Entry into the Capital (3)
The Praetorian Guard had long played a crucial role in the empire's central politics. This stemmed from the emperors of the Principate era bolstering their somewhat shaky foundations and authority through the Guard stationed in the capital.
As a result, the Praetorian Prefect was treated as the empire's second-in-command, and the guardsmen enjoyed pay and privileges at least 1.5 times better than those of regular legionaries.
With such immense prestige, Praetorian Prefects occasionally overreached their bounds. To counter this, emperors appointed two prefects to check each other—but Baccus named only one.
This was likely intended to elevate a single trusted relative-in-law, strengthening his grip on the military.
But the ploy failed amid repeated defeats and the prefects' downfalls.
The emperor's misstep not only eroded his intended control over the military but also his hold on the Guard itself.
Frequent changes at the top elevated mid- and lower-ranking officers who remained in place as the real power brokers.
In the end, the Guard snapped its leash and bit its master.
The Guard's rebellion against the emperor was pathetic enough, but Baccus's incompetence in letting it come to this was just as bad.
I set out from Bellgorod with a thousand auxiliaries and a thousand legionaries. With things as they were, we had to swiftly coordinate with the consul to crush the Guard.
That was the only way to save the empire. The barbarians north of the Drvina River offered troops, but I flatly refused.
Even if it meant failing to suppress the Guard for lack of strength, I couldn't accept barbarian aid. That would be selling out the empire.
We crossed the province swiftly along the imperial highway, passing Bellgorod's borders. Minimizing supplies and buying locally kept us light and fast.
Without baggage trains, the legion averaged over thirty kilometers a day with ease.
In a small village on the empire's heartland border, I gave the men a rest. They gratefully accepted after our grueling forced march.
While they rested, I pored over the letters from the consul, lost in thought.
If the Guard has seized the capital, the Senate has likely become their puppet. Soon they'll auction off or acclaim a new emperor. The real problem comes after.
That worried me. The frontier legions wouldn't bow to a Guard puppet, but the Atillca Legion in the heartland was unpredictable.
Couriers reported they'd been forced to supply veterans for new legions too.
If their men were restless, the Atillca Legion might swear fealty to the puppet out of necessity.
That would mean facing two legions— the empire's largest.
The Guard matched a mobile field army, nearing ten thousand strong.
The Atillca Legion, fully manned at six thousand, was the heartland's pride.
Together, sixteen thousand pure-blooded legionaries. Pitting our two thousand—including barbarians—against them was a gamble. I hoped it wouldn't come to that, but I prepared for the worst.
The consul's gathering every available man, so at least two thousand. Combined, we'd have four. But clashing head-on isn't wise. A war of attrition? No.
I rejected my own idea.
Attrition would give the barbarians an opening. We'd done it against Pompeyus, but not again.
Leaving the empire's weakened north unguarded too long was too risky.
Only one choice: a short, decisive campaign. But how to engage without a pitched battle? Frustrating.
My thoughts wouldn't settle. Strolling the village to clear my head, I saw kids squatting, playing with stones. I nearly passed by, but their words stuck.
"Tch. The line's all crooked, so it's not fair. If it'd been straight, my stone wouldn't have crossed."
A swarthy boy raised his voice.
Even to an outsider like me, the line was bizarre—wavy like a worm's trail instead of straight. No wonder the complaints.
The blond boy who'd drawn it snapped back.
"Then you draw the line!"
His shout rocked my mind. Me draw the line?
Until now, I'd folded tactics useful in frontier wars due to imperial defense constraints.
But if I didn't set the battlefield's rules, we couldn't win. My battle-honed instincts screamed it.
Time to consider barbaric frontier tricks.
Back at the village headman's house—my quarters—I summoned Rikius.
"Yes, sir."
"Pick twenty legionaries who ride well and talk sharp. I have a job for them."
"Right away."
Rikius saluted and left.
I organized my thoughts while waiting.
Soon he returned with twenty sturdy men.
"Hail to the governor, lord."
They knelt on one knee.
I nodded and spoke.
"I called you for one task."
"What must we do, sir?"
A legionary asked boldly. Rank aside, our bond as comrades who'd shared life and death transcended commander and grunt.
So he could question me, and I answered without offense.
"Simple. As you leave this room, ride the highway south and spread rumors in the heartland: Barbarians have breached the border, marching on the capital."
"B-but—"
The men—and even Rikius—were stunned. Shocking indeed. Barbarian invasion in the peaceful heartland?
We'd suffered Heigirt once, but the heartland felt safe. Spreading this would unleash panic.
But I needed that chaos.
"Yes. Unbecoming of legionaries. Frightening imperial citizens is dishonorable. But if we lose to the Guard, the empire has no tomorrow. Right?"
They bit their lips at my question.
Undeniable truth. A successful Guard revolt would unsettle every frontier legion.
Even if legions stayed quiet, a Guard-puppet emperor and Senate couldn't govern. Not that Baccus had anyway.
"You're right, sir."
Several broke the silence. I hated this too, but the empire's fate demanded risks.
"Sorry to give you this dishonor. But I trust only you. Stir chaos for the empire."
"We'll obey, sir. For the empire."
They saluted across their chests.
I returned it, heart heavy despite the order.
Under the guise of saving the empire, resorting to dirty tricks. Was this the limit of a mortal defending it?
Such thoughts lingered.
After sending the rumor-spreaders, I planned phase two. The rumors would hit hard, but not collapse the Guard.
With the capital as base, even threats of tens of thousands of barbarians wouldn't break them easily.
And the Atillca Legion loomed north.
If they struck our rear, we'd be crushed in a pincer. The consul was mustering forces, but in this era of no new recruits, expecting enough was folly.
His noble birth and role as imperial proxy might draw nobles' slaves and coin, but limits remained. Even combined, beating the Guard was iffy.
So the Atillca Legion had to stay neutral at minimum.
I resolved to rig the battlefield rules in our favor. If it worked, I could swiftly crush the Guard without rear worries.
Leaving the 16th Legion at the border, I took a hundred escorts—including barbarian cavalry—to Partan, home of the Atillca Legion.
The northern heartland en route was serene. Despite the Guard-emperor clash in the center, no whiff of war— as if it were mere gossip.
They believed whoever won, their lives went on.
Hah.
My heart grew heavier. If this went wrong, my army could turn this into a battlefield.
So neutralize the Atillca Legion quietly.
Watching freeholders and serfs bent in wheat fields, responsibility weighed heavier.
After a full day riding, I reached Partan, fortress-city at the Ardia Mountains' foot.
Built a century ago to guard the heartland as borders weakened and raiders probed deeper.
But barbarians rarely reached here, so the Atillca Legion saw little action.
Raiders, not armies—crossing the Ardia Mountains in force was suicide.
I halted before Partan's walls. My escort's trumpet brought legionaries to line the gate.
As they formed up, I squared my shoulders, cape billowing, and entered.
Officially, the Atillca Legion wasn't rebel yet. I'd meet commanders formally, urge restraint, and dangle incentives.
Persuade right, no blood spilled.
That's what I thought then.
"Hail to Governor of Bellgorod and Guardian of the Drvina, Lord Ain."
In the plaza, helmeted officers knelt. I dismounted; some escorts followed.
"Thanks for the welcome. Where's the legion commander?"
No sign among the helmets. One kneeling man spoke.
"The commander passed last night, sir."
A chill ran down my spine. Sudden death? Absurd. Something was up.
"Who's acting?"
I forced calm.
"Me, sir."
A man in his forties.
"Quartermaster?"
"No, sir. Just a soldier."
"A soldier?"
I sensed the truth instantly. Before I arrived, soldiers had turned spears on officers and the commander. Gods. Mutinies happened, but shocking still.
Sensing my shock, he grinned.
"Yes. But no issue—comrades accept me as leader."
"The officers?"
"All dead."
As expected, but hearing it hit hard.
I bit my lip.
"So you've rebelled for the Guard. Why the courtesy to me?"
The soldiers laughed.
"We respect you, sir. Wouldn't slight the governor toiling on the frontier for the empire.
But we'll deliver you to the Guard as ordered. Respect and enmity are clear."
I closed my eyes.
No fool here—this was a trap. I'd walked into it.
But they were mere soldiers.
Legionaries could read and write, but few were clever. Simple calculus for survival, yes; complex schemes, no. Unfamiliar territory.
I thought coldly.
Intimidate them first.
I opened my eyes, staring them down.
"Fine, if that's your wish. But first, one thing to know."
"Speak, sir."
"I came because barbarians breached the border. A horde's overrun our sector, pushing into the heartland. That's why I'm here—to discuss repelling them. That's all."
I shut my mouth.
They panicked.
"Barbarians breached? What?"
"No word here. If true, news would've come before you."
"If you think that, you're fools. Frontier borders stretch forever. They slip through unnoticed easily—especially cavalry."
Plausible lie.
They wavered, confused. I sensed it would work.
"How prove it's not lies?"
"By tomorrow, word spreads everywhere. Why lie if time reveals truth?"
Serious faces now.
(To be continued in the next chapter)