Day 2

Honey-scented candles and tufts of fresh purple lavender transformed the royal sleeping chamber into a paradise of smells, an oasis of aromas in the midst of the reeking bustling industrial city, an appeal to one’s sense as pleasant flavours enticed one’s nose and mind.

Dim lights illuminated the spacious room with a majestic silver-handle bed opposing the reinforced dark spruce door. On the walls hung portraits of emperors past, of ancient figures and deified legends who were once revered as mortal gods but who now only hung on the palace walls, merely their name in the memory of the people as their ideals and creed dissipated in the vortex of time, a greedy maw which consumes ideals, people and the truth alike.

The room was adorned with red and purple carpets which hung over the tall structure of the emperor’s bed, as they represented the Roman imperial, senatorial and plebiscitarian colours.

Covering the black-bearded general and idealist were fine furs from the vast corners of the empire. Lion skin from Aegyptus, wool from Brittania and beaver fur from Germania. Coating his muscular figure into a warm embrace between the soft blankets and the smooth silk bed, the cold yet delightful surface allowing his grace to sleep in the best possible manner one last time before war and chaos would rip the calm, peaceful and luxurious life away from the young emperor who feared for his dream’s extinction.

A loud call from outside the palace awakened Aurelian who ripped his eyes open, dreams of treachery and betrayal plaguing his thoughts and doubts about who he could trust, who was loyal and who could potentially be a conspirator who sought to murder the emperor for political, religious or reputational gain or simply enjoyment of chaos and turmoil.

Lifting himself onto his feet the Soldier Emperor put on his clothes himself, not a naturalness as some of the previous decadent emperors had insisted on possessing slaves who would dress them since they were too lazy or arrogant to do it themselves.

When the Imperator finished dressing, he left his cosy chambers and walked into the overly illuminated hallway which connected the sleeping chambers with the offices of the ruler himself as well as his subjects and orderlies.

Passing the guards who stiffly stood to attention, eagerly saluting their respected emperor and the secretaries who murmured praise and eternal health to their newly ascended employer, Aurelian quickly crossed the relatively modest palace compared to the architectural wonders in Rome, Alexandria or Antiochia, the last two having been stolen from the emperor’s grasp by rebels and usurpers to the imperial sceptre.

Happily remarking the sunny cloudless spring day, a good omen in the mercurial season, Emperor Aurelian entered the building designated as the momentary headquarter of operations.

Tensely awaiting their Augustus’ arrival, the gathered men jumped to their feet upon Aurelian’s entrance into the building consisting of orange bricks and a thatched roof which wouldn’t protect them from rain if it were to suddenly rain as Zeus’ exerted his capricious nature upon poor humanity like many times before.

Approvingly waving his hands as to indicate the possibility of sitting down again and relaxing, the young ambitious man quickly headed to the front of the rows of benches to not waste any time and tell the men to depart and say goodbye to a life in relative peace.

But first, upon arriving there, he was greeted by two men, one young, one old.

Sneaking up on him, an equestrian tribune by the name of Ulpio Artorius Vincentius, an ambitious brat who thought he ruled the world just because of his family’s wealth and influence in the flailing empire, whispered into his ear: “We deemed that your sleep was more important than immediate knowledge about the situation in the distant province of Tarraconensis.”

Now clearly identifying them as messengers, probably from the senate, Aurelian impatiently signalled them to start, not responding to the greedy snake’s attempt at gaining his favour.

Clearing his hoarse throat the older man told Caesar the message which was urgent to be conveyed: “Imperator Aurelian, I bring terrible news for the emperor sent by the senate. Due to your predecessor’s death, you are the recipient of the message. Hm-hm. The senate informs the emperor of an invasion by the traitors in Gaul into Tarraconensis, as well as more usurpers sprouting in the provinces of Iberia. Witnesses and reports tell of civil war-like states in the region. The senate requests the dispatch of a Legion and 6 auxiliary cohorts to their temporary authority to quell the rebellion in Hispania and repel the craven invaders and fiends.”

Finishing his report by humbly bowing his head, instantly followed by his visibly nervous colleague, the nameless messenger was dismissed by Aurelian who nodded towards a guard to lead them outside.

Under slight protest, the two men were dragged outside by the personal guards of Aurelian who he trusted and who he employed since his time as the Magister Equitum of the empire.

Confidently planting himself on the beige fur-covered seat behind the table with most of the documents his clerks had distributed throughout the night, the man stared blankly in the sky before suddenly breaking the palpable tense silence, saying: “Numerus, tell the messengers that I won’t dispatch any of my troops to fight for a lost cause in Hispania or elsewhere which isn’t east of Rome. Furthermore I do not wish to be disturbed with issues that don’t concern immediate threats to imperial authority and integrity or the very existence of our empire for the time until we have beaten the preposterous barbarians.”

Gracefully bowing, the clerk left the brick building to convey his master’s message and write down his explicit wishes to not be executed for incompetence, a fault many men before Numerus had made. Most of whom had paid severely. Namely with their life.

The harsh emperor and general looked at the assembled elite of his army, the officers and leaders who would either lead Rome to survival, glory and greatness or to destruction, ruin and oblivion.

Speaking in a demanding voice, Aurelian addressed the three Legates of his Legions, the 1st being directly commanded by him, as were the other according to the law but the cunning man openly preached the strategy of ‘Divide et Impera,’ of divide and rule, an useful way of maintaining power even in an empire as large as his where ambitious men and diabolical villains sought to undermine the world’s safety and civilization itself.

“I suppose the soldiers are ready to depart and are well-nutritioned and equipped.” More so than a question, the phrase was a statement, an indisputable truth which had to be fulfilled or else would elicit punishment.

The Legates nodded in unison as the loud drills and commotion from outside rang into the headquarters.

Rough hands firmly planted on the desk at the far end of the room, Aurelian kept his gaze to the ground, mind running to remember any additional detail he could have missed.

Expression a solid surface, Augustus indeed realised a crucial flaw in his plans, considering his dreadful prediction really occurred.

Addressing a broad-band Tribune, the prospective man said: “Aurelius Macrinius, you will remain in Dalmatia and levy another Legion for the war against the barbarians and the civil war. Concrete orders will be given to you after I’ve departed with the main body of the army. Momentarily you’ll assume command of the garrison of Sirmium as well as its surroundings.”

Determined as to not disappoint his emperor, Aurelius saluted and firmly said, not screamed, he knew that his general despised that: “Ave Caesar.”

“Then I hereby declare that peace is forfeit. No more sentimentality or kindness to our foreign enemies. We will slaughter them and show why no one dared to invade Italia in ages past. For Rome!”

“For Rome!” It echoed through the building as Aurelian clad into his military uniform and threw the white cloak with imperial purple stripes over his shoulder as he watched his officers leave headquarters, thinking to himself whether he was sending them to their doom or to glory.

I guess a bit both.

But as the fresh emperor glanced towards the desk which had been prepared by the orderlies he happily noted that an image of his favoured deity was carved into the sturdy wood.

Sol Invictus, the unconquered sun, beamed over Aurelian’s head and provided spiritual guidance and resolve to the man who devoted his life, his goodness and even his personal desires and dreams to the great purge of the heathens, of the one thing everyone desired …..

The Restoration of Rome.