Britannia's Four Comes Amid Imperial Chaos
Even as barbarians swarmed outside Rome's gates like flies on a corpse, the Empire always kept just enough strength in reserve for another civil war. What a ridiculous statement. But you didn't need to dig into ancient history to feel its truth—we had two emperors right now: Honorius in Ravenna and Constantinus in Gallia. Ah, saying we had them might be a bit off now. After all, Honorius had publicly abandoned Romano-Britannia just yesterday via a formal letter delivered triumphantly to Camulodunum's square. And that Constantinus in Gallia? He'd scraped together every last garrison from Britannia and dragged them back to the mainland, making him the emperor we had rejected ourselves.
I'd never forget the sight of his planted administrators, priests, and soldiers getting their asses kicked and chased out in fury over Constantinus's decision. Seen that way, both Honorius—who boldly declared territorial abandonment—and Constantinus—who proclaimed himself emperor of Britannia only to loot its final Roman legions for his own ambitions—seemed utterly unfit for the throne. Does it really take a special breed of cowardice to wear the crown of Rome? What remarkable men. Honorius. Constantinus III. Reeeeally impressive. Truly paragons.
Anyway, with one emperor cutting us loose and the other getting cut loose by us, Britannia no longer belonged to any Roman emperor. But regardless of Romano-Britannia's plight, the Empire itself was still mired in civil war today. Constantinus had climbed to the Gallic throne with regional council backing about three or four years ago? Who knows how much longer it'll last, but hearing about Honorius's flailing from afar, it seemed Constantinus might hold on surprisingly well.
Actually, the Empire had three emperors. Not Theodosius the Great, Honorius's father, but his grandson and Honorius's nephew, Theodosius II. So right now: Honorius, Theodosius II, Constantinus III. Astonishingly, they all officially recognized each other(?), divvying up Italia-Gallia-East Rome. Would this triumvirate work smoothly? Rome's long history had no precedent for a stable three-way split. Their relations were already creaking at the seams—any day now, war. Even more shocking: all this bizarre internal mess unfolded with powerful barbarians camped on the borders—or already burrowed deep inside.
That's why it's dire: those barbarians had a rough idea of Rome's dysfunction. Britannia, willingly or not, had escaped this continental quagmire by ousting or being ousted by emperors. But Romano-Britannia's internals weren't pristine either. To cut to the chase: we were in a Four Kingdoms standoff. The island—long and narrow north-south—was propped up by four pillars! More stable than Zhuge Liang's three-legged cauldron at Yizhou or Zhou Yu's even shakier two-legged plan... or so I'd love to shout, but reality was messier.
Easiest way: recap the last thirty years' power players. First, Magnus Maximus from Hispania. Maybe the most legitimate, capable, and decent of recent Britannian emperor claimants—but he kicked off the legions' mainland pullout, so not exactly beloved. He had ambitious plans for Britannia, but died in civil war before acting; his bloodline lived on through his daughter's marriage, flowing to Vortigern, a key southwest figure today.
Second, Constantinus III, who put the final nail in Romano-Britannia's military coffin. That bastard—no, that utter villain—started as a common Romano-Britannian soldier, climbed the ranks, then bolted with the last border garrisons the moment ambition called, never looking back. He brazenly declared himself emperor of Gallia-Hispania-Britannia and stirred more civil war. His lackeys left in Britannia got swiftly purged by enraged locals... highlighting the shining character and skill of Comes Uterius, to whom southeast folk clung desperately even in the chaos, begging him to stay.
Plus, that fake emperor lost his other rebel base in Hispania to betrayal by trusted subordinates. Left clutching only Gallia, he's barely emperor material. Ironically, he's alive thanks to Honorius's incompetence. But since that Britannian scourge paved the way for the brilliant Comes Uterius to take the prime seat here, I couldn't purely hate from my position.
If southwest Vortigern and southeast Uterius held official (rebel/fake emperor-appointed) posts, the northeast abutting Hadrian's Wall and northwest differed. Traditionally handling supplies north of Londinium, the Romano-Britannian north's hub was—and is—Eboracum. From there, northwest and northeast were legion lands shielding Hadrian's Wall.
What the hell happened? The legions packed up and sailed home overnight. Imagine the landowners ditching deeds and fleeing across the sea—unheard of! Economy collapsed, and the Wall—centuries against northern savages—sprang holes, nearly failing. Only the Botadii tribe's vigorous operations saved it. They'd manned the Wall as Roman auxiliaries for 200-300 years, practically Romans now, seamlessly taking northeast and northwest.
The western guardian was Eturnus, self-styled Comes. Centered on Eboracum, the northeastern was Lot—with his odd single-name moniker. He was none other than my subordinate Galbaginus's father. Uterius, foreseeing northern peril, promptly recognized them both. Problem: southwest power player Vortigern wasn't cooperative.
This high-nosed Roman with imperial blood saw the emperorless, legionless vacuum as opportunity. Thus, our Londinium-Camulodunum southeast absurdly defended the east coast and eyed the western border with Vortigern. With raiders looming post-winter, now watch for internal betrayal too? Honorius, seeing this Roman spirit, would you still deny us as Romans? What noble, trashy Roman spirit. No wonder the Empire falls.
Summary: Southeast Uterius. Southwest Vortigern. Northeast Lot. Northwest Eturnus. Plus voracious western, northern, eastern barbarians eyeing this unimpressive Romano-Britannia. That's the mess. If the Empire were stable, we'd muddle through with blind eyes—but the mainland's hellish chaos dwarfed Britannia's, forcing action.
Easiest example: Camulodunum, under Saxon Shore Comes Uterius himself, originally maxed at 1,000 troops. Now barely half, and not proper legionaries. Grateful if they hold shields in battle—that's the top force the Saxon Shore commander wields here. Yet Vortigern eyes ambition like Constantinus III; I understood power's nature but couldn't accept it.
With Honorius's abandonment added at the Londinium summit, what fresh hell awaits? My head throbs already.
"..."
Era's 410 AD—no high hopes, but poring over these surprisingly detailed maps of Britannia's east, south, west coasts, I simulated battles in my mind. Less military study, more solo chess. Calming tangled thoughts through meditation? But my head spun worse; I sighed softly and opened the window.
[Creak—]
"..."
"Hello?"
There she was: face and voice immediate. Dusky teal night sky painted with round moon and twinkling stars; beneath, eyes brighter than starlight stared straight at me.
"Guinevere."
"Artorius."
My reflection in the mirror-clear lake water showed a face you wouldn't pick a street fight with—potent strength evident. Naturally grown light brown hair, brown eyes. Bear-like build drew men's admiring gazes but women's fearful ones over coveted longing.
Yet this blue-eyed girl watched with peculiar eyes. Issue: she was revered Comes Uterius's only daughter.
"How—"
"How'd I get here? Really? That's all you've got?"
Playfully sparkling eyes, head tilted—past-life me would've stammered, face red. But ten years bearing a massive club to shield the weak, smashing raiders' skulls... Pretty faces couldn't sway after such harsh roads, with burdens heavy on my shoulders now.
I pressed my aching head, sighed weightedly, and asked again. "Another runaway, Domina?"
"If you keep quiet, no one in Camulodunum knows I'm gone. Dominus."
Truly. Pointing it out beyond family wasn't right, but Uterius's servants needed to toughen up. Eighteen, nineteen now? They indulged this tomboy too much. Lucky my areas from village to Londinium-Camulodunum were monster-free. A noble daughter roaming freely elsewhere? Suicide.
Bad habits. Tsk tsk.
"Lecturing on dangers would just hurt my throat."
"Dunno—your voice? I'd take any scolding."
Did I mention my past-life taste ran older? No clue what hooked this bold girl, but fatigue hit hard; time to end the visit. As I moved to shut the window, her hand stopped mine.
[Thud—]
"Let go."
"I have something for you."
"?"
Guinevere smiled confidently, radiant under moonlight.