A black-hooded figure entered the imperial tent, a steady wind breezing through camp, the flaps of the tent swaying beneath the full moon.
No greeting. No names exchanged, the Emperor commanded: "Governor Faustus Juvius Hispanicus of Tarraconensis. Contact him via the path along the Mediterranean and order the imperial spies to assemble in Rome. The province will be abandoned for now. No obstructions, no pauses. Meet with a bald, one-eyed man in Massilia. He’ll safely escort you to the border and past. Go now. May Fortuna smile upon our bravery."
The shady figure saluted curtly and left the warm room hurriedly, squeezing past the Praetorians who quickly closed the tent flaps again, preventing the cold from gnawing at their Caesar.
Thundering drums quaked through the sky, the pebbles on the ground trembled impatiently as if awaiting chaos and doom, thousands of dazzling helmets patiently, orderly lined up after trailing along valleys, streams and forests for days straight on a hellish march.
Panting, audibly and visibly exhausted men stared at the fortified Town of Aquileia, an architectural marvel as its walls soared towards the heavens and its towers seemingly defied gravity.
Horses, mules and dogs barked, neighed and nervously twitched their ears as the palpable tension dominated the hills at the foot of the Julian Alps.
A determined man in white and purple cloaks, beautifully intertwining into a spiral of innocence and imperial crimson stood on the apex of the hill.
His gaze as fiery and grim as years ago when he had first slain in the empire's name, his black beard finely shaven off and his finely engraved chestplate polished as it dazzled in the glaring sun.
Aurelian had arrived.
He had come to claim the empire which he earned, which he sacrificed his youth and health for, which had suffered from division and individual’s ambition for far too long.
Standing at the front of his giant army, he walked up to his horse and mounted the ashen steed as he drew his Gladus with a rasping sound out of its gold-adorned sheath.
Resolute voice echoing through the hills of Italia, Aurelian pointed his glistening short towards Aquileia and shouted euphorically yet with enough firmness to remain professional: “When I was young, my friends and I used to mock another boy for his puny valour and fright. We often played, fought and hid outside but he’d chicken out each time we invited him.”
A chuckle escaped the young emperor at the memory of his turbulent yet mostly peaceful childhood.
“But that’s not the message I want to convey, only the context. Well, one day, he excused his anxiety with the fact that he was simply too young for us who were only several months older than him.
“Nonetheless we thought that it was a valid argument and the cheeky, scheming boys we were, formed a plot to reveal his true nature as a wimp, unfit to defend nor live in Rome’s name.
“Thus we proposed a test of courage to determine whether he was all words or really just unfortunate.”
A theatrical pause by the speaker.
“What do you reckon our naive boy brains came up with,” asked Aurelian the rows of Legionaries, eliciting chaotic murmuring and whispering until one man loudly yelled: “Dick comparing!”
A ripple of genuine laughter went through the soldiers’ rank as Aurelian forced a smile onto his face.
“Good answer! Another proposal,” shouted Augustus at the amused army as he observed as his tactic of an army in high-spirits rather than a grim one began to form.
“Steal from his brothers,” a deep voice rumbled over his comrades’ heads.
Pointing with his remaining hand in the direction of the speaker, Aurelian lifted his eyebrows and joyfully chanted: “Ah that’s very close, I like it.”
A new facade of their emperor unveiled itself before the soldiers’ amazed eyes who began shouting and screaming ideas towards their Imperator who basked in their commitment.
But Aurelian wasn’t finished with his tale and eventually raised his hand authoritatively into the sky to silence the mob, an order which seized the men’s spirit as the conversations died down.
Clearing his throat he thundered over the hill in a deep, confident voice: “Well, we told him that the trial of valour would be to enter a whorehouse, one of the filthiest and worst in Sirmium, and order one!”
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Outright laughter erupted from the Legions in unison as they basked in their commander’s story, the latter drowning out the rippling laughter with his mighty speaker voice: “To our joint surprise he actually agreed, ordered one and was just about to pleasure her when suddenly another man entered his chamber! And you WON’T guess who it was!”
Licking over his dry lips, his throat quenching for water, Aurelian chanted: “His - quite literally - fucking brother!”
The laughter was unstoppable as the men embraced each other and cried tears of joy, only ceasing their laughter to breathe since otherwise they’d die.
Aurelian had accomplished his goal. His army was prepared to fight in an unconventional, atypical way.
They were going to use humour and joy to spread mutiny and disobedience among the grim yet wavering troops of the usurper.
With a smug smile Aurelian let his gaze wander over his chuckling, wheezing army of joyous men, another idea filling his mind.
Ah fabulous, but why not add a hint of determination and resolve to their elevated spirits?
"But this little story is only meant to be an explanation for a certain word."
“Now that you know where the word ‘brotherfucker’ originated from, let me tell you about the upcoming days”
The laughter slowly subsided after straight minutes of utter amusement, the men in the front rows intently listening to their general while the one further back conversed with each other due to the inaudible speech which would surely be recited to them by their comrades during their evening debauchery.
A roaring voice thundered over the hills, even reaching past the high walls of Aquileia: "Let me tell you how we are beating Quintillus and his arrogant, impudent, snotty, senatorial allies, the craven, greedy aristocrats poisoning Rome!"
Vociferous support exploded from the endless crowd like a volcanic eruption, sweeping over the men as their joint enemy was mentioned.
“I-” he began drowning out the cheers and whistles, “I intend to exterminate the barbarian threat the moment the usurper and deceiver steps down from his unjustly acclaimed throne. Every life those savages take, every city they sack, every child which they orphan is solely Quintillus’ reason for he prevents a solution by not agreeing to quell our dispute peacefully, rather resorting to military means by fortifying in Aquileia while his people are dying - while OUR people are dying!”
Roars and accusations against the false Augustus became louder and louder as Aurelian allowed himself a moment to breathe and watch the bulwark with its iron gates, still no rider left the prison, because for Aurelian the city was but a prison for Quintillus who he simply needed to forcibly squeeze out, like a pimple on his skin, the deceiver was but a bug, a mere insect which abided its time in relative safety until the joint Empire’s might crashed down on it.
Squinting his brown eyes to observe various little figures squirm around on the walls, preparing the defences, Aurelian wondered whether they really supported him and Rome or if the sinful temptation like money and republican power were greater than the virtues of the Empire.
His head shot backwards as he pounded over the arid grass until he stood face to face with a random Legionnaire, his hands orderly folded behind his back as he stared the nervous man in the eye.
Suddenly the emperor bent down and grabbed the sweating man’s cheeks, proudly announcing: “You are Rome’s soldiers, you are my soldiers. You are the sun’s disciples which have traversed the mountains in record time. You are the ‘Golden Army,’ aren’t you?”
“Yes, Imperator!” Screamed the rows of men in unison at the wonderful praise of their general.
The wholehearted agreement by the soldiers elicited a smile from Aurelian who glanced behind him at Probus, a flash of concern flickering over the old man’s face who nervously swayed on his horse, tapping his boot up and down as his co-legates joined the praise.
Turning back to the man before him who hadn’t screamed as to prevent spitting into his emperor’s face, a notion which earned him a knowing wink from Caesar himself.
“It is not I who prevents the salvation of the empire but the usurper Quintillus! Let us save Rome together with our Roman brothers! No more infighting! No more civil wars! No more weakness!”
A flash of concern crossed his expression temporarily as he released the poor sod before him, mentally preparing to deliver a speech designed to test his men’s resolve and determination.
But his confident, almost cocky smile returned as he chanted: “For me, Rome is not just a city or an empire but a dream, a collection of ideals and morals of civilisation and humanity, of virtues and values we cherish and need to function as a society which isn’t led by savages or barbarians.
“Men! Rome has prevailed for over a millennia! And we! We will ensure that it will for another one!” Roaring cheering erupted into the sunny sky as the helmets dazzled and the swords clattered while the boots thudded into the soil, the defenders anxiously eyeing their illyrian and danubian comrades’ display of force and ferocity.
“And while a dream can only once be extinguished with the last breath of the last believer, of the last apostle of it, a city can be retrieved from the heathens and rebuilt from scratch! The empire can temporarily fall but as long as we prevail, Rome will prevail! We will reclaim what was lost and unite what has been divided! That is my creed! That is our creed!”
The mass was unstoppable as they cheered, roared, cried, yelled, whistled and fainted beyond anything reasonable at the faith their general had in them and their ability to rebuild the devastated, crumbling empire.
In a theatrical, calculated movement the cunning, charming Roman General jumped forward towards the same Legionnaire who jolted back as his own Augustus, the strongest, most influential man in the world kneeled before his own confused troops in an act of confidence by surrendering himself to the men who formed the foundation of his dream.
“I BOW before you, victorious soldiers of Rome, of the eternal city! The city which will remain invincible with your blood and tears! With your sacrifice!” He raised his voice to battle the overjoyed crowd and neighing horses.
“Legionaries of Rome and of the holy cause! The world is ours to tame! The world is ours to rule! The world! Is ours!” He panted, unable to stammer anything else, but a last surge of power swept over him.
“TO CONQUER!”