The winter sun cast long shadows over the gardens of the imperial palace in Ravenna. Frost clung to the edges of dormant rose bushes, and the bare branches of olive trees swayed gently in the chill breeze. Romulus Augustus walked slowly along a gravel path, his hands clasped behind his back. Beside him strode Andronikos, his Greek advisor, bundled in a thick woolen cloak.
Romulus broke the silence first. “Andronikos, I have been considering a concept—a concilium privatum, a council of select individuals to advise me directly on the empire's most pressing matters.”
Andronikos arched an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “A small council, then?” He paused, his gaze turning thoughtful as he considered the implications. “A sound idea,” he said after a moment, “and you are approaching the point where it becomes a necessity. But trust will be paramount, Romulus. To entrust others with real authority is no small matter.”
He gestured to the path ahead as they resumed walking. “You will need individuals who not only excel in their respective fields but who also understand the stakes. This council cannot be a collection of figureheads or sycophants. It must be composed of those who will challenge you when needed and support you when the time calls for it. That kind of trust—the kind that binds leaders to their advisors—is rare and fragile.”
His voice softened as he continued. “You must also prepare yourself, Caesar, to listen. To heed their counsel when it contradicts your instincts. That balance between authority and trust will define whether this concilium privatum succeeds or fails.”
He looked back at Romulus, his expression both serious and encouraging. “Are you ready for that kind of trust?”
Romulus nodded. “I would. There is too much to be done and too little time. One man cannot oversee military reforms, economic recovery, diplomatic entreaties, and the rebuilding of our cities alone. A concilium privatum could focus our efforts, divide the burdens, and bring expertise to areas where I lack it.”
“And yet,” Andronikos said, his voice measured, “there is danger in entrusting so much authority to others. Men are creatures of ambition, and Rome has no shortage of those who would use proximity to power for their own ends.”
Romulus paused beside a fountain, its water stilled by the cold. “I am aware. But we have no choice. If I am to save the empire, I need advisors who can act swiftly and decisively. The Senate debates endlessly, and time is our most precious resource.”
Andronikos inclined his head. “Then the key lies in choosing the right people. Those who are capable, loyal, and—where possible—pragmatic. Who do you envision for this concilium?”
Romulus frowned, his breath misting in the cold air. “Gaius Severus, naturally, for military affairs. He has proven his loyalty and competence. Perhaps Senator Marcellus for the treasury, though I remain cautious of his ties to the old guard. Bishop Felix would expect a place, though his interests are more aligned with the Church than with Rome itself.”
“And what of the practical matters?” Andronikos asked. “Infrastructure, agriculture, education?”
“I’ve thought of a lead mason for engineering—perhaps the man who fortified Ravenna. For agriculture, a veteran farmer. Andronikos, your insights would be invaluable for matters of diplomacy and education.”
The Greek stopped and turned to face him. “I am honored, Caesar, but if I may, allow me to propose a composition for your council that balances necessity with ambition.”
Andronikos began his proposal with certainty, his voice steady as he outlined his suggestions. “Your dux militum, Gaius Severus, is a natural choice. He commands respect among the troops and possesses the practical experience necessary to oversee the reforms and strategies you envision. However, as he is currently leading the eastern expedition, you will need to appoint a temporary replacement. The overall captain of the Palatini Guards, known as the Comes Palatinorum, would be an ideal candidate. He is present in Ravenna, trusted among the imperial guard, and capable of maintaining continuity in military oversight during Gaius's absence. This ensures the council remains balanced and effective.
He paused briefly, glancing at Romulus to gauge his reaction before continuing. “For the economy, you should consider a senator with reformist tendencies. Someone like Senator Marcellus, though cautious, could fulfill this role if properly guided. There may be others with more pragmatic views, but Marcellus has the ear of the Senate. A treasury cannot function under the weight of nostalgia, and he might be persuaded to embrace the changes you need.”
Shifting his tone slightly, Andronikos addressed the sensitive matter of religion and diplomacy. “You must include the Church, Caesar—not for its spiritual counsel, but for its influence. Bishop Felix, for all his ambitions, can stabilize relations with Constantinople and rally the people in your favor. His inclusion would also prevent him from feeling excluded, which could lead to unnecessary opposition.”
The discussion turned to engineering and rebuilding, a subject Andronikos approached with practicality. “For engineering, you need someone with hands-on experience. The man who fortified Ravenna is a prime candidate. He understands the empire’s structural needs and can oversee fortifications, roads, and aqueducts with the efficiency required to support your vision.”
Regarding agriculture, Andronikos’s suggestion was simple and direct. “A veteran farmer would be ideal for this position. A man who has worked the land will understand its challenges and its potential better than any senator. Choose someone respected by rural communities, and they will follow him as they would one of their own.”
When he reached the topic of intelligence, Andronikos’s voice lowered slightly, emphasizing the gravity of the matter. “For intelligence, you require a trusted operator—someone like Crassus, or another figure with a mind for espionage and counterintelligence. Such a person will secure your rule from within. Knowledge is power, Caesar, and without it, even the strongest empire can falter.”
Pausing briefly, Andronikos allowed a faint smile to cross his face before continuing. “As for education, I would be honored to guide that effort. The preservation of knowledge and the establishment of schools will strengthen the empire more lastingly than any legion. Education lays the foundation for unity and progress.”
Finally, he addressed the logistical chaos of rebuilding. “For public works, you need a steady hand, someone with practical experience in managing large projects. I recommend a middle-class Roman official—someone accustomed to governance at a functional level rather than lofty speeches. A proven administrator will ensure the roads are repaired, silos built, and bridges restored without delay.”
Romulus listened intently, his brow furrowed in thought as Andronikos concluded. After a moment of silence, he spoke. “You suggest including men who might otherwise stand against me—Felix, Marcellus. Is that not a risk?”
“It is a calculated one,” Andronikos replied, his voice calm and persuasive. “Better to bring potential rivals into the fold, where their ambitions can be directed for the good of Rome, than to leave them outside to plot against you. Unity is forged through cooperation, even among those who might disagree.”
Romulus nodded slowly, the frost-laden garden seeming to grow quieter around them. “And how often should it meet?”
“As often as needed,” Andronikos said. “Weekly, perhaps, in these critical months. Later, as stability returns, less frequently. Each member should have clear authority in their domain but remain accountable to you.”
Romulus resumed walking, his boots crunching against the gravel, his expression thoughtful. “A small council. Yes, I will call them together soon. Let us hope this council serves Rome as well as it must.”
The winter chill deepened as Romulus and Andronikos began their walk back toward the palace, their conversation echoing softly against the stillness of the gardens. The gravel crunched beneath their boots as Romulus’s mind worked through the complexities of the proposal.
“You know,” Romulus began, his tone contemplative, “the emperor’s chamber is ill-suited for these meetings. It is too formal, too laden with the weight of ceremony. For a concilium privatum to function, we need a space that encourages thought and discussion, not one that stifles it.”
Andronikos tilted his head. “Where would you suggest? The gardens, perhaps, though winter does us no favors.”
Romulus chuckled softly. “No, not the gardens. I was thinking of the library.”
At this, Andronikos’s eyes lit up. “The library? An inspired choice. To meet surrounded by the wisdom of the ages, under the gaze of those who penned the histories and philosophies we seek to emulate—or to avoid. It is perfect.”
“Perhaps,” Romulus mused, “but for now, the council chamber will do. There is too much to prepare. I have plans, Andronikos. Many plans.”
By the time they reached the warmth of the emperor’s chamber, a brazier was already crackling in the corner, chasing away the cold that clung to their cloaks. Romulus gestured for Andronikos to join him at a broad table, its surface cluttered with scrolls and maps. With a deliberate motion, the emperor unrolled one of the larger parchments, revealing a detailed outline.
“This,” Romulus said, tapping the topmost document, “is the most critical of them all: land reform.”
Andronikos leaned in, studying the neat lines of the proposal. “You aim to allocate the unused and abandoned lands to veterans and their families?”
“Yes,” Romulus replied, his tone firm. “These lands lie fallow, serving no purpose but to feed the weeds. Yet we have veterans who have given their lives to Rome and now live in squalor, forgotten by the state the moment they put down their swords. They deserve better. At the same time, we have foederati—barbarians within our borders—who often idle, their integration into Roman society incomplete. This reform can address both issues.”
Andronikos arched an eyebrow. “You mean to allocate lands to foederati as well?”
“Exactly,” Romulus said, leaning forward, his voice gaining intensity. “Combine veterans and foederati families on these lands, granting ownership in exchange for military service. It will bind the foederati more closely to Rome, making them not just allies but Romans in all but name. They will fight for land they own, for communities they share with veterans. And in doing so, they will undermine Odoacer’s power base.”
The Greek stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It is a bold strategy, Caesar. Foederati like the Heruli and Scirii form the backbone of Odoacer’s support. By offering an alternative—land and security under Roman law—you could indeed weaken his position. But there are risks.”
Romulus gestured for him to continue.
“First,” Andronikos said, “integrating veterans and foederati will require careful management. There is bound to be tension—cultural, linguistic, even religious. Will veterans, long loyal to the empire, accept these newcomers as equals? And will the foederati truly embrace this arrangement, or will they view it as subjugation?”
“Their loyalty will come from shared purpose,” Romulus countered. “Living side by side, working the same fields, defending the same lands. Over time, those bonds will strengthen. The veterans will set an example of discipline, and the foederati will bring vitality and strength where our numbers are dwindling.”
Andronikos inclined his head. “And what of the great landowners? They will not take kindly to any reform that redistributes land, even if it is abandoned.”
Romulus’s tone hardened. “The estates they hold have grown fat on the empire’s neglect. This reform does not touch their claims—it is only aimed at lands left unused. If they protest, we will placate them with guarantees on their existing holdings. But let them be warned: the empire’s survival takes precedence over their greed.”
The Greek smiled faintly, impressed by the emperor’s resolve. “And what of the logistics? Surveying the lands, determining eligibility, ensuring the recipients are prepared to farm or fight?”
“All manageable,” Romulus replied with confidence. “We have administrators skilled in land surveys. Veterans and their families will be prioritized, but foederati willing to serve will also be considered. The land will not be granted freely—it will come with clear obligations of service. They will farm it, defend it, and in return, it will be theirs to pass to their children.”
Andronikos leaned back, the glow of the brazier reflecting in his thoughtful eyes. “It is a sound plan, Caesar. If executed well, it could revitalize the countryside, bolster your armies, and weaken your enemies. But it must be swift and decisive. Promises left unfulfilled will breed rebellion faster than any barbarian incursion.”
Romulus nodded. “This will be handled directly by the state. No middlemen, no delays. The results must be immediate and visible. Land reform will be the cornerstone of our recovery.”
Romulus sighed, leaning back in his chair as he gazed at the glowing brazier. The shadows flickered across the room, but his mind was fixed on the weight of the decisions ahead. “I must admit, Andronikos, I would feel far more comfortable moving forward with these reforms if Gaius were here. His counsel is invaluable, and I trust his understanding of the army implicitly.”
The Greek nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Gaius is a remarkable leader, Caesar, but we cannot afford to wait. The empire teeters on the brink, and every delay strengthens the hand of Odoacer and weakens our own.”
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Romulus straightened, his resolve hardening. “You’re right. We cannot dally. The land reforms will be set in motion immediately. But the second matter on this list is equally pressing—military reform. Without a stronger army, none of our plans will survive the chaos that threatens us.”
He unrolled another parchment, this one bearing the title De Rebus Militaribus. “The Palatini must be completely reorganized. Their current structure is outdated and inefficient. We cannot face our enemies with an army designed for the battles of centuries past.”
Andronikos leaned forward, intrigued. “What changes do you propose?”
“Two key reforms,” Romulus began, tapping the parchment. “First, the cavalry. The introduction of the stirrup will transform how we fight on horseback. With stirrups, a rider gains greater stability and control, allowing for more powerful strikes and better maneuverability. Our cavalry will be able to deliver devastating charges and hold their ground against even the fiercest barbarian horsemen.”
Andronikos’s eyes gleamed with interest. “A simple innovation, but one with profound implications. Have you already devised a plan to implement it?”
Romulus nodded. “Yes. The Palatini cavalry will be the first to adopt the stirrup. Once the benefits are proven, we’ll expand its use to the foederati cavalry units. I want every Roman rider equipped and trained within the year.”
“And the infantry?” Andronikos asked.
Romulus unrolled another parchment, revealing diagrams of battle formations. “The Palatini infantry will be restructured into pike-and-shoot formations. Their primary defense will be a wall of pikes—long, disciplined ranks capable of holding back even the most determined cavalry charges. Behind them, we will deploy crossbowmen, a complement that can harass the enemy from range and soften their formations before melee begins.”
Romulus stood, his hands resting firmly on the table as his eyes scanned the diagrams of battle formations. The glow of the brazier cast shadows across the parchment, but his focus remained sharp. “Before Gaius departed for the East, we tested these reforms in Ravenna under his leadership. The pike formations—while still new—showed promise. Discipline was the key, and the veterans took to it faster than I had anticipated.”
Andronikos nodded, leaning forward to examine the drawings more closely. “I recall the drills you mentioned—intense training over rough terrain, formations against simulated cavalry charges. And the results?”
Romulus allowed himself a brief smile. “Better than expected. The men trained over the last two months performed well. They were drilled daily to hold their lines, advance in unison, and repel mock charges. Gaius pushed them hard, ensuring they could withstand the pressure of a real battlefield. When he departed for the East, he took those troops with him—trained, tested, and ready for war. But their trainers remained here.”
Andronikos stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Then you already have a foundation—a cadre of experienced instructors who can replicate these methods. This will accelerate the reform process, but scaling it will still require careful coordination.”
“Indeed,” Romulus said, tapping the parchment. “The trainers are vital. They have seen the formation in action, learned its strengths and weaknesses. Their insight will guide the next wave of recruits and the reorganization of the Palatini infantry.”
Romulus reached for another parchment, this one bearing sketches of crossbows and detailed notes. He unrolled it carefully, smoothing the edges as he spoke. “The crossbows are progressing well, though not without challenges. After months of trial and error, the craftsmen have finally perfected the mechanism. Production has begun, and the workshops in Ravenna can now produce roughly ten crossbows per week.”
Andronikos raised an eyebrow. “Ten per week? That is… modest.”
Romulus sighed. “It is, but scaling production is a slow process. The craftsmen need time to train their apprentices, and the materials—iron for the mechanisms and wood for the stocks—must be of the highest quality. Even a small flaw renders the weapon useless. Still, once the initial hurdles are overcome, we expect production to increase to twenty or thirty per week within the next three months.”
Andronikos nodded, studying the sketches. “And what of the bolts? The crossbow’s advantage is in its power, but it requires a steady supply of ammunition to remain effective.”
“That has been accounted for,” Romulus replied, though a slight hesitation crept into his voice. “The same workshops are producing bolts alongside the crossbows, and the process is simpler—though it requires skilled fletchers. We estimate a production of fifty bolts per week for now, with capacity to double once the initial phase is complete.”
The Greek stroked his beard thoughtfully, then frowned. “Fifty bolts? And how many are required for a single engagement? Surely you know that even a small skirmish could expend a hundred or more.”
Romulus blinked, then quickly countered. “Yes, of course. That is why we are stockpiling bolts as we produce them. The current rate is sufficient for training and initial deployment, but by the time these crossbows are distributed, we will have ample reserves.”
Andronikos tilted his head, his expression sharp. “You’ve discussed this with Gaius, haven’t you? These insights about bolt consumption—about scaling production—they sound more like the observations of a commander in the field than those of a craftsman.”
Romulus paused, caught for a moment before offering a wry smile. “Gaius and I discussed it before his departure. His understanding of battlefield logistics is unparalleled, and his feedback shaped much of this plan. He anticipated the strain on bolt production and suggested centralizing fletching operations in Ravenna to ensure quality and consistency.”
The Greek’s smile widened slightly. “So you’ve had Gaius’s hand in this all along. And here I thought this was entirely your doing.”
Romulus chuckled softly. “I may wear the crown, Andronikos, but I am no fool. Gaius’s counsel is invaluable, and I would be a poorer ruler without it. He also suggested using the trainers left behind to familiarize recruits with the crossbows as they’re produced. His vision is clear—train the infantry alongside the production cycle so we lose no time.”
Andronikos tapped the parchment, his tone thoughtful. “It’s a sound strategy, Caesar. But there is another challenge: ensuring the infantry can adapt to fighting with both pikes and crossbows. Balancing mobility, defense, and firepower is no small feat.”
“Gaius believed in emphasizing specialization,” Romulus replied. “The pike formations will hold the line, and crossbowmen will operate as a separate unit within the formation. They will be trained to reposition and reload without disrupting the cohesion of the pike wall. It’s a delicate balance, but one we’ve begun to master.”
Romulus reached for another document from the growing pile on the table, this one marked with diagrams of fields and canals. The parchment was creased and worn from frequent study. “And now, Andronikos, we turn to agriculture,” he began, his voice tinged with both determination and uncertainty. “I’ll admit this is not my area of expertise, but the health of the empire depends as much on its fields as it does on its soldiers.”
The Greek inclined his head, his curiosity piqued. “What do you propose, Caesar?”
Romulus gestured to the diagrams. “Three initiatives. First, crop rotation. It seems obvious—rotating what we plant in each field to preserve the soil and improve yields—but it’s something many of our farmers have forgotten. Too often, the same crops are grown season after season, and the land becomes exhausted. If we can reintroduce this practice, it could greatly increase productivity.”
Andronikos nodded thoughtfully. “Crop rotation is well-documented among agricultural writers. Columella, if I recall correctly, spoke of it in detail. But disseminating this knowledge to the countryside will be a challenge.”
“I agree,” Romulus said. “That’s where the veteran farmer I mentioned earlier will come in. A practical leader who understands the land and can teach others by example. If we establish a few model farms near Ravenna, they could serve as training grounds for other landholders.”
The emperor tapped another part of the parchment, showing a network of lines intersecting a field. “Second, we must restore the irrigation canals. Many of them have fallen into disrepair, especially in northern Italy and the Po Valley. Without them, even fertile lands remain underused. Water is life, Andronikos. If we can restore the canals, we’ll ensure a steady supply for the fields and prevent drought from crippling us.”
“And who will undertake this restoration?” Andronikos asked. “Your army engineers? Local laborers? The landowners?”
Romulus became quiet. “It is a valid point,” he said as he ran through his scrolls again before looking up. “You know, I really appreciate this.”
“What do you mean, Dominus?” Andronikos asked, though a small smile on his lips betrayed his amusement.
“This… your questions… pointing out the details.”
“I try my best, Dominus, but I can only ask the questions. The answers must come from your other advisors and, ultimately, from you. Think through the problem first. How would you solve it?”
“A combination,” Romulus said, his tone uncertain as he glanced back at the diagrams. “Perhaps the engineers could survey the canals and propose designs for the repairs, while the landowners and local communities might contribute the labor. It seems logical that those who benefit most should play a role. And if that isn’t enough, maybe we could allocate some state funds to encourage their participation.” He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “This is just an idea, Andronikos. An investment like this feels essential for Rome’s future, but I’m open to better suggestions.”
The Greek studied the diagrams closely. “It is a sound plan, Caesar, though costly. Irrigation is critical for stability, especially as we integrate more foederati and veterans into agricultural life. And the third initiative?”
Romulus smiled faintly, tapping the final section of the document. “Iron plows. The wooden plows used by many farmers are inefficient, especially in heavier soils. An iron plow cuts deeper and turns the earth more effectively, increasing yields with less effort. If we can produce them in large enough numbers, we’ll revolutionize farming across the empire.”
Andronikos raised an eyebrow. “A noble goal, but do you have the capacity to produce these plows? Your blacksmiths are already occupied with crossbows, bolts, and military equipment.”
Romulus hesitated, then nodded. “It will require careful planning. We cannot neglect the needs of the army, but the empire’s survival depends on food as much as it does on steel. I’ve ordered a survey of blacksmiths across the region to identify those who can focus on agricultural tools. Gaius agreed before his departure that this was a priority.”
The Greek’s expression shifted to one of quiet amusement. “Ah, so Gaius’s hand is in this as well.”
Romulus chuckled. “He helped refine the plan. His suggestion was to produce iron plows in workshops near major agricultural centers, minimizing the distance between the forges and the fields. It’s a practical solution, but one that will require close oversight.”
Andronikos leaned back, his mind clearly turning over the ideas. “These initiatives—crop rotation, irrigation, iron plows—they are ambitious, Caesar, but they strike at the heart of Rome’s resilience. If the people are fed, they will stand by you. If the fields prosper, so too will the empire.”
“That is my hope,” Romulus said softly. “The land is Rome’s foundation, Andronikos. If we strengthen it, we strengthen everything that stands upon it.”
Romulus leaned back slightly, his fingers brushing over the edges of the scattered parchments on the table. He exhaled, the weight of his plans pressing against him. “Andronikos,” he said, his voice quieter now, “these are just the beginnings of what I hope to achieve. Agriculture, economy, infrastructure, sanitation—each of these needs attention. But I lack the expertise to carry them all forward alone.”
He paused, looking toward the Greek with a faint smile. “That is why I need this small council. With the right minds advising me, we can rebuild not just the empire’s strength, but its spirit.”
Andronikos nodded, his expression thoughtful, but before he could respond, Romulus added, “And then there is education.”
The words seemed to spark something in the Greek. His eyes brightened, and he leaned forward, his hands clasping the edge of the table. “Yes, Caesar,” Andronikos said, his tone shifting to one of almost childlike enthusiasm. “Education. Let us continue with that.”
Romulus tilted his head slightly, intrigued by the sudden change in the Greek’s demeanor. “You seem eager, Andronikos.”
“Eager?” Andronikos echoed, his voice animated. “More than eager. Education is the foundation upon which all your ambitions will rest. Without knowledge, how will farmers embrace crop rotation? How will engineers rebuild irrigation canals? How will soldiers master your crossbows or stirrups?”
He paused, his fervor rising. “Education is not just a tool for the elite, Caesar. It is the means by which Rome can unify its people, elevate its citizens, and ensure the endurance of its culture. A literate soldier follows orders more effectively. A learned farmer produces more from the land. A scholar preserves the wisdom of the past for the challenges of the future.”
Romulus leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he absorbed Andronikos’s passionate words. The brazier's warm glow flickered against the parchment spread before them. After a moment’s silence, he said, “Your enthusiasm is contagious, Andronikos. The school we plan to open in Ravenna will be a modest beginning, but it is a beginning nonetheless. Do you think it premature to expand on it so soon?”
Andronikos’s eyes widened slightly, his excitement barely contained. “Caesar, the very fact that this school is nearly ready proves it is not premature. It is timely. The momentum is with us. Expansion need not be reckless—it can be deliberate and calculated. Establishing additional schools in Ravenna and its surrounding areas is not only feasible but wise. Each should cater to the children of citizens and foederati alike, teaching them the fundamentals of literacy, arithmetic, and practical trades.”
Romulus nodded thoughtfully. “Practical trades. That is key. We must train craftsmen, masons, and engineers, not only philosophers and historians. Each of these schools could focus on professions that align with their region’s needs and resources. One near the forges might emphasize metallurgy, another in fertile lands might train in advanced agriculture.”
The Greek’s face lit up, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke. “Precisely! Tailoring the curriculum to the needs of each region ensures that the education system serves not only the state but the people. Imagine, Caesar, a network of schools that foster loyalty and purpose among Rome’s youth, while directly contributing to the empire’s recovery.”
Romulus leaned back, his expression pensive. “And how do we staff these schools? The clergy can assist initially, but as the scope grows, so too will the need for dedicated teachers. Could we draw scholars from Constantinople?”
Andronikos nodded eagerly. “Yes, Caesar. Constantinople has no shortage of scholars who would relish the opportunity to shape the future of the West. With proper incentives—stipends, titles, even the promise of influence—they will come. But there is another untapped resource.”
Romulus raised an eyebrow. “And that is?”
“Your veterans,” Andronikos replied, his tone firm. “Many of them are disciplined, experienced, and literate enough to teach basic subjects or oversee practical training. With some guidance, they could become invaluable instructors, especially in schools that focus on trades and professions.”
The emperor’s lips curved into a faint smile. “An intriguing idea. Veterans teaching the next generation of Romans. It would bind them to the state even after their service in arms has ended. But we must tread carefully. This is not merely about providing knowledge; it is about shaping the identity of Rome’s future.”
“Exactly, Caesar,” Andronikos agreed. “These schools must teach more than skills—they must instill values. Duty, discipline, loyalty to Rome. Every lesson, every subject, must reinforce the idea that they are part of something greater. This will not only unify your people but create a generation that understands and embraces your vision for the empire.”
Romulus sat quietly for a moment, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the brazier. Finally, he said, “Very well. I will authorize the establishment of two additional schools near Ravenna, each with a specialized focus. We will use the opening of the first school as a model, refining the process as we go.
Romulus sat forward, his gaze resolute as he addressed Andronikos. “In addition to education, there are other pressing matters requiring leadership. We must finalize the appointments to the council. Gaius’s absence leaves a temporary void, and I will rely on the Comes Palatinorum to fill his role until he returns. But for the remaining positions, I entrust you, Andronikos, to identify the right individuals.”
The Greek inclined his head. “I am honored by your trust, Caesar. Do you wish for me to present a list of candidates for your approval, or shall I act on my discretion?”
Romulus considered for a moment. “A combination. Seek out those who are competent, loyal, and pragmatic—traits you yourself emphasized. Once you have your choices, inform them of their roles directly, but ensure they understand that their authority comes from me and me alone.”
Andronikos nodded, his expression contemplative. “I will begin immediately.”