The Mauricians: A Medieval Roman novel
- Thread starter Pururauka
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Phocas' army is wrecked, and he stripped Europe for this campaign.
If Theodosius is dead, his army may fall apart too.
Then there is little to stop the Avars and Sassanians from dividing the Empire at the Bosporus.
BOOK Γ
Chapter 13 -I-
Chapter 13 -I-
The news from all fronts were assorted. Berthoald seemed to be playing his role stellarly, urging Clothar to march deeper and deeper into Italy. And as the Neustrian king’s armies grew ever more confident of their invincibility, came the increasing possibilities of a successful ambush by the frantic Lombards, or the despairing Romans. But for all that, the longed for disaster failed to materialize. Still, Clothar is such an arrogant fool, that he would fail to see it coming, even if it was staring at him in the face, she reasoned, in an optimistic fashion.
Moreover, Theudebert had finally stepped into his role, and his forces were marching into Neustria at this very hour under the command of the Austrasian mayor, Gundulf. Along with them, were the battalions of his vassals, the Alammani and the Bavarians, totaling a force of sixteen thousand men, against whatever Clothar had deigned to leave guarding his kingdom. But, as she saw it, the ultimate success of the plan lay in ensuring that Clothar was unable to get back into Francia, should he manage to make it out of Italy after all. And in order to put this last safeguard in place, she had swiftly named Protadius commander of the remaining Burgundian troops, whose numbers were to be bolstered by mobilizing garrisons from Aquitaine, and tasked him with blocking the Alpine passes against her loathed nemesis.
“…You’re already awake, huh?”
It was her lover, drowsily stretching in bed.
“Mhmm…” she hummed, acknowledging him, half submersed in her reveries. But in an instant, quickly gathering her thoughts, she added in a louder tone, “come on! You know we’ve got things to do! I want you gone now!”
“Yes my lord!” he exclaimed in a sarcastic mood, raising his hand in a vague salute, before exploding into loud laughter.
“Shut up, you stupid dog!” she barked, vainly cutting her eyes at him in the dimness, yet still grinning. “Shut up! I mean it; you’re not spending another night here if you don’t leave now!”
Shaking his head lightly, Protadius only continued to giggle as he sat up, and she slapped his bare right shoulder, which managed to irritate her even more.
***
“Momma, we going to see horses today?” Sigebert asked with his squeaky voice, as he tugged at her dress with his free hand.
“Yes son, we will; I just have to take care of some things,” she replied with a smile adorning her face, and clenching his hand gently while she held it. “Just be a little patient.”
Satisfied, the child nodded a couple of times to himself and kept walking quietly, content with the promise of a reward. Her own attention returned to what she was going to say to the Visigothic emissaries: as a daughter of a Gothic king, she knew they had once been her people; but to them, as a Frankish Queen, she was also a dangerous neighbor. Nevertheless, to emphasize her message, she would present them with the heads of Clothar’s agents in Burgundy, harvested earlier that day in a magnificently well-coordinated operation. If anything, it’ll dispel any notion of weakness on our part.
Standing by the dark door were Adelgundein, her young lady-in-waiting, who promptly took Sigebert in her arms, as well as Protadius, and a dozen other loyal captains who saluted her and their monarch upon their arrival.
“Is he there now?” she asked her lover, the patrician.
“Yes my lady,” he replied solemnly. They both had learned to play their public roles well.
At her command the door was swung open, and she marched in escorted by the leading men of the Kingdom. The Visigothic party was made up of ten newer men loyal to Witteric’s novel regime, and thus she found not a single familiar face amongst them. Nevertheless, they all paid her the respect she deserved as Queen, standing up from her seats, with long and solemn bows.
“Sit my friends, please,” she said, taking her own seat at the table, and gesturing them do likewise.
“Maiestas, I am Euric, personal envoy of King Witteric. It is such an honor to have had this reception from a long lost princess…” began their bearded leader, in Latin.
“Never far enough to remain ignorant of events in the homeland” she snapped back in Gothic, determined to take the initiative in the discourse, and fixing her icy blue eyes on his. The man relented, and let her begin.
She went on to list out her plethora of causes for making war upon Clothar, and continued onto outlining her plan and ideas. Tapping slightly on the table with an extended palm she explained, “as you know, my grandson Theudebert is now on his way to Paris, without having encountered the slightest opposition. But soon he will run into trouble. And the treacherous son of Fredegund has raped my land of her men and her riches; in this righteous fight, we are weak.”
The Goth seemed unimpressed, albeit confused. “It is a war you brought upon yourselves, in any case, isn’t it?”
“Justice does not need strength on its numbers to be right, my lord. We can and will prevail in the end,” she replied in slow deliberate syllables, wincing. “Your concern should rather be, how can the Crown of Gothia benefit from such a situation?”
Betraying a smirk, Euric leant forward in his seat. “And how can the crown of Gothia benefit from such situation?”
“If Theudebert is killed in Neustria, his lands will pass to my grandson. Clothar will, sooner or later, be butchered by the Lombards, or the Romans, or delayed long enough for us to keep him at a distance in the Alps indefinitely. In the meantime, Sigebert will become King of all Franks. And my beloved great-grandson can surely be persuaded to reassess some of the injustices committed by the blood of Clovis during the past century,” Brunhilda expounded, finishing off her sentence with a charismatic grin.
At that moment, almost unnoticed as the conversation continued, a man slipped into the room from an unseen doorway, and carefully approached Protadius, quickly whispering in his ear amidst a crowd of nodding heads in the Frankish party.
“Whatever that means, I doubt Witteric will want to hear more about it…” the envoy replied, sighing, and straightening his back, while still seated.
“Well, that isn’t for you to decide now, isn’t it? Besides, a legation can be assembled today and leave for Toletum on the morrow.”
Euric chuckled, partially at the woman’s short and to the point answers. And Brunhilda, unmoved, kept hammering her point. “But in the meantime, there’s no reason why we can’t address some preliminary issues of the treaty.”
She feared in the back of her mind that Clothar might just pull out a daunting escape from Italy and unravel all of her plans: the news that trickled back of his successes loomed hung ominously over her head. But she was also aware of the monstrous size of Witteric’s ego. The King who had vanquished the Romans, reunited the peninsula after a generation, and had then simple-mindedly shipped off the dissidents in his court to die in foreign wars, was certain to be looking for ways to feed his bloating hubris. And better for them to unsheathe their swords for our cause, she had quickly reasoned.
“As you know Euric, the love of my land and my people has never left me, hence my invitation to recover that which is ours, while the enemy is distracted.”
But the Goth refused to believe that the conference was anything but a waste of time, an amateurish attempt to drag his people into a pointless, alien, dispute. Evidently growing tired, he retorted, “my lady, I must insist that this be taken up with the King himself. My power was only limited to recognizing Clothar as King of Burgundy…”
“Which you will not do under any circumstance!” she blasted, suddenly exasperated, leaning forward in her seat with a hawkish semblance, and jerking her right fist. “He is not here, he is not wanted here, and if you insist in your insolence I will have you flogged, before we dump you back over the Pyrenees!”
The Visigoths scanned each other’s faces with confusion; the Franks, unsuspecting of the words being exchanged, remained aloof. Still, at long last the ambassador was impressed: impressed that an eighty year old woman could explode with such fits of rage, unbecoming of her age; impressed that she would plot so blatantly behind her own King’s back; and impressed that she knew not her place amongst men. Taking a deep breath, and for whatever reason, Euric yielded. “I will gladly take an introduction of your treaty to Witteric myself, my lady.”
Wimp.
“I knew you to be a reasonable man Euric. Glad we didn’t waste each other’s time,” she answered, changing her expression with a beaming a smile, pleased with herself. “Now I’ll leave you with my captains, and hope you enjoy the coming meal.”
Then, as the doors were opened to the lovely blonde Frankish maids sporting jugs brimful with foaming wine and one of the Burgundian captains handed the Gothic legate a small knapsack full of gold, in a rather unceremonious fashion, Protadius approached her, and covering his mouth as he did so, whispered most gratifying news in her ear.
“We have word that the Avars have just invaded Italy, my dear. With some luck, Clothar will be cut off before he even turns north...”
Great update. Although I'm more concerned about Theodosius, it's been more than half a year since he's been stabbed, what has happened to him? 
Glad to have you along!
Great update. Although I'm more concerned about Theodosius, it's been more than half a year since he's been stabbed, what has happened to him?
He, he. I do think that I'm starting to make some folks a bit inpatient.
Just a couple more updates till we find out, though!With a tidal wave of horsemen inbound, our favorite Frankish king will be busy!
As well as noticing that this still exists, I've also noticed that we're still in the same bloody conflict since the beginning! This isn't the Hundred Years War! We need summaries or an end to waiting for dialogue updates that make progress ever so seemingly slow! Jeez! (This is only constructive criticism, no bashing whatsoever)
*rant over*
*rant over*
This is only natural considering we are reading an actual story. Not everyone likes reading epic decade or century long timelines.
Chapter 13 -II-
He ran both hands over his face as he sighed, and let them come together over his mouth, while resting his elbows on the parchments. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening…
A week after the fall of Ravenna the news reached the Lombards of the loss of Mediolanum, and the arrival of the Franks. Gisulf, the King, lauded on all sides by the dukes and their warriors for the conquest, had barely had a few hours to celebrate his victory and honor the heroism of his fallen first-born before disaster struck.
No one had seen it coming; the Franks were not supposed to be helping the Romans, but after official reports came through, it was understood, adding to the general confusion, that the northern savages were acting on their own, independently of the scheming southerners. And who knew if by that very moment, Pavia, already under siege for a while, might have already fallen, the small squadrons left to guard it already smashed. Yet, in spite of it all, the capture of the royal capital would not have been the worst of the unfolding calamity.
For barely three weeks after Clothar had forced them on the defensive, a fouler enemy had crossed the Alps from the East. Swarms of Avar cavalry had ridden unchallenged all the way to the capital of Gisulf’s former dukedom, Forum Iulii [4], and utterly erased the town, after a thoroughly brutal sack. And reports of the blow did nothing but shatter the plummeting morale of the Lombards.
“…My Lord, the King calls on you. The council will be gathering in an hour.” Deep in thought, he did not notice the guard at the doorstep.
Nevertheless, he had managed to conceive what, in his opinion, was the only possible plan to successfully repel the Avars. And his briefing to Gisulf on the matter had shown him that he, at the very least, could count on having royal blessings. Now what remained, was convincing the more impulsive dukes.
“My Lord, the King needs you!”
Lifting his gaze from the charts, startled, Eugenius nodded lightly. “Wait outside, and saddle my horse. I’ll be there shortly.” The man left promptly, and quietly.
He leaned back on his chair, stretching his tense legs before standing up. And he sighed, yet again, before closing his eyes in another silent prayer.
***
The large wooden doors of Ravenna’s Exarchal palace were swung open, but he remained still, staring at the macabre gesture in Callinicus’ cold visage. An odd fly, of those rare ones that foretold the arrival of an early spring, buzzed about until it came to rest on the one remaining stubborn eye which, deflated and clearly dried up, defiantly looked up to the heavens.
Eugenius could not bring himself to look away; on the contrary, he enjoyed the dead peace that emanated from the Exarch’s severed head, calmly resting on a pike. The dog feels no pain, has no worries. It all ended with our triumph…should one pity him or be jealous?
“Eugenius! My father awaits!”
With his own head still facing Callinicus’ he glanced at Kakko, Gisulf’s now surviving oldest, who was accompanied by his retinue. Rest well, Roman. We may see each other again, before long. He gave the prince an acknowledging nod, the Roman’s head a last look, and went inside.
The audience hall was a mess. The ramblings he had failed to hear from the entrance now roared at him from all sides. There were individual arguments along the peripheries, while larger debates raged near the center, around the seat of King Gisulf. Immediately, he waded his way through the crowd, with the smell of anxiety, sweat, and fear, all pungent on his senses. And when he finally came near the monarch, they made brief eye contact, followed by an imperceptible affirmation.
“Silence!” Gisulf finally shouted, rising to his feet. “Be quiet all of you!”
“Everyone take your seats! Your seats!” announced a crier, standing atop a bench, a short distance away. “Take you seats!”
It took a few additional minutes, but the multitude did quiet down. Kakko took his place alongside his father, while Eugenius remained standing, close by.
“He who has a suggestion, can now proceed” announced the monarch.
The rumble started off once more, unchecked.
Eugenius licked his lips, before jumping to the bench, and then to the adjoining table, standing taller than the crier. “I have a solution!” he yelled. “Listen, all! I have a solution!”
It did not take him long to realize the futility of his entreaties. He signaled one of his men nearby, and seizing upon the huge ax that was hastily handed, he slammed it on the thick tabletop, with a loud crash, that affixed the weapon to the thick oak boards. “Everyone! Shut the fuck up!”
The trick worked; so he began.
“We all know the Franks have Pavia cut off. And the Avars are massing to cross the Po and fall upon us like an avalanche!”
A handful of nods of approval appeared sporadically from some of the dukes and their men, which encouraged him to continue.
“And when they cross the river…” he paused briefly, to catch his breath. “…And when they cross the river, we have nothing but the walls of Ravenna to stop them!”
But now, the discontent from some began to be noticeable in the grunts, low hissing, and casual jeers.
Ignore them. “Yet, even if we shut these gates, and hide behind these walls, our women and our children lie scattered and exposed in the north! Helpless before the onslaught of the barbarians!” he proclaimed, pointing an accusing finger in that direction. “What should be done, must be done! We must bring our families south and fight the Avars in the mountains, where their greatest strength will be reduced!”
“Coward! We will not leave Pavia without a fight!” finally some yelled from the back, and a wave of approving cheers made its way across portions of the crowd.
Attempting to disregard the comment, he cleared his throat, and persisted in shouting, as loud as he could. “If we don’t pull back from the plains in the north, we are doomed! We are all doomed!”
“It's that feminine Roman blood of his that talks!” finally exclaimed Gaidoald, Duke of Tridentum [5], as he stood up and unsheathed his long sword. “I say we cut out that serpent tongue, and let real men make the decisions!”
A standing ovation from the Duke’s men and his dispersed supporters, brought Eugenius’ blood to a boil. The hypocrisy and the calumnies, coming from the same man who had openly sided with the Frank Theuderic during his invasion two years before, were too much for him to endure. Seizing on the ax, that was still embedded on the tabletop, he jumped off, and took on the challenge from the Duke.
“Got some nerve to talk, traitor.”
“Someone has to speak the truth here, Roman!”
With a loud cry, Gaidoald took a wide swing, as the gathering spread out, giving the men plenty of room to cut each other down. Eugenius evaded the blow, barely, before swiping his own weapon towards his opponent’s chest. But the Duke, though his senior, was an experienced warrior, and tilting back his right shoulder, with a quick catlike movement, avoided the sharp edge.
The heckling and plaudits from those present eventually died down in Eugenius’ ears as the skirmish went on. Although he knew that Gisulf could end the match at any point, he much preferred to seize the opportunity and behead the slanderous traitor there and then, for all to see. He was, if anything, more of a Lombard than Gaidoald himself, having fought the Franks unhesitantly, and then being amongst the first to renegade Theodelinda’s pro-Roman policies before joining Gisulf. He had bled for his people, and become a leader in the revolt, unlike the pompous bastard who defied him, whose loyalty swayed aimlessly, like the tall summer grasses.
Though a few more blows were exchanged, and blocked by each one of the contenders, he rapidly distinguished his chance. Striking from the left, he forced Gaidoald to block from that side, and upon joining their weapons, he dragged his adversary’s sword downward. But, as the older man momentarily lowered his gaze to raise his blade, he head-butted him on the nose. With Gaidoald recoiling in pain with his vision blurred, Eugenius, holding his breath, raised the axe over his own head and swiftly put an end to the dispute, by cleaving the Duke’s skull in half.
Even before the man’s corpse fell entirely to the ground, a deadening silence took over the crowd. Gasping, and somewhat dampened with sweat, he straightened up, relaxing his tense arms, and took a careful look around, searching for expressions of dissent, or new challengers. There were none.
He licked his lips once more, and resumed his address, climbing atop the table. “Our families are to be moved south towards Beneventum, where our brothers languish in oppression! With them on our side, we will be able to transform the mountaintops of the Apennines into unbreakable fortresses, and weather the Avaric storm!”
Soft, timid clapping began to break out from some unseen quarter.
“But we cannot afford to have a sharp rock at our backs! There is one final place that must be conquered by our bravery before we can hold the line steadily: Rome itself must be taken! The last and only stronghold on the way of our reunification, and our salvation must be secured and turned into a towering beacon of Lombard strength!”
The reticent clapping now became a storm of thunderous applause.
Satisfied, he sought the reassurance of his monarch, who seemed to be avidly searching for anyone to oppose the plan. After scanning the crowd for a few minutes, he desisted, with a pleased look on his face.
“The die is cast then,” said Gisulf, raising his arms, in a voice too soft for those at the back to hear him. “On to Rome!”
________________________
[2] Pesaro.
[3] Fano.
[4] Cividale del Friuli.
[5] Trent.
Ah, now there is a proper clusterfuck. The Lombards respond to the Avars much the way their ancestors did to the Huns- by fleeing into Roman lands and trying to conquer things.
Perhaps they shall succeed- or perhaps they shall not. And maybe the Avars will do what Attila did not...
Great to see this saga updated.
Perhaps they shall succeed- or perhaps they shall not. And maybe the Avars will do what Attila did not...
Great to see this saga updated.
It only made sense to push against the weaker party: the Romans.
Oh yes! (And don't worry that next chapter, after parts III and IV, we return to the East!)
Also, apologies to all readers for being slower than dirt updating this. I'm not deliberately trying to make the whole thing uber-tediously looooooong, but y'know, things get in the way...
Any other thoughts on how things are progressing?
If you have the time the occasional summary would be great for tying everything together, maybe a map too.
Clusterfuck indeed: and I love how we still don't know the fate of Theodosius!
It seems clear to me that Priscus is leading an Avar army into Italy, although I can't quite work out to what end: is he hoping to save Rome and ally with Tiberius, or does he want to set himself up as an independent Western Emperor? My money is on the former, but I suppose we'll see. At this rate, whatever happens, there's not going to be a lot of Italy left for anyone to rule!
It seems clear to me that Priscus is leading an Avar army into Italy, although I can't quite work out to what end: is he hoping to save Rome and ally with Tiberius, or does he want to set himself up as an independent Western Emperor? My money is on the former, but I suppose we'll see. At this rate, whatever happens, there's not going to be a lot of Italy left for anyone to rule!
Thank you!
Are you still doing a summary after a number of updates? One every so often will do wonders in keeping the story coherent and accessible, should be easier than writing an update as well.
If you have the time the occasional summary would be great for tying everything together, maybe a map too.
The most recent one, to help you all remember, is here; covering events through the death of Phocas. There has only been two updates since then.
Well, the Avars are still Phocas' nominal allies, and are acting according to the agreement made in exchange for Domentziola's hand. Just as the late Emperor lost his life in Cappadocia, and Priscus was securing Constantinople, Bayan was crossing the Alps, so it might take a little while for him to learn of the death of his father-in-law-to-be.
How far they've made it once that becomes known, or what will follow then, is up in the air...
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