Day 7

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock* *Knock* Frantic, heavy knocking awakened Aurelian from his peaceful dream of a reestablished realm of prosperity and fertility alongside a loving wife and several little children squirming around his legs as he watched the people enjoy the peace he had brought them, the piles of corpses and acres of incinerated wasteland hidden behind the facade of benevolence.

“Enter! You blunt brotherfucker,” he added in a whispering way only audible to himself.

Contrary to Sirmium’s quarters, Fort Radicula’s officer chamber’s door hadn’t been muted as the ancient wooden gate creaked and scratched over the ground, the shrill sound ripping Aurelian out of his fatigue.

Now I fucking understand why the previous emperors added the quiet door to the palace.

“Speak, quick,” curtly ordered Aurelian the man whose dimly illuminated face he attached to a member of the Praetorians, Marcus - Marius? Ahhh! He couldn’t remember after last day’s alcoholic escapades.

Standing to attention, iron boots clattering on the floor, the soldier spoke: “Urgent news Augustus!”

Without bothering to ask, Aurelian got dressed and shortly thereafter followed the messenger and two other Praetorians down the stairs to the offices of the clerks at the training grounds of Radicula.

Upon arriving in the orderlies’ quarters, Aurelian’s smell was bombarded by sweat and booze, eliciting an angry expression from the man who already wanted to execute his subordinates who broke his rules.

But upon entering the room behind the rows of desks, facial veins visibly twitching as he deeply inhaled to blame his clerks for their inability to dominate their urges, he witnessed the real reason for the booze and its stench.

Laying on a hurriedly cleared table was a man clad in a brown tunic, red dried stains of blood plastered all over the bottom of the garment with a red glowing head and visible beads of sweat running down his forehead beside the long strands of blonde hair.

An auxiliary from Gaul, assumed Aurelian who slowly approached the legion doctors surrounding the clearly injured man who groaned and moaned in agony as the experienced men fiddled around and inside the gaping wound.

Trying his best not to bother the medics, Aurelian calmly asked the Legionnaire from an appropriate distance: “Tell me what you must.”

Frantically blinking with his eyes, the emperor already dreading a demonic possession, the man eventually recovered from his convulsions and stared his ruler into the eyes, the life dwindling from his.

With a hoarse voice, the Gaul spoke: “The Quadi tribe … they have crossed the Danube and invaded Pannonia. Many … very many. Destroyed several forts along the river and …” a loud gasp escaped the man’s lungs as his body spasmed violently until lifelessly collapsing on the table.

Sourly looking at the fresh corpse before him, Aurelian brushed past the doctors as he gently closed the man’s open, yet blank blue eyes.

Deeply inhaling, Aurelian spoke in a sorrowful voice: “You were no Gaul. You were a true Roman. A Roman who defied the odds and survived until bringing the crucial message to your Emperor. Requiescat in pace, hero.”

Aurelian clutched the deceased man’s hands as he cried out: “Bury this man according to centurional customs!”

Standing up from the corpse, Augustus grimly looked down on the horrors of the barbarians, already picturing and dreading what they’d cause to his beautiful city.

Without another word, he turned around and stormed out of the room, closely followed by his clerks and upper tribunes.

Bitterness in his words, the young man thought: Marcus Aurelius should have crushed them even more decisively and burned down their native lands to prevent any more intrusions from those pesky barbarians. Pesky inhuman bugs. They don’t learn from their mistakes, do they? Rome had already crushed them beneath her heel.

We’ll just do it again.

Grimly staring ahead, Aurelian beckoned one of the junior Tribunes.

In a firm assertive tone, the Caesar ordered: “Assemble the Legates in my office. Tell them it’s urgent and that I don’t expect formal armour but their swift arrival.”

“Of course Augustus!” Saluting, the young eager boy by the name of Tritus Clarus turned around and ran straight towards the chambers of Manius Albinus Scrofa, Legate of the 5th Legion Macedonia, a reliable and sufficiently competent man.

Impatiently tapping his iron boot on the stone-paved floor of the Fort leader’s office, Aurelian expectantly stared at the door, counting the seconds which it took Probus to heed his emperor’s orders.

After another while, the ambitious yet stressed man thought: Have I maybe become too lenient with him in the last couple of days and weeks? No, he was always like that.

What if he’s actually scheming against me?

A stupid idea Aurelian. Disperse it immediately or you won’t be receiving any sleep for the next couple of decades-

Panting from exertion, Probus ripped the door open as he entered the room, mortified at the piercing gazes from his Imperator and colleagues, or rather subordinates for whom he as second-in-command should be a role model.

Excusing his retard, the old man sat down on the prepared chair and kept his mouth shut, ashamed of uttering any more useless words and wasting any more of the precious time.

Intertwining his hairy knuckles and clearing his throat, Aurelian cautiously commenced to explain the reasons why they had been called.

“Soldiers, allies and friends, I suppose that some of you may have already heard the next predicament which gnaws at our crumbling empire,” a quick glance around revealed that some indeed already knew.

“Without rephrasing or contorting the truth into patrician rhetoric: The Quadi have crossed the Danube and have pillaged northern Pannonia Inferior. They have seemingly evaded our fortified settlements on the border to their tribe and rather decided to cross the natural obstruction some kilometres further south.”

Silence, painful silence filled the room as the realisation needed time to really hit and fester into an uncomfortable stinging, knowing that now they not only had enemies upfront but also on the back to worry about.

Not expecting an answer, Aurelian continued: “That’s why I now want to confer with you, my military advisers, about the next course of actions. First I’d like to present my idea, you can agree or disagree.”

Collecting his thoughts for a moment, the young ruler resumed: “This evening, we’ll be reaching Siscia. In a week’s time Aquileia. And in another week’s time, Rome itself. I’ll claim the emperorship and the senate, if he truly acts in Rome’s interests, will hail me Augustus and proclaim and support my ascension publicly.”

No replies from the attentively listening legates, only hesitant nodding and approving murmurs.

In an authoritative tone he added: “Then we’ll beat the barbarians raiding Italia and after them those pillaging Pannonia. Once we’ve accomplished this much … we’ll see. First we’ll deal with this Hydra of problems.”

Why aren’t you disagreeing? Disagree! Please.

But no one did, so the Imperator, before releasing them to attend to their duties and prepare this day’s march, calmly looked each of them into the eyes and said: "Men, for one to bask in the sun's warm pleasant embrace, one must first persevere through the cold harsh night."

Closing his eyes, the blue circles beneath them luckily invisible due to the bad lighting, he added: “Let us fight the hardships which threaten our empire and reap the harvest or at least spread the seeds for the next generation to earn. Thank you.”

Thus he let the Legates go, earning himself understanding apologetic smiles and encouragement, as the disciplined veterans sauted and left the chamber, leaving a tired Aurelian alone.

This morning … he cried all alone, fighting a battle no one dared to fight.