The Last Maurician
- Thread starter Eparkhos
- Start date
Damn it’s been awhile since I read this story! Ioustinaos has got quite a bit on his plate, things won’t be easy for awhile.
Eparkhos
Banned
Thanks for commenting! Iustinianus will eventually cement his control over a part of the Empire.
Welcome back! He does, but things'll eventually improve.
Eparkhos
Banned
Caesarius, on paper, is much stronger. However, power within the Baleares rests almost entirely on the shoulders of local nobles, who have a de facto monopoly on the activities of the island's male population. Currently, they're making a killing by selling food to the various armies rampaging across Provence and so will be unwilling to part with too many men of fighting age. Caesarius could order them to transfer their men to his control, but even as overconfident as he is he knows that if he pushed them too hard he'll have a stroke in the middle of the night, if you catch my drift.
However, while Delius does have more men he's hampered by time. The Alboran Sea, which separates Spania proper from African Spania, has fast surface currents that made it difficult to navigate in the best conditions. Between November and February, attempting a crossing with ships as heavily laden as troopships would be virtual suicide due to the violent currents that are pushed through in those months by the North Atlantic Gyre.
So, if Iustinianus can keep Delius in Africa for the next two months he'll have the rest of the winter to prepare, during which he might be able to play the Balearic landlords off of Caesarius and disable him. However, Iustinianus is unaware that Delius is plotting against him because the latter has compromised his information network.
This whole conflict is so hilarious in how Liliputtian it is. Three abandoned statelets preparing for civil war. Quintessentially Roman, really.
Crisis of the Third Century Romans: First time?
Just how organized is the titular Justinian II's forces at this point? Does he have support in Rome? I think in otl many of the wider provincial and frontier garrisons and administrators remained loyal to Maurice's family which was why Khosrau was able to advance so rapidly into Eastern Roman territory. He used the casus beli that he was going to do for Rome what Maurice did for him. His claim was that he had the Maurician claimant Theodosius in his custody and was planning on restoring him to the throne. Of course he eventually reneged on this and planned to achieve the aspirations of his ancestors like Shapur II in restoring the Acheamanid Empire which the Sassanids claimed to be the direct successor of. If Justinian proves himself as the real deal, how much support can he truly expect from the rest of the Empire? Would it be more realistic to assume that various disparate rebels proclaim themselves as acting on Justinian's behalf? Or would there be something akin to a general uprising in Constantinople in favor of the rightful Emperor kinda like with the Nika riots in favor of Hypatius (Anastasian dynasty) against Justinian.
Eparkhos
Banned
Just how organized is the titular Justinian II's forces at this point?
Iustinianus has yet to actually declare himself as emperor; As of now, he's just the illegitimate governor of Malaca and Carteia.
Does he have support in Rome?
As of now, Rome doesn't know he exists. Even if they did, given that the current Pope, Bonifacius IV, is a supporter of Phocas he wouldn't receive much or any.
If Justinian proves himself as the real deal, how much support can he truly expect from the rest of the Empire?
Mauricius....was not the most popular emperor. He did have some support in Oriens, but that's currently being leveraged by the Persians. Other than that, he was really not popular with the army or lower classes, so any support he'll receive will have to be earned. (Hence why he hasn't declared yet).
Would it be more realistic to assume that various disparate rebels proclaim themselves as acting on Justinian's behalf?
Possibly, but see the above comment. There MIGHT be a rising in the Taurikon, but that's quite unlikely.
Or would there be something akin to a general uprising in Constantinople in favor of the rightful Emperor kinda like with the Nika riots in favor of Hypatius (Anastasian dynasty) against Justinian.
Remember, the Heraclii are still in revolt. The more famous Heraclius' flotilla is currently off of Sicily, while Nicetas is currently camped at Cyrenaica in preparation for a strike at Aegyptus (I'm planning out the events there right now, funnily enough). Phocas will eventually get lynched, but like OTL it'll be in favor of the Heraclii rather than Iustinianus.
19 - A Letter From the Ghomarra
Eparkhos
Banned
4 September 609
Malaca
1800
Before he had even entered the strategy room, Iustinianus heard a thick, wet cough from within. He quietly groaned. Leontius.....Leontius didn’t seem to be long for this world. The kentarches had tried to hide it for the last two weeks, but he’d been finding bundles of torn cloth wrapped around clumps of bloody phlegm for the last two weeks. He wondered if there was anything he could do, trying to think of a good way to confront the elderly man. No matter how he did, he would try to let him have his pride.
And so, he waited at the door with his hand resting against its frame, giving Leontius time to clean up. After enough time for even a catheterized slug to have done so passed, he lightly swung it open.
The room had originally been an observation deck, hastily boarded and then bricked over when the Vandals came some two centuries previous. However, it had been shoddily done and it was either uncomfortably hot, or, as he had learned when an unseasonal storm had come down off of the Serra Album the previous week, bitterly cold. There were a half-dozen rotting chairs leaned against the inside wall, a fair-sized table pushed against one of the far walls and a poorly drawn mockery of a map showing Spania glued next to a much better one of Baetica on a section of brick that leaned so dramatically to the outside that it seemed it might fall at any moment. Of course, it had been much worse before he had moved the command into it three weeks previous but it still looked like shit.
Leontius was sitting in one of the chairs, studiously studying the maps across the room and pretending he had been doing that for a time. After a few seconds, he looked up at him, feigning surprise.
“Magi-,” he said, then bent over in a coughing fit, “-ster!”
Iustinianus nodded, biting back asking him if he was alright. He closed the door behind him, then sat down in one of the other chairs and placed the rolled-up note he was carrying beside him. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he asked,
“Should we wait for Dulcitius, or?”
Leontius nodded vigorously, in a way that came off as compensating for the coughing fit earlier. Or maybe that was just him overthinking it. “Of course. No reason to have to repeat everything.”
Iustinianus nodded, leaning back in the chair and resting his head on his arm. It occurred to him that he really didn’t have an advisory council of anything of the sort, beyond Leontius and Dulcitius. To be honest, he really wasn’t that experienced in statecraft, so a group of people who knew how to run a country, or even part of one, definitely wouldn’t hurt. His father had been a natural born autocrat, and look where that had gotten him.
“Are you alright?” Leontius asked, his voice quiet. There had been an….incident….back in July that had scared the hell out of both of them, and he’d been much more cautious about interrupting Iustinianus since.
“Yeah,” Iustinianus said, “Just thinking.”
“What about?”
“There are three of us-You, Dulcitius and I. All of us are military men. Outside of you, we have no experience in running a city, let alone a country.” He turned to look at Leontius. “I, we, will need at least a few people knowledgeable in managing resources on a higher level. And diplomats. And spies. Hell, we’ll need someone who knows how to sail if we’re ever to do anything in Africae.”
Leontius nodded, staring off at the wall.
Iustinianus tilted his head. “Let me guess, there’s a guy in Africae?”
The kentarches shook his head. “No, actually, here. There’s a Gothic ministeralis named Argimund who got drop-kicked out of the Gothic territories under Reccared. He was quite experienced, actually.”
“Oh,” Iustinianus grinned, “Let me guess, he’s also a Maurician loyalist?”
Leontius shot him a glare. “Don’t be an ass. When he was exiled, they cut off his right hand and scalped him.”
“How the hell did he survive that?”
“Not a clue. Now, his head looks like someone poured hot beeswax over his head and is so ugly that he gets rocks thrown at him whenever he comes into town. Lives somewhere up in the Albums.”
The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. They both called “Enter!”, and Dulcitius stepped into the room.
“What’s going on?” he asked, sitting down in one of the other chairs, “Gordianus didn’t tell me anything beyond coming here.”
“A message came in from Africa earlier this morning, addressed to me personally.” Iustinianus said.
“Personally?” Leontius interrupted, “You never said anything about it being addressed personally.”
Iustinianus looked back to him. “Really? I thought I did.”
“The message.” Dulcitius said.
“Right. Sorry.” Iustinianus picked up the scroll and unrolled, briefly skimming the text. “It’s pretty long. You’ll probably want to take a seat, Dulcitius.”
The decurio did so, and then Iustinianus began.
“Greetings and health to you, o wise and admirable Magister of Spania, long may your years and those of your children be….” he looked up. “Will either of you mind if I skip over the preamble?”
“No.”
“No.”
“Right, then. Dut dut dah….Here we go.” he cleared his throat. “It is in both of our interests for you to become the Exarch, and to this degree we will provide aid to you in the coming war, in exchange for power in the south after it is ended….”
“I think you might have skipped something.” Leontius said.
Iustinianus skimmed the scroll back over, jumping from paragraph to paragraph on the papyrus. “Here it is. I speak for the tribe of the Ghomara, who reign over the lands between Septem and Rusaddir and, who are numerous in warriors and horses. Unfortunately, the tribes of the western plains are even more numerous in warriors and horses, and thus they have the favor of Delius and his governor, as is the way in Mauretania.”
He paused, looking over at Leontius. “Don’t suppose you’d know anything about them, do you?”
Leontius paused for a moment, looking up to the ceiling. “Well, back in ‘62, at least I think it was ‘62, they raided up to Septem and burned the fields around the city. I stayed over here, but a good hundred men went over after them.” His face darkened. “Bastards killed Iohannes.”
“Do they have a history of conflict with us?”
“Eh, to an extent. No more than what the other tribes have.”
Iustinianus nodded. “So, if they were willing to ally with us it wouldn’t turn the populace of Tingitania against us? At least not too badly?”
Leontius shrugged noncommittally. After a few seconds with no response, Iustinianus went back to reading.
“However, it is also the way in Mauretania that a good chief, be it of a tribe or confederation or kingdom, will reward those who support him loyally. The other tribes of the Rif and plains are thus to Delius.”
“Well, even if we get nothing else at least we know if the other tribes support Delius, now.” Dulcitius said.
The other two men stared at him with looks somewhere between confusion and pity. Dulcitius looked back and forth between them. “What?”
“That’s probably the most blatant request for a bribe I can think of, and I spent twelve years in Constantinopolis.” Iustinianus said, lightly shaking his head in amusement. “I don’t suppose you think that all the half-naked women by the docks are just really strange nuns?”
Dulcitius glared back. “No! I’m just not that good with formal writing.”
A moment passed in awkward silence before Leontius spoke up. “That was rather harsh, I really don’t think he deserved it.” He then doubled over in a coughing fit.
Iustinianus sighed, waiting for the spell to pass. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Decurio, I shouldn’t have insulted you like that. Anyways, getting on with it,
“Delius has not treated us as such, and so is not a good chief of our confederation, if you would. As such, if there were to be an outbreak of conflict twixt you and he, given our tribal codes if you were to give us the proper rewards we would be more than willing to aid you in this conflict.”
“Well, that’s certainly something,” Leontius grunted, “A bunch a Berbers on his ass sure won’t help him much.”
Iustinianus nodded, not commenting. “While our possible contribution might seem limited, you should bear in mind that for Delius to assault you he must draw his men from the coastal ports and thus weaken them to the point where they will fall to a weak force, even one many times weaker than ourselves.”
Dulcitius perked up. “So, Delius is building up to attack us?”
Leontius nodded. “And he’ll be bringing enough men to de-garrison some of his cities. That’ll be a hell of a lot.”
“And then it goes into the conclusion.” Iustinianus finished. “Well, what do you think?”
“It’s certainly an interesting proposal.” Leontius said before stopping.
“There’s a but coming, yes?”
“Yes. It’s an interesting proposal, but it’s entirely possible that it’s fake. It could be that Delius is looking for a pretext to strike first, and us agreeing to this would be perfect.”
“No,” Dulcitius interjected, ‘If Delius were trying to find a reason for war he would’ve gone to Caesarius first and tried to cozy up to him.”
Iustinianus paused, looking back and forth between them. After a few minutes he said, “You’re both right.”
“What?”
“Dulcitius, you’re right that Delius is most likely going to try to ally himself with Caesarius, and Leontius, you’re right that it’s probably a pretext for war. This came in on a boat from Septem, and I’m almost certain that he’s either responsible for this or knows about and allowed it to be passed on.”
He hurried over to the table on the far side of the chamber, produced a different roll of papyrus from a pocket in his tunic and began furiously scribbling down the message on the new piece. Leontius and Dulcitius both watched him for several minutes in confused silence, both no doubt wondering what he was doing. After he finished, he threw the first one into the fire and whirled around, grinning.
“No more evidence, patricians. We still have the information, but Delius no longer has anything on us no matter what happens. Granted, we’ll still have to send it to another port, so we’re not out of the clear yet. Leontius, are there any ports between Septem and Rusaddir?”
“Tamuda, I believe.”
“Right, then. Either of you have any ideas for a reply? Well, beyond ‘no’. If Delius can’t use this against us, I see no reason not to turn it down.”
Malaca
1800
Before he had even entered the strategy room, Iustinianus heard a thick, wet cough from within. He quietly groaned. Leontius.....Leontius didn’t seem to be long for this world. The kentarches had tried to hide it for the last two weeks, but he’d been finding bundles of torn cloth wrapped around clumps of bloody phlegm for the last two weeks. He wondered if there was anything he could do, trying to think of a good way to confront the elderly man. No matter how he did, he would try to let him have his pride.
And so, he waited at the door with his hand resting against its frame, giving Leontius time to clean up. After enough time for even a catheterized slug to have done so passed, he lightly swung it open.
The room had originally been an observation deck, hastily boarded and then bricked over when the Vandals came some two centuries previous. However, it had been shoddily done and it was either uncomfortably hot, or, as he had learned when an unseasonal storm had come down off of the Serra Album the previous week, bitterly cold. There were a half-dozen rotting chairs leaned against the inside wall, a fair-sized table pushed against one of the far walls and a poorly drawn mockery of a map showing Spania glued next to a much better one of Baetica on a section of brick that leaned so dramatically to the outside that it seemed it might fall at any moment. Of course, it had been much worse before he had moved the command into it three weeks previous but it still looked like shit.
Leontius was sitting in one of the chairs, studiously studying the maps across the room and pretending he had been doing that for a time. After a few seconds, he looked up at him, feigning surprise.
“Magi-,” he said, then bent over in a coughing fit, “-ster!”
Iustinianus nodded, biting back asking him if he was alright. He closed the door behind him, then sat down in one of the other chairs and placed the rolled-up note he was carrying beside him. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he asked,
“Should we wait for Dulcitius, or?”
Leontius nodded vigorously, in a way that came off as compensating for the coughing fit earlier. Or maybe that was just him overthinking it. “Of course. No reason to have to repeat everything.”
Iustinianus nodded, leaning back in the chair and resting his head on his arm. It occurred to him that he really didn’t have an advisory council of anything of the sort, beyond Leontius and Dulcitius. To be honest, he really wasn’t that experienced in statecraft, so a group of people who knew how to run a country, or even part of one, definitely wouldn’t hurt. His father had been a natural born autocrat, and look where that had gotten him.
“Are you alright?” Leontius asked, his voice quiet. There had been an….incident….back in July that had scared the hell out of both of them, and he’d been much more cautious about interrupting Iustinianus since.
“Yeah,” Iustinianus said, “Just thinking.”
“What about?”
“There are three of us-You, Dulcitius and I. All of us are military men. Outside of you, we have no experience in running a city, let alone a country.” He turned to look at Leontius. “I, we, will need at least a few people knowledgeable in managing resources on a higher level. And diplomats. And spies. Hell, we’ll need someone who knows how to sail if we’re ever to do anything in Africae.”
Leontius nodded, staring off at the wall.
Iustinianus tilted his head. “Let me guess, there’s a guy in Africae?”
The kentarches shook his head. “No, actually, here. There’s a Gothic ministeralis named Argimund who got drop-kicked out of the Gothic territories under Reccared. He was quite experienced, actually.”
“Oh,” Iustinianus grinned, “Let me guess, he’s also a Maurician loyalist?”
Leontius shot him a glare. “Don’t be an ass. When he was exiled, they cut off his right hand and scalped him.”
“How the hell did he survive that?”
“Not a clue. Now, his head looks like someone poured hot beeswax over his head and is so ugly that he gets rocks thrown at him whenever he comes into town. Lives somewhere up in the Albums.”
The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. They both called “Enter!”, and Dulcitius stepped into the room.
“What’s going on?” he asked, sitting down in one of the other chairs, “Gordianus didn’t tell me anything beyond coming here.”
“A message came in from Africa earlier this morning, addressed to me personally.” Iustinianus said.
“Personally?” Leontius interrupted, “You never said anything about it being addressed personally.”
Iustinianus looked back to him. “Really? I thought I did.”
“The message.” Dulcitius said.
“Right. Sorry.” Iustinianus picked up the scroll and unrolled, briefly skimming the text. “It’s pretty long. You’ll probably want to take a seat, Dulcitius.”
The decurio did so, and then Iustinianus began.
“Greetings and health to you, o wise and admirable Magister of Spania, long may your years and those of your children be….” he looked up. “Will either of you mind if I skip over the preamble?”
“No.”
“No.”
“Right, then. Dut dut dah….Here we go.” he cleared his throat. “It is in both of our interests for you to become the Exarch, and to this degree we will provide aid to you in the coming war, in exchange for power in the south after it is ended….”
“I think you might have skipped something.” Leontius said.
Iustinianus skimmed the scroll back over, jumping from paragraph to paragraph on the papyrus. “Here it is. I speak for the tribe of the Ghomara, who reign over the lands between Septem and Rusaddir and, who are numerous in warriors and horses. Unfortunately, the tribes of the western plains are even more numerous in warriors and horses, and thus they have the favor of Delius and his governor, as is the way in Mauretania.”
He paused, looking over at Leontius. “Don’t suppose you’d know anything about them, do you?”
Leontius paused for a moment, looking up to the ceiling. “Well, back in ‘62, at least I think it was ‘62, they raided up to Septem and burned the fields around the city. I stayed over here, but a good hundred men went over after them.” His face darkened. “Bastards killed Iohannes.”
“Do they have a history of conflict with us?”
“Eh, to an extent. No more than what the other tribes have.”
Iustinianus nodded. “So, if they were willing to ally with us it wouldn’t turn the populace of Tingitania against us? At least not too badly?”
Leontius shrugged noncommittally. After a few seconds with no response, Iustinianus went back to reading.
“However, it is also the way in Mauretania that a good chief, be it of a tribe or confederation or kingdom, will reward those who support him loyally. The other tribes of the Rif and plains are thus to Delius.”
“Well, even if we get nothing else at least we know if the other tribes support Delius, now.” Dulcitius said.
The other two men stared at him with looks somewhere between confusion and pity. Dulcitius looked back and forth between them. “What?”
“That’s probably the most blatant request for a bribe I can think of, and I spent twelve years in Constantinopolis.” Iustinianus said, lightly shaking his head in amusement. “I don’t suppose you think that all the half-naked women by the docks are just really strange nuns?”
Dulcitius glared back. “No! I’m just not that good with formal writing.”
A moment passed in awkward silence before Leontius spoke up. “That was rather harsh, I really don’t think he deserved it.” He then doubled over in a coughing fit.
Iustinianus sighed, waiting for the spell to pass. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Decurio, I shouldn’t have insulted you like that. Anyways, getting on with it,
“Delius has not treated us as such, and so is not a good chief of our confederation, if you would. As such, if there were to be an outbreak of conflict twixt you and he, given our tribal codes if you were to give us the proper rewards we would be more than willing to aid you in this conflict.”
“Well, that’s certainly something,” Leontius grunted, “A bunch a Berbers on his ass sure won’t help him much.”
Iustinianus nodded, not commenting. “While our possible contribution might seem limited, you should bear in mind that for Delius to assault you he must draw his men from the coastal ports and thus weaken them to the point where they will fall to a weak force, even one many times weaker than ourselves.”
Dulcitius perked up. “So, Delius is building up to attack us?”
Leontius nodded. “And he’ll be bringing enough men to de-garrison some of his cities. That’ll be a hell of a lot.”
“And then it goes into the conclusion.” Iustinianus finished. “Well, what do you think?”
“It’s certainly an interesting proposal.” Leontius said before stopping.
“There’s a but coming, yes?”
“Yes. It’s an interesting proposal, but it’s entirely possible that it’s fake. It could be that Delius is looking for a pretext to strike first, and us agreeing to this would be perfect.”
“No,” Dulcitius interjected, ‘If Delius were trying to find a reason for war he would’ve gone to Caesarius first and tried to cozy up to him.”
Iustinianus paused, looking back and forth between them. After a few minutes he said, “You’re both right.”
“What?”
“Dulcitius, you’re right that Delius is most likely going to try to ally himself with Caesarius, and Leontius, you’re right that it’s probably a pretext for war. This came in on a boat from Septem, and I’m almost certain that he’s either responsible for this or knows about and allowed it to be passed on.”
He hurried over to the table on the far side of the chamber, produced a different roll of papyrus from a pocket in his tunic and began furiously scribbling down the message on the new piece. Leontius and Dulcitius both watched him for several minutes in confused silence, both no doubt wondering what he was doing. After he finished, he threw the first one into the fire and whirled around, grinning.
“No more evidence, patricians. We still have the information, but Delius no longer has anything on us no matter what happens. Granted, we’ll still have to send it to another port, so we’re not out of the clear yet. Leontius, are there any ports between Septem and Rusaddir?”
“Tamuda, I believe.”
“Right, then. Either of you have any ideas for a reply? Well, beyond ‘no’. If Delius can’t use this against us, I see no reason not to turn it down.”
Interesting, i hope we soon see some large scale things happening, so maybe Iustinianus will get some Berber support, interesting, i wonder what the midgoal for him is, reconquering spanea ? uniting the exarchate of Africa under him ? I hope we soon see some largr things happening it seems like a war is in the making ^^ Will also be interesting to see hoe the goths will react to that
I must admit I'm not usually into this kind of novelized AltHistory, but you've got me hooked here! You have talent for creating characters and their interactions in a way that makes the reader really care.
Eparkhos
Banned
Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it!
This is, for all intents and purposes, the second part of what I'm calling "The Spanian Civil War Arc", so there'll definitely be some larger scale things happening, both in the Exarchate and in the east.
Iustinianus' midgoal is to bring the Exarchate under the control of he or his allies, as a set up for an Inerian reconquest. Africae.... I pity the Africaens, knowing what lies in store.
As for the Goths, they're about to have bigger problems. That's all I say.
20 - Caesarius Shoots Himself in the Chest
Eparkhos
Banned
9 September 609
Magon, Minorica
1800
Sextus Azruba’al bit back a shout of anger for what felt like the twentieth time that day. He pressed his hands against his temples and stared down at the open scroll that layer upon his desk, trembling with barely-supressed anger, until he had calmed himself enough for his voice to even.
“We. Just. Can’t.” he hissed, knowing well enough to not look up and anger himself more.
“Well yes, you’ve told me that, but why can’t we?”
If he had to hear Caesarius say why one more time, he was going to gut him with his wax-cutter, the parvoexcubitors standing by the door be damned. He stopped, staring down at the desk for a few minutes while listening to Caesarius adjust himself in his rickety chair, trying to figure out how to get this through the exarchos’ Theodosian Wall-sized skull.
Azruba’al looked up, staring dully at Caesarius, who was seated directly across the desk from him. He ran his hands down his face, then began.
“In the Ocean beyond the Pillars of Herakles, the sea rises and falls in accordance with the phases of the moon,” he said, speaking slowly so he wouldn’t have to repeat himself and extedpnd this agony any further.
“Really? Why?” Caesarius asked.
Azruba’al’s hand flew to the handle of his wax-cutter, but he swiftly regained his self-control and shoved his hand into his pocket. He forced a smile.
“That’s not important. What is important is that between November and Martius, the moon is far to the east and so draws the water towards it. This raises the water level in the Ocean, and the water flows into the Mediterraneum and changes its currents during those months. Because of this, it’s nearly impossible to sail distances during that time.”
“I still don’t get it.” Caesarius said.
Azruba’al bit back a short response. He need this job. He was just a month’s pay away from having the dowry to marry his long-time love. Orovita. Suffer this moron just a little while longer, for Orovita.
“It’s September. As of now, there are fifty-two days until the start of November, and thus fifty-two days until the currents start to change.”
“What’s the point of all of this?”
At that instant, Azruba’al wanted nothing more than to lean across the desk and smash the exarchos’ head into the table until it turned into a bloody pulp. Instead, he merely grounded his teeth and hissed a reply.
“You physically cannot build a fleet of twenty galleys and fifty transports from the keel up in fifty-two days. It’s just not possible! With the resources of the Baleares, you can’t do it! With the resources of all of Spania you couldn’t do it! Not with Africae, not with Ravenna, hell, you probably couldn’t do it with all of Eastern Rome!” His voice rose as he spoke, escalating until it became a hoarse yell by the final line.
Caesarius sat back in his chair, mouth hung partly open in a nearly comedic showing of either idiocy or anger. Azruba’al shrunk into his chair, inner cursing himself for the outburst. From past experience with Caesarius, if he was lucky he’d just be fired. If he wasn’t…well, he would have to be lucky.
After a few minutes of silence, the exarchos responded.
“You would be wise not to speak to a Roman, let alone one who is the exarchos of a diocese, you punic Poenican.” Caesarius barked furiously. Azruba’al’s eyes flicked between him and the guards, hoping to God that they wouldn’t be called for. Caesarius either didn’t notice or ignored it, a wicked grin sliding across his face. “If the secretary of any other official of my standing or damn near any below its standing would speak to them in such a way, they would be flogged or executed. So it is very lucky for you that I am merciful, and my honor will be satisfied with the compensation of twenty solidii before the close of the week, and a subtraction of a tenth of your stipend henceforth.”
Azruba’al sat stock still in his chair, stunned. He’d causally spoken of his savings, of Orovoita and how close he was to having enough money to marry her several times in the preceding weeks. This…this was cruelty, plain and simple. He would have rather had the ducts of his nose gouged, his fingers cut off or even be half-blinded than have this happen. Unbidden, his eyes began to sting.
He could recover from this, though. All he needed was time to recoup, and to do this he would have to get out of this room alive. He ground his teeth. “Yes, sir.”
Caesarius’ chest practically puffed out like a bird in mating plumage. “Good, then. Now that you have been given the proper mercy, we shall move on. What, pray, do you think the best strategy for the campaign to retake Malaca from the rebel dogs?”
Now it was Azruba’al’s turn to be dumbfounded. How…how? He could not be serious, could he?
“Sir?” he asked, his confusion no doubt apparent.
Caesarius titled his head and looked at him annoyedly. “What do you think that is the best route to retake Malaca?”
“I…I am hardly a man of strategy.”
“You are literate and educated, which is more than can be said for most of the people of these islands. What few experienced soldiers there are here are all in the employ of the subcomites, and they are hardly available to me.”
Azruba’al stared at him, turning the statement over in his mind. He would have a large hand in plotting the strategy for either this year or the next year’s campaign. He had to suppress a grin as equally wicked as Caesarius’ had been.
“Well, the Malacans know of the currents just as we do. Therefore, they will most likely spend the impassable months building up resources in the city.”
Caesarius nodded. “So then, we should strike as soon as possible!”
Azruba’al too began to nod, grinning from ear to ear. “Yes. But you have to keep in mind that we don’t have enough ships to sail straight to Malaca.”
“Then we must land at Sparteriosis!” Caesarius smacked the table.
“Exactly, exarchos. Then, you should march along the coastal road to Malaca and take them while are unprepared and sheltering from the winter.”
“Good strategy, Sextus, very good strategy!” Caesarius laughed. “I shall begin preparations now, so that we may strike as quickly as possible!” He stood and walked out, waving at his guards to follow him.
Azruba’al waited for a few minutes to make sure, he was truly gone, then produced a piece of parchment from his desk. Although he was occaisonally mocked for his descent from Carthaginian traders, knowledge of Punic writing was a great boon due to how little knew of it. One of these men, a family friend named Augustine, worked as a priest in the personal service of some of the Gothic nobility. And so he began to scribble out, in ancient and to most inscrutinable characters;
To Vagrila, Duc of Baetica. For a mere five hundred solidus, I am able to deliver the Exarchos of Spania and his largest army to you…
-----------------
To be honest, I'm not sure about the quality, but it's been a strange couple of days and I wanted to update some. I won't be able to write any next week, but I should be able to post several times the week after that.
Magon, Minorica
1800
Sextus Azruba’al bit back a shout of anger for what felt like the twentieth time that day. He pressed his hands against his temples and stared down at the open scroll that layer upon his desk, trembling with barely-supressed anger, until he had calmed himself enough for his voice to even.
“We. Just. Can’t.” he hissed, knowing well enough to not look up and anger himself more.
“Well yes, you’ve told me that, but why can’t we?”
If he had to hear Caesarius say why one more time, he was going to gut him with his wax-cutter, the parvoexcubitors standing by the door be damned. He stopped, staring down at the desk for a few minutes while listening to Caesarius adjust himself in his rickety chair, trying to figure out how to get this through the exarchos’ Theodosian Wall-sized skull.
Azruba’al looked up, staring dully at Caesarius, who was seated directly across the desk from him. He ran his hands down his face, then began.
“In the Ocean beyond the Pillars of Herakles, the sea rises and falls in accordance with the phases of the moon,” he said, speaking slowly so he wouldn’t have to repeat himself and extedpnd this agony any further.
“Really? Why?” Caesarius asked.
Azruba’al’s hand flew to the handle of his wax-cutter, but he swiftly regained his self-control and shoved his hand into his pocket. He forced a smile.
“That’s not important. What is important is that between November and Martius, the moon is far to the east and so draws the water towards it. This raises the water level in the Ocean, and the water flows into the Mediterraneum and changes its currents during those months. Because of this, it’s nearly impossible to sail distances during that time.”
“I still don’t get it.” Caesarius said.
Azruba’al bit back a short response. He need this job. He was just a month’s pay away from having the dowry to marry his long-time love. Orovita. Suffer this moron just a little while longer, for Orovita.
“It’s September. As of now, there are fifty-two days until the start of November, and thus fifty-two days until the currents start to change.”
“What’s the point of all of this?”
At that instant, Azruba’al wanted nothing more than to lean across the desk and smash the exarchos’ head into the table until it turned into a bloody pulp. Instead, he merely grounded his teeth and hissed a reply.
“You physically cannot build a fleet of twenty galleys and fifty transports from the keel up in fifty-two days. It’s just not possible! With the resources of the Baleares, you can’t do it! With the resources of all of Spania you couldn’t do it! Not with Africae, not with Ravenna, hell, you probably couldn’t do it with all of Eastern Rome!” His voice rose as he spoke, escalating until it became a hoarse yell by the final line.
Caesarius sat back in his chair, mouth hung partly open in a nearly comedic showing of either idiocy or anger. Azruba’al shrunk into his chair, inner cursing himself for the outburst. From past experience with Caesarius, if he was lucky he’d just be fired. If he wasn’t…well, he would have to be lucky.
After a few minutes of silence, the exarchos responded.
“You would be wise not to speak to a Roman, let alone one who is the exarchos of a diocese, you punic Poenican.” Caesarius barked furiously. Azruba’al’s eyes flicked between him and the guards, hoping to God that they wouldn’t be called for. Caesarius either didn’t notice or ignored it, a wicked grin sliding across his face. “If the secretary of any other official of my standing or damn near any below its standing would speak to them in such a way, they would be flogged or executed. So it is very lucky for you that I am merciful, and my honor will be satisfied with the compensation of twenty solidii before the close of the week, and a subtraction of a tenth of your stipend henceforth.”
Azruba’al sat stock still in his chair, stunned. He’d causally spoken of his savings, of Orovoita and how close he was to having enough money to marry her several times in the preceding weeks. This…this was cruelty, plain and simple. He would have rather had the ducts of his nose gouged, his fingers cut off or even be half-blinded than have this happen. Unbidden, his eyes began to sting.
He could recover from this, though. All he needed was time to recoup, and to do this he would have to get out of this room alive. He ground his teeth. “Yes, sir.”
Caesarius’ chest practically puffed out like a bird in mating plumage. “Good, then. Now that you have been given the proper mercy, we shall move on. What, pray, do you think the best strategy for the campaign to retake Malaca from the rebel dogs?”
Now it was Azruba’al’s turn to be dumbfounded. How…how? He could not be serious, could he?
“Sir?” he asked, his confusion no doubt apparent.
Caesarius titled his head and looked at him annoyedly. “What do you think that is the best route to retake Malaca?”
“I…I am hardly a man of strategy.”
“You are literate and educated, which is more than can be said for most of the people of these islands. What few experienced soldiers there are here are all in the employ of the subcomites, and they are hardly available to me.”
Azruba’al stared at him, turning the statement over in his mind. He would have a large hand in plotting the strategy for either this year or the next year’s campaign. He had to suppress a grin as equally wicked as Caesarius’ had been.
“Well, the Malacans know of the currents just as we do. Therefore, they will most likely spend the impassable months building up resources in the city.”
Caesarius nodded. “So then, we should strike as soon as possible!”
Azruba’al too began to nod, grinning from ear to ear. “Yes. But you have to keep in mind that we don’t have enough ships to sail straight to Malaca.”
“Then we must land at Sparteriosis!” Caesarius smacked the table.
“Exactly, exarchos. Then, you should march along the coastal road to Malaca and take them while are unprepared and sheltering from the winter.”
“Good strategy, Sextus, very good strategy!” Caesarius laughed. “I shall begin preparations now, so that we may strike as quickly as possible!” He stood and walked out, waving at his guards to follow him.
Azruba’al waited for a few minutes to make sure, he was truly gone, then produced a piece of parchment from his desk. Although he was occaisonally mocked for his descent from Carthaginian traders, knowledge of Punic writing was a great boon due to how little knew of it. One of these men, a family friend named Augustine, worked as a priest in the personal service of some of the Gothic nobility. And so he began to scribble out, in ancient and to most inscrutinable characters;
To Vagrila, Duc of Baetica. For a mere five hundred solidus, I am able to deliver the Exarchos of Spania and his largest army to you…
-----------------
To be honest, I'm not sure about the quality, but it's been a strange couple of days and I wanted to update some. I won't be able to write any next week, but I should be able to post several times the week after that.