Memento Mori E-Book

Patrick Seiser

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 772

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Times have changed! The once mighty Roman Empire is on the brink of collapse. Germanic tribes are dividing the provinces of the empire among themselves, while ruthless generals and politicians fight for power. The dream of Rome seems to be over, but a few have not yet given up hope. Brave men such as Majorian, Ricimer, and Marcellinus are trying to lead the dying giant to a new era of prosperity. But the task seems impossible...

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Dedication

Foreword

Introduction

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Glossary

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Dedication

For Kathi, Verena and Karin

Foreword

Rome, Italy, 455 AD.

Sixty years after the division into the Western and Eastern Roman Empire, the Western Empire is on the brink of collapse. Ongoing civil wars and the simmering conflict between the followers of the Christian god and those who follow the old gods and customs have weakened the power of the central government. Barbarian tribes have invaded the empire and are dividing the provinces and riches among themselves. Weak emperors rule in the shadow of powerful military masters who are more concerned with maintaining their own power than the fate of the empire. The great threat posed by Attila and his Huns shook and destroyed the foundations of the Roman Empire. Now that this storm has subsided, the Romans face an uncertain future. A strong man at the head of the empire could subdue the barbarian peoples and lead the empire to new prosperity. Nevertheless, there is no such man in sight.

Introduction

Rome, end of March, 455 AD.

The first rays of the day's sun struggled to break through the thick blanket of fog, the fog that had held the eternal city in its firm and icy grip for days. The people themselves, however, noticed little of the sunrise. Only those inhabitants who were lucky enough to live on the higher levels of those seven legendary hills were able to enjoy the warm rays of the sun. In the crowded streets, however, the gray fog would linger even longer. Here, where the noise of the city was greatest and people lived closest together, the day had already begun hours ago. A number of goods for the various stores had already been delivered during the previous night so that the traders could loudly advertise their products before sunrise. Fish, vegetables, wine, slaves, but also services such as gambling or sex, all kinds of things were on offer in the narrow streets of the city. Dogs roamed the cobbled alleyways, trying to catch a tasty morsel or two. Beggars crowded around the gates of the churches asking for alms or a piece of bread. Away from the dirty alleyways and crowded stores stretched the other Rome, the one of wide squares, monuments, public baths and magnificent villas. Even though the Senate had long since lost its importance in the governance of the empire and the emperors paid little attention to the decisions of this venerable body, this ancient institution still existed. Regular meetings and debates ensured that political life in the city was not completely extinguished. At this time, the emperors rarely resided in Rome; the imperial court was usually located in distant Ravenna in northern Italy. In general, emperors rarely entered the capital of the empire. Moreover, even more rarely the Senate.

But not on this chilly March morning. Because Emperor Valentinian III had announced his appearance for the Senate meeting, which was due to start at midday.

"Tell me, Heraclius, why should I attend another unnecessary meeting of old men?" asked Valentinian, bored, as he stepped out of the warm bath.

Two young servants immediately rushed over with large white cloths and began to rub the ruler of half the Roman world dry.

"The Senate intends to deliberate today on the new tax law that you yourself initiated a few weeks ago, honorable Emperor. And you, if you will allow me to remind your divine spirit, have assured the Senate in the twenty-first year of your blessed reign that you will respect the role it plays in the governance of the empire," the eunuch replied gently.

"Yes, but that was only said so that these senile old men could feel important one last time before they leave this world!" complained Valentinian, annoyed, while his eyes followed the young servant's hands as she rubbed the inside of his thighs dry.

"That may be so, O exalted Augustus, but you have given the Senate your word that you will respect its decisions. And also that you will attend a senate meeting, at least at irregular intervals," replied Heraclius humbly.

"But I have no desire to deal with the complaints and whining of these dusty fools," the emperor replied gruffly.

It was a tiresome discussion, which Heraclius was already familiar with. Valentinian had been on the throne of the Western Roman Empire for over thirty years, ever since he was a little boy of six. He was therefore used to having his every wish fulfilled and having everything done his way. This is probably why he still sometimes behaved like one of those boys who were denied their beloved toys by their mother.

"It is one of the duties of a ruler to deal with unpleasant matters," Heraclius continued in a gentle voice.

Valentinian remained silent, his eyes still fixed on the girl at his feet.

"Very well, hopefully it won't take too long," the emperor finally said as he gently stroked the cheek of the servant kneeling in front of him with his right hand. "You never have time to enjoy life. Bring me my robe, Heraclius!"

The girl flinched and turned her face away in horror.

"As you wish, O Divine One!" the eunuch replied, clapping his hands.

The servant immediately jumped up and left the room with the other girl.

"I like her. Make sure she's bathed and waiting for me in my bedchamber tonight," the emperor looked after the two of them.

Heraclius nodded as two other servants entered the room and began to dress the emperor in his robes. They wrapped him in a white tunic and began to dress him in a magnificent iron breastplate. Festively decorated greaves were added. The emperor was to look like one of the legionaries who went into battle for him. The armor also provided practical protection.

"Really, do you have to do that?" Valentinian complained.

"Unfortunately yes, divine Augustus. Just think how many of your predecessors have died in cruel ways," Heraclius lectured. "You don't want to end up like so many augusti before you, do you?"

"The last threat to my throne died last year with Aetius! Don't forget, I slew this power-hungry traitor with my own hands!" exclaimed the emperor angrily.

How could Heraclius forget that? After all, he had helped the emperor to kill the powerful magister militum Flavius Aetius, the supreme commander of the empire. He almost took pity on the completely surprised general when the emperor, completely consumed by rage and madness, leapt from his throne and slew the conqueror of the Huns with his own sword. The old general lay on the marble-clad palace floor like a pig that had been stabbed by a peasant and left to bleed to death. A terrible deed, but a necessary one to eliminate his rival for the emperor's favor. Never before in the bloody history of Rome had an emperor murdered his supreme military officer with his own hands. The eunuch himself had also taken part in the bloody deed in the palace with his dagger.

Heraclius grinned quietly to himself. He had every right to be proud. After all, he had been planting the seeds of distrust in Valentinian's ears for years. Moreover, with the death of Aetius, his last great rival had been eliminated. Since that September day half a year ago, he had been able to influence the emperor to his will, effectively ruling half the Roman world.

"No, not today. Today I'm doing without the breastplate too!" decided Valentinian.

Heraclius had to comply. A small, spoiled boy who desperately wanted a sweet apple and got his wish every time.

"As you wish, my Emperor," the eunuch flattered him.

"After all, there's still a troop inspection to do, if I remember correctly. The protection of my guard will suffice," said Valentinian resolutely as the servants removed his armor and dressed him in a purple toga.

Heraclius nodded. He knew that this was the sign to retire. He bowed briefly and left the emperor alone while he finished dressing.

A light wind had dispelled the thick March fog and the warm rays of the spring ing sun warmed Heraclius' face as he followed the imperial palanquin towards Campus Martius, the famous Field of Mars. A praefectus rode in front, commanding the procession. He was followed by six riders from the imperial guard and the standard-bearers, also on horseback. Even though Heraclius was no friend of the military, he believed that this spectacle was highly remarkable - and good for the mob's opinion of their ruler. Such processions signaled the strength and power of the emperor and thus reflected his, Heraclius', power. Eight slaves, four at the front and four at the back carried the imperial palanquin. If only the emperor had decided to mount a horse instead of a palanquin. An emperor riding through the city at the head of a cavalry unit would have made more of an impression on both the people and the Senate than an emperor hiding behind curtains from the outside world would. However, Heraclius knew that Valentinian had no sense of such small details and the resulting major effects. He was only interested in his own convenience. Heraclius himself followed the palanquin on horseback, flanked by two of his officials. Bringing up the rear again were six riders from the Palatine Guard. Behind them, no longer part of the procession followed some slaves carrying food, wine and the imperial horse.

The sun was getting stronger every day, spring would soon arrive, and there was not even a cloud in the sky.

"It could still be a real spring day," thought Heraclius, "Maybe I'll get drunk tonight after the emperor has had his way with the young slut"

He had earned it, he thought. But first he had to get through this annoying military visit. If only it was evening already.

As they made their way through the streets of the eternal city to the military training ground, Heraclius noticed that the common people did not greet the emperor with cheers as they usually did. They had probably heard the ridiculous rumor that the emperor had raped the wife of a senator. Heraclius had tried to dispel the rumor immediately, but the common people had always been stubborn when it came to such serious accusations. The eunuch knew that. Nevertheless, let them believe what they want, the mob is no longer important for his intrigues, he finally decided. Many citizens cast cold glances at the imperial procession. As long as no rotten fruit was thrown Heraclius could live with it. However, if that were the case, he knew that the soldiers would cause a bloodbath and further tarnish the emperor's reputation.

After about thirty minutes, they reached the Martian field. A large, flat area, at least a centura in size, stretched out before them. It was here, on the outskirts of the city, that the Roman legions used to assemble before setting off to conquer new lands and subjugate foreign peoples. In addition, it is still in use as a military training ground, albeit no longer on such a grand scale as it once was. The commanding praefectus gave a signal and immediately the whole procession came to a standstill. If only that miserable fool of an emperor had ridden himself, thought Heraclius, then he would have spared those present the sight of him mounting his horse, panting and struggling. An unworthy sight, which would further damage the imperial dignity.

Two regiments of the imperial palatine guard, about a thousand men, had lined up on the field to be inspected by the emperor and to demonstrate the penetrating power of some captured Hun bows. It would not be surprising if, in his childish recklessness, the emperor himself grabbed one of the bows and shot a few arrows with it. Heraclius prayed to God that the emperor would spare the soldiers this embarrassment. It was bad enough that Valentinian would mount his horse.

A slave approached the palanquin and opened the curtains.

"Oh, are we there yet?" asked the emperor, noticeably sleepy.

Luckily, he was asleep, Heraclius thought, otherwise he would have noticed the cool contempt with which the common people had punished him.

Valentinian slowly got out of his palanquin and began to stretch. Heraclius found himself inwardly pitying the emperor for his agonizing and exhausting life, not without a good dose of sarcasm. As soon as the ruler had crawled out of his palanquin, the officers who had lined up in front of the unit raised their hands in the Roman salute. Instead of returning the salute, however, the emperor merely made a tired gesture with his right hand, like a peasant trying to shoo away a fly. Heraclius turned his head away. Valentinian truly lacked the virtues that made a good emperor, such as discipline and a sense of the moment. A few months ago, Heraclius had the opportunity to visit the eastern imperial court in Constantinople. The emperor residing there, Flavius Markian, embodied everything that Valentinian lacked: self-assurance, courage, grandeur and foresight, qualities that his counterpart in the West could only dream of.

"Well then, let's get it over with!" Valentinian puffed.

Heraclius turned to the slaves at the back of the entourage and gave a hand signal. A slave immediately came striding up with a white stallion, the emperor's horse. But Valentinian sent him away with a contemptuous snort.

"No horse today, you idiot. Bring me a cup of wine instead! I'm thirsty," the emperor ordered angrily.

The slave withdrew with a bow, while another servant brought the ruler a cup of falernum. The finest wine for the finest of rulers. In the meantime, Heraclius had also dismounted his horse and approached the emperor. Although Valentinian had spared him the embarrassment of riding on a horse, even without military dress, the fact that he now began to drink before the inspection did not make the situation any better.

"My emperor," Heraclius began, "is it advisable to start drinking before the maneuvers? What do you want your soldiers to think of you?"

"My soldiers love me, no matter what I do!" Valentinian snapped at him, snatching the cup of wine from the slave's hand. The emperor emptied it in one gulp.

"Real soldiers must not only be able to fight, but also to drink! Right, legionnaires?" shouted the emperor.

Instead of widespread approval or even cheers, Valentinian only received icy silence.

"Do you see, Heraclius? My soldiers know how to behave towards an emperor. Well done, Tribune," Valentinian continued, probably interpreting the soldiers' silence as approval, and turned to one of the officers standing by. "Let us begin!"

The tribune immediately slapped his chest with his right hand and saluted again. He then pointed with his right hand to two soldiers standing in the front row and snapped his fingers. A moment later, the legionaries stepped closer to the procession. But instead of raising their hands in the Roman salute, they struck the shield in their other hand with the spears they held in their right hand. Valentinian returned the salute with a silent nod, and then the guardsmen took up their position behind Valentinian and Heraclius.

The five men slowly walked down the line of soldiers in front of them. The tribune stopped again and again and introduced one or two deserving legionaries to the emperor. Although Heraclius disliked talking to any soldiers or even just being part of this spectacle, he was better able to conceal his reluctance behind his interested expression than his emperor was. His bored look and his repeated requests to the slave to hand him a cup of wine were more telling than any words from his mouth.

Finally, the small group reached the end of the line of soldiers. Heraclius sighed with relief. Soon this act would be over. No short demonstration of the Hunnic bows beforehand, after which he would return to the palace while the emperor set off in the direction of the Senate.

"My emperor, will you allow me to introduce the legionaries Optila and Thraustila? Both are skilled in the art of archery, as practised by the Huns and other barbarian tribes!" the tribune reported.

As he spoke, the two soldiers saluted their emperor, as they should. Both men stood behind a small wooden table on which lay a strangely shaped bow and some arrows.

"Well then. And this," the emperor began, walking around the small table on which a bow lay, "is the famous Hunnish bow. The bow that so terrified the armies of my counterpart in Constantinople? And which my legionaries fear as much as doomsday? It looks more like an ordinary piece of wood to me."

"My Emperor, this bow is vastly superior to our bows in terms of penetrating power and range," the legionary named Optila began his explanations, adding "I myself have shot with it several times. I have also witnessed several battles in which this bow has been used. I have yet to see a weapon that even comes close to the power of this bow."

"No wonder, after all, you're only a barbarian," Heraclius remarked coolly.

But, contrary to Heraclius' expectations, the soldier did not make a face at this insult. He even pretended not to have heard it.

"Allow me to show you this elegant weapon, divine Augustus," Thraustila now spoke up.

"Well then, get started so we can finish this," Valentinian replied, annoyed.

Thraustila nodded briefly and grabbed the bow. The tribune commented on the situation:

"My Emperor, do you see the target over there? It is exactly the eighth part of a mile passus away from us. I have walked the distance myself. Thraustila, you know the target. Show the emperor your skills!"

The Teuton nodded again briefly. Then he took a few steps forward, put an arrow in the string and drew the bow. His target was a heap of straw with a white cloth with a red dot stretched across it, about a stadium away from where they were standing. The soldier took precise aim, exhaled softly and let go of the string. The arrow shot forward and only a fraction of a second later hit the painted red dot. Suddenly the emperor was wide-awake too.

"A true masterpiece, my dear Thraustila! Truly excellent. But, what about armor? Does it really have as much penetrating power as you claim?" the emperor asked excitedly.

The tribune spoke up:

"Alas, yes, my emperor. Allow me to show you another demonstration. The two soldiers have made a straw doll and put a lorica harmata on it!"

Optila stepped aside and went to a covered wagon a few steps away. He climbed onto the loading area and took out a small doll made of straw, which had been dressed in chain mail like the one the Roman legionnaires wore in battle. He went in the direction of the target and placed the doll in front of it. Then he came back. Thraustila nodded again briefly, drew his bow again and fired again. This time, too, the arrow found its target.

The emperor giggled with delight. He obviously liked the weapon. Optila ran forward and retrieved the doll. The arrow had gone right through the chain mail. Heraclius was also deeply impressed. This wound would almost certainly have been fatal.

"Why don't we equip our legions with this weapon?" he asked the tribune.

"Unfortunately, it's not that easy. It takes many years to master this weapon perfectly. Hun children practise with it from an early age. Even our skills are nothing compared to those of the Hun riders," Optila replied instead of the tribune.

"Now I want to try," the emperor laughed like a child who had just seen a new toy and reached for the bow.

However, Thraustila did not let go of him. The emperor began to pull harder on the bow. He had not expected his wish to be denied. Heraclius saw the anger rising in him.

"What are you doing? Let go, barbarian!" he said angrily.

But Thraustila still refused to let go of the bow. Optila took a step closer. The tribune also turned his gaze to Thraustila.

"Thraustila?" he asked with a sharp undertone.

"Give your bow to your emperor, you filthy savage!" shouted Heraclius.

"Let go at last! Or I'll have you quartered and feed your remains to the wild beasts!" the emperor roared at him, tearing wildly at the handle of the bow.

Just at that moment, the Teuton loosened his grip and the bow slipped from his hand. The emperor began to stumble. He staggered back a few steps and collided with Optila.

"Wretched barbarian, I'm going to ..." he began.

But that was as far as he got. Optila had drawn his sword unnoticed. He grabbed the emperor by the right shoulder, yanked it back so that the emperor whirled around and stared Optila straight in the face. Then he rammed his sword straight into his stomach.

"No!" Heraclius shouted and was about to rush towards the assassin when he realized that a hand was holding him by the left shoulder. Just a second later, cold steel pierced through his back and into his lungs. A second time, a third time. Then he slumped down.

He could still see Optila slitting the throat of the Emperor, who had fallen to his knees, with a swift cut. As his lungs slowly filled with blood, he heard the tribune say:

"Revenge for Aetius. May you rot in hell!"

None of the guardsmen standing around had intervened. They watched silently as the emperor and Heraclius slowly bled to death.

Chapter I

Rome, end of May, 455 AD.

The veteran warrior walked with a heavy step through the long, marble-floored portico. The evening sun cast a bright light on the white corridor. It was warm, a little too warm for his taste. Moreover, the hot days of summer still lay ahead of them. Rome at this time of year had always been a breeding ground for mosquitoes and stench, but this summer, he feared, it would be particularly bad. Beads of sweat stood on his forehead. But now was no time to think about the coming months. He might not even live to see the next few hours.

Finally, the corridor branched off to the right. Right there, in the corner, stood a large white statue. The statue of the former Emperor Augustus, the second founder of this glorious, stinking city, a ruler who would never have allowed it to come to this. The paint that had once adorned the statue, had faded and was in urgent need of renewal, but no one here in the palace seemed to care. The man silently looked at the striking features of this long-dead hero. His expression signaled determination. In his presence, the young soldier felt insignificant. At the age of thirty-three, Augustus had already risen to become the ruler of the known world. But what had he achieved at the age of thirty-three? Not much. Nevertheless, the man recognized much of himself in the mighty statue before him. In addition, some differences. The statue was clean-shaven, no sign of a beard, unlike his brown three-day beard. They were about the same height, about six feet tall. The statue was more powerfully built than him, more muscular. He, on the other hand, although not weak, felt more agile than muscular. At least he had been careful not to let his belly grow too much, he was still a lot leaner than many other generals. He gently wiped some dust off the base of the statue. What would that great emperor think of today? The empire that Augustus had created had ceased to exist many years ago. Barbarian tribes had divided most of the provinces among themselves, Romans preferred to fight Romans instead of opposing the common enemy. Augustus would probably throw himself on his sword if he could see what had become of his inheritance. The deserving soldier stroked his short-cropped brown hair thoughtfully and scratched the back of his head. Such an emperor would not have allowed the empire to perish.

He was silently looking at the statue when a voice sounded behind him.

"Flavius Julius Majorianus! Is it really you? That you still dare to enter the imperial palace at all."

Slowly, Majorian turned and looked into the scarred face of this old warrior he had known and cherished for so long. His formerly black hair was almost gray, yet it seemed to suit him better than his original hairstyle. Despite his age, his grey eyes still looked sharp and alert, and there was no sign of the belly that was common among many older and lazier Romans.

"I salute you, Ricimer. When the emperor calls you, you must answer the call, even if you are probably walking into your own grave."

"Do you think it's that bad, my old friend? Believe me, if the emperor wanted you dead, he would have sent you an assassin while you were sleeping and not ordered you to his palace," Ricimer replied with a broad grin.

If only Majorian could share his optimism.

"Don't forget, even the old emperor killed Aetius here in the palace. Moreover, he did it with his own hands. And he was only his magister militium and not the empress's declared favorite for the throne like me," Majorian replied thoughtfully. "Although to this day I still ask myself why the Dowager Empress wanted to see me on the throne. That would truly be the last thing I would want."

"Fortunately, she only told you this in confidence and didn't make it public, otherwise your head would be stuck on a lance in front of the Porta Appia. Then you could look south forever," laughed Ricimer.

However, when he realized that Majorian did not like this kind of joke at all, he hastily added:

"Don't worry too much about it, God is on your side. Besides, you didn't accept the offer!"

Even if he disliked some of his jokes, Majorian liked the barbarian towards him. Ricimer had fought side by side with him several times in various battles and had earned his trust. Although he was the son of a Suebi and a Visigoth, he was more roman than many other men Majorian had met. And, after a few cups of wine, he was also funnier than many Romans.

"Then let's hope God doesn't look the other way tonight. And if he does, please forgive me for using you as a shield," laughed Majorian. "But, and forgive me if I change the subject, why are you here? Shouldn't you be in the north?"

"As you said, when the emperor calls, you follow!" grinned the old man.

"Well, that's how we both stand here. Ignorant as a chicken before the slaughter and waiting to see what the emperor wants from us!" laughed Majorian.

Ricimer just grinned and, after a few moments of silence, pointed towards the heavy oak door at the end of the corridor. Majorian returned the hint with a slight nod of his head. Together they walked the last stretch to the audience chamber. Neither of them spoke a word. Two soldiers from the Palatine Guard stood in front of the door. Judging by their beards, they were obviously Teutons as well, but neither Majorian nor Ricimer were surprised. Since Emperor Constantine had disbanded the old Praetorian Guard one hundred and fifty years ago, more and more Teutons had been serving in the Roman army, even in the palace guard. With skill, ability and the necessary unscrupulousness, they could go far, as Ricimer shows. High-ranking generals were often of Germanic origin. And even if there was rarely any doubt about their loyalty, and Majorian had already had ample opportunity to convince himself of this, many Romans were still skeptical about these barbarians in their service.

As Majorian and Ricimer approached the door, another person suddenly appeared from the left. It was an old man, perhaps fifty-five or sixty years old, dressed in the noble parade armor of the palace guard. Majorian did not know him, but judging by the armor, he was probably a veteran with the rank of centurion.

"Stop! Who wants to enter the audience hall of the divine Emperor Petronius Maximus?" he shouted at the two visitors in a commanding voice.

"Isn't it nice to be recognized immediately?" grinned Ricimer. "Learn to say hello first, centurion, before you give orders and ask unnecessary questions. And find out who your master wants to see and when, so that you don't stop the wrong guests!"

"Forgive me, my generals, but I have not received any information about your arrival, so I must respond in this way. What is your request?" the centurion replied coldly.

Majorian noticed that Ricimer next to him was growing impatient. How could this insignificant worm dare to stop the great Flavius Ricimer? That, or at least something like that, was how Majorian imagined the battle of words in Ricimer's head. But before his head could explode, Majorian decided to intervene:

"Centurion, we are here on official orders from the emperor. Ask the magister officiorum, the overseer of the imperial offices, about our visit. He will inform you. The information about our arrival has probably been lost somewhere."

The old soldier was undecided, but then decided to follow Majorian's advice. He opened the door to the audience hall and disappeared inside. One of the guards closed the door behind him and indicated to the two guests to wait.

Ricimer turned to Majorian and said:

"Well, that's what I call Roman efficiency. First you're summoned here and then you're turned away at the door like a simple trader."

"Well, the mills of bureaucracy have never been the fastest, you should know that!" laughed Majorian.

The two Teutons at the door watched Majorian and Ricimer skeptically. At least it was a good sign, Majorian thought.

"Perhaps the emperor doesn't want me killed after all, if he hasn't even informed his own guard about our meeting," Majorian said, more to himself than to his companion.

Ricimer did not seem to be paying any attention to him anyway. He stood with his arms folded against a small wall and let his eyes wander over the courtyard below them. It was a peaceful sight. Water splashed in a fountain while some birds took a bath in it. Despite the sun already beginning to set, several slaves were still at work in the garden. Hedges were trimmed and the paths swept.

"I guess the new emperor likes things neat and tidy," Majorian thought as he stepped up next to Ricimer.

"The city looks so peaceful," Ricimer said.

Majorian nodded.

"Yes. The question is what the city will look like in a few weeks when the vandals arrive!"

"In case the vandals come," Ricimer corrected him.

"You think it's a rumor? I mean that the Vandal fleet has left Carthage," Majorian remarked.

"I don't think Geiseric is crazy enough to lead his entire army to Italy just because of a personal grievance. I wouldn't recognize any other reason."

"Another reason?" laughed Majorian, "Well, if his honor as king isn't enough to spur him on, then surely gold, silver and other treasures are!"

"Please, what treasures!" replied Ricimer. "You know as well as I do that the treasuries are empty. If he really ..."

But he was interrupted. The heavy oak door to the throne room opend and the old centurion stepped out, followed by a no less young man in the tunic of a senator. However, the pin on his right shoulder gave him away.

"Flavius Majorianus, greetings!" beamed the white coat. "And you too, Flavius Ricimer! I am sorry that you were not welcomed immediately, as befits men of your rank. Allow me to introduce myself. Faustus Postumios, the magister officiorum of the divine emperor. The emperor is already waiting for you impatiently and is eager to receive you immediately!"

Majorian had already seen enough of people like Faustus Postumios. He immediately gave the impression of a bootlicker who turned one way and then the other like a banner in the wind. Such men are dangerous. But if the emperor had already chosen him as magister officiorum, then neither the old gods nor the Christian god could help him. If a Vandal fleet really was on its way to Italy, then this weasel would drop the emperor immediately. Majorian's senses had occasionally deceived him, but here he was one hundred percent certain. Nevertheless, Majorian did not let on.

"Thank you for these warm words of welcome, dear magister," he replied. "It is an honor to be invited here to the palace. But the question arises as to why we are here."

"I think its best if the emperor himself informs you. Please, come in," Postumios smiled broadly. With these words, the majordomo turned around and disappeared through the oak door back into the great hall.

Majorian and Ricimer gave each other a quick glance. Ricimer nodded. Then he followed the emperor's representative into the hall. Majorian hesitated briefly, and then did the same as his brother in arms.

They entered a large hall, about twenty or twenty-five feet high and about three hundred feet long. Columns of white marble reaching to the ceiling stood on the left and right sides of the hall. Stained glass windows just below the ceiling caught the evening light and bathed the room in bright colors. Colorful curtains hung down between the pillars. Majorian stepped next to Ricimer, who had also stood rooted to the spot in the doorway. At the other end of the room stood a throne, also made of white marble. A man in the purple robes of the emperor sat on it. Majorian could not see his face, he was still too far away from them. Two red banners hung behind the throne. One of the banners bore the Roman eagle embroidered in golden silk and the emblem SPQR, Senatus Populusque Romanus - Senate and People of Rome. The other, also in gold, was covered with the Chi-Rho sign of the Christian god. Majorian wondered whether the emperor wanted to combine the old traditions with the new values of the empire. If that was the case, then they failed to serve their purpose, at least for him. It reminded Majorian more of past pomp than of everlasting glory. Behind the throne stood two more guards, at least as tall as Majorian himself. Probably Goths or Franks of some kind. They could not be Romans, for they wore their hair long and blond. As they approached at the magister officiorum's request, both generals realized that the throne has been decorated with countless engravings. However, before they had even reached the pedestal on which the throne stood, Postumios announced:

"Kneel before your emperor. Kneel before the divine Augustus Petronius I Maximus, bringer of peace, conqueror of the enemies of the empire, most just of the just, protector of the innocent, chosen by God to unite and lead the nations. Heir of Augustus, heir of Trajan ..."

Just as was expected of them, Ricimer and Majorian fell to their knees before the first words of the steward and bowed their heads before the divine head of the emperor. While Postumios continued to praise the emperor, Majorian wondered what the new Augustus had already accomplished. What external enemies had he conquered? Which peoples had he united? His own? When he thought of Marcellinus, the commander of the province of Dalmatia on the other side of the Adriatic, who had fallen out with the central government since the death of Aetius and effectively ruled an independent empire, there was probably still a lot of work waiting for the "One of the Nations". Finally, Postumios had finished his welcoming speech and turned to the two men still kneeling on the ground.

"O glorious Augustus, sent to us by god, I present to you the generals Flavius Julius Majorianus and Flavius Ricimer, as requested by Your Glory!"

Throughout the speech, the emperor had remained motionless on his thorn. Even now he showed no reaction. Majorian cautiously raised his head slightly to get a better look at the emperor. An old man was sitting in front of him. Majorian estimated him to be almost twice as old as he was. The hair he had left was already white. His eyes were sunken and age spots were already visible on his hands. In addition, he had probably taken part in one or two too many orgies; his fat belly was clearly visible under his purple imperial cloak. All in all, he was exactly what Majorian would expect from a former senator: never sat a day in the saddle, never experienced the hard life of a field camp, never held battle line side by side with comitatenses against charging barbarians, only talking all day, drinking wine and eating too much at a banquet in the evening.

Slowly, the new Augustus rose and stepped down from his pedestal. When he reached the Majorian and Ricimer kneeling before him, he began to laugh. Then he spread out his arms, just as an old head of the family does to the younger generations to signal kindness:

"Rise up, my friends. Please, rise up! You do not need to kneel before me!"

False kindness, exactly what Majorian had expected. If we did not kneel before him, we would quickly be a head shorter, Majorian thought. Slowly, he rose so that he stood directly in front of the emperor. Now that he was no longer sitting on his throne, Majorian noticed that the emperor was not only rounder than he was, but also a good head shorter. Ricimer straightened up as well. Majorian could see that he was just as unimpressed by the emperor's appearance as he was. However, both were experienced enough not to let anything show. And they must have played their part well, because Petronius Maximus did not seem to have noticed anything. Still smiling, he asked the two soldiers:

"May my servants offer you a goblet of wine? Excellent Falernian, still from the stocks of my unfortunate predecessor."

"No, thank you, divine ruler, not for me," Majorian replied.

Ricimer did the same. They both had to be in their right minds for the next few minutes, wine would only cloud their senses and make them vulnerable.

"Well, I hope you'll forgive me if I help myself to a cup, won't you? The work of an emperor is a most arduous one. Castillius, a cup of wine. Now!" ordered the emperor, clapping his hands.

A young man immediately stepped out from behind one of the pillars and disappeared through a side door on the right. Until that moment, Majorian had thought that they had been alone with the emperor, the magister officiorum and the two guards. Only now, when the emperor had asked for his wine, did Majorian notice that a number of servants were standing along the walls in the background. Inconspicuous and invisible, but always ready to do their emperor's bidding.

"Well, my friends, you must be wondering why I have summoned you here. Especially you, Majorian, since you lay claim to my throne!" said the emperor in a suddenly serious voice.

All feigned kindness was gone in one fell swoop. The two guards behind the throne took a menacing step forward as they partially unsheathed their swords with their right hands. Majorian swallowed. Therefore, someone must have heard that the Empress Licinia Eudoxia had asked him to take the throne and save the empire after the death of the old Emperor Valentinian III. After all, he had already made a name for himself as an army commander. She was convinced that the soldiers would rally behind his back. And no one would have questioned his claim to the throne if he had only married one of the late emperor's daughters. Majorian had hesitated at the time, a month ago. He never saw himself as an emperor, he was a soldier through and through. The battlefield was his home, not politics. He had quickly realized then that he could not accept this offer, even if it meant opening the door for other, probably worse candidates. He had asked the Dowager Empress to support another candidate. He would not be the right one.

Shortly afterwards, Petronius Maximus, an old senator from an even older family, took Eudoxia as his wife and thus secured the throne of the western half of the Roman Empire. To underline this claim, he married the empress's daughter, Eudocia, to his own son. Much to the displeasure of the Roman diplomats, as Majorian knew. Her father had promised Eudocia to the son of the Vandal king. This should have protected the empire from further invasions. Maximus' move had destroyed this, albeit deceptive, security. And now, the new emperor probably wanted to seize the opportunity and get rid of his rival.

After a few seconds, which felt like years to Majorian, he realized that he had to answer the emperor's accusation. But what should he say? How to defend himself against such accusations? As a soldier, he had learned that short and honest assessments of the situation usually led to success, so he decided to tell the truth.

"I do not deny, my Emperor, that Augusta Eudoxia has approached me to protect the empire from every external and internal threat in her name and in the name of the divine Emperor Markian in Constantinople. However, I have found for myself that I am not the right man to wear the purple and lead the empire. My home is the encampment, not the throne room. And I assure you of my unwavering loyalty if you let me prove it to you," Majorian concluded succinctly.

In the current situation, this was the best thing he could say, he thought. Ricimer seemed to be of the same opinion, as he nodded slightly. However, the coming seconds would show whether the emperor felt the same way. Petronius looked Majorian seriously in the eye. The latter stared back confidently with his brown eyes. The emperor's gaze then moved to Ricimer, who was still standing like a rock to Majorian's right. Determination was reflected in his eyes. Finally, the emperor turned to Postumios, who had been standing silently away from the three men the whole time:

"Well, my good Postumios, what do you say? What should I do with this traitor and usurper? Behead him? Cut him into quarters? Have him crucified?"

"Divine Augustus," the magister began after some time for reflection, "the general Majorian did not actually commit any treacherous acts. When he was offered the throne, he refused, already anticipating your accession. He knew that you would be a more suitable candidate for the throne. You cannot punish a man for something that was forced upon him but which he refused."

Could it be that this slick senator had just saved his skin? Majorian did not let on, but his heart leapt in his chest. But the matter was not over yet. After all, everything depended on the emperor's final word. And from the look on his face, he had not yet made his final judgment.

"Well, Majorian, it looks like I can't punish you for something that didn't happen. If you do not seek my life and throne and your loyal friend here ..." With this sentence, he pointed to Ricimer with his left hand. "... guarantees your loyalty with his life, that shall be enough for me."

"I do, my emperor. Flavius Majorian is a loyal servant of the empire and your divinity!" Ricimer replied resolutely.

His gaze slowly wandered to Majorian. If he actually left this hall alive, he would owe Ricimer more than just a good amphora of falernian! Finally, the emperor's face brightened again. He had heard exactly what he wanted to hear, regardless of whether it was the truth or not. The imperial Palatine guards let their swords slide back into their scabbards.

"Well, my friends," the emperor began, turning back to his throne to sit down on it, "I'm sure you've heard the rumor that the Vandal king Geiseric has made his way to Rome to take revenge for an alleged breach of contract. A completely unfounded rumor, if you ask me, because a treaty that's worth nothing anyway can't be broken, can it?"

Majorian knew what the new Augustus wanted to hear in response.

"Of course, as the new emperor, you are not bound by a treaty that the old emperor concluded with a vassal king," Majorian began, noting how much Petronius enjoyed the term vassal for the Vandal king. "Nevertheless, it would be advisable to honor the treaty. Your predecessor's daughter was to marry the son of the king of North Africa in order to guarantee the grain supplies that are so important to Rome. By marrying Eudocia to your son Palladius, you have violated the barbarian king's honor. And for the Germanic tribes, honor is everything!" concluded Majorian.

The emperor remained silent and frowned. After a few seconds, he turned to Ricimer:

"And you, Ricimer? What do you say?"

"The emperor must not have liked my clear words," thought Majorian. The atmosphere had quickly changed from feigned cordiality to frosty coolness.

"From a purely military point of view, my lord, your move was most unwise. The state coffers are as good as empty, we do not have enough troops to defend Rome effectively should the Vandals really attack. Which they undoubtedly will. As Majorianus has already pointed out, Geiseric's honor has been violated, at least that's what he thinks. And that could mean open war. My advice to you now would be to send a diplomatic mission to Carthage to negotiate a new treaty with Geiseric," Ricimer said freely.

"It is also advisable to send a mission to Constantinople immediately to ask Emperor Markian for military assistance!" agreed Majorian with Ricimer.

The emperor sat silently on his throne. After almost a minute of silence, he finally turned to his magister officiorum:

"You're so quiet, Postumios. How do you see the situation?"

"Well, divine ruler," Postumios began, "I do not believe that the Vandals are really planning an attack on Italy or the empire. They know that they can only lose against your divine power."

Majorian found it difficult to hide his disgust - slimy as a toad, the man.

"Nevertheless, I have to agree with the two army commanders on some points. The treasury really does report that our coffers are empty," Postumios continued. "A diplomatic mission to the court of the eastern half of the empire can do no harm. Perhaps the emperor in Constantinople can send us troops or funds to defend Italy if necessary. And, we should urgently raise taxes and call more citizens into service!"

"Well, I have to agree with you both on one point," the emperor began, "it would indeed be advisable to become diplomatically active. But I don't see the most promising opportunities in the east, but rather in the west."

Majorian did not quite understand what the emperor was getting at. So far, Constantinople had rarely refused to help the West. Only a few years ago, when the Huns under their king Attila invaded Gaul and Italy, the eastern armies had attacked Attilas homeland and stopped his campaign.

"But my emperor, in the west ...", Ricimer began, "... there is nothing in the west except the Goths and Franks in Gaul and the Suebi in Hispania."

"That's right, my dear Ricimer. I have sent Senator Avitus to Tolosa, to the court of the Goth King Theodoric II, to renew the old alliance between our two peoples."

This time the two generals had lost their tongue. For decades, men like them, men like Aetius, had fought to keep the Goths and other foreign peoples out of imperial politics. Even the planned marriage to a Vandal had been a scandal. And now the emperor planned to no longer regard the Goths as junior partners, but as equal allies.

"My emperor, please remember that we have fought dozens of battles against the Goths. Theodoric is like his father, he pursues his own goals. He has no interest in the empire," Majorian interjected.

But the emperor just kept quiet. He was too sure of himself. Nevertheless, you could tell that he was displeased by the doubts of his generals, who preferred to seek their fortune in the east rather than the west. He began to rub his chin with his right hand, while the fingers of his left hand hammered impatiently on the back of the throne. All eyes rested on him in silence. In the meantime, the servant he had sent out earlier had returned with a golden cup of wine. Silently, his head bowed to the floor, he stood in front of the side door through which he had hurried out earlier.

"Castillius! Why are you standing there like a statue? Didn't I give you an order earlier?" Maximus suddenly barked at him.

"Yes, my lord, of course my lord. Here, my lord!" the servant stammered and handed the cup to the emperor.

The emperor took the cup, took a large sip and dismissed the servant with his left hand. When he put the cup down again, it was completely empty. Maximus looked at the dregs thoughtfully and silently. Finally, he stood up again.

"This alleged Vandal attack is nothing more than a deception. If the Vandal fleet had really left Carthage, our spies would have told us about it!" he said firmly.

"My emperor, we currently have no spies in Carthage. All the men we have sent there have been captured and killed by the Vandals!" Ricimer replied firmly. "I know, I sent two men to North Africa myself. Both disappeared in the desert!"

"Nonsense! The Vandals are not sailing north, there is absolutely no proof or even evidence of that! And if there is, then our troops and hopefully our Gothic allies will soon destroy them," replied the emperor, ending the discussion.

Majorian sighed slightly. What was the point of talking to someone who was so lost in his own fantasies? Geiseric would certainly not let this betrayal by the Romans go unpunished, of that he was convinced. Unfortunately, the emperor was not convinced.

"Well, now that we've discussed that," grinned the emperor and sat down again, "let's move on to something more pleasant. But first: Castillius, more wine! For the generals too, I'd like to drink with them!"

Opposition was pointless. If the emperor asked you to drink, you had to. Nevertheless, the question remained as to what the reason was. After all, the emperor suspected Majorian of seeking his throne. He also completely ignored the danger of the Vandal fleet. Not a happy occasion, then.

When the lad had brought three cups of wine and handed them to the emperor and the two army commanders, Petronius Maximus descended from the pedestal again.

"I've decided that I can trust you both. That's why I want to give you a present," Augustus mused to himself. "I hereby officially appoint you, Ricimer, as comes Italiae. As supreme commander of the Italic army, you shall continue to be responsible for the security of the empire. On the other hand, I appoint you, Majorian, as comes domesticorum, the commander-in-chief of the imperial guard. Both important tasks that are essential for the protection of my person and the protection of the empire. And I drink to these two appointments!"

With these words, he raised his cup, toasted the two commanders and emptied it in one go. Majorian and Ricimer returned the salute and did the same. The wine tasted sweet, obviously the emperor had spared no expense to replenish the already full wine cellars. Not really a wine that should be swallow in a hurry. Majorian had barely emptied his cup before the servant took it back from him. Ricimer's cup was almost snatched from his hand.

Both remained silent. In principle, Majorian could have been satisfied. After all, he was now commander of the Western Roman Emperor's Palatine Guard. Ricimer, on the other hand, had even been appointed to the rank of military commander-in-chief for Italy. Nevertheless, he seemed no less thoughtful.

"Now that this joyous occasion has been celebrated, Postumios will hand over your badges and my first orders to you!" Augustus Maximus ended the audience with a wave of his right hand.

Majorian and Ricimer raised their hands in a military salute and turned to follow the steward, who in the meantime had gone towards the large oak doors. When he knocked, the guards opened the door from the outside. Ricimer walked through and Majorian followed him, casting a quick glance over his right shoulder. The emperor had sat down on his throne again. Majorian could still see a young servant entering the hall through another door, carrying a bowl of grapes in front of her.

The light of burning torches lighted up the corridor in front of the throne room, the sun could only be seen by a red glow on the horizon to the west.

"Well, allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your appointments," grinned Postumios, stretching out his right arm.

Both Majorian and Ricimer reluctantly took his hand and accepted his congratulations. Ricimer had barely let go of the old man's hand when he hurried to a small table that had been set up next to the oak doors. On it were two wax-sealed papyrus scrolls and two bronze seals, one each for Ricimer and Majorian. The magister officiorum took the first seal and pinned it to Ricimer's red cloak with a needle, just below his right shoulder. Then, without saying a word, he took the next seal and affixed it to Majorian's right shoulder. Both accepted this promotion in silence. Finally, he took the two papyrus scrolls and handed one each to Majorian and Ricimer.

"The first orders of the divine Augustus Petronius Maximus!" he said solemnly. "The emperor expects you to fulfill them as soon as possible!"

With the last sentence, he turned around without another word and disappeared through the heavy oak doors again. The two generals stood rooted to the spot and briefly considered what they should do next. Majorian was the first to decide to say something. He stretched out his right hand and offered it to Ricimer:

"Well then, congratulations on your new post!" he grinned.

Ricimer hesitated briefly, then grinned and took Majorian's hand.

"Thank you, my old friend. I congratulate you too."

He then took a quick look at the heavy oak doors and walked down the corridor without another word. Majorian did the same. As they walked along in silence, he played with the scroll in his hand. He had decided not to open it immediately in the palace, but to wait a little. He first needed a cup of wine to process what had just happened. Apparently, Ricimer felt the same way, as his scroll of command was also still unopened. They left the imperial palace in silence. Outside, the last rays of the spring sun had disappeared and darkness enveloped the capital of the empire.

"A most ... interesting evening, if you ask me," Ricimer began.

"I can only agree with that. I think I need a few cups of wine now to process this development," Majorian replied.

"You took the words right out of my mouth. I treated myself to a small villa on the Esquiline. Something simple, until I found a ... more suitable home for myself near the city. Would you like to keep me company? Then we can argue about our orders, who has the more suicidal one!" Ricimer laughed.

Majorian had no objections to this.

It was not just the wine that made Ricimer's tablinum feel cozier than the cold audience hall of the imperial palace. Although the villa was not yet fully furnished and much of the furniture were still covered with cloths, two couches and a small table with a candlestick on it had already been set up. As soon as Majorian had taken off his breastplate and hung it on a stand provided for this purpose, he noticed how the constricting feeling that had been sitting in his chest for the last few hours was released. Exhausted, he slumped down on the couch with his hands on his knees. He had only arrived in Rome from the north in the late afternoon and had ridden all night before that. He was exhausted. And as he had set off directly for the imperial palace, he had not had time to look for a place to stay. The couch was a gift from God. A slave brought a bowl of water. He placed it on the floor, pulled a cloth from a small table next to the door and placed the bowl of water on it. He then left the room again in silence. With difficulty, Majorian stood up and went to the bowl to splash some water on his face and wash his hands. The cold water revived his spirits. He still felt exhausted from the exertions of the last few hours, but a little better. He was more alert, fresher. Ricimer entered the room. He had also taken off his armor and now stood in the room in light linen pants and a tunic.

"Much better now, isn't it?" he laughed.

"Definitely. Towards the end, I had the feeling that the breastplate would take my breath away," puffed Majorian.

"No wonder, the way the emperor looked at you, you'd have thought the tank was about to show what it was worth," Ricimer commented. "Wine?" he added.

Majorian nodded and dropped back onto the couch. Ricimer took a seat opposite him in his usual Roman manner. However, Majorian was not in the mood for a comfortable evening among friends. His hands rested on his knees and he stared into space, lost in thought. Ricimer clapped his hands briefly. A few moments later, the slave who had brought the water earlier brought a tray with two cups of wine on it. Ricimer took one cup and Majorian the other. The wine tasted sweet and refreshing, honey and cloves gave it a special spice. He would have liked to have emptied the cup in one go, but he reminded himself to control himself and set the cup down again. When he had placed it on the table, Ricimer was surprised:

"Well, doesn't the fine soldier like the wine?"

"Yes, very much so. But I haven't eaten since last night, so I shouldn't get drunk right away," Majorian replied.

"Right, right, dinner. What are you in the mood for? My new chef is fantastic. His eel, a poem. Or deer? How about rabbit? No matter what you want, Strabo will fulfill your every wish, as long as it's something to eat," grinned Ricimer.

Majorian noticed that Ricimer, although he claimed not to have lived in the villa for long, had already bought many things. Majorian had never seen him as a man who placed much value on excessive luxury. He obviously wanted to impress the Roman upper class, if he was going to welcome the city elite into his home at all.

"Thank you, old friend, but bread, some cheese and a few olives are enough for me," he finally laughed. "Simple dishes for simple soldiers!"

Ricimer nodded and gestured to the slave, who had been standing silently in a corner in the meantime, to fulfill Majorian's food request. The latter simply nodded and immediately left the room in the direction of the kitchen. Silence now reigned, interrupted only by the soft crackling of the candles. Finally, Ricimer broke the heavy silence:

"So, what do you think of our new emperor?"

"Honestly, not much. Someone who only surrounds himself with flatterers, who has no idea of the world outside the sacred walls of Rome, apart from his country estates, and who occasionally takes a trip to Capua by the sea," Majorian spoke freely. "If the Vandal fleet really has set sail, and I assume it has, he won't be in power for long. He is enjoying the good life now, but he is not the right man to defend the empire effectively. And you? What's your opinion?"