Post by Ismaea & Tingitanaea on May 22, 2012 22:20:14 GMT -5
Phoedetis Novapolis
Tingitanaea Superior
It was still early in the morning and already the sun brought the promise of a hot summer.
Gaios Porcios Dento felt the heat all too well as he took his usual walk through the vineyards, and by the time he passed back through the villa’s wooden gates he was sweating freely. In the courtyard Dento paused long enough to have a pair of slaves remove his tunic and smallclothes before diving into the pool of cold water that stood in the courtyard’s center. He re-emerged spluttering.
“Did my dominos enjoy his morning constitutional?” Demetrios stood at the edge of the pool, the slave’s bronze tag of ownership glinting in the sunlight.
“I did,” Dento allowed, eyeing the wax tablet Demetrios held. “Must our work begin so early today?”
“Unfortunately so, dominos. The burden of a vicarios is a heavy one indeed.”
Was Demetrios mocking him, Dento wondered. Archaean slaves were useful, but it was important to continually remind them of their place. “If we must,” he grudgingly conceded, hauling himself and motioning another slave to fetch him a towel.
Dento’s wife Valeria and their two children were away visiting her family in Larbaeum, and so he ate breakfast alone at a table set in the shade of a spreading tree in the villa courtyard. Demetrios stood beside him, making notations on his tablet as Dento filled a plate with dates, slices of cold sausage and rough flatbread.
“What do we have for this morning?” he asked through a mouthful of food.
“Preparations must be made for next Third Day,” Demetrios replied, “Including a speech on your part to mark the occasion.”
“A speech? What is next Third Day?”
“The anniversary of the fall of Amoraea, dominos. The tenth anniversary, to be precise.”
“Is it? I’d completely forgotten.”
Dento would never forget the day itself. He had still been enjoying his new appointment as vicarios when a fast galley had arrived in Phoedetis Novapolis with the unthinkable news of the Emperor's death and the sack of Amoraea. The province had been consumed with terror and despair; supplies were stockpiled, levies were called up, and inhabitants of the capital braced themselves for an attack by the Northmen. But as the weeks passed and a heathen fleet failed to appear on the horizon, Dento found himself beginning to consider the future with anticipation rather than dread. Perhaps Amoraea's fall did not mark an end, but instead the beginning of a new order. The provinces of the Empire were lost and leaderless; they needed a leader with the vision and strength to forge them together into a new power. Dento could think of no one better deserving of that role than himself.
“It is, dominos. The episcopos will be delivering his usual sermon.”
“Well then, let’s just re-use the same speech I gave last year. How I pledge my undying devotion to the Empire and forever be its humble servant. The usual.”
Dento had not lain idle in the years since Amoraea's fall. He had built up his power base among Tingitanaea's oldest and most powerful houses, wooing some with lavish gifts and high offices while making an example of those who sought to oppose him. The houses of Tingitanaea had fallen into line, and Dento had married a daughter of Lucios Valerios, the richest man in the praeside.
More soldiers had been trained, a second legion raised to complement the scattered XII Flavia Constantiniana, and through gold and sweat an army was forged. A program of public works -- new agorae, new basilicae, an amphitheatre in Nafur and a second aquaduct for Phoedetis Novapolis -- had turned his seat from a dull provincial port into a city worthy of Dento's ambition. The new constructions had served a practical purpose as well, employing hundreds of craftsmen and spreading the name of Gaios Porcios Dento across Tingitanaea. Free bread and wine had bought him the love of the poor, who toasted the name of Dento in the winesinks and tenements of Nafur and Phoedetis Novapolis. It had taken ten years, but Tingitanaea was his. But Gaios Porcios Dento wanted more than Tingitanaea.
"What else?" he asked.
"An outbreak of summer fever in the Poor Quarter, dominos, raiders on the Cisalpine border, and a message from Ismaea."
"Ismaea?" The name made Dento perk up. He hated Ismaea. Everything about it -- the lancing wind, the burning sand, the scalding heat of day and bitter cold of night -- conspired to fill him with the utmost misery and loathing. In consequence the vicarios rarely stirred from his villa in Phoedetis Novapolis, preferring to remain among the vineyards and cool sea breezes of Tingitanaea's provincial capital while some hapless praeses or procurator dealt with the tribal feuds and inscrutable ways of Ismaea's tough and treacherous people. "A message, you say?"
"Indeed, dominos, from your servant the praeses Rabbah."
Titos Duros Rabbah was the son of a merchant family in Nafur who owed his political office to Dento, replacing the last praeses who had tried to split from the rest of the Diocese. Rabbah was Dento's man through and through, or so Dento hoped. "What does he say?"
Demetrios studied his notes carefully. "He speaks of rumors, dominos. There's talk in the riads and bazaars of Bethaminael that the Aminael will soon be choosing a successor."
Dento's heart skipped a beat. The Aminael choosing a successor? He had tried for years to bring the fractious houses of the Sand Sea into line behind him, with little result. Their chieftains and house heads were plied with wine, gold, and arms in exchange for their eternal friendship and an alliance with Dento. This the chieftains swore with solemn oaths, but a month later they would be back to fighting each other and raiding into Tingitanaea. No one could hold them to their word... except the Aminael. When the Aminael spoke men in Ismaea listened, and when the Aminael summoned the houses to war they came in their thousands. And now Dento had a chance to make the Aminael his own creature.
"Demetrios, speak with Quintos and make the necessary preparations for travel."
Demetrios paused, stylus poised over his tablet. "Travel, dominos? To where?"
"To Ismaea," Dento replied. To win back the lands of Amoraea under his own banner required Dento to possess gold and soldiers. Ismaea, for all its failings, could furnish both. Once he had the support of Tingitanaeans and Ismaeans alike, Dento could begin to change the two provinces under his administration into a kingdom ready to replace Amoraea as the center of the world. Once long before, he'd promised to himself that it would take an act of God to get him to return to Ismaea. Now, it seemed he had it.
Tingitanaea Superior
It was still early in the morning and already the sun brought the promise of a hot summer.
Gaios Porcios Dento felt the heat all too well as he took his usual walk through the vineyards, and by the time he passed back through the villa’s wooden gates he was sweating freely. In the courtyard Dento paused long enough to have a pair of slaves remove his tunic and smallclothes before diving into the pool of cold water that stood in the courtyard’s center. He re-emerged spluttering.
“Did my dominos enjoy his morning constitutional?” Demetrios stood at the edge of the pool, the slave’s bronze tag of ownership glinting in the sunlight.
“I did,” Dento allowed, eyeing the wax tablet Demetrios held. “Must our work begin so early today?”
“Unfortunately so, dominos. The burden of a vicarios is a heavy one indeed.”
Was Demetrios mocking him, Dento wondered. Archaean slaves were useful, but it was important to continually remind them of their place. “If we must,” he grudgingly conceded, hauling himself and motioning another slave to fetch him a towel.
Dento’s wife Valeria and their two children were away visiting her family in Larbaeum, and so he ate breakfast alone at a table set in the shade of a spreading tree in the villa courtyard. Demetrios stood beside him, making notations on his tablet as Dento filled a plate with dates, slices of cold sausage and rough flatbread.
“What do we have for this morning?” he asked through a mouthful of food.
“Preparations must be made for next Third Day,” Demetrios replied, “Including a speech on your part to mark the occasion.”
“A speech? What is next Third Day?”
“The anniversary of the fall of Amoraea, dominos. The tenth anniversary, to be precise.”
“Is it? I’d completely forgotten.”
Dento would never forget the day itself. He had still been enjoying his new appointment as vicarios when a fast galley had arrived in Phoedetis Novapolis with the unthinkable news of the Emperor's death and the sack of Amoraea. The province had been consumed with terror and despair; supplies were stockpiled, levies were called up, and inhabitants of the capital braced themselves for an attack by the Northmen. But as the weeks passed and a heathen fleet failed to appear on the horizon, Dento found himself beginning to consider the future with anticipation rather than dread. Perhaps Amoraea's fall did not mark an end, but instead the beginning of a new order. The provinces of the Empire were lost and leaderless; they needed a leader with the vision and strength to forge them together into a new power. Dento could think of no one better deserving of that role than himself.
“It is, dominos. The episcopos will be delivering his usual sermon.”
“Well then, let’s just re-use the same speech I gave last year. How I pledge my undying devotion to the Empire and forever be its humble servant. The usual.”
Dento had not lain idle in the years since Amoraea's fall. He had built up his power base among Tingitanaea's oldest and most powerful houses, wooing some with lavish gifts and high offices while making an example of those who sought to oppose him. The houses of Tingitanaea had fallen into line, and Dento had married a daughter of Lucios Valerios, the richest man in the praeside.
More soldiers had been trained, a second legion raised to complement the scattered XII Flavia Constantiniana, and through gold and sweat an army was forged. A program of public works -- new agorae, new basilicae, an amphitheatre in Nafur and a second aquaduct for Phoedetis Novapolis -- had turned his seat from a dull provincial port into a city worthy of Dento's ambition. The new constructions had served a practical purpose as well, employing hundreds of craftsmen and spreading the name of Gaios Porcios Dento across Tingitanaea. Free bread and wine had bought him the love of the poor, who toasted the name of Dento in the winesinks and tenements of Nafur and Phoedetis Novapolis. It had taken ten years, but Tingitanaea was his. But Gaios Porcios Dento wanted more than Tingitanaea.
"What else?" he asked.
"An outbreak of summer fever in the Poor Quarter, dominos, raiders on the Cisalpine border, and a message from Ismaea."
"Ismaea?" The name made Dento perk up. He hated Ismaea. Everything about it -- the lancing wind, the burning sand, the scalding heat of day and bitter cold of night -- conspired to fill him with the utmost misery and loathing. In consequence the vicarios rarely stirred from his villa in Phoedetis Novapolis, preferring to remain among the vineyards and cool sea breezes of Tingitanaea's provincial capital while some hapless praeses or procurator dealt with the tribal feuds and inscrutable ways of Ismaea's tough and treacherous people. "A message, you say?"
"Indeed, dominos, from your servant the praeses Rabbah."
Titos Duros Rabbah was the son of a merchant family in Nafur who owed his political office to Dento, replacing the last praeses who had tried to split from the rest of the Diocese. Rabbah was Dento's man through and through, or so Dento hoped. "What does he say?"
Demetrios studied his notes carefully. "He speaks of rumors, dominos. There's talk in the riads and bazaars of Bethaminael that the Aminael will soon be choosing a successor."
Dento's heart skipped a beat. The Aminael choosing a successor? He had tried for years to bring the fractious houses of the Sand Sea into line behind him, with little result. Their chieftains and house heads were plied with wine, gold, and arms in exchange for their eternal friendship and an alliance with Dento. This the chieftains swore with solemn oaths, but a month later they would be back to fighting each other and raiding into Tingitanaea. No one could hold them to their word... except the Aminael. When the Aminael spoke men in Ismaea listened, and when the Aminael summoned the houses to war they came in their thousands. And now Dento had a chance to make the Aminael his own creature.
"Demetrios, speak with Quintos and make the necessary preparations for travel."
Demetrios paused, stylus poised over his tablet. "Travel, dominos? To where?"
"To Ismaea," Dento replied. To win back the lands of Amoraea under his own banner required Dento to possess gold and soldiers. Ismaea, for all its failings, could furnish both. Once he had the support of Tingitanaeans and Ismaeans alike, Dento could begin to change the two provinces under his administration into a kingdom ready to replace Amoraea as the center of the world. Once long before, he'd promised to himself that it would take an act of God to get him to return to Ismaea. Now, it seemed he had it.
