The heavy oak door creaked shut, muffling the distant sounds of the bustling palace. The flickering light from a brazier cast long shadows across the modestly adorned chamber, where Orestes sat behind a carved wooden table, his armor partially undone and a goblet of watered wine at his side. Crassus, his trusted officer, stood silently nearby, his presence a quiet testament to the weight of the conversation about to unfold.
Romulus entered, his young face alight with determination, though the faint crease in his brow betrayed his unease. He hesitated only a moment before crossing the room and seating himself across from his father. Orestes looked up, his sharp eyes softening as they met his son’s.
“You’ve been busy,” Orestes began, his tone neither approving nor condemning. He gestured to a folded parchment on the table—one of many reports detailing Romulus’s efforts to fortify Ravenna and engage its craftsmen and guilds in governance. “Your ambitions are commendable, my son. The walls are strengthening, the men training, and you’ve begun to bridge the divide between the council and the guilds. But...” He paused, the weight of unspoken concerns hanging in the air.
Romulus leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly together. “But?” he prompted.
Orestes exchanged a brief glance with Crassus before continuing. “The senators and wealthy landowners are not as impressed as I am,” he said evenly. “You’ve been careful not to strip them of their influence outright, but they see every concession to the guilds as a threat to their standing. And they don’t take kindly to threats.”
Romulus frowned. “I haven’t taken anything from them. I’ve only given the craftsmen and guilds a voice they deserve. Ravenna cannot stand if we rely solely on those who’ve always had power. We need the strength of every citizen.”
Orestes’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he nodded. “I understand your reasoning, and I respect it. But politics is not just about reason, Romulus. It’s about perception. To the senators, this looks like the beginning of a shift they cannot control. Lepidus, in particular, has been vocal. He sees your reforms as an erosion of the order Rome has always relied on.”
Romulus’s voice hardened. “Lepidus represents the very order that left the empire weak and divided. If we continue down that path, there will be nothing left to govern.”
Crassus, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat. “With respect, Imperator, Lepidus is not alone in his concerns. Several other senators have echoed his sentiments, albeit more quietly. Their wealth gives them influence over others, and that influence could lead to unrest if it’s not managed carefully.”
Orestes raised a hand, silencing further elaboration. “I’ve already prevented matters from escalating,” he said. “A few well-placed conversations, a reminder of the stability we offer them, and some promises—carefully worded, of course—have kept them in line for now. But you must tread carefully, Romulus. Each step forward risks stirring them further.”
Romulus hesitated, the faint flicker of the brazier catching the anxious movement in his hands. Finally, he took a deep breath and met his father’s gaze.
“There is one more thing,” he said cautiously. “I’ve begun plans to establish a school in Ravenna.”
Orestes didn’t react immediately. He leaned back in his chair, the light from the brazier throwing his features into sharp relief. The silence stretched, each passing moment amplifying the weight of the room. Crassus shifted slightly but said nothing, his expression unreadable.
Romulus felt the pressure building, the quiet more unnerving than any reprimand. “It’s... it’s modest,” he continued, his voice quickening to fill the void. “A single building to teach basic skills—masonry, carpentry, blacksmithing. Skills the city desperately needs. It’s not just for the future, Father—it’s to solve problems we face now.”
Orestes still said nothing, his eyes fixed on Romulus as though measuring the depth of his resolve. Finally, he sighed and leaned forward, the creak of the chair breaking the oppressive stillness.
“Romulus,” Orestes began, his voice low but firm, “do you know what your biggest strength is?”
Romulus blinked, unsure of how to respond. He shook his head slightly.
“Your vision,” Orestes said. “You see beyond the walls of this city, beyond the petty squabbles of senators and guilds. You look to the future and believe you can shape it. That is rare... and it is dangerous.”
Romulus opened his mouth to reply, but Orestes raised a hand to stop him.
“Don’t mistake me. I admire it. I see in you a spark of what Rome once was. But Rome is not what it once was. It is fragile, and so is our position within it. Every change you propose, no matter how well-intentioned, feels like a threat to those who have clung to their power through years of chaos. You’re asking them to adapt when they’ve spent their lives refusing to.”
“But the school isn’t taking power from anyone,” Romulus protested. “It’s giving the people tools to rebuild what we’ve lost. How can they oppose that?”
“Because power isn’t always about what you take, Romulus,” Orestes said gravely. “Sometimes, it’s about what you give. To the senators, to the wealthy, even to the guilds, your school represents a shift. A shift where the people who have always answered to them begin to think for themselves, to grow stronger. And strength, even if it’s not aimed against them, is something they fear.”
Romulus leaned back, frustration clear on his young face. “So what should I do? Abandon the school? Let Ravenna remain weak because they can’t see past their own greed?”
“No,” Orestes said firmly. “You will finish the school. I will make sure the murmurs against it do not grow louder than they already have. But, Romulus”—his voice sharpened—“it must be your last innovation for now.”
Romulus stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Orestes said, leaning closer, “that you must give the city time to absorb what you’ve already begun. The walls, the guilds’ involvement in governance, and now the school—these are not small changes. They are waves crashing against the foundation of this city. If you send too many at once, you risk everything crumbling.”
Orestes leaned back in his chair, the brazier’s glow casting flickering shadows across his face. His expression, though weary, carried an edge of determination. He studied Romulus for a moment before speaking.
“Romulus, you need to understand the state of the empire,” he began, his tone measured. “Here in Ravenna, we try to hold things together—walls, men, councilors—but beyond these walls, the empire is stretched thin, fraying at every corner.”
Romulus leaned forward, attentive but hesitant, sensing the gravity of the conversation.
“To the north,” Orestes continued, “Odoacer holds his position. He’s patient and disciplined—he knows the value of stability. His loyalty, for now, is firm. I’ve dealt with him personally, and I trust his commitment to maintaining order. He doesn’t want to see the empire crumble; he wants it to endure, so long as we give him the means to sustain his men.”
He gestured toward the south. “But the provinces, Romulus—they are slipping away. Our tax collectors return with little or nothing. They speak of ruined harvests, bandits, and reluctance among the landowners. The senators in the countryside cling to their wealth, unwilling to part with a single solidus unless they’re forced to. And we lack the men to force them.”
Orestes sighed, rubbing his temples. “And the east? Constantinople watches with thinly veiled disdain. They send us polite letters, but no support. They prefer us weak, dependent on their goodwill. The emperors there speak of unity, but they would rather see this empire falter than risk a strong Western rival.”
His gaze sharpened as he fixed his son with a piercing look. “This is the reality we govern. The empire is not whole, and it may never be again. We are not building something new—we are trying to keep what little we have from falling apart.”
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft crackle of the brazier. Romulus clenched his hands in his lap, the enormity of his father’s words pressing down on him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Orestes turned to Crassus.
“Crassus,” Orestes said, his tone brisk, “tell him what you saw in the south.”
Crassus stepped forward, his expression serious. “Dominus, the situation is dire. I led a cohort to collect taxes from the estates in Campania and Lucania. The roads were treacherous, plagued by bandits and deserters. We fought off two ambushes just to reach our destination.”
He paused, his eyes flicking briefly to Romulus before continuing. “When we arrived, the estates were in varying states of disrepair. Some had been abandoned entirely—fields overgrown, villas empty. The stewards of the larger estates greeted us politely but offered little. They claimed poor harvests and high costs, and many said they had nothing to give.”
Orestes’s jaw tightened. “And how much did you collect?”
Crassus exhaled sharply. “Approximately eight hundred solidi in total. A fraction of what we expected. Even that was difficult to secure—many stewards demanded assurances of protection or reduced levies next year before they would part with anything.”
“Eight hundred solidi,” Orestes muttered, his voice laced with frustration. “Barely enough to keep the city functioning for a few weeks. And yet these estates, these senators—they dine in luxury while the empire rots.”
He turned back to Romulus, his tone softening but retaining its weight. “This is the world you’re stepping into. I’ve given you room to lead, to strengthen Ravenna in your way, because I want you to grow into this role. But understand this: the empire is fragile, its people weary, its elites selfish. Stability must come first. Without it, even the best intentions will crumble.”
Orestes leaned back in his chair, his expression tightening as he weighed his next words. “Romulus, there is something else you need to know. Reports from Dalmatia suggest that Julius Nepos is attempting to rally an army.”
Romulus sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. “Nepos? He’s only been in Dalmatia for a few months. How could he possibly raise an army so quickly?”
“Desperation breeds resourcefulness,” Orestes replied. “Nepos is no fool—he fled with whatever wealth and supporters he could muster when we took Ravenna. Dalmatia is not a rich province, but it’s relatively stable compared to the rest of the empire. Nepos still has allies among the eastern governors, and the eastern court recognizes him as the legitimate ruler of the West. He will not be content to remain in exile.”
Romulus frowned. “But what can he hope to achieve? Even if he raises a small force, he cannot challenge Ravenna.”
Orestes’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Perhaps not now. But Nepos doesn’t need to march on Ravenna to be a threat. His presence alone is a beacon for those who resent our rule—disenfranchised senators, ambitious generals, or even the barbarians on our borders. If he secures the backing of Constantinople, or worse, strikes an alliance with one of the barbarian kings, we could face a war on multiple fronts.”
The weight of Orestes’s words settled heavily over the room. Romulus glanced at Crassus, who stood silently, his brow furrowed as he absorbed the conversation.
“Has Nepos taken any action yet?” Romulus asked. “Or is this just speculation?”
“Nothing overt,” Orestes admitted. “But rumors travel fast. There are whispers that he’s been contacting the eastern court, possibly seeking funds or mercenaries. We must treat these whispers as warnings. Nepos knows he cannot challenge us alone, but with time and the right allies, he could destabilize everything we’ve worked to hold together.”
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Romulus clenched his fists. “Then we must act before he can gather strength. Can’t we send spies to Dalmatia? Undermine his efforts before they bear fruit?”
Orestes nodded slowly. “I’ve already taken steps in that direction. Agents have been dispatched to monitor his movements and disrupt any attempts to recruit soldiers or secure supplies.
The messenger returned to the room after a brief knock, his cloak damp from the cold air outside. In his hand was a sealed letter, bearing the wax impression of Paulus’s signet. He bowed as he approached the table where Orestes sat.
“Dominus,” the messenger said, extending the letter. “This arrived from Mediolanum. It bears your brother’s seal.”
Orestes took the letter, his expression neutral but alert as he turned it over in his hands. He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, scanning its contents in silence. The brazier’s flickering light cast sharp shadows on his face, accentuating the deep lines of thought and concern that appeared as he read.
Romulus, seated across from him, watched his father’s demeanor shift subtly. He saw the tightening of Orestes’s jaw, the way his eyes narrowed as if weighing each word. The boy clenched his hands in his lap, his stomach churning with the knowledge he could not share.
“What does Paulus say?” Romulus asked carefully.
Orestes didn’t answer immediately. When he finished reading, he folded the letter and passed it to Crassus. “Read it,” he said in a clipped tone.
Crassus took the letter and began to read aloud, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of unease.
“‘Brother, I write to you from Mediolanum with troubling observations. Odoacer has sent envoys to this region under the guise of negotiating grain prices and securing trade routes. However, their movements have been unusual. They linger in certain villages, avoiding Mediolanum itself, and they have been seen speaking with small groups of foederati stationed nearby—Heruli, Sciri, and others who remain loyal to Odoacer but are prone to opportunism.’”
Crassus glanced at Orestes before continuing. “‘I have also observed increased activity among the barbarian contingents. While there is no sign of aggression toward us, their gatherings are larger than normal, and their leaders appear to be conferring with one another more frequently. This coordination is subtle but unusual enough to warrant concern.’”
Crassus’s voice tightened slightly as he read the final lines. “‘Odoacer’s men claim these movements are routine, yet their secrecy suggests otherwise. I have no direct evidence of disloyalty, but I fear he is positioning himself for something. I thought it prudent to inform you before taking further action. Your brother, Paulus.’”
Crassus lowered the letter and looked to Orestes, whose expression had darkened. “Dominus, if what Paulus says is true, this could be the early stirrings of something dangerous.”
Orestes leaned back, his face unreadable, though tension radiated from him. “Odoacer has no reason to betray us,” he said after a moment. “He values order as much as I do. He’s pragmatic. Why risk everything for chaos?”
Romulus hesitated, his mind racing. He knew what Odoacer intended, but the knowledge was a burden he could not reveal without risking everything. Instead, he leaned forward, choosing his words carefully. “Father, what if Odoacer’s pragmatism leads him to see us as a threat to his stability? He has an army loyal to him, and if he senses weakness in our position...”
Orestes’s eyes flicked to his son, a flicker of irritation mingling with thoughtfulness. “You’re suggesting Odoacer would strike first to preserve his own power?”
Romulus met his father’s gaze steadily. “I’m saying we should prepare for every possibility, even the ones we don’t want to believe. Paulus’s letter doesn’t accuse Odoacer outright, but it points to behavior that is... concerning.”
Crassus nodded, his voice measured. “The gatherings of barbarians near Mediolanum, Dominus, could indicate that Odoacer is consolidating his power. It may not be treachery, but it is preparation. He could be ensuring his position in case of unrest.”
Orestes exhaled sharply, his irritation more pronounced. “If I confront him without evidence, it will push him away, perhaps into the arms of the very disloyalty we fear. Odoacer is not a fool—he will see through any baseless accusations.”
Romulus leaned back, feigning deference but pushing further. “Then don’t confront him. Strengthen our position here. Make it clear that Ravenna is prepared for anything. If Odoacer is loyal, he will respect our resolve. If he is not, he will think twice before acting.”
Orestes’s jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly. “You’re right. Strength deters ambition. Crassus, write to Paulus. Tell him to observe but not interfere. If Odoacer’s envoys take further action, he must report immediately. Send word to our garrison commanders near Mediolanum. Increase patrols quietly, and ensure the local foederati are reminded of their oaths. But make no move that could provoke suspicion.”
Crassus inclined his head. “As you command, Dominus.”
Romulus remained silent, his chest tightening as he listened. He had steered the conversation, but the burden of knowing Odoacer’s plans gnawed at him. He could only hope his father’s caution would buy them the time they needed.
Orestes turned back to his son, his expression softening but remaining serious. “Romulus, you have a sharp mind, but this is a lesson you must learn: loyalty is fragile, and trust can be a dangerous weapon. Prepare for betrayal, yes, but do not see it where it does not exist. If you live in suspicion, you will make enemies of your allies.”
Orestes leaned back, his hand resting on the arm of the chair, his gaze distant as if sifting through layers of thought. The brazier's glow reflected in his eyes, flickering like the uncertainty clouding his mind. Silence stretched, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire.
Finally, Orestes straightened, his tone decisive yet measured. "I cannot rely solely on reports and speculation. If Paulus is uneasy, there is enough cause for me to see Mediolanum with my own eyes. The empire cannot afford blind spots, not when it teeters on the edge of survival."
Romulus's heart quickened. "You mean to leave Ravenna?"
Orestes nodded, his expression firm. "In two weeks. I’ll take a contingent of trusted soldiers—not large enough to draw suspicion, but sufficient to secure my safety and authority. I will assess the situation in Mediolanum myself. Odoacer’s envoys, the barbarians’ movements—there may be innocent explanations, but I must confirm it. To lead is to see clearly, Romulus, and I cannot do that from here."
Crassus, who had been standing silently, shifted slightly, his arms crossed. "Dominus, with respect, leaving Ravenna at this time is not without risks. The city needs strong leadership. If the senators sense your absence, they may see it as an opportunity to push their agendas—or worse, to undermine your son."
Orestes turned to Crassus, his gaze steady. "That is why you will remain here. Romulus is capable, but he needs guidance while I am away. You will oversee the city’s defenses and ensure stability in the council. Any sign of unrest, you will deal with it swiftly."
Crassus inclined his head, though his brow furrowed slightly. "As you command, Dominus. I will do everything in my power to uphold the city."
Orestes then shifted his attention to Romulus, his tone softening but retaining an edge of authority. "Romulus, this is not an abandonment of my duty. It is a necessary step to ensure our survival. But while I am gone, the weight of Ravenna will rest on your shoulders. You must be careful—measured. Every action you take will be scrutinized, every word you speak magnified. Crassus will advise you, but the decisions will be yours to make. Are you ready for that?"
Romulus swallowed, the gravity of his father’s words pressing against his chest. He nodded, his voice steady despite the unease bubbling beneath. "I am ready, Father."
"Good." Orestes rose from his chair, the shadow of his figure towering over the flickering brazier. "In these two weeks, we will ensure the city is prepared. The walls, the garrison, the treasury—I want everything in order before I depart. There must be no weakness for others to exploit."
He turned to Crassus. "Draft orders tonight for a contingent of fifty men to prepare for travel. Handpick them from our most disciplined units. I want no room for error."
Crassus nodded sharply. "It will be done, Dominus."
As the room fell into a contemplative silence, Romulus spoke again, his voice quieter but insistent. "Father, when you’re in Mediolanum, don’t dismiss the possibility of treachery—even if it comes from those you trust most. We cannot afford to underestimate anyone."
Orestes’s gaze met his son’s, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. "Wise words, Romulus. But remember, suspicion without proof can sow discord as much as any betrayal. Balance is key. I will keep my eyes open—on all fronts."
The brazier’s crackling filled the quiet room as Orestes took a moment to gather his thoughts. Romulus watched his father closely, his mind turning over the implications of Orestes’s departure. Then, an idea sparked in his mind—a plan that felt both urgent and necessary given the precarious state of the countryside.
“Father,” Romulus began cautiously, leaning forward in his chair. “While you’re in Mediolanum, there is something else we should begin here. We’ve worked to strengthen Ravenna, but the roads and settlements around the city are just as vital to our survival.”
Orestes arched an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. “Go on.”
Romulus clasped his hands, speaking quickly but deliberately. “We need to build watchtowers along the main roads leading to Ravenna. Simple structures—stone or even timber—equipped to house small detachments of soldiers. They would serve as both sentry points and refuges for travelers. Banditry has made the roads unsafe, and we can’t afford to let trade falter further.”
Crassus, who had been standing by, nodded slightly. “A sound idea, Imperator. Towers would also allow us to monitor troop movements and ensure the safety of tax collectors and grain shipments.”
Romulus pressed on, emboldened by Crassus’s agreement. “But we shouldn’t stop there. Many of the nearby villages lack even basic fortifications. If we build simple defenses—earthworks, wooden palisades—it would provide them with protection against raiders and give them a sense of security. A secure countryside means a stronger Ravenna.”
Orestes leaned back, his expression unreadable, though his fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of his chair. “And who will build these towers and fortifications, Romulus? Who will man them?”
Romulus anticipated the question and answered without hesitation. “We can use the craftsmen already engaged in Ravenna to oversee construction, while the villagers themselves provide labor. As for the garrisons, the men we’re training can be divided into smaller contingents once their basic drills are complete. With more recruits, we can expand the force to a thousand men over the next year—enough to secure the city and its surroundings.”
Orestes’s gaze sharpened, his tone measured. “Do you realize the costs of what you’re proposing? Granaries, fortifications, soldiers—they all demand resources we barely have. And the treasury is stretched thin as it is.”
Romulus nodded, his determination unshaken. “I do. But we can prioritize. Start with the roads closest to Ravenna and expand outward. Build granaries to store surplus grain during the harvest—this will prevent shortages during the lean months and make the countryside less vulnerable to famine. The initial investment will save us from greater losses in the long term.”
Crassus added, his voice steady, “Dominus, strengthening the countryside also strengthens our influence. The villages are where rebellion begins when people feel abandoned. But if they see that the empire protects them, they’ll be less likely to side with anyone seeking to challenge our rule.”
Orestes exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples as he weighed the arguments. The flickering light of the brazier painted shifting patterns on the worn lines of his face
Orestes’s fingers paused in their rhythmic tapping as he leaned forward, his voice measured but carrying a hint of weariness. “Romulus, you are not telling me anything I do not already know. I have thought of these measures, considered them more than once. The roads, the villages, even the granaries—I am fully aware of their importance.”
He exhaled deeply, his gaze distant as he spoke. “But I had other plans for the funds we’ve managed to scrape together. Plans that extended beyond Ravenna or the countryside.” His eyes shifted to Romulus, their intensity sharpening. “I intended to petition the court at Constantinople.”
Romulus blinked in surprise. “Petition them for what?”
“To formally recognize your rule as legitimate,” Orestes said bluntly. “Right now, Constantinople tolerates us. They see you as little more than a figurehead, a placeholder for their ambitions. But if they were to acknowledge you—truly acknowledge you—they could not move against us without undermining their own authority. It would secure the eastern provinces’ neutrality and potentially open the door to funding or even reinforcements.”
Romulus’s hands clenched tightly in his lap, caught off guard by the revelation. “I... I didn’t know,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Father, why didn’t you tell me?”
Orestes’s expression softened slightly, though the lines of fatigue on his face remained etched. “Because it wasn’t certain. Constantinople’s court is as fickle as it is powerful. My plan depended on using what little wealth we’ve managed to gather to present a strong case—a case backed by promises of stability, of restored trade, and of cooperation. But with the treasury as it is, and with the growing threats around Mediolanum...” He sighed heavily. “It seems that plan will have to wait.”
Romulus leaned forward, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “Father, I appreciate what you intended to do, but the empire is more important than a title. Recognition from the East means little if we cannot hold what we already have. If these funds are needed to strengthen the countryside and secure our borders, then that’s where they should go.”
Orestes studied his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, a faint sigh escaping his lips. “You are right, Romulus. The empire’s survival comes first, even if it means delaying what we need to solidify your rule. But understand this—without legitimacy, our position remains fragile. Every senator, every landowner, every barbarian chief will see you as an emperor in name only. We cannot delay too long.”
Romulus nodded solemnly. “I understand, Father. And when the time comes, we’ll make that case to the East. But for now, we must act where it matters most.”
Orestes arched an eyebrow, a faint flicker of approval passing over his features. “You are learning, Romulus. But remember, words and promises do not always move men. What we build now—these watchtowers, these granaries—they will be your argument when the time comes. Actions speak louder than any petition.”
Crassus, who had been quietly observing, stepped forward. “Dominus, I can begin organizing the initial steps for the watchtowers and village defenses. If we allocate resources carefully, we can make progress without completely draining the treasury.”
Orestes nodded, his voice firm. “Do it. And prioritize the roads closest to Ravenna—those are the lifelines of the city.”
He turned back to Romulus, his expression softening again. “This will be your legacy to oversee while I am gone. Make sure it is one that endures.”
“I will, Father,” Romulus replied, determination shining in his eyes.
Orestes stood, his imposing figure illuminated by the brazier’s glow. “Good. Then we have much to prepare.” With a glance at Crassus, he added, “Begin drafting the orders tonight. We cannot afford to lose any more time.”