rome, to his dream and ideal.

The patiently waiting Corulus jolted a bit as suddenly the Imperator's gaze shot upwards, his piercing eyes scrutinising the spy's slender body.

Without explanation, Aurelian ordered the man in an authoritative tone: "Contact the butcher. Personally! That's of utmost importance for me and the empire and you surely know that disappointing me … has a certain price." A sheepish smile flickered across the wicked man's face.

"Tell him to immediately move to Salona alongside his utensils. When you leave, take this with you. It's the imperial order transferring him to the port city."

Awkwardly wiggling the inscribed tablet before his subordinate's eyes, Aurelian dismissed the spy as he saw the necessary information being delivered.

Corulus stiffly saluted and left the chamber, leaving Aurelian wondering for a second whether it was the right idea.

But the doubts quickly evaporated as he slumped down into his throne and went back to finding solutions to reestablish the empire's unity.

Thundering feet stomped through the valleys of Pannonia Superior as the dual column of fierce unrelenting Legionaries crossed the plains on the way to their next larger target, Emona.

Sweat dribbled down the leather straps of the men's helmets as the sun glared down on the metal and flesh beneath.

It had been two days now since the devastating news of the Quadi invasion and since that crucial moment, no messenger, neither friend or foe, had reached the imperial procession.

Irritated by the lack of news, Aurelian sent a squadron of riders eastwards to scout the terrain and report to him upon spotting the enemy army directly, the very incarnation of evil as marauding pillaging savages. The emperor couldn't use more uncertainties like trails of smoke or cries being mistaken for barbarians, theories which crossed his mind from time to time as an invasion became unlikelier by each passing minute the army neared the supposed area where the Quadi were rumoured to roam.

But it wouldn’t exactly come to a confrontation on this day of his reign since urgent riders approached him and the Praetorians at the front of the army, yet still several kilometres away from the vanguard who seemed to have spotted something.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

A raven black horse reeled in just short of Augustus, swirling up dust and debris into the eyes of the foremost guards.

"Imperator! Imperator!" The rider shouted past the restraining Praetorians as he struggled to get past them to bring the important message to his ruler.

Ordering the men to let him through, Aurelian swiftly towered on his ashen horse above the disembarked man as the latter kneeled on the dry ground.

"Speak," ordered the patient man the herald.

"My emperor, approximately 3 kilometres ahead, is a shallow yet violent river which we need to cross. However the bridge traversing it has been destroyed, the locals told us that a storm some weeks ago had devastated the bridge, effectively cutting them off from the north since."

Why has no one bothered to reconstruct it during the weeks that it was useless and dysfunctional? Now I have to worry about architectural problems in my problematic child.

But his excellency's engineers immediately hurried forward, were given fast steeds and rode ahead to fix the halting issue, time the emperor couldn't spare considering that barbarians entered his empire on any border possible.

If news of my delay spreads, even those pesky Goths will cross the Danube again! Arghhh, fuck!

Aurelian was angry - really angry. But to his eager loyal men he was a composed statue of might and unrelenting prowess. And he intended to keep it that way by veiling his real thoughts and fears behind a mask of indifference, of absolute confidence

Furiously riding ahead of his army, Aurelian soon encountered the issue his scouts had warned him about as rapid torrents of water sloshed and echoed in their riverbed, prohibiting the stressed emperor from crossing.

Lifting his arm, he ceased the army's advance as he gave them some hours of free time to ameliorate the delay caused by nature.

Luckily for the emperor and his fragile rule, the bridge was constructed within just 2 hours as the excellent roman engineers explained: "Gracious Fortuna there was enough wood in the vicinity to construct the crossing or else it would've taken double the time we needed."

A humorous remark which annoyed Aurelian nonetheless as he viewed any time spent on not advancing to Rome as time lost and sacrificed for naught.

Thus after the three hour delay, accounting for the whole time needed to halt the army, build the bridge and resume the march, the two columns of seemingly endlessly extending Romans stomped through the province again, the sun finally hidden behind light grey clouds, those that accompanied a sunny day.

Even Aurelian had calmed down after some hours as he happily hummed the marching melodies the men behind him chanted, not allowing himself to do what he desired to do by joining in on their fun, fearing that his status might be endangered if he heeded his whims.

But in this short moment of relative peace, Aurelian stared straight into the sun, burning his eyes as the figure levitating before it extended its warm hands to clutch the emperor in its cosy embrace.

Peace …

… is what he fought for - what he was ready to die for.

But peace was only a dream, a faint whisper of the brave and mighty planted into the weak and frightened ears of the people.

Peace was and will ever be fragile and thus lasts only short periods of time, giving it its desirable trait of rarity, of scarcity.

That’s why Aurelian didn’t grieve for the perished silence and quiet of the spring evening with the chirping birds and pleasant sounds of the forest.

“Excuse me,” rang a high-pitched snotty voice from his side.

Turning his head to look at the perpetrator who already annoyed him, Aurelian looked at an old, grey-haired woman with her appendage finely tied into a bun with jewels and silver adorning it. ‘Appendage’ because Aurelian genuinely didn’t know nor cared whether the woman wore a wig or not.

The wrinkles in her face which she tried to hide with makeup were another sign of her advanced age.

Beside the hag rode a young blonde woman with beautiful feminine features and a thin body clad in dark green robes light as silk which danced in the wind as the horses continued trotting on the road.

Suddenly a horse joined the two women and on its back rode Aurelian’s old comrade Probus who smiled in shame and squinted his eyes as he indecisively spoke: “My glorious emperor! May I humbly present to you my dear wife Massima and my adorable daughter Adriana.”

Without replying to the man and to wipe the arrogant smile of Massima’s face, Aurelian simply nodded and called for Nonus Junius Claudius, the chief engineer of his gigantic army.

“Nonus, would you be so kind as to ride ahead to this location on the far hill and prepare everything for our camp by measuring the area.” Rather an order than a question, Nonus clumsily saluted and spurred his horse around to inform the rest of the engineers and architects of the Legions of their ruler’s wishes.

Not sparing the feisty woman any more of his precious attention, Aurelian kept his gaze firmly on the horizon as the clouds began turning orange as the sun tainted them in its warm colours.

Probus, who visibly disapproved of his wife and daughter’s horrible attempts at gaining the new emperor’s ear and thus an ear to the civilised world, recoiled a bit and hissed at his family to follow his example and stop disturbing the busy emperor.

With utter reluctance and disgust at her witless, ambition-lacking husband, Massima turned around, angrily murmuring about her oh-so-grave problems.

Adriana on the other hand first inquiringly scrutinised the emperor’s face who didn’t flinch under her piercing gaze, before she followed her mother back to the protected centre of the column.

Sighing in relief and taking a mental note to thank Probus for removing his yapping wife from the front, Aurelian watched the vibrant game of the colours which flickered across the sky as orange hunted blue.

He asked himself: “Why is the world how it is? Who decided it to be that way?”

After savouring the words he uttered on his tongue for a few moments, he concluded: “I should keep philosophy as a pure hobby. Or probably abandon the idea fully. Philosophy is reserved for times of peace as a moral compass. The only moral customs and rules I abide by are fire and sword.”

And indeed.

He would rule with fire and sword.

And with a lot, a whole lot of blood and death.