The Eternal Time of History - Part VI E-Book

Simone Malacrida

• Herausgeber: Simone Malacrida
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The new course of history after the final fall of the Western Roman Empire is revisited through the stories of three sets of twins, set in different places and contexts.
Alongside a fleeting desire for restoration emanating from the East, which saw the great splendor of the Justinian era, but also the definitive collapse due to the plague and the endless wars that tore apart what remained of the Empire, the new era was characterized by the consolidation of Frankish power and the invasion of the Lombards.
Both peoples would find themselves having to contend with delicate internal balances born of tribal traditions, the preponderance of religion in this new landscape, and the difficult integration of the various pre-existing ethnic groups and cultures.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

The Eternal Time of History - Part VI

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XXI

SIMONE MALACRIDA

“ The Eternal Time of History - Part VI”

Simone Malacrida (1977)

Engineer and writer, has worked on research, finance, energy policy and industrial plants.

ANALYTICAL INDEX

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I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

The book contains very specific historical references to facts, events and people. These events and characters actually happened and existed.

On the other hand, the main characters are the product of the author's pure imagination and do not correspond to real individuals, just as their actions did not actually happen. It goes without saying that, for these characters, any reference to people or things is purely coincidental.

The new course of history after the final fall of the Western Roman Empire is revisited through the stories of three sets of twins, set in different places and contexts.

Alongside a fleeting desire for restoration emanating from the East, which saw the great splendor of the Justinian era, but also the definitive collapse due to the plague and the endless wars that tore apart what remained of the Empire, the new era was characterized by the consolidation of Frankish power and the invasion of the Lombards.

Both peoples would find themselves having to contend with delicate internal balances born of tribal traditions, the preponderance of religion in this new landscape, and the difficult integration of the various pre-existing ethnic groups and cultures.

"Well, I believe that adversity benefits men more than prosperity; for the latter always deceives with the appearance of happiness when it seems favorable, while the former is always true, when by its constant change it proves unstable. The former deceives, the other instructs."

Severinus Boethius, "On Consolation in Philosophy"

​I

502-504

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​Odetta had not yet become accustomed to living in the city, albeit in an outlying area of the now decayed Aurelianum, a center that had once been located in Gaul, but was now part of the kingdom of the Franks, exactly on the border with that of the Burgundians.

She had been living there for four years, having followed her husband Rigoberto, a twenty-six-year-old woodworker who had not hesitated to make decisions for everyone when the future of himself, his wife and their future offspring had to be decided.

“We’ll move and you’ll follow me, woman.”

Rigoberto dominated his wife Odetta in every way.

Physically, he was a tall, burly man, with thick, blond hair that he wore loose and four different robes, to be worn according to the season.

The makeshift villages located in the countryside were of no interest to him, as there was only the raw material, namely wood, there, while in the city there were buyers.

Not only the new ruling class of the Franks, but also the ancient Gallic-Roman inhabitants.

Completely unaware of the history that had taken place only half a century earlier, with the invasion of the Huns, Rigoberto looked only to the present.

He was illiterate and had no knowledge of Latin, speaking only the Germanic language of the Salian Franks, the tribe from which he originated and which had occupied the area north of Gaul.

King Clovis had imposed two great novelties for his people.

The first was the conversion to Catholicism, which Rigoberto and Odetta had embraced without really understanding what it meant.

Without too many preambles, Clovis had decided for everyone, unleashing the capillary power of the ecclesiastical structure and becoming one of the first barbarian peoples to enjoy this advantage, abandoning both Arianism and pagan rites.

The second concerned the classic belligerence of barbarian peoples, through a policy of continuous aggression but no longer against the enemy of previous centuries, that is, the Roman Empire, as it had fallen, but against other neighboring barbarian populations.

The target was the kingdom of the Visigoths, located south of the Frankish one, partially undermining the system of intertwining woven by the Ostrogoth king Theodoric through arranged marriages that had related all the barbarian kingdoms.

This was of little interest to Rigoberto, who had never wanted to get involved in such matters.

“War is for masters or fools,” he used to say.

In his opinion, the common man had to learn to survive, to enjoy the pleasures of life and to have sons, the only ones who would inherit work and property.

In keeping with the Salic Law, for Rigoberto women meant nothing.

A wife was only good to satisfy her husband and to bear children, preferably male ones.

For this reason, he had treated Odetta with disgust when, two years earlier, she had given birth to twin daughters.

Having one female was already a bit of a misfortune, but having two at the same time was unfortunate.

Crimilde and Casilde were indistinguishable in every way.

Only Odetta was capable of doing it, while Rigoberto, to be on the safe side, always called them together.

In truth, he had interacted little with them.

“Children are a woman’s business, and if they’re girls, they’re girls forever.”

Odetta was overwhelmed by every insult and by having to repent.

“Go to church and ask for grace.”

Now that she was pregnant again, the twenty-two-year-old divided her time between two main tasks.

Taking care of the little girls and the very modest house, a gloomy, always damp hovel, and praying for the future pregnancy.

Her belly was growing in size and she knew she only had one chance to redeem herself.

“Father, let it be a boy.”

This was his inner prayer that he addressed, several times a day, to an entity he did not understand.

The people were still shrouded in great pagan traditions, with the elders still remembering what had been handed down by tradition.

The risk of mixing with paganism was high, but this did not interest the powerful.

The important thing was the facade and the bond that had been established, as for the people the priests would have been enough.

Men who, at the very least, knew how to read and write and who would have had a strong influence on those who could offer no resistance.

Neither eloquence, nor logic, nor richness.

All that was needed was for them to understand Latin, but it would have been much easier to consecrate priests belonging to the Frankish people, and they would have taken the trouble of explaining the Gospels to the multitude.

Rigoberto was constantly visited by the tree cutters who provided him with the raw materials, and that was why he went to the house next to where he lived.

There he had built a sort of extension, strictly made of wood, just to remain sheltered from the rain.

Underneath it, he had stored his work tools and everything he needed to shape the required pieces.

Nothing sophisticated or artistic.

Furthermore, they were planks and poles for building huts or fences, or some squared pieces for a bench.

There was not much wealth and everyone only cared about the essentials.

“Five more pieces.”

Deals were concluded on word of mouth and without any form of contract, which would not have attracted the old nobility of the past.

“They are few, even if they are rich,” Rigoberto had emphasized, who used to spend part of his earnings at the tavern that served wine, located exactly in front of that kind of shop.

He had chosen the place to move to the city carefully, after having seen how people lived in the city.

“Everyone goes to the tavern.”

Since then, they had seen winters and summers pass by, rains and heat, people arriving at Aurelianum and others leaving.

It was a world in evolution and with great uncertainty, especially due to the consequences of wars.

Had they lost, they would have had to leave, just as they had arrived in those places.

Both Rigoberto and Odetta had left behind their respective families, in which there were parents who still remembered the times of the forest.

It was there that the family tradition of woodworking was born, while on Odetta's side the men had always followed the agricultural side.

Although wood was needed, society's rate of consumption was low compared to the past, when the Romans required it mainly to fuel the thermal baths.

They had cleared large amounts of land, while now the greenery was slowly reclaiming its natural space.

The same roads, poorly maintained compared to the past, were filling up with shrubs and small plants, the first step towards a progressive recovery of a more exuberant nature.

Odetta stared at her daughters.

There wasn't much to eat for them and what would happen to the new baby?

What's more, Rigoberto didn't want to listen to reason.

Only once, the young wife had dared to reply, stating spontaneously:

“Is this all we have?”

In response, Rigoberto slapped her, sending her flying to the ground and shaking her tiny body.

At least if she had still been in the countryside, close to her parents, she would have been able to scrape together some snacks, especially for her daughters.

She had told herself that perhaps she could start working as a servant, but not for three years.

Who would have looked after the children?

In the villages, they all grew up together and in communities, but not in the cities.

In Aurelianum, the Gallic-Roman community snubbed the new arrivals, even though they were formally the new masters.

However, it was only about the warriors and nobles, a minority percentage of all the people of which Rigoberto and Odetta were part.

No matter how hard the husband tried, access to the loot was virtually non-existent, and the only real option was to move to previously inaccessible places in order to gain new opportunities.

Thus, although he considered himself an innovator, Rigoberto had perfectly channeled himself into a predictable path, in which every day he had to fight for existence.

Little time to elevate one's spirit, if everything was focused on the satisfaction of mere primary instincts.

“We need a war,” Rigoberto had said to himself, and his wife just didn’t understand.

He could not have known that to raise an army, one needed bows and arrows, crossbows and other materials, all made of wood.

Apart from horse breeders and blacksmiths, woodworkers could only count benefits from a war.

“Not like farmers,” the man sneered as he struggled to smooth what nature starts out rough.

He was well aware of how much destruction a war brought to the fields and places it devastated.

For this reason, he had gone to the city.

Apart from sieges, cities were safer.

“So why do others leave?” Odetta would have liked to retort, unaware of the identity of those leaving, usually those who feared being plundered and therefore certainly not members of the Frankish people.

Odetta had felt disoriented and recognized the arrival of the seasons not so much by the change in the colors of Nature, but by the perceived temperature in the house.

The cold and humid winter was replaced by the scorching summer heat, alternating mud with dust.

“It’s so hot.”

He couldn't find peace because moving had become an almost insurmountable effort.

The unborn child must have been quite large, judging by her abnormal belly.

“It's going to be a boy, I have a feeling,” Rigoberto had declared, having forgotten how big Odetta had become during her previous pregnancy.

The woman remained silent and put some bread and herbs on the table.

There wasn't much else, except some fruit picked by the neighbors who had exchanged half a morning of Odetta's work for those dishes and a glance at the two twins.

At least, Rigoberto didn't eat much at home if he had already frequented the tavern.

He had the first choice and, only after he had served himself, the others could divide up what remained.

Odetta looked at him and saw his gaze already clouded by tiredness and the poor quality wine.

She stood still waiting for her husband's move.

Rigoberto got up from the bench and walked towards the straw bed.

It was the long-awaited signal.

He wouldn't have eaten anything and so everything would have been available to the three women of the house.

Odetta left two sandwiches for her daughters and took one for herself.

The two little ones would have had their fill without delay and would have thought about some sort of celebration.

In addition, there were two apples, of which only half was eaten by the twins.

The rest was for Odetta, who couldn't believe so much abundance.

Tomorrow would be a new day with a new struggle for existence, but at least now she could say she was satisfied.

As soon as he went to bed, he felt the pain getting worse.

He knew what that meant.

He stood up and sat on the bench, taking a wooden basin and pouring water into it.

A rag was there ready to welcome the new baby, with Odetta having to do everything on her own, even cutting the umbilical cord with a kitchen knife.

Rigoberto would not have woken up, as his torpor was total.

Only after the birth had taken place, he witnessed the scene with the blood residue on the floor.

The oppressive heat made her sweat, as her efforts became increasingly more demanding.

“Push, come on.”

A mental order invested her with a maternal sense.

He only let out a scream at the end, liberating and almost disruptive.

He took the knife and cut the creature off her.

It was a boy, luckily for him.

She smiled and the baby started crying, waking up the twins.

Casilde and Crimilde tried to glimpse the shape of their little brother, with the first light of dawn illuminating the scene.

Odetta's labor had lasted almost all night and the woman was distraught while the two little girls had not yet understood that this defenseless little boy would surpass them in everything.

He was the only heir according to Salic law, the only one who had rights and was considered.

Once awake, after the expression of disgust at the smells spreading throughout the house, Rigoberto took his son in his hands.

“He's my son.

His name will be Ramberto.”

He went out into the street and started shouting his joy to everyone, proudly showing off that little bundle of joy of a man.

Odetta's jurisdiction and influence over Ramberto had already ended.

After completing his triumphal journey through the neighboring houses, the husband returned home.

“Now feed him, woman.

May your milk help my son grow healthy and strong.”

Before getting dressed to go to work nearby, showering each of his customers with the joy of being the father of a son, he took one last look at the hovel.

“And clean up this mess.”

Odetta silently took care of everything, while she stared at her two daughters with compassion mixed with regret.

For them, life would be neither easy nor joyful.

*******

Paldone was scouting the hills above the ancient Roman city of Vindobona, now a pile of rubble as far as the residences of the former nobles were concerned, joined by a fairly large group of modest dwellings.

They had arrived there not long ago , less than a decade, at the end of a long journey of pilgrimage that had seen them move several times from Germany to Pannonia and into the interior of Italy before heading almost to Scythia.

Paldone remembered what his father had told him about the time when the Lombards were subjects and, even before that, what they had told him about the freedom of their people.

His father had long been dead and his medicine had been of little use to him, except to pass on his knowledge to his son.

Alone, as befitted the herb gatherer who served the priest in charge of the sacred rites of the Lombard tradition, Paldone ran his hand over the thick, blond beard that distinguished that particular people.

“Better here than down on the plain, near the river.”

The hills had a particular climate and Paldone had understood this by scouting on foot, since his work did not allow the use of animals.

Whether horses, mules, or donkeys, their hooves would have ended up destroying the traces of herbs and the smell of the animals to saturate the fine sense of smell of a gatherer.

The wooden basket he carried on his shoulders was almost full, although its contents were not at all heavy.

The herbs were not to be pressed, under penalty of losing their power.

Once he reached the plain, he would sneak into the priest's hut to transform those green or other colored plants into ointments or liquids.

Their art was secret and there was the death penalty for anyone who violated it.

Paldone could only pass it on to one of his male children and, if he did not have one, he had to choose a boy to raise as his adoptive heir.

The same could be said of the priest, in reality a kind of shaman who recalled the ancient rites of the forest.

The Lombards had originated from it and had remained faithful to those divinities and traditions of the past.

Names that struck terror into the people and this served a continuous purpose.

The priest, one for each village congregation so as to gather a large number of people under him, was the only one who could speak directly with the first-level nobility, that is, those from which a king would be chosen.

Most of the time he did what the king wanted and could not obtain through force of arms.

“We have the knowledge of the rites and the ability to speak,” Candomargo, the priest with whom Paldone collaborated, always said.

The man, about ten years older than him, was satisfied with Paldone's work, as always.

“Come on, before it gets dark.”

He had already prepared a crude metal container in which to boil the herbs and then let the juice thicken, while others had to be crushed in a wooden bowl and reduced to a pulp.

Paldone helped and followed the strange rituals of Candomargo, who recited formulas in a language now unknown to all of them.

It was an old Germanic dialect that had some similarities with the language spoken by the people, but also many terms completely unknown to everyone.

Every gesture was studied and gave an aura of greater rigor and austere sacredness.

Paldone had done his day's task and returned home.

It wasn't very far away, just a hundred steps or so.

He took the basket and brought it to his right hand, with a movement he had now learned by heart.

On the short journey he met other people and they all greeted him with respect.

He was hungry and hoped that his young wife Adalberga, ten years younger than him, had prepared something succulent.

He was crazy about dried meat, smoked and then pounded into shreds, boiled with water, a handful of spelt and mixed vegetables.

He could already taste it and was straining his nose to catch its aroma.

“That's how it is,” he said to himself.

Adalberga was a good wife.

She did everything that could be expected of a woman, without expecting anything and without throwing too many tantrums when Paldone was in a bad mood.

“Woman, how do you welcome me?”

Adalberga saw her husband's figure standing out in the chiaroscuro and threw herself at his feet, taking his basket, his saddlebag and the overcoat he used to protect himself from the elements.

After that, and it was common practice between them, she offered her body and Paldone never missed an opportunity to feel her chest or thighs.

“Not now.”

Primarily he was hungry and thirsty.

There was a fermented drink that everyone used at home, given the ease of preparation.

It was enough to curdle the milk by adding an acidic plant, then filter and strain it by adding some fermented barley.

The whole thing was diluted with water collected from the wells in the ratio of one third water and two thirds drink.

Paldone took five ladlefuls and the liquid overflowed until it wet his long beard.

He glanced at the far corner of the hut where their children were asleep.

They were twins, although they were male and female.

It was a rare phenomenon and Paldone had asked Candomargo if it was a bad omen.

“No, not at all.

You just have to choose who is the primary between the two.

You see, nature is harsh and is always divided between those who command and those who submit.”

It had been an easy decision for Paldone.

Ilderico was male and had been the first to come out of his mother's womb, therefore he was the firstfruits and the chosen one.

Adalgisa was female and the second, so she was a kind of reject.

Everything that had not been put into Ilderico was in Adalgisa who, from birth, had a sealed destiny.

Now they were just over two and a half years old and still didn't understand how the world worked.

The reference for both was given by Adalberga, who had the task of raising them, possibly without exposing them to risks and diseases.

It was true that, given Paldone's position, the little ones could have privileged access to care and this was also why Adalberga considered herself lucky.

In exchange for this, her family had ordered her to obey her husband in everything and never back down from his requests.

Adalberga had been literally sold by her father, considering that she was part of another tribal lineage of the Lombards.

They belonged to the so-called Gausi, while Paldone was a subject of the tribe that represented the king in office, Tatone, belonging to the Letingi house.

For this reason too, Adalberga was in a submissive position and had complied with Paldone's orders.

The husband had a good meal, even having something left over for the next day, a fact that Adalberga immediately seized upon.

It was not common to know in advance that you could count on an escort, given that one usually reasoned with little temporal visibility.

Now he knew what Paldone would do.

Once his stomach was filled, he would have given vent to what he had been craving all day.

Adalberga stripped and stood in front of her husband until he deemed it time.

He knew what Paldone liked and satisfied him fully, without any qualms or hesitation.

He could smell the day on himself, the moss and hillside herbs, the mud and sweat, the meat and fermented drink, the ointments and potions.

This aroma, a mixture of pleasantness and disgust, would have stayed with him for days to come, since it was rare to be able to wash and usually one did so in the river or in a stream together with the other women of the area.

In turns, since some of them had to take care of the children.

“Let this be the right time.”

Paldone hoped to have more children, as he was aware of the high mortality rate before the age of six.

He saw which patients came to Candomargo who, when he didn't have to officiate at religious rites and celebrations, turned himself into a sort of doctor.

Three broad categories of people arrived at his door.

Elderly people, with hundreds of different ailments.

Men wounded in battle and survivors.

Finally, children.

Of the three categories, the last was the particularly heartbreaking one, and Paldone had decided that he would not be left without offspring, especially male ones.

The best way was to have a large number of offspring, so he was busy.

“Now it’s your turn,” he always said to Adalberga, who no longer knew how to give birth to more children.

She had consulted older women and those who were considered experts.

The advice ranged from what foods to eat to how to sleep with her husband.

“You must not wash for ten days.”

“An egg a day as soon as you wake up.”

“The white color to wear near the chest.”

“Spread this ointment on your belly.”

These were all ideas, more or less colorful, that were circulating among the people since a shamanic priest like Candomargo was not authorized to deal with women's issues.

Religion and rites were something purely masculine and, in fact, in the particular meetings that took place, the only ones admitted were men who held all the power of the Lombard people.

Military, political, fiscal and administrative.

Women had no right to speak, vote, or anything else, and this was the case among all Germanic peoples.

It was well known that women served mostly as prisoners or as a seal of an alliance or a raid, having to adapt to the customs of the new conqueror.

It was not uncommon to find mothers or young women or servants of Hunnic, Herulian, Thuringian or other neighbouring origins who had more or less integrated and clashed with the Lombards.

“The most difficult are those that had been Romanized.

Incomprehensible.”

Although not much of that past remained near Vindobona, there were times when the Lombard people had spread far beyond the current territory and had come across refined women who were too noble for them.

With well-groomed hair and luxurious clothes.

“They smelled good,” says a fairly widespread legend among the people.

With these people, there was nothing else to do but simply rape them.

They would never have been faithful and submissive wives.

And then there was the religious component.

Even Paldone knew that all the inhabitants to the south, and even some of all the other Germanic peoples, worshipped a single God, different from their traditions.

For this reason, they were seen as a danger, especially by Candomargo.

“They want to destroy our grand ritual.

They are cursed, never compromise with them because, insidiously, they conquer us from within.”

Paldone never questioned the rulings of the man he considered his master and tended to think about the next ten days at most, no further.

His task was clear and well defined.

Being the eyes and legs of the ritual priest throughout the surrounding area, going alone through the woods.

To be sure of not running into danger, he had to first let the scouts or hunters do their thing and then talk to them.

“Describe the places and paths to me.”

Almost all of them gave precise indications about the signals and the duration in terms of steps.

For a people accustomed to moving and following the king of the moment in his battles, it was not difficult to adapt to a new place.

Nobody was asking too many questions about tomorrow.

For now, with Tatone, they were there and there was relative peace and autonomy, but as soon as a new king arrived everything could change in the space of a few moons.

An order was not discussed and this was a common characteristic of all the Germanic populations, to which the Lombards belonged.

The summer season was considered the best for Adalberga, although her husband knew that herbs did not grow in too hot conditions.

In Vindobona and the nearby hills it must be said that the soil almost never dried out and the greater amount of light and warmth could lengthen the day considerably.

Adalberga often went with her children to the nearby uncultivated meadows that were adjacent to the great river that separated two often disputed territories.

What was beyond?

Other Lombards in times past, now a mix of different tribes among which the Gepids stood out.

These were former allies, in reality also subjects of the Hunnic Empire who had definitively freed themselves from the yoke of those who were not considered Germanic.

For now, they lived together in peace, but it wouldn't always be like this and everyone was aware of that.

Adalberga lulled herself into the illusion of being able to see her children grow up together for the rest of time.

Ilderico was more lively, Adalgisa calmer.

For now they were the same height and build, but as they grew older they would differ.

The mightiest man, the most graceful woman.

What amazed the mother was how they were constantly looking for each other.

It was not possible for them to separate for more than a few moments.

It was a joyful sight, but Adalberga understood that it would last only a short time, only the space of early childhood.

The destinies to which they were called were different and this would make the difference in their personal stories, set in a greater adventure linked to the people to which they both belonged.

*******

Attalus had woken up, as usual, early in the morning.

He was always the first to stand up compared to his wife Lydia and his two twin sons, Timothy and Theophanes, who, at four years old, were still unaware of the world, with its beauties and its wickedness.

The man, not very tall compared to average and with a stocky physique with short, squat limbs, certainly did not reflect the ideal of classical beauty of his native Greece, but he poured into his profession and his art the most graceful thing there could be.

The view from the terrace overlooking his house opened onto the walls of Constantinople, of which he had been one of the architects.

However, his main idea was another.

No more military constructions, but a new construction of what was already present in terms of basilicas.

Attalus considered himself a devout Christian, but he was certainly not one to follow the fashions of the moment.

He was a Chalcedonian, a term that indicated the modern evolution of the Nicene Creed and which, in Rome, was identified with the term Catholic.

The current emperor Anastasius adhered to Monophysitism, a thought already declared heretical some time before, but this seemed to matter little to the majority of the imperial court.

In Attalus's mind, everything was already built.

No longer the two basilicas side by side, one dedicated to the Logos and one to Holy Peace, but a new, immense place of worship that was the central hub of imperial and ecclesiastical power, so much so as to compete with Rome and the basilicas erected under Constantine.

The perfection of the trinity was already imagined, transformed into architectural ideas of naves, arches, colonnades and altars.

He was so enchanted that he didn't notice the passage of time.

Behind him, Lidia had gotten out of bed.

The woman was more cultured than her husband, as she had a better knowledge of Latin, the language considered official for the court and the Church.

There was a strange paradox in knowing that, once upon a time, it was the Romans who considered Greek superior and indoctrinated themselves in the schools of Athens and the East, while now, with the fall of the Roman Empire, the linguistic roles had been reversed.

Greek as the language of the people and Latin as the refined language of the ruling classes.

This happened only in the East, since in the West everything was now in the hands of Germanic barbarians, who had attacked Rome also at the behest of Constantinople itself.

Lidia was also taller than her husband and was considered a beautiful woman, full of charm and wisdom.

“Your vision again?”

Attalus did not hear his wife's voice and only woke up when she touched his elbow.

"As?"

Her husband's frowning face, partly hidden by his thick beard, was an open book for Lidia.

“Your church.”

The woman smiled before leaving the room to go to her children, whom she would wake up to.

It was time for the twins to get moving, eating what the servants had prepared.

The day was long and Lidia had to educate them both, as she had promised her parents, before they passed away leaving her a considerable fortune to manage.

Money and property were something fleeting and ephemeral, while knowledge remained.

For this reason, both children had to learn early, well before the others did.

First of all, to speak well, using the correct terminology, then to read and write following both alphabets.

The Greek one, natural for the people, and the Latin one, intended for the ruling caste.

As for entertainment, there was room for that too but only under Lidia's supervision.

“No horse or chariot races,” he had decreed, and Attalus had agreed.

It was the main reason for popular aggregation, once the arena games disappeared.

The three main factions were given by the colours they brandished, that is, the Reds, the Blues and the Greens, around which there were precise political and even religious connotations.

There was, in this, a great continuity with what the Roman tradition had established centuries before.

Whoever controlled the arena, controlled Rome and the Empire and now it was not too dissimilar to the circus race and to Constantinople, together with religious practice.

Attalus prepared to go out and knew well what was preventing him from receiving real architectural commissions.

“I will never renounce the Chalcedonian creed.”

Anastasius, the current Emperor, would have finished ruling and the power of Monophysitism was in decline, especially at the level of the ruling class.

The man approached the walls and checked the execution of his project.

Skilled workers made use of improvised slaves and that was why it was necessary to check.

No savings were made on materials and every detail was important.

“Our safety is at stake.”

The enemies were many and they still remembered the last ones, the Ostrogoths, who had poured into Italy about ten years earlier to avoid dire consequences for the capital of the East.

The clothing and papers that Attalus carried with him were an eloquent sign of his profession.

Each trade was identified by a specific ceremony and Attalus began to square the work.

"Very good."

Not far from that place, he owned a sort of workshop where his main collaborators worked.

Almost always, he was asked for a wooden or plaster model of what he had in mind, as a second phase after the first sketches on paper.

On the other hand, Attalus enjoyed walking around the city, looking for ideas and drawing inspiration.

There were great examples from the past to study and from which to learn the techniques of building domes and arches.

An eternal challenge to the altitude and to how much the earth wanted to bring back to itself in the form of the force that made everything fall.

“But the worst are the earthquakes,” he used to say.

They were every architect's nightmare.

Unpredictable and an indelible sign of the divine who wanted to take revenge on human wickedness.

In Constantinople they were frequent and were the primary cause of collapses, much more than the much feared barbarians.

However, earthquakes were accepted precisely because they did not depend on human will.

Attalus had tried to simulate structures resistant to the tremors, but had had to give up, like many before him.

Almost every day, he passed in front of the two churches and already saw his project there.

What would he have called it?

The monument to Sophia, wisdom.

Greek tradition that united with Christianity, the very symbol of Constantinople.

The soul of the city was that, certainly not the imperial court or the army.

At the same time, Lidia took care of her children, leaving the household chores to the servants.

He had put all his knowledge at the service of the two twins, for now indistinguishable except in the eyes of their parents.

Same height, same hairdo.

It seemed they had inherited their mother's height and their father's face.

Would they have become as slender as she was?

It didn't matter much, since their minds were more important.

“This is what differentiates us.”

He always pointed to the skull and heart and the two brothers responded in unison.

Perfectly synchronized in timing and words, the two grew interdependently.

For Lidia, it was less of a chore than raising two children of different ages, and she told herself that their birth had been a blessing.

It was not common to witness such births and there were different interpretations, some of which were borrowed from mystical beliefs that predated Christianity.

Many pagan cults had entered into daily practice and had been accepted and even erected as everlasting monuments, like everything that was originally linked to the Invincible Sun.

The manifest discontent of Pope Leo some sixty years earlier had now disappeared and now everything blended together seamlessly.

Lidia was not immune to it and had simply adapted.

That was the world and he had to make do with it.

There was no point in fighting pointlessly and hopelessly, since the important thing was the future of his children.

“What did I teach you today?”

Theophanes wanted to answer first.

However, he was waiting for that moment to synchronize with his brother.

Timothy did the same, unconsciously, when it came to physical matters.

They were already different in some connotations, but they tended to repress their uniqueness to bring out a total communion of actions, intentions and thoughts.

“That God’s will is more important.”

Lidia smiled and patted them both.

He made no preference between the two, precisely because they were identical in every way.

When the first differences emerged, then the attitude would change.

The woman wanted to delude herself, even from the height of her knowledge, that the same stimuli in substantially similar people would produce identical reactions, but this was not the case.

Up until that point, mutual repression had been at play, but the slightest hint would have been enough to open the first subtle crack.

As Attalus could have testified regarding the architectural structures, there was something working in the shadows even before the evident sign of settlement.

It was difficult to fathom the nature of matter, but that was nothing compared to the human soul.

The days seemed to follow a constant modulation, with the Sun determining everyone's life.

Weeks and months, seasons and years.

What was the brief passage of existence?

“A way to praise God,” the spouses would have answered in unison.

The centrality of religion was unquestionable in all their speeches and this was widespread in much of Eastern society.

Yet, there were many tensions that were still unresolved or dormant, but this was at the root of the rift with the people.

There were at least three different social classes, each in conflict with the other and the tensions were only subdued.

The best way to avoid internal disintegration was to find an external enemy, so as to channel forces towards it.

“The siege syndrome always works,” Lidia had mockingly pointed out.

Attalus was attracted to his wife precisely because of this very peculiar characteristic of hers.

Not a submissive woman, but an independent one who knew she could have her say, at least at home.

It was a shame that, in the company, she could not hold any leading or responsible role, but Lidia had made do with that limitation as long as she succeeded in her primary goal of educating her children.

Attalus was relocated to another point in the city.

This time it was the bridges and the aqueduct that needed reinforcement.

There was a frenzy in his workshop, but the architect had other things on his mind.

“How can I convince the higher-ups of the validity of my project?

Does it take a terrible event to start working on the basilicas?

Fire or earthquake, it would be absurd.”

Lidia wanted to console him.

She saw him anxiously awaiting a divine sign, something she would not have wished on anyone.

That day the woman had noticed a small ripple.

For the first time, Theophanes had anticipated his brother in an answer.

And, soon after, Timothy had done the same in a run around the house.

They had not expected it and this was the long-awaited fracture.

Lidia hadn't noticed, but in the evening she began to think about it.

Each of us is different even if we are similar.

It is God's imprint on our soul.

There was already trepidation out there.

The next day was to be one of those dedicated to games and already several thousand people were crowding along the crossroads.

The banners were unfurled and there was little mystery as to the fact that the Emperor preferred the Blues, those who were the very symbol of the Monophysitists.

It was much more than a horse race, since everyone interpreted this as God's will.

Had the Nicene and Chalcedonian Catholics won, it would have been a trumpet call for the imperial court.

The sun was slowly setting, as it usually does in the late summer season, and the warm wind carried with it a mixture of spices that came from the most remote areas of the Empire, where Persia's eternal enemies traded without ceasing.

Timothy and Theophanes said goodbye to each other just before falling asleep.

Neither of them had noticed the marked difference and had told each other that they would continue to live side by side forever.

Lidia hugged her husband and, for one night, wanted to forget everything.

The basilica and work, the capital and knowledge.

To remain embraced by the love of her life, with the fruit of their union in the room next to her.

He fell asleep thinking he could relive that day forever.

​II

506-508

––––––––

There wasn't much movement in Aurelianum, but Rigoberto didn't worry too much about that.

The orders had already been fulfilled and this had led to an increased family income, leading everything to a single reason.

King Clovis, after conquering Swabia, wanted to definitively defeat the Visigoths by occupying their territory in Gaul, whose size was almost equal to that of the kingdom of the Franks.

To do this, he had assembled a huge army, including the Burgundians as allies, that is, those who lived in the southern area of Aurelianum.

The Burgundians and the Franks could boast of a historical closeness, which was such even when they were in the original Germanic territories, while the Visigoths were seen as strangers.

Furthermore, they were Arians and the Church looked favorably on their defeat.

Rigoberto had received requests for poles, bows, arrows, wagon axles and wheels.

They would have paid him handsomely and the laborer had set to work with gusto.

Furthermore, since his son Ramberto was born, he had stopped frequenting the tavern and drinking wine.

Odetta's increased appetite meant she would have to prepare much more food, but what Rigoberto brought home outweighed the increased demand for basic necessities.

In a short time, they had managed to put aside concerns of pure subsistence to elevate themselves to a level of greater security.

Even Rigoberto's expressions had softened towards his wife, who had become pregnant again but had lost the child during gestation.

She had not stopped looking after her children, especially the twins, and this was fatal for the fetus.

“There’s still some time left,” Rigoberto concluded, taking his almost four-year-old son on his lap, a gesture he had never done with the twins.

Until he was ten, Ramberto would have been considered a brat, nothing more, but still the natural heir of the family.

After that date, the father would begin to bring him with him to the shop.

“This way you will see what men do and you will detach yourself from this female environment.”

The child smiled for comfort, as he didn't feel at all bad about being with his older sisters.

Crimilde and Casilde did not see in him a future master of their lives, but a smaller brat.

With their continued alliance, they manipulated it as they pleased.

By the age of six, the two sisters had lived symbiotically.

Accustomed to being exchanged for each other and sharing everything, they had transformed this characteristic into strength.

Each task was assigned to them, and they did it in pairs.

Carrying supplies or cleaning, looking after Ramberto or helping their mother, there was no activity that didn't see them working together in unison.

Even the attitudes and responses were mirrored.

“Yes, mother,” was pronounced in perfect synchrony and without the two voices being distinguishable.

Same tone and timbre.

The identical build, borrowed from Odetta, was petite and allowed their mother to dress them in the same furs in winter or the same tunics in summer.

Everything was doubled in their family, at least as far as the needs of the twins were concerned.

Her face was round and fair-skinned, while her hair was less blonde than her father's or Ramberto's.

The eyes, wide from their sockets, brown the color of the mud that caked everywhere in the autumn and spring seasons.

The occurrence of twin births was not common and was considered bad in a community still full of superstitions, so everyone knew the location of Rigoberto's family, who had also benefited from that peculiarity.

In the community of Aurelianum, it was common to hear the Frankish residents speak in this way:

“I ordered a bench from the carpenter who is the father of the twins.”

Everyone knew who she was and there was a small revolution in this that Crimilde and Casilde had managed to impose with their existence alone.

Usually, it was the sons who were known by the fathers they had.

Ramberto would have been the son of the carpenter Rigoberto, if it hadn't been for the two twins.

It was a small revenge for a female world accustomed to silently enduring every kind of abuse and oppression, as was tradition and as taught by the new Catholic faith.

This world was well represented by Odetta, whose figure was now increasingly fading into the background.

As her children grew, she would have diminished even more and only the conscientious intervention of the twins could have saved her.

But what could be done in a society where no woman could hold any office?

Even marriages among the powerful were arranged, with kings and nobles able to divorce multiple wives and marry even three times without incurring any kind of rift with the Church.

Indeed, Clovis could freely dispose of various women and concubinage had never been so tolerated.

“Better if consecrated,” it was said.

In this way, marriage was no longer a religious institution but a political one and bishops became the officiators of military alliances.

Thus the Franks had been able to secure their rear in Burgundy in order to attack the Visigothic kingdom.

The poor and the common people were unaware of this and only a few families of Gallic-Roman heritage were able to grasp the practical meaning of the matter.

Politics bent to religion to make religion pliable and malleable in the service of politics itself.

A double legitimacy that excluded the working class, even though Rigoberto now felt important.

“I will leave my son a well-established shop and a better life.”

The man was torn about whether to have another descendant.

She wanted another male child as she knew this would bring another dowry from an outside family.

The only way to get the twins married was to have two sons.

The incoming dowries of their respective wives would have been used for Crimilde and Casilde.

However, having two children he wanted to divide the inheritance in two.

Just when one could enjoy the benefits of years of hard work, everything would disappear.

It didn't make sense.

Odetta had thought to herself and had compared herself to some other women.

“It could be left only to the firstborn male.”

In their minds, certainly not suited to grand reasoning, women, the gender to which they belonged, had no rights.

It was only a question of whether all male children could make the same claims or not.

“But you can't.

The law prevents it.”

It was true, tribal law indicated that all males were equally entitled to inheritance.

Even the king, for whom Clovis was supposed to divide the kingdom into four once he died.

“Let's hope he lives a long time.

He is a great king.”

Even though he had never seen or met him and had only once been admitted to the presence of a count, for Rigoberto he was the best monarch who had ever existed.

Thanks to his work, his family had enough to live on.

“We can eat for another three years thanks to him.

Thank him.”

The customary prayer before dinner included praise to God and the king, in equal measure.

For the laborer, there was no doubt about the military campaign.

“We will win.”

The Franks had not been accustomed to losing recently and a strange feeling of superiority had taken root in them.

They considered themselves better than the Burgundians, the Suevi, the Saxons, the Thuringians and the Visigoths.

As for the previous residents, they were educated, refined, elegant, but they had lost.

From them one could take anything if only one had used weapons, but the nobility had decided on another type of plunder.

“The taxes.”

As a Frankish man, Rigoberto paid a paltry sum to the administrative representative.

It was known that this kind of idyll of exemption could not last forever and in fact the conquests served this purpose.

To make new loot and broaden the tax base so as not to oppress one's own people.

Those who lost in battle, apart from the lives of their warriors, left something greater on the field.

The barbarian kings had become astute and understood that continuous taxation was the best legalized theft of all time.

In exchange, they would provide security.

"Which?

That of not being robbed and of seeing their homes intact and their women not raped.”

In Rigoberto's workshop, opinions of all kinds were exchanged even if the laborer didn't have a precise idea, or rather, he had no idea at all.

He was focused on his work and his family, but in reality only on his son Ramberto.

The work of Odetta and the two twins went unnoticed and went undetected.

The mother often bent over them to caress them.

“Don't worry.

No one will hurt you.

We are important now.”

The two didn't fully understand each other.

Why would someone use violence on their family?

They were not as bad as the priests said to terrorize the adult population into remaining submissive.

The only thing that mattered to the two was just one thing and they said it together.

“Do you promise we’ll always be together?”

Odetta didn't understand immediately.

He thought they referred to the concept of family, in the sense of the female component.

Only after a few days, in the midst of the first days of autumn, did he come to focus on everything.

His daughters talked about themselves.

Their world began and ended with the figure of the self and the other twin.

United, since birth.

They slept together, ate together, worked together, talked together.

They had stood up together for the first time and consumed the same foods and the same quantities together.

What would happen when they realized they had something different?

When would the subtle differences in face and physique become larger?

And when would life have put them face to face with the most unique decision of all: starting a new family?

Nobody could have known.

Odetta had never met sets of twins.

His only response was a smile.

Something simple and dispensable without having to pay a price.

Everyone could smile, even beggars and those who had nothing.

Why do it, if life was miserable and could end miserably at any moment?

Odetta had no answer and, more often than not, fatigue choked her thoughts.

“Yes, I promise.”

He whispered to the two of them, who walked away happily and hugged each other.

Happy and carefree, even if inexperienced in the world.

There were many worlds out there, including ones where women could read and write and were even rich.

But there was also much risk, with wars bringing death and destruction.

The Frankish army itself was not very friendly with the invaded territories of the Visigothic kingdom.

Villages were burned and women raped, in defiance of the commandments of Catholicism.

The priests who followed, on the contrary, blessed every action, since it was a question of eradicating a heresy and this was what the papal mandate said to do.

If, as was rumoured, after the conquest of that piece of territory, new bishops were installed and a council was called, then everyone would have benefited.

Church and nobility, powerful and warriors.

A small portion would also have reached the common people and the woodworkers.

Rigoberto could have expanded his clientele and seen new prosperity, with one goal in mind.

Leave Ramberto a better world.

With this, he would have fulfilled his duty as a father and as a Christian.

And the women?

“Let them sort it out, they’re only good for breaking things.”

The hearty laughs that the men exchanged as they passed by the carpenter's shop were just a taste of what was to happen in the tavern, where the only females allowed were the wine waitresses, preferably scantily clad and generally buxom.

At least, Rigoberto was heading straight home.

“Maybe it’s time to buy a new skin for this winter.”

Odetta deluded herself that this was for everyone.

“For the little one.”

The twins stared at their father, a little disappointed.

“For you, it's more difficult.

There are two of you and the cost is double.

Maybe next year, if we win the war.

Pray for our king Clovis.”

Crimilde and Casilde immediately went to their corner of the house and began to pray, even though they did not know the words and texts, not even in the lingua franca derived from Germanic.

Odetta saw them and didn't know whether to smile or burst into tears.

*******

“Save it for me.”

Paldone was begging Candomargo, the shaman priest with whom he had collaborated for several years, for the life of his son Ilderico.

At almost seven years old, the little boy seemed on the verge of death as he was swollen all over, especially his face.

He had been kept at rest and isolated, but that had not been enough.

Not even giving him substantial food, since he refused it.

A short distance from Paldone, in the second line, stood his wife Adalberga and his other little daughter, Adalgisa, Ilderico's twin sister.

The little girl felt that a part of her was sick even though she had no symptoms of a practically unknown disease.

It wasn't infectious, otherwise it would have infected all the members of their family.

Candomargo was aware of the difficulty of healing.

When there was an obvious external cause it was simpler, whether it was a wound or a broken bone.

Those were the most successful cases, since ointments and potions could do some good, but when the pain was internal to the viscera, even he didn't know what to do.

It had to be trial and error.

First of all, sedate the little one because, if he hadn't felt pain, he would have been better.

He gave him a concoction that was meant to numb his senses and put him into a deep sleep.

After that he stretched it out and tried to feel it.

He examined the body and saw no injuries, either internal or external.

No bruised parts, nor excessively hard or soft.

Everything seemed fine.

The swelling was also limited to the limbs, such as the ankles, wrists and then the most impressive thing was the face.

He seemed to have swallowed liters of water, like those dead bodies floating in rivers after a battle.

She tried to inspect his throat, after having felt his forehead, which was very hot.

Another possible intervention was to cool the body.

There was a special extract to be drunk and then an ointment to be spread.

He did this in quick succession and then continued his investigation.

The throat was a volcanic crater, it was so red and inflamed and maybe it all came from there.

He had to try.

He knew what to do, since he had done it in the past.

A special iron was needed that had to be heated first and then washed in water.

“When I do this, he will scream like a maniac.

You will have to hold him still and then calm him down.

It will take a full moon for him to return to normal and he will spit blood for a few days.

It will be difficult for him to eat and he will lose weight, but from the second day he will be able to drink.

Fresh water or fresh milk.

No hot meals, okay?”

He spoke to Paldone and, remarkably, had also agreed to the presence of Adalberga, as it was the woman who would be looking after the little one in the coming days.

The iron was just the right amount of hot and Candomargo immersed it in the bowl of water to cool it down.

“Hold him still.”

Three men blocked him, while two others held his mouth open with a mechanism consisting of a wooden spacer and ox-rope ties.

Candomargo was dripping with sweat and stared at his right hand.

It had to be decided.

He glimpsed the center of the volcano right in front of him and inserted the iron, being careful not to touch the walls of the gorge.

He had reached his destination and now he had to act quickly.

Squeeze, make sure that the entire piece of meat to be torn was captured and then pull.

He mentally reviewed the action and performed it.

Ilderico did not have time to wake from his stupor and hear the tear, so he screamed recklessly after the shaman priest had done his duty.

Now the rest of the community swung into action to do what he had said.

The child, beside himself, was calmed down and it took the rest of the day to bring him to silence.

Paldone didn't know how to thank the man who had saved his family, since Adalberga had been unable to give birth to any more children, despite her constant efforts.

She thought she had gotten pregnant a couple of times, but she hadn't been able to carry the baby to term.

If a doctor had looked inside her, he would have understood the laceration that the birth of the twins had brought, but perhaps it was better this way for Adalgisa's fate.

The little girl, already considered a reject, could not have withstood the accusation that her birth, which occurred second, had put an end to her mother's procreative capacity.

During that month it took for Ilderico to return to normal life, she was the person who stayed closest to him.

“Drink slowly.”

“Be careful, don't force yourself.”

She saw him as weak and sick, something that was not fitting for a future man.

They were only allowed to die in battle or in old age, while infant mortality was very high and generally considered synonymous with misfortune or disgrace for the existing family.

The fact that Ilderico had survived and that the community saw him resume his normal life after some time was a triple success for Paldone.

First of all, for his profession.

Serving Candomargo, their work had been shown to be of benefit to the community far beyond the evocation of rites.

Secondly, for his own family who, from that moment on, was considered special and had entered into the grace of the Gods.

Finally, for being the father of Ilderico, the child who, without a piece of his throat, would have testified to the strength and will of their people.

They were still near Vindobona and this was not seen as a definitive stage.