Romulus Augustus stood before the polished bronze mirror in his chamber, adjusting the folds of his tunic with deliberate care. The room was modest by imperial standards—its adornments practical rather than ostentatious, reflecting his focus on the empire’s needs over his own comfort. A simple oil lamp burned on the corner table, casting a warm, flickering glow across the room as dawn light seeped in through the narrow window. A map of the empire, corners weighted by small bronze coins, lay unrolled on a table nearby, its faded edges a testament to the years of wear. Beside it sat a neatly stacked pile of correspondence and an open ledger, evidence of the countless decisions that demanded his attention each day. As he adjusted his belt, his gaze lingered on the map, tracing the uncertain borders with an almost meditative intensity, considering the challenges and ambitions that lay ahead.
He drew in a measured breath, the cool morning air sharp in his lungs. This would be the first meeting of his newly formed small council, a gathering of trusted individuals who would help shape the empire’s fragile future. Romulus had weighed the stakes heavily; the choices made today could determine whether Rome would endure or crumble under the weight of its enemies and its own internal decay.
A soft knock at the door broke his thoughts. “Enter,” he called, his voice steady despite the mounting tension in his chest.
The door creaked open to reveal Andronikos, his Greek advisor, carrying a thin leather satchel. The man’s dark eyes carried an unusual spark of optimism as he bowed slightly. “Good morning, Caesar,” he said in his measured tone, his Hellenic accent lending a rhythm to the Latin. “I come with news—unexpected, but fortuitous.”
Romulus turned, his brow arching. “We could use some fortune. What is it?”
Andronikos stepped forward, retrieving a scroll from his satchel. His movements carried an air of restrained excitement as he held the scroll carefully, as though its contents were a treasure in itself. “The final returns from the autumn tax collection have arrived,” he explained, unrolling the parchment with deliberate precision to reveal neat rows of meticulously calculated figures. “They were delayed by heavy rains and poor roads, Caesar, but at last, they’ve finally reached us. Our collectors faced considerable difficulty—bridges washed away, landslides blocking key passes, and yet they persevered. Their diligence has delivered results we might not have expected under the circumstances. The added sum comes to an impressive 26,500 solidi, exceeding earlier projections.”
He paused for a moment, his expression softening with pride. “What’s more, Caesar, the news of the new defenses being constructed around Ravenna and the recruitment of additional soldiers has begun to bolster confidence. Tax compliance, even in these challenging conditions, reflects a growing trust in your administration. These higher returns are, in part, a testament to that renewed faith.””
Romulus’s eyes widened slightly, his expression betraying both surprise and relief. "An extra 26,500? That is more than I dared hope for under the circumstances." He stepped closer to Andronikos, his gaze fixed on the scroll as though he needed to see the figures himself to fully grasp the weight of the news. For a moment, his hand hovered over the parchment, hesitant to touch it, as if doing so might break the spell of fortune that had graced their coffers. He then clasped his hands behind his back, straightening as a faint smile curved his lips. "This is not just fortune; it’s a sign that our work is beginning to bear fruit. The defenses around Ravenna, the promise of a stronger army—these are investments that people are starting to believe in."
His tone shifted slightly, carrying a note of determination. "This surplus gives us room to act as we planned. Is this 26,500 added to the treasury?"
“Yes, Caesar. Combined with the remaining funds, the treasury now holds approximately 33,000 solidi,” Andronikos confirmed, his tone measured but carrying a hint of satisfaction. “A considerable improvement, considering where we stood just weeks ago.”
He paused, his expression taking on a more thoughtful cast. “It is worth noting, Caesar, that much of this stability is thanks to the actions of the Magister Militum following your coronation. His decision to pay the military and the bureaucracy their wages in advance alleviated potential unrest and allowed us to focus on rebuilding rather than extinguishing fires. What remains in the treasury now is unencumbered and ready to be put to strategic use—an opportunity we should seize with careful deliberation.”
Romulus nodded, his expression thoughtful as he absorbed the implications of Andronikos’s words. He turned back toward the mirror, adjusting the clasp of his cloak with steady hands. His gaze shifted back to Andronikos, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Tell me, should we expect any absentees from today’s meeting?"
Andronikos hesitated, his brow furrowing deeply as he weighed the question with evident care. He set the scroll aside, his fingers interlocking as he clasped his hands before him in a posture of careful deliberation. "It’s difficult to say with certainty, Caesar," he began, his tone steady but thoughtful. "Bishop Felix, while unwavering in his vocal support thus far, has a penchant for making his presence—or absence—felt strategically. He is known to remind us of his station, often by arriving late enough to underscore his importance without derailing proceedings entirely. A delayed arrival today would not surprise me in the least." He paused, his gaze briefly flickering to the map on the table as though calculating more than just absentees. "As for Senator Marcellus," Andronikos continued, his voice tinged with a note of mild frustration, "he has a reputation for punctuality in most circumstances. However, he is also a man who treads lightly where controversy brews. Should he perceive discord or uncertainty about the direction of this council, it would not be beneath him to feign illness or find another convenient pretext to excuse himself from attendance. It is a subtle maneuver he has employed before to maintain neutrality or avoid taking a definitive stance." He sighed softly, his expression momentarily clouded with a hint of weariness. "I suspect his attendance may hinge on the confidence he feels in the council’s unity—or lack thereof—on key issues."
Romulus had no chance to respond as a sharp, yet respectful knock echoed through the chamber. His gaze shifted to the door, and with a brief nod to Andronikos, he called out, “Enter.”
The door opened to reveal a servant, his head bowed as he stepped into the room. “Caesar, all the guests have arrived and await your presence in the council chamber,” he announced, his voice steady but tinged with the deference due to the emperor.
Romulus turned back to Andronikos with an arched brow, a faint, bemused smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It seems you were wrong about Felix,” he said, a note of dry humor threading through his words. “A pleasant disappointment, I must admit.”
Andronikos allowed himself a small chuckle, inclining his head. “Even the most predictable of men have their moments of surprise, Caesar. Perhaps Felix intends to set a different tone today, though I suspect it is more likely an act of strategy than true eagerness.”
Romulus adjusted the clasp of his cloak one last time, smoothing the fabric with deliberate care. “Let us not keep them waiting,” he said, his voice firm as he strode toward the door. Andronikos followed closely, the faint rustle of his satchel accompanying their steps.
As they made their way toward the council chamber, the weight of the day ahead settled over Romulus.
----------------------------------------
The council chamber was a testament to the fading grandeur of the empire. Its high vaulted ceiling was adorned with frescoes that had begun to fade, their vibrant colors dulled by time and neglect. Marble columns, once pristine, bore faint cracks, subtle reminders of the empire’s age and the strain of its recent trials. Having served as a hub of imperial administration for nearly six decades, the chamber still carried an aura of authority, though it was now tempered by the signs of wear. A long rectangular table dominated the center, its surface polished to a deep sheen, though corners were chipped from years of use. Surrounding it were chairs that had seated generations of Rome’s most powerful figures, each imbued with the weight of decisions that had shaped the empire’s destiny. Morning light streamed through tall arched windows, illuminating the chamber with a dignified glow and emphasizing its historical significance despite its imperfections.
Romulus paused at the threshold, Andronikos a step behind him, his eyes scanning the assembly. Standing just to the side of the doorway was the captain of his personal guard, Magnus of Verona, a steadfast and loyal protector whose presence had become essential since the attempt on Romulus’s life. Magnus’s piercing gaze swept the room before settling briefly on his emperor, offering a subtle nod. His vigilance and quiet strength were constant reminders of the loyalty anchoring Romulus’s fragile reign. Romulus returned the gesture with a nod—a silent affirmation of trust that had deepened since the dark days of the assassination attempt. For a moment, the memory of that near-death encounter weighed on him, sharpening his resolve and reminding him of the precariousness of power. As Romulus stepped into the chamber, the murmurs among the gathered men ceased, and all rose in unison, their gazes fixed on their young emperor. He nodded, a subtle gesture acknowledging their respect, and motioned for them to sit.
Andronikos leaned in slightly, his voice low but clear as he whispered observations into Romulus’s ear, his words an almost conspiratorial accompaniment as they moved toward the head of the table. “Caesar, your council awaits, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm.”
The chair nearest to Romulus, meant for the commander of Rome’s military efforts, was now taken by Comes Lucius Varius, a sturdy and disciplined man whose military bearing was evident in his sharp posture and steely gaze. Gaius Severus, currently leading an expedition to the East, was absent from this inaugural meeting of the council. Upon his return, his role on this council was assured. For now, this position was temporarily ceded to Lucius Varius, the overall commander of the Palatini units in Ravenna. Andronikos leaned closer to Romulus. “He’s capable, Caesar, and he deeply respects our Dux. You can rely on him to maintain discipline and continuity until Severus’s return.”
To the Comes’ right sat Senator Quintus Marcellus, his toga impeccably arranged, a gold ring gleaming on his finger. Marcellus exuded the measured air of a man who understood both the intricacies of finance and the subtleties of politics.
Across the table, Bishop Felix’s gaze was filled with amusment, a reassuring smile softening his expression. His clerical robes, rich but not ostentatious, caught the light as he folded his hands before him.
Next to Felix sat Marcellus Claudius, the lead advisor on infrastructure. An older and wise man, his neatly groomed appearance contrasted with the rougher hands that betrayed his active involvement in the construction of Ravenna’s defenses. His calm yet meticulous demeanor exuded authority over his craft. Andronikos leaned closer to Romulus and, with a slight hesitation, whispered, “Caesar, I must apologize for a decision I made without your explicit approval. I thought it wiser to split the engineering portfolio into two parts. Claudius here can focus solely on roads, aqueducts, and fortifications—the backbone of our infrastructure.”
Romulus simply nodded at his words, his expression thoughtful. “It is more logical this way,” he replied, his tone measured, before motioning for the discussion to continue.
On the other side of the table, a young face joined the council—Caius, a blacksmith from Ravenna renowned for his unmatched mastery of metalwork and weapon crafting. His muscular build and soot-stained tunic gave him an earthy authenticity. Andronikos continued, his tone quietly admiring, “Caius will oversee industry and production—particularly weapons, tools, and the forges. He’s practical and efficient, Caesar, a man who commands the respect of the craftsmen.”
The veteran farmer Marcus Verus, from the fertile lands near Ravenna, had a weathered face and a sturdy frame. His simple tunic and practical demeanor spoke volumes about his roots. “A voice for the rural provinces,” Andronikos said. “He sees the empire from the soil up. Keep his advice close; he understands survival.”
Leaning back slightly in his chair, Crassus surveyed the room with a sharp, calculating gaze. His dark tunic blended into the shadows, a fitting reflection of his role. A close advisor of Orestes, his presence at the council carried the weight of subtle oversight as much as diplomacy. He carried himself with the ease of a man accustomed to both influence and scrutiny, his expression revealing little of the thoughts behind his piercing eyes. Andronikos leaned toward Romulus, his voice almost inaudible. “He brings experience to diplomacy, but his presence is a reminder that others are watching. Observe him carefully.”
Finally, Andronikos took his seat at Romulus’s left, his satchel placed neatly beside him. His calm demeanor and thoughtful expressions marked him as the council’s intellectual cornerstone. No whisper was needed; his role was clear.
Romulus stood at the head of the table, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the men who had gathered. His hands rested on the polished wood, but his fingers pressed slightly harder than necessary, betraying the tension in his frame. This was the most significant step he had taken since ascending the throne—a moment that would begin to define his reign, not through survival but through action. The faint sound of his breath, measured yet deliberate, broke the stillness around him as he began to speak.
“My esteemed advisors,” he said, his voice steady but edged with an undertone of uncertainty that he masked with careful pacing, “I thank you for joining me here today. Rome’s survival has always rested on the strength of its people and the wisdom of those entrusted to guide her. That is why I have called you.”
He paused, his thumb grazing the edge of the table. The light from the arched windows illuminated his youthful features, catching the faint furrow of his brow. He drew a breath before continuing. “Rome has endured countless trials, but none so great as what we face now. The empire is fractured, our people weary, and our borders uncertain. Yet I believe we can restore her—not through the efforts of one man but through a shared purpose. Together, we can rebuild her strength and renew her spirit.”
His gaze moved deliberately from one advisor to the next, as though drawing steadiness from their presence. When his eyes met Senator Quintus Marcellus’s, the senator offered a subtle, almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. Across the table, Bishop Felix folded his hands, his expression serene yet watchful.
Romulus straightened slightly, his shoulders tense despite the controlled facade. “I will not pretend that this will be easy. The work ahead is monumental: reforms to secure our foundations, strategies to protect our borders, and policies to inspire trust among our people. These are decisions I cannot make alone. I need your counsel—your expertise. And, when the time comes, I will need your support to carry these reforms forward.”
His voice wavered slightly at the last sentence, though he quickly steadied it. “I do not ask for blind loyalty, but for your honest advice. You are here because Rome needs you—not for what you might take from her, but for what you can give. The legacy we create today must endure beyond us, for the sake of the generations yet to come.”
The room remained silent, but the air felt charged with purpose. Romulus shifted his weight slightly, letting his hands relax on the table. “This council is not just a collection of advisors. It is a pact—a shared commitment to Rome’s rebirth. I hope to earn your trust in time, as I will come to rely on your wisdom.”
Marcellus leaned forward slightly, the faintest glimmer of approval softening his otherwise composed features. “Caesar,” he began, his voice warm but deliberate, “it is clear you understand the gravity of this moment. Your vision speaks to what Rome needs—a leader who listens and a council prepared to act. You honor us with your trust.”
Bishop Felix inclined his head, a faint smile crossing his lips. “Your resolve, Caesar, reflects the divine will for Rome to endure. We are at your service, and you will have my prayers to guide this righteous endeavor.”
Romulus nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his face before he composed himself. “Let us begin the work,” he said, stepping back slightly.
Romulus exhaled softly, regaining his composure. “I wish to begin with a reform that addresses both the morale of our soldiers and the stability of our rural provinces: land distribution to veterans. Too many of our soldiers and their families live in destitution after years of service. It is time we honor their sacrifices with something tangible—a piece of Rome they can call their own.”
He glanced at Marcus Verus, the agricultural advisor, whose weathered face brightened with approval. The veteran farmer nodded firmly. “Caesar, it’s a good plan. Soldiers like us know how to work the land, and giving them a stake will do more than feed their families—it’ll give them purpose. These fields are waiting for someone to bring them back to life. Let’s give the veterans a chance to do just that.”
Comes Lucius Varius, sitting beside Verus, spoke next, his voice carrying the weight of command. “I support this wholeheartedly, Caesar. Soldiers need to see that their loyalty and sacrifice are rewarded. Such reforms will strengthen bonds between the army and the state. Many in the ranks, especially those impoverished veterans I know in Ravenna, will jump at this opportunity. To have land and stability after all they’ve endured? It’s something they’ve long dreamed of. Honestly, I only accepted this position because Gaius Severus spoke so highly of you, Caesar, but seeing this focus on veterans as our first priority? I am glad I did. This is already better than what previous emperors have offered.”
After a brief silence, Senator Marcellus folded his hands, his brow furrowed. “Caesar, this is indeed a noble goal, but I must ask—what of the details? What lands are we speaking of here? Which estates will be involved? Without clarity, we risk confusion and unintended conflict, even if the idea itself is sound.”
Romulus straightened, his hands pressing lightly against the edge of the table. “We are not without tools to address these questions, Senator,” he began, his tone calm but resolute. “Older records exist—surveys and cadastral maps that detail much of the empire’s landholdings. These can guide us in identifying abandoned or unoccupied lands suitable for redistribution. Such lands are likely underutilized and could be reclaimed without disrupting established estates.”
Marcellus tilted his head slightly, his lips pressing into a faint line. “Older records, Caesar, can often be unreliable. They may not reflect the realities of the present. There are instances where lands marked as abandoned have since been taken under cultivation by diligent landowners. The lack of recent updates may misrepresent such cases, leading to potential disputes.”
His tone was measured, but Romulus detected the subtle defense of landowners who might have encroached on unclaimed lands without proper authorization. Marcellus continued, “If we are to avoid alienating the very class that supports much of Rome’s economy, we must proceed with great care. Even an unintentional error could sow discord.”
Comes Lucius Varius leaned forward, his brow furrowing. “Senator, if landowners have taken over such lands, but without rightful claim, should we not question their actions? These lands could be better used to support those who have fought for Rome rather than to expand the holdings of those already wealthy.”
Marcellus raised a placating hand. “I do not suggest turning a blind eye to wrongdoing, but we must ensure due diligence. What appears as encroachment to one may be seen as reclamation to another—a family saving neglected lands from falling to ruin. If we act too hastily, we risk more than legal disputes; we risk undermining confidence in the state’s ability to manage these affairs.”
Bishop Felix, who had remained quiet thus far, cleared his throat gently, drawing the attention of the room. “Perhaps the Church can be of assistance in this matter,” he offered, his voice steady and deliberate. “In many provinces, local clergy maintain records of their own—lists of tenants, estates, and cultivated lands. These may not be exhaustive, but combined with the imperial records, they could provide a clearer picture of the current state of affairs.”
Romulus inclined his head toward Felix. “Your assistance would be invaluable, Bishop. If the Church can help verify claims and provide insight, we would be in a much stronger position to proceed.”
Felix smiled faintly, folding his hands before him. “It is our duty to serve the people, Caesar, and to ensure that justice is done. With cooperation, we can ensure that this noble endeavor is carried out with fairness.”
Marcus Verus nodded in agreement. “With better records, Caesar, we can act decisively. I still say many lands are waiting for honest hands to work them—hands that belong to men who have fought for Rome.”
Romulus let the discussion settle before speaking again, his tone measured but firm. “Senator Marcellus, your concerns are valid and deserve our immediate attention. These questions about disputed or unverified lands will not just arise here in this chamber; they will undoubtedly be magnified when debated in the Senate. It is essential we address them now.”
He paused, glancing at the faces around the table, gauging their reactions. “To minimize disputes and maximize the benefits of this reform, I propose a solution: we prioritize granting lands near key estates—lands adjacent to holdings of influential senators and the Church’s interests. This would serve two purposes. First, veterans settling in these areas will bolster local security, offering protection to these vital estates. Second, their presence will ensure the land is well-tended, providing stability to nearby communities.”
Bishop Felix raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “You propose that the Church participate in this redistribution by offering lands near our holdings? Are you suggesting we share the burden of this reform?”
“Yes, Bishop,” Romulus replied, his tone unwavering. “This reform cannot succeed if it is perceived as a burden on only one segment of society. It must be seen as a shared responsibility—a commitment to Rome’s revival. The Church, with its influence and moral standing, can lead by example, just as senators with substantial estates should. Together, we can create a framework where all parties contribute and benefit.”
Marcellus steepled his fingers, his expression thoughtful. “Caesar, while your reasoning is sound, convincing landowners to cede lands, even unoccupied ones, will be a challenge. Many will resist, not out of greed alone, but due to fear of setting a precedent that weakens their claims to other holdings.”
Romulus nodded. “I understand the difficulty, Senator, but this is not about arbitrary seizure. Compensation will be offered for any land taken, and the Church’s involvement will ensure the process is seen as just. Additionally, the strategic value of placing veterans in these areas will appeal to landowners concerned with the safety of their properties.”
Felix interjected, his tone conciliatory. “The Church can indeed assist in ensuring fairness, Caesar. We can help mediate disputes and explain to the people that this is a step toward stability. However, we will need assurances that any contributions we make to this effort are respected and not exploited.”
“Of course,” Romulus assured him. “This council will oversee every stage of the process to ensure transparency. Landowners, the Church, and veterans will all have a voice.”
Comes Lucius Varius nodded in approval. “This plan is not only fair but strategic. Veterans near these estates can act as a bulwark against unrest, whether from brigands or foreign incursions. The value of such a presence cannot be overstated.”
Marcus Verus added, his tone resolute, “Caesar, this is a chance to heal divisions. Many veterans already feel abandoned. If they see that the Church and the Senate are supporting this reform, it will restore faith—not just in the empire, but in the leadership guiding it.”
Marcellus leaned back slightly, his expression softening. “If the Church supports this, and if compensation is truly fair, then I believe this plan has merit. But we must tread carefully. There are those in the Senate who will claim this is a thinly veiled attempt to erode their influence.”
Romulus allowed a faint smile. “Which is why we must ensure they see the benefits for themselves. This is not an attack on the Senate’s power or the Church’s wealth. It is a means to strengthen Rome by ensuring that veterans, who have given so much, are not left to languish in poverty. Their loyalty and labor will enrich all of us.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Romulus’s words settling over the council. Felix finally broke the quiet, his voice calm but firm. “The Church will stand with you in this effort, Caesar. Let us begin this work together.”
Romulus exhaled slowly, his hands still resting on the table as he spoke. “To ensure this reform has the resources it needs to succeed, I will allocate 5,000 solidi from the treasury to fund these efforts. This sum will be used to cover administrative costs, compensation for land where necessary, and provisions for the veterans.”
He turned his gaze toward Bishop Felix, Senator Marcellus, and Marcus Verus, his tone measured yet firm. “I am entrusting the three of you to draft a proposal that addresses the concerns raised here. It must balance the interests of the veterans, the landowners, and the Church while ensuring that the distribution is both fair and effective. This plan should identify lands suitable for allocation, prioritize veterans most in need, and guarantee that each plot is no less than five iugera—enough to provide for their prosperity.”
Verus nodded emphatically. “Five iugera per veteran is a sound measure, Caesar. It gives them enough to sustain a family and even expand over time. But we must also provide the tools and knowledge they need to make the most of it. Many veterans know battlefields, not farmlands. If we simply hand them the land without preparation, it could lead to failure.”
Romulus inclined his head. “You are right, Verus. The proposal should also include provisions for teaching these veterans how to work the land effectively. This could involve pairing them with experienced farmers or creating workshops led by men like you. Furthermore, we must ensure they have the tools and seed to begin their work.”
Marcellus interjected, his expression pensive. “A noble idea, Caesar, but there is the matter of administration. The allocation itself will be complex, requiring clear criteria to avoid disputes. Additionally, some will question whether prioritizing veterans so heavily might alienate other groups who feel they too have been neglected.”
Romulus pressed his palms flat against the table, his expression calm but firm. “Marcellus, I understand the concerns. To address them, I propose that the land grants to veterans include a stipulation: these lands are granted in exchange for continued military service when the empire calls upon them. This would not be a regular obligation, but a commitment to defend their holdings and nearby territories in times of need.”
The room fell silent as the weight of the proposal settled over the council. Marcus Verus’s weathered face darkened, his jaw tightening as he leaned forward. “Caesar, with respect, these men have already bled for Rome. Many of them bear scars, both seen and unseen, from their years of service. To ask them to bear arms again—especially after offering them a chance at peace—is no small request.”
Comes Lucius Varius nodded in agreement, his tone restrained but resolute. “I share Verus’s concern, Caesar. While I understand the necessity of readiness, many of these men have endured hardships that cannot be undone. To make this a condition of their reward could feel like an insult to their sacrifices.”
Romulus’s gaze softened, and he leaned slightly forward, his voice steady. “I do not make this suggestion lightly, Varius, Verus. I know the burden it places on them, but we must consider the empire’s realities. Our borders are strained, our forces limited, and threats ever-present. These veterans will not be called to fight often—only in times of grave need. Their military experience, combined with their ties to the land, makes them the best choice to safeguard their communities.”
Verus exhaled slowly, his rough hands gripping the edge of the table. “I won’t deny the logic, Caesar. These men already know how to fight, and many would defend their homes regardless. But we must make it clear that this is not an ongoing obligation. They need to know that their service is only a last resort.”
Felix, ever the mediator, leaned forward, his tone thoughtful. “Perhaps we can frame this as a privilege rather than a demand. The veterans could be recognized as custodes terrae—guardians of the land. Their role would carry honor and respect within their communities, rather than being seen as an additional burden.”
Romulus inclined his head toward Felix. “That is an excellent suggestion, Bishop. By emphasizing their role as protectors of their families and neighbors, we honor their sacrifices while addressing our need for security.”
Marcellus steepled his fingers, his expression contemplative. “Framing it this way could indeed make the proposal more palatable. It would also help reassure the Senate and other landowners, who might fear that veterans settled near their estates would not be reliable allies in times of trouble. If these veterans are recognized as defenders, their presence becomes an asset.”
Varius exhaled, his posture relaxing slightly. “I can accept this, Caesar. It is not ideal, but it is necessary. These men deserve their rest, but if they are called, they will fight with the same loyalty they have always shown.”
Verus nodded reluctantly. “If this is what it takes to ensure their future—and Rome’s—I will support it. But we must give them the tools, training, and support they need to succeed. Without that, we risk breaking them a second time.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Romulus straightened, his voice firm and resolute. “You have my word. These veterans will not be abandoned. They will receive their land, the resources to make it fruitful, and the respect they deserve as guardians of their communities. This council will ensure that every step of this process is just and effective.”
The tension in the room eased slightly as heads nodded in agreement. Felix offered a faint smile. “The Church will support this effort, Caesar, both in ensuring justice and in fostering respect for these veterans among the people.”
Marcellus added, “With this approach, Caesar, we may not only satisfy the veterans but also win the Senate’s approval. By aligning their interests with those of the empire’s stability, we present this reform as a necessary and mutually beneficial endeavor.”
Romulus allowed himself a small smile. “Then it is settled. Verus, Felix, and Marcellus, you will refine this proposal and present it to the council within a fortnight. We will ensure this reform strengthens Rome and honors those who have given so much for her.”
Romulus adjusted his stance, drawing the council’s attention back to him. “As I said, Rome’s survival depends not only on immediate measures but on the longevity of our foundations. Agriculture is central to this. The land sustains our armies, our cities, and our people. To improve its productivity, I propose we invest 5,000 solidi into reforms targeting three key areas: crop rotation, the introduction of iron plows, and repairs to irrigation and granary systems.”
He gestured to Andronikos, his Greek advisor. “To that end, Andronikos has studied practices that could improve yields and make the land more sustainable for generations. Andronikos, explain these proposals.”
The Greek advisor stood, his hands clasped lightly before him. “My lords, much of Rome’s land is suffering from overuse. Soil exhaustion, neglected irrigation systems, and outdated methods are eroding our agricultural strength. However, these issues are not insurmountable. Solutions exist, tested in other lands, including my homeland of Greece.”
Turning to Marcus Verus, the veteran farmer, Andronikos spoke respectfully but firmly. “Let us begin with crop rotation. While this practice may seem unfamiliar, it is not without precedent. By alternating what is grown on a plot of land—grains one season, legumes the next—the soil is replenished. Legumes restore nitrogen, which grains deplete, improving the fertility of the land and protecting against crop failure caused by overreliance on a single harvest.”
Verus leaned back in his chair, his expression skeptical. “Andronikos, I’ve worked the land my whole life. The soil needs time to rest, I’ll grant you that. But alternating crops? That sounds like a theory that works on parchment, not in a field. What proof do you have?”
Andronikos nodded, prepared for the challenge. “Your doubts are reasonable, Verus. But this is not mere theory. Theophrastus, a student of Aristotle, wrote in Enquiry into Plants about alternating crops to sustain soil fertility. In Thessaly and other regions of Greece, estates have applied this method with success, especially in lands with poor fertility. Even Varro, one of Rome’s own scholars, touched upon the benefits of diversifying cultivation to prevent soil exhaustion.”
Verus frowned, his hands tightening on the table. “Theophrastus and Varro may be wise, but wisdom doesn’t sow a field. And what about the farmers? If they don’t understand this, or if it fails, we could lose more than crops.”
Andronikos met his gaze evenly. “You are right, Verus. That is why we must proceed cautiously. I propose we begin with imperial or Church lands, where we can control the trials and prove the results. Once farmers see the success with their own eyes—a field yielding more after such rotation—they will be more likely to adopt the practice.”
Verus’s expression softened slightly as he considered the idea. “If it works as you say, it could help. But farmers must see the results for themselves. No farmer will risk his family’s survival on a promise.”
Encouraged, Andronikos pressed on. “Exactly. This method will stabilize regions where yields have declined most sharply. The initial trials will provide evidence to encourage adoption.”
He turned his attention to the next topic, addressing the room. “Now, about the tools farmers use. Much of Rome still relies on wooden plows, which are sufficient for light soils but inadequate for heavier, clay-rich land. In Greece, we have begun using plows with iron tips. These tools cut deeper into the earth, bringing richer soil to the surface and increasing yields. They also last longer and reduce the labor needed for re-tilling.”
Caius, the blacksmith, leaned forward with interest. “I’ve never made such a plow, Andronikos, but I’d be willing to try. It’s a fascinating idea. Still, we’d need to start small. Producing them on a wide scale would be a heavy task.”
Andronikos nodded in agreement. “That is exactly why we should begin modestly. I propose we craft a limited number of these plows and distribute them for free, to be used as community plows. Each village or region could share one, allowing farmers to test its benefits without financial risk. If they see success, we can expand production.”
Verus narrowed his eyes. “Community plows? Farmers might not like sharing a tool. And what if it breaks? Who will be responsible?”
Caius spoke up. “If I craft them, Verus, I will teach the farmers how to maintain them. Iron plows, if made well, are durable. But they are tools, not miracles. We’d need to guide the farmers on proper use.”
Andronikos added, “Indeed, this must be a cooperative effort. These plows will not be forced upon anyone. Farmers will have the opportunity to judge their value for themselves.”
Romulus interjected, “ Could these plows be made in imperial forges?”
Caius hesitated. “Caesar, imperial forges could handle the task, but it may not be the best approach. Encouraging local smiths to take part in this effort would be more efficient. It would spread the workload and foster loyalty. If local smiths see this as an opportunity for their craft, they will support the reform.”
Andronikos nodded in agreement. “Caius is correct. Local production ensures faster distribution and builds trust. The imperial forges could oversee the process and ensure quality control, but local smiths should be encouraged to participate.”
Verus crossed his arms, his tone softening but still cautious. “If these plows are as useful as you say, and if farmers can see their value before committing, then I’ll support this trial. But remember, the land is unforgiving. If these ideas fail, we will need a plan to recover.”
Romulus straightened, his tone resolute. “We will proceed with care. Andronikos, Caius, and Verus, you will oversee this effort. Begin with the trials—introduce crop rotation on imperial lands, and craft a limited number of community plows. Work closely with the Church and local communities to ensure cooperation.”
Bishop Felix spoke up. “The Church will support this, Caesar. We can offer some of our lands for the trials and help explain the importance of these reforms to the people. Framing these innovations as a way to honor God’s gifts will make them more acceptable.”
Romulus inclined his head toward Felix. “Excellent. Let us move forward cautiously but decisively. Agriculture is Rome’s lifeblood. With these reforms, we will lay the groundwork for a stronger, more sustainable future.”
Romulus adjusted his stance once more, allowing a moment of quiet to settle over the council before addressing them again. His tone shifted slightly, becoming more firm and deliberate. “Agriculture may sustain the lifeblood of the empire, but industry sharpens the weapons we wield to protect it. Today, our legions rely on outdated methods and scattered workshops to supply their needs. If we are to restore Rome’s strength, we must modernize and unify our approach. To that end, I propose the establishment of a state-owned workshop dedicated to the production of military equipment.”
He glanced around the table, noting the attentive faces of his council. “This workshop will be built near a port and alongside a river for efficient transportation of raw materials and finished goods. It will be located on land large enough to allow for future expansion. Initially, it will supply the equipment required for 2,000 troops but will be designed with the capacity to scale. We will allocate 10,000 solidi for this project.”
Andronikos leaned forward slightly, nodding. “An ambitious proposal, Caesar, but one that aligns with the empire’s needs. Where do you envision this workshop being constructed?”
Romulus gestured to a map on the table. “Ravenna, with its access to both sea and river routes, is the ideal location. It is already fortified, and its strategic position will allow for tight security, which is paramount for such a facility. The workshop will require walls, watchtowers, regular patrols, and a dedicated contingent of guards.”
Lucius Varius, the military commander present, crossed his arms, his brow furrowed in thought. “Caesar, I agree with the need for security. Such a facility would be a target for spies and saboteurs. However, securing it properly will increase the cost. Guards alone will require training and pay, not to mention the construction of walls and towers.”
Romulus nodded. “Your point is well-taken, Varius, but this is a necessary investment. The benefits of such a workshop far outweigh the risks. By centralizing production, we can standardize equipment—crossbows, bolts, pikes, swords, shields, armor, and even stirrups. This will ensure quality and compatibility across our forces.”
Caius, the blacksmith, raised a hand. “Caesar, as someone who works with metal every day, I see the value in centralizing production. But I must ask—will this not put local smiths at a disadvantage? If the state takes over military production, smaller workshops may struggle to survive.”
Andronikos responded before Romulus could. “Caius, the aim is not to replace local smiths but to involve them. The imperial workshop can focus on large-scale production for the army, while local smiths are encouraged to produce tools, spare parts, and specialized equipment. In fact, the workshop could act as a hub, training local artisans in new techniques and ensuring a steady supply of work.”
Caius stroked his chin thoughtfully. “If the workshop collaborates with local smiths rather than competes with them, it could work. And I would be honored to contribute to its establishment.”
Romulus interjected. “Caius, I will rely on your expertise to oversee the quality of the tools and weapons produced. Additionally, we will ensure the workshop creates opportunities for local businesses. Contracts will be awarded to smiths in Ravenna and nearby towns for supplementary production. This way, we foster loyalty and economic growth while meeting our military’s needs.”
Romulus’s expression remained resolute as Bishop Felix voiced his concerns about the workshop’s focus on military production. Felix leaned forward, his hands steepled, his tone calm but firm. “Caesar, I see the necessity of arming Rome’s legions, but focusing this workshop solely on military equipment may invite criticism. There are those who may question whether such a facility serves only war, rather than the broader needs of the people.”
Romulus met Felix’s gaze directly, his tone steady but edged with an unmistakable firmness. “Your concern is noted, Bishop, but let me be clear—this workshop will be dedicated solely to the production of military equipment. Faith is a powerful force, but it alone cannot defend our temples or our people when raiders descend upon them. The Vandals, the Goths, and others have shown us that they do not respect the sanctity of our faith. They respect only the strength that repels them.”
Felix’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to respond, but Romulus continued, his voice measured yet unyielding. “The Church has seen firsthand the devastation wrought by such incursions. Temples desecrated, sacred relics stolen, and clergy slaughtered—all because we lacked the means to defend them. This workshop is not a tool for conquest but a shield for Rome and her faith. Without swords to protect the faithful and shields to guard our holy places, the divine works we cherish will fall to ruin.”
Felix inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point but maintaining his composure. “Caesar, you speak truthfully. Indeed, the Church has suffered greatly in recent years, and I do not deny the necessity of defense. But let us ensure that this endeavor does not become a symbol of violence. Its purpose must remain clear to all—that it serves the protection of Rome and the preservation of her values.”
Romulus nodded, his tone softening slightly. “I share your concern, Bishop. That is why we will ensure this workshop operates under the strict oversight of the state and this council. Its purpose will remain clear: to arm those who defend Rome, her people, and her faith. Nothing more.”
Felix, his tone now conciliatory, spoke again. “If this workshop ensures the protection of the faithful and the sanctity of our temples, Caesar, then I will offer the Church’s support. However, we must remain vigilant in ensuring that its purpose does not drift into one of aggression.”
Romulus inclined his head, his voice calm but resolute. “You have my word, Bishop. This workshop will be a shield, not a sword of conquest. It will arm those who protect Rome and her faith, ensuring that no invader or brigand can harm what we hold sacred.”
Andronikos added, his tone pragmatic, “With the Church’s support, Caesar, the workshop will also benefit from moral authority. Framing it as a means to protect faith and community will ease concerns among the populace.”
Romulus turned back to the council, his tone now commanding. “Then it is settled. This workshop will serve as the foundation of our military reform, producing crossbows, bolts, pikes, swords, shields, armor, and stirrups for our legions. Its purpose will remain defensive, and its security will be paramount. Let us move forward with this plan, ensuring that it becomes a symbol of Rome’s strength and resilience.”
The room filled with murmurs of agreement, the council aligning behind the emperor’s vision. Felix, though cautious, seemed reassured by Romulus’s clarity of purpose, while Varius and Caius exchanged nods, their expressions showing determination. With the council’s support secured, Romulus allowed himself a small smile, knowing this step would bring Rome closer to restoring her strength and unity.
Romulus allowed the conversation to settle as the council absorbed the decisions made so far. He straightened his posture, his hands resting on the table, and addressed the room once more, his tone calm but resolute.
"My esteemed advisors, we have spoken of land and industry, the foundations upon which we rebuild Rome’s strength. Yet, there is another pillar that demands our immediate attention: education. Without knowledge, our reforms will crumble, and our people will remain unprepared for the challenges of the future. Today, I propose an investment not only in infrastructure but in minds."
He turned toward Andronikos, his Greek advisor, and gestured for him to speak. “Andronikos, you began this effort months ago with the establishment of a school here in Ravenna. Tell the council of your progress.”
Andronikos rose, his tone measured but tinged with frustration. “Caesar, the school we established was a modest beginning, funded with only 50 solidi. It has provided basic instruction in literacy and arithmetic to the children of veterans, farmers, and a few foederati families. While I am proud of the progress we have made, I must admit that these meager resources have severely limited our reach. The building itself is cramped, the teachers overworked, and the students underserved. If we are to make education a cornerstone of Rome’s revival, we must commit to it fully.”
Romulus nodded, turning back to the council. “I see the folly in our earlier efforts. Education cannot thrive on scraps. To truly strengthen Rome, we must ensure that our children—citizens and foederati alike—are given the tools to succeed. For this reason, I propose allocating 5,000 solidi to establish a properly supported network of schools.”
The room stirred with murmurs. Senator Marcellus leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “Caesar, while education is a noble pursuit, 5,000 solidi is a considerable sum. How do you justify such an expense when our military and agricultural reforms already strain the treasury?”
Romulus met Marcellus’s gaze steadily. “Senator, these funds are not an indulgence; they are an investment. Without skilled craftsmen, our workshops will falter. Without educated citizens, our reforms will fail. Consider this: a child who learns to read and calculate today will grow into a farmer who can manage resources efficiently, a blacksmith who can innovate, or a soldier who can adapt to new strategies. Education is the foundation of every reform we have discussed.”
Marcus Verus, the veteran farmer, spoke next, his tone skeptical. “Caesar, I understand the value of teaching the next generation, but many farmers see education as a luxury. A boy on the farm is a pair of hands to sow and reap, not to sit in a classroom. How do you convince them otherwise?”
Andronikos responded, his voice calm but firm. “Verus, education need not take children away from their duties. The schools we propose will operate flexibly, offering instruction at times that do not interfere with the demands of the harvest. Moreover, these schools will teach practical skills—reading contracts, understanding measurements, and basic engineering—all of which will benefit farmers directly.”
Caius, the blacksmith, nodded thoughtfully. “If these schools can train apprentices in craftsmanship, it would help us immensely. Many of us struggle to find capable workers. A system that prepares young men and women for trades would be a boon, not just for the empire but for us as artisans.”
Romulus allowed a moment for the discussion to settle, then turned toward Bishop Felix, whose expression remained pensive. The bishop folded his hands, his tone calm but carrying a distinct undertone of concern.
“Caesar, while I acknowledge the importance of education for the future of Rome, I must ask—what place will the faith hold in these schools? Knowledge is a powerful tool, but without spiritual guidance, it can lead men astray. If these schools are to shape the minds of future generations, they must not neglect the soul. How will the Church ensure that the children of Rome learn to walk in the light of God?”
The room quieted as Felix’s words hung in the air. Romulus met the bishop’s gaze directly, his tone measured but respectful.
“Bishop, your concerns are valid. Education without faith risks undermining the very values that hold our society together. Let me be clear: the Roman identity and the Catholic faith will be cornerstones of the curriculum. These schools will not merely teach skills and knowledge; they will instill loyalty to Rome and devotion to God.”
Felix arched a brow slightly, intrigued but cautious. “And how do you propose to achieve this balance, Caesar? It is one thing to make assurances, but quite another to ensure that faith is given its rightful place alongside more worldly teachings.”
Romulus leaned forward, his tone steady. “The Church will play an integral role in this effort. Clergy will be invited to serve as instructors in these schools, ensuring that spiritual teachings are interwoven with practical education. Latin, Roman history, and civic values will form the backbone of the curriculum, but lessons on morality, the sacraments, and the teachings of Christ will be taught alongside them.”
Andronikos, seated nearby, raised his hand to speak. “If I may, Caesar—while faith is essential, the practical elements of education must not be overshadowed. Literacy, mathematics, and trade skills are critical to ensuring that students can contribute meaningfully to the empire. The curriculum must strike a careful balance.”
Felix nodded slightly, acknowledging the point but maintaining his stance. “Andronikos, I agree that practical knowledge is important. But without faith, such knowledge risks fostering ambition without virtue. These schools must not only produce capable citizens but also faithful ones, lest Rome lose her divine favor.”
Romulus interjected, his tone conciliatory but firm. “Bishop, I understand your concerns, and I am prepared to meet them. For the Church’s full support in this endeavor, I will ensure that faith and Roman identity are at the heart of these schools. I propose that each school begin the day with prayers and a lesson on scripture, followed by the practical curriculum. In this way, we unite the spiritual and the practical, teaching our children to serve both God and Rome.”
Felix’s expression softened as he considered the proposal. “That is a wise compromise, Caesar. If the Church is given a clear role in guiding the moral and spiritual education of these students, we will lend our full support to this initiative.”
Marcus Verus, the veteran farmer, leaned forward, his voice pragmatic. “Caesar, if these schools teach the faith alongside farming techniques and basic literacy, I think even the most skeptical farmers will come around. Faith is a strong motivator for many of us, and if the Church supports this, it will reassure those who might otherwise resist.”
Caius, the blacksmith, nodded in agreement. “And for those of us in the trades, Caesar, I see no issue with including the Church. A student who learns discipline and morality will make a better apprentice than one who does not.”
Senator Marcellus folded his hands, his expression thoughtful. “Caesar, if this proposal aligns the state, the Church, and the people, it is a sound one. But we must ensure that the funds are used wisely and that the curriculum remains balanced. Too much focus on any one element risks alienating certain groups.”
Romulus inclined his head toward Marcellus. “That is why this council will oversee the schools’ development. Reports will be submitted regularly, and adjustments made as needed to ensure their success. The Church, the state, and local communities will work together to guide these schools.”
Felix smiled faintly, his tone now conciliatory. “If these schools honor God and Rome in equal measure, Caesar, then the Church will give them its blessing. Let us ensure that they prepare students for both this life and the next.”
Romulus exhaled softly, a hint of relief in his expression. “Thank you, Bishop. With your support, these schools will become a cornerstone of Rome’s renewal. Together, we will forge a future where knowledge, faith, and loyalty to Rome are inseparable.”
Romulus allowed the discussion to settle before addressing the council once more. He turned toward Andronikos, whose thoughtful expression betrayed his readiness to act.
“Andronikos,” Romulus said, his tone measured, “you will oversee the implementation of this educational reform. However, our efforts must begin here, in Ravenna and its surroundings. We cannot spread our resources too thin by attempting to reform the entire empire’s education system at once. Let us establish a model— that demonstrates the success of our approach. When we have proven its value, we can expand it to other regions.”
Andronikos nodded, his voice calm but resolute. “Understood, Caesar. I will focus on establishing this schools in Ravenna. It will set the standard for discipline, curriculum, and integration of practical and spiritual education. Once it thrives, we can replicate its success elsewhere.”
Romulus inclined his head approvingly. “Good. Ensure that the teachers are well-trained, the curriculum balanced, and the community involved. This school must serve as an example of what Rome’s renewal can achieve.”
Romulus rose from his seat, his posture straight and commanding as he addressed the council. The discussions of land, industry, and education had laid the groundwork for reform, but now it was time to focus on Rome’s military future. He clasped his hands behind his back, his tone steady but forceful.
"My esteemed advisors, we have spoken of rebuilding Rome’s strength through land, industry, and education. Now, we must turn to the foundation of our security: the military. The challenges we face demand new approaches. To this end, I propose two key reforms: first, the adoption of pike-and-shoot formations for our infantry, and second, the introduction of stirrups to revolutionize our cavalry."
The room fell silent as Romulus’s words settled. Comes Lucius Varius, commander of the Palatini, leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Caesar,” he began, his tone respectful but firm, “I must caution against this. The Palatini are the empire’s finest—elite soldiers whose discipline and skill are unmatched. Retraining them in these experimental tactics would squander their expertise and undermine their cohesion. These men have proven themselves time and again with traditional Roman methods. To alter their training would be a risk we cannot afford.”
Romulus met his gaze directly. “Comes, your concerns are valid, but these tactics are not unproven. The pike-and-shoot formation was successfully introduced with the recruits under Gaius Severus, who are now en route to the East. Their trainers, many of whom remain in Ravenna, have firsthand experience in these methods. With their expertise, the Palatini could adapt more efficiently.”
Varius hesitated for a moment, considering Romulus’s words, before replying. “Caesar, even with experienced trainers, the Palatini are already masters of their craft. Retraining them would disrupt their readiness and morale. Furthermore, their current training focuses on mobility and flexibility—qualities that may not align with the rigid nature of pike formations.”
Before Romulus could respond, Andronikos, the Greek advisor, raised his hand. “If I may, Comes Varius, I understand your reservations about the Palatini. However, the stirrup is another matter entirely. Its introduction could enhance our cavalry without compromising the skills of our elite infantry. With the stirrup, a rider gains unmatched stability in the saddle, allowing for greater force in a charge and improved combat effectiveness.”
Varius’s brow furrowed in interest. “The stirrup, you say? I have heard of such devices in distant lands, but they are not common in Rome. Can we even produce them?”
Andronikos nodded. “The concept of the stirrup originates from the East, and while it is rare here, it is not beyond our capability to replicate. By supporting the rider’s feet, the stirrup enables more precise control and power. It transforms cavalry from a support unit into a decisive force.”
Caius, the blacksmith, stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Caesar, I have never crafted stirrups before, but with proper guidance, I could attempt it. If Andronikos provides the designs, I can oversee their production in the new workshop. This will take time, but it is feasible.”
Varius’s expression softened slightly, his interest piqued. “I would like to see one of these stirrups once it is crafted. If they are as effective as Andronikos claims, they could indeed enhance our cavalry. Still, this does not resolve my concerns about the Palatini.”
Romulus inclined his head. “Comes, your skepticism is noted. However, we must prepare our forces for the evolving threats we face. The Vandals and Goths are not bound by tradition; they adapt to new tactics, and we must do the same.”
Varius leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “Then I offer a compromise, Caesar. Instead of retraining the Palatini, let us trial these reforms with the comitatenses stationed in and around Ravenna. These 1,200 men—1,000 infantry and 200 cavalry—are skilled but not of the Palatini’s elite caliber. They are more suited for experimentation.”
Romulus considered the proposal, his expression thoughtful. “The comitatenses are indeed a capable force, and their proximity to Ravenna would allow for close supervision. However, I am concerned about diverting them from their duties.”
Caius interjected. “Caesar, the pikes, crossbows, and bolts required for this training are already being produced in local workshops. Once the new state-owned workshop is operational, it will centralize production, ensuring consistent quality and supply. This gives us time to prepare for the transition without straining our current capabilities.”
Andronikos added, “Furthermore, the trainers who worked with Gaius Severus’s recruits are still here. They could oversee the comitatenses’ retraining, ensuring that these reforms are implemented effectively.”
Varius nodded, his tone pragmatic. “If we proceed with the comitatenses, we mitigate the risk to our elite forces while still testing these innovations. We can evaluate the effectiveness of the pike-and-shoot formation and the stirrup without compromising the Palatini.”
Romulus leaned forward, his voice steady and commanding. “Very well. We will begin with the comitatenses. Varius, you will oversee their training, working closely with the experienced trainers and Andronikos. Caius, prioritize the production of stirrups, pikes, and crossbows in preparation for this endeavor. Once the new workshop is operational, ensure it is equipped to scale production as needed.”
Varius inclined his head, his tone respectful. “It will be done, Caesar. But I must stress the importance of patience. These reforms will take time to implement and perfect.”
Romulus nodded. “Patience we will have, but complacency we cannot afford. This council will oversee the progress of these reforms, ensuring that they strengthen Rome’s military without jeopardizing her current defenses.”
Bishop Felix, who had remained silent for much of the discussion, offered a faint smile. “Caesar, your willingness to balance innovation with caution reflects wisdom. May God bless this endeavor, and may it serve to protect the faithful.”
Romulus allowed himself a small smile. “Thank you, Bishop. With the support of this council, I am confident we will succeed. These reforms are not merely changes—they are a commitment to Rome’s survival and resurgence.”
Romulus watched the chamber empty, his gaze lingering on the retreating forms of his councilors. The faint echoes of their departure were replaced by an oppressive silence, broken only by the subtle creak of his chair as he leaned back. Andronikos and Crassus remained behind, their expressions unreadable as they observed the emperor with varying degrees of interest.
Crassus broke the silence, his tone measured but carrying an edge of reproach. “Caesar, there is a matter that requires clarification. Your decision to allocate 5,000 solidi for land reform and an additional 10,000 for the military workshop is... bold. But such allocations fall under the purview of the Magister Militum, not the emperor alone.”
Romulus straightened, his weariness masked by a flicker of irritation. “Crassus, the treasury is the lifeblood of this empire, and it is the emperor’s responsibility to ensure that it serves Rome’s survival. My father has entrusted me with this authority in Ravenna. Do you question his trust in my judgment?”
Crassus’s lips pressed into a thin line, his tone sharpening. “Your father, Orestes, has indeed granted you considerable freedom here. But understand this: decisions of this magnitude—especially regarding the treasury—must flow through the proper channels. By bypassing both myself and the Magister Militum, you risk undermining the delicate balance of authority that holds this fragile imperium together.”
Romulus tilted his head, his gaze hardening. “And what balance do you refer to, Crassus? The balance that has left Rome fractured, her coffers drained, and her people desperate? If maintaining that balance means preserving a system that leads us to ruin, then it is a balance I will gladly disrupt.”
Crassus leaned forward, his voice growing colder, though his expression remained controlled. “You speak of disruption, Caesar, but do you consider the consequences? Your father’s position in Mediolanum is precarious. The Senate watches his every move, the foederati in the north demands payment, and the Goths await any sign of weakness. Allocating these funds without consulting him—or myself—could be perceived as overreach. It risks destabilizing not just your reign here in Ravenna but the empire’s tenuous unity.”
Romulus’s hands tightened on the table, his tone resolute. “This is not overreach, Crassus. This is action. If I were to wait for every decision to filter through Mediolanum, we would accomplish nothing. My father gave me authority here because he trusted that I could act decisively when necessary.”
Crassus’s expression remained impassive, but a subtle flicker in his eyes betrayed his thoughts. “Decisiveness, Caesar, must be tempered with wisdom. By bypassing the established chain of command, you risk not only alienating the Senate and the military but also eroding your father’s authority. If Orestes appears unable to control his own son, how long before others begin to question his control over the empire itself?”
The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. For a brief moment, Romulus hesitated, weighing Crassus’s argument. The subtle undercurrent of ambition in Crassus’s tone did not escape him, though the man’s words were cloaked in the guise of pragmatism.
Romulus met his gaze, his voice calm but edged with steel. “I understand the risks, Crassus, but I will not allow this empire to stagnate for the sake of protocol. My father entrusted me with Ravenna because he knows that bold action is needed to save Rome. If this allocation of funds tests the boundaries of tradition, so be it. The empire cannot afford hesitation.”
Crassus’s jaw tightened, his composure momentarily slipping. “Bold action, Caesar, should not come at the cost of stability. The Magister Militum exists for a reason—to maintain order and ensure that resources are distributed judiciously. By bypassing me, you not only undermine my authority but risk eroding the very foundations your father has worked tirelessly to preserve.”
Romulus’s gaze narrowed, his tone now carrying a note of finality. “And by clinging to those foundations, Crassus, we risk watching Rome crumble under their weight. My father gave me the freedom to act because he understood the urgency of this moment. I will not betray that trust by succumbing to paralysis.”
The tension between them thickened, the unspoken power struggle hanging in the air. Crassus finally stood, his movements deliberate and controlled. His voice, when he spoke, was calm but carried a faint edge of disdain. “Perhaps, Caesar, you should consider whether your boldness serves Rome—or merely yourself. Your father has placed great trust in you. Do not squander it.”
With that, Crassus turned sharply and strode toward the door. As he reached the threshold, he paused, glancing back briefly. For an instant, there was something in his expression—an unspoken challenge, or perhaps a subtle warning—before he disappeared into the corridor.
Romulus exhaled deeply, the weight of the exchange settling over him. He sank back into his chair, his hands gripping the armrests as the facade of confidence he had maintained throughout the day began to crumble. The effort to project strength and decisiveness had drained him, leaving him feeling raw and exposed in the silence of the now-empty chamber.
Andronikos stepped closer, his expression thoughtful. “Caesar, Crassus is a man who values his position as much as he values Rome’s stability. His objections may hold some merit, but his ambitions should not be underestimated. Today’s confrontation revealed as much about his motives as it did about his concerns.”
Romulus nodded faintly, his voice quiet but resolute. “I see that, Andronikos. Crassus cloaks his ambitions in the guise of loyalty, but his actions betray his true intent. He seeks to carve out authority for himself, to shape this council—and perhaps this empire—in his image. I must remain vigilant.”
Andronikos placed a reassuring hand on Romulus’s shoulder. “You held your ground, Caesar. This meeting, though tense, went better than you expected. The seeds of your reforms have been planted. Now, we must ensure they grow.”
Romulus offered a faint smile, though his exhaustion was evident. “Yes, Andronikos. The seeds have been planted—but it will take all of my strength to see them bear fruit.”