Pax Romana

treachery!!!!the zulus had a change in governments and made peace with the Arabs?!
punish them!end their sorry existence! :mad:
 
Guys, you seem to forget he's overstretched as it is. :(
 
I wonder how will the Zulu warriors react...
 
Wow, thanks to all for reading and enjoying the story so far. Didn't write yesterday, it was beautiful out so I cleared a bit more of my back yard during the day and took my daughter to the beach during the late afternoon.

And yes, the Romans are stretched very thin.

More in about: 30 seconds
 
“
“Great Caesar, ever have our people been friends and brothers. How can you deny us the aid we need now in this our most terrible of times?”

“Chief Ten Bears, the Horse People of the Iroquois are indeed stalwart comrades and trusted companions, however, Rome does not have the people to spare, nor the soldiers you ask for in your struggle against the Mayans.”

The Iroquois ambassador scowled. “Does Rome not help us because he has already sided against us with the filthy Mayan people?”

“No, mighty chief. Your King is very aware that we have no agreements, either public or clandestine, with your northern neighbors. It is merely as I stated, Rome does not have the resources you ask for. Our joint struggles against Egyptian and Arabian aggressions have taxed our warriors and economy to the limit. We do not even have the power to muster to aid the Zulus in their own fight against the Caliph Abu.”

“Do not take me for a fool, Great Caesar. All the peoples know that the Zulu are speaking with the Arabs now about establishing peace and a cessation of hostilities.”

“Maybe, Chief Ten Bears. But that doesn’t stop the Caliph’s forces from continuing their despoliation of the Zulu homeland. That hasn’t stopped the burning of the fields and slaying of the citizens. Even now, the Zulu city of Mpondo has fallen to the rampaging Arab forces.” Caesar shook his head. “The Zulu are talking of peace because they have no choice. They are like starving men holding out a bowl for scraps.”

“Great Caesar should devote his forces not to the weakening Zulus then. If their war is to end soon, your soldiers will be available for battle. If their war is to continue, then they will fall and no amount of Roman aid will forestall the inevitable. Either way, the Horse People need your help. Send us your armies. Aid us.”

“I’m sorry, chief. Your king will have to struggle against the Mayans without us. Rome simply does not have the man power.”

The Iroquois chief stood up, his form still and indignant. “Then we have nothing more to say. The Iroquois people will not forget this slight, Great Caesar.” Turning, he stormed out of the Roman throne room, his back stiff and his shoulders set. The door closed behind the departing ambassador, leaving the King alone and troubled over the decision he had to make.

**

“Mighty Caesar, King of the Romans, the Mayans have always been nothing less than your brothers. We asked you in good faith for your aid, yet you still cannot find it within your great people to aid us in our struggles?”

Lord Caesar closed his eyes, squinting, trying to relieve the pressure building beneath his forehead. Didn’t I just have this conversation only a fortnight ago? “Dozen Pythons, King of the Mayans, we have heard your request. We heard it weeks ago when it was first delivered. There was no reason for you to make the long trip to see me. Our decision is now as it was then, Rome cannot aid you in your fight with the Iroquois.”

The Mayan King scowled, his broad features deeply complimenting the displeasure on his face. “The Romans and the Mayans have always helped each other. When the Egyptians were warring, we fought her aggression together. What is the difference in this?”

“We do not have the resources to aid in your struggle. Most of our cities are still severely lacking in viable forces. Our borders are weak and suffer from daily raids from the Caliph’s attackers. King Jumanga has signed a treaty with the Caliph after the tragic siege and loss of Mpondo. This now has my people sharing a border with the Arab Nation, and as such makes them even more nervous.”

“The Romans have run over the Carthage people. The Romans have run over the Egypt people. Rome has no absence of strength. We are asking for that strength now.”

Caesar tried to keep the exhaustion from his voice. “Dozen Pythons, I cannot help you in this. I don’t have the manpower. I’m really sorry.”

“The city of Allegheny is doomed to fall to us, but we do not have the strength to push must past there. And if we cannot, then the important ranches of Oil Springs will supply the Horse People with new and fresh mounts, allowing them to raid my people with impunity. They declare war often, upsetting the populous and looting the citizens. I am only seeking to curtail their banditry and pillaging.”

“I understand, truly I do. But maybe you just haven’t heard me. Rome does not have the resources to help you.”

The Mayan king stared blankly at Caesar, blinking rapidly. “I think I understand.” He rose, bowing to his Roman counterpart. “I will leave now. When Rome is able to aid us in this matter, we will return then.” He left the chamber unfazed by the incredulous look on Caesar’s face.

**

“Thank you for meeting with King Caesar.”

“Yes, King Jumanga. Always time to meet with the leader of the Zulu peoples. Ever have our two civilizations been in harmony with each other.” After shaking the other man's hand, both leaders sat. "I am pleased that your peace negotions with the Caliph of Arabia went well."

The tall Zulu nodded. “Yes. However, I have an important matter to discuss, and could think of none that would be able to handle it then you.”

“What can I and Rome do for you, King Jumanga?”

“We would like you to respect the sovereignty of our people and remove your forces from near Zimbabwe.” He paused. “Unless you’re considering their presence an act of aggression?”

Caesar sat there stunned, unable to respond, his mouth hanging open in shock. Collecting his wits, he said, “Near Zimbabwe? King Jumanga, in case you’ve forgotten, we are at war with the Arab Nation. Our army is engaging in combat with the Ansar Warriors sent by Caliph Abu to attack our own settlement.” He wrung his hands, surprised at the request and unsure how to explain, the what seemd to be, obvious situation. “We’re fighting these men. You want us to vacate your lands? What about the Arabs?”

The Zulu sat there non-plussed by the outburst. “We have already requested the Caliph remove his forces and he assured us it was a mistake and will move them from our territory. I would hope the Romans would be as…accommodating.”

Caesar said nothing.

“As to the combat, that is an aggressive action taking place on Zulu land. Not Roman land. I suggest you have the battle moved to your own territory before your people do unplanned damage to my country.” He rose. “Can I expect you to comply with our wishes? Or is the former friendship of the Romans on worth talking about when blood is being spilt?”

The Roman king stood slowly, still amazed at what he was hearing. “If this is what the Zulu people want, we shall only do our best and comply. I’ll have the army pulled off your lands as soon as possible.”

“Good.” King Jumanga turned and left, saying nothing else as he exited the chamber.

Caesar slumped into his throne, rubbing his head and the ever-present headache he sported again. Zeus help me. How much more bad news and diplomatic stumbles do we have to work through?
 
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Marakuru kicked the dirt. He stared deeply at the upset soil, oblivious to the warriors gathered around him. He tired to picture what the pile of good earth had looked like before it was destroyed. Even though it had just happened, he could not remember it with any real clarity, only the idea of what the earth had looked like.

A hand gripped his shoulder. He looked, seeing the saddened face of Prospero, his friend and mentor, studying him. “Let it go, Marakuru. We’ve done what we’ve can.”

“We’ve done nothing.” He hunched under the comforting grip, letting the hand slid away. “We could have done something, but we did not. Why?” He asked rhetorically. Continuing without pause, “Because our King was murdered.”

“There is no proof of that.”

“Bah! Proof! What is proof? Jumanga wears the crown but is not King. Proaga was our King. The last descendant from our ancestor’s line. Strong. Proud. Superior. He is our king. This pretender is not. He has somehow slain our real king with witchery and foul humours, usurping the throne and shaming us all!”

The Roman let his young charge continue his tirade, the rest of the warriors listening as well.

“We had slain many of the Arab forces. We had made advances on their supply lines and supports. We had begun our storming of Isandhlwana, supported within the city by thousands and thousands of good Zulu nationals. And then the promised support fails. Why? King Jumanga says so. Then the city of Mpondo falls. Why? We are unable to defend it. Then we go to peace. What price? What few coins and riches we still own after we were plundered by the Egyptians are happily handed over to our foe.” He slammed his spear into the ground. “If this is not a betrayal of the Zulu people, then what is?!”

“Marakuru, what is the first thing you learned of diplomacy? You cannot fight a battle of words the same way you fight a battle of swords.” The older Roman sighed. “King Jumanga is your king now, like it or not. He has called for peace with the Caliph, like it or not. He has even sent the Roman army from your borders, once more closing the land to all outsiders, like it or not.” He looked about, “In fact, you might be charged with sedition between your words as well as the company you are keeping, specifically me.”

The young Impi shook his head. “It is wrong, Roman. This you know.” There was a murmur of assent through the assembled men.

Prospero shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It doesn’t matter what I know.” He picked up his bags, slinging them over his horse’s back, tying the laces into the saddle frame. “It’s not men and warriors who make the laws, young man. It is the kings and powerful who do.” Placing his foot in the stirrup, he flung his leg over the horses back and sat heavily in his saddle. “Remember that my young friend. For now, our struggle is finished. Go to your homes and tend to your crops. But never forget that a real warrior is never forgotten as long as his heart is true and his path straight.” Kicking slightly, his steed cantered away, heading eastward towards the distant Roman border.

Marakuru and the remaining Impi loyal to him, watched the veteran soldier ride off. “Roman!” He called.

Prospero turned in his seat, but didn’t stop. “Yes, young master?”

The Zulu drew himself to his full height. “I will not forget you and your words. I will not be forgotten! I will be true to my heart and the path!”

The Roman smiled. “I expected nothing less!” He bowed his head in respect to the foreign boy who was more than a son to him. “May your ancestors watch over you and keep you safe.”

Marakuru bowed back, deeper and from the waist. The assembled Zulus with him did likewise, a wave of hundreds and thousands of warriors, both young and old, paying respects to the traveler who had taught and fought and bled with them for more moons than they could count. Marakuru called out, “And may yours meet you off the battle fields and bring you home!”

In silent camaraderie, they watched him ride away until his form was lost on the horizon. “Zulus!” Marakuru called out. “We must never forget where we came from and who we are!” He waited a moment and then added, “Regardless of who sits on the throne of Shaka Zulu!”

Looking out, he took in their wide eyes and questioning stares. “We are Zulu! We were here when the stars fell! We were the first warriors! We are the same warriors! And when the earth is cold and the star go out, we will still be here…as the last warriors! For Zulu! Zulu! Zulu!”

“ZULU! ZULU! ZULU!”

When the chant echoed away, the young warrior held up his hands. “As we return to our homes and our families, remember these words and the path that led us here. For the day will come when we will once more walk the path of glory and our people can reclaim their place once more! For we are warriors and children of warriors, and as such, those that lead us astray will have to face our swords and spears on day! Death to the enemies of Zulu!”

“DEATH TO THE ENEMIES OF ZULU!”

And to those who slay her kings, he thought. Jumanga, the day will come when we have a reckoning.
 
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Yes I know. I did a number of papers mythology during my college years. One of the things that the Romans did is assimilate and adapt all the local cultures to their own. Obviously the largest early influences is the greeks.

Not every Roman God name is as...cool sounding, as its greek counterpart. Zeus is one of them. Jupiter just never did it. Can you see yourself actually using the word Jupiter in a sentance, a swear, a curse, a prayer? Doesn't sound right. But Zeus! Man that just rocks!

Same thing with Mars as opposed to Ares. Its the whole 1 sylabel thing that makes a curse or plead roll off the tongue. You'll never hear some one say Jesus Dammit! or Jehovah Dammit! or Allah Dammit or Yahweh Dammit! But you'll easily hear God Dammit!

Just for me. If it makes you feel better, you can "read" Jupiter, but for me, (and 60% of the characters in the story!) Zeus just sells the boat for us.

My 2 cents.

PS - more coming in a bit - writing as we speak.

V
 
Creo held his breath. His back was pressed as tight as he could make it against the darkened, soot-covered walls of the western gate. Above him, the strange speaking men currently in charge of Caesaraugusta stopped on their rounds along the wall, sharing a pipe of some sweet smelling tobacco before continuing on their patrol. When he could no longer hear their voices clearly, he let out his tension with a low hissing whistle. Cautiously, he resumed his climb, awkwardly scaling the battlements of the captured Roman city.

His fingers stole over the crenellations, pulling his dark cowled head over their edge. Looking quickly right and left, he flung his body over the top and crouched low in the shadows, keeping his body and out of the firelight. Once he was sure that his stealthy climb and infiltration had gone unnoticed, he crept along the walkway, heading for the barbican gateway and eventually, the ground floor.

Over the intervening months, the Arab forces had grown lax. Roman scouts and rangers had kept communication with the main body of the Arabian army at a minimum. This had led the controlling forces to believe themselves to be safe; secure in their perch and able to meet what concerns arose with a minor amount of fuss. Such as now.

Creo had left General Gaius and the entire Roman Knight Legionnaires some ¾ kilometers west northwest of the city. He promised results within two hours, and he planned on delivering; since the army would be risking detection the longer they stayed afield.

Quietly, he stole across the courtyard, a wisp of cloaked shadow in the darkened square, undetected by the lazy guardians. With silent fingers, he opened the latch to the 1st sally port, placing the locking pin inside the closest rain bucket to hide it from the casual searcher. He continued north, unlocking the next 2 sally ports as well.

He picked his way across town, darting from shadow to shadow. To dodge a noisy patrol, he was forced to seek refuge in a dustbin, his cowl pulled tight, muffling his wheezes and coughs. When the coast was clear, he emerged, wiped himself down, and then proceeded to open the next gateway.

His luck seemed to end at the 5th door. There, a pair of sneaking Arabs were leaning against the iron bound portal, sharing a drink and laughing. He knew they had to be removed both suddenly and softly. He drew forth a sling, placed a smooth stone in its pouch and in two quick revolutions, sent the missile to fly.

It struck on of the turbaned warriors behind the ear, dropping him suddenly. Before his companion could raise an alarm, he was choking on his own blood, his neck hot and in pain from the slicing blade drawn across it. Creo cradled the sputtering Arab, lowering his dying form easily to the ground. A quick slash ended the 1st Saracen’s potential threat. Satisfied that both men were taken care of, he opened the door, dragged their bodies into the alleyway behind the pigsty, and pressed on.

With all possible entranceways opened, Creo made his way to the former granary. The building had fallen to disuse over the last six months of occupation, with precious little food coming in from the slackly worked fields to merit any type of surplus crop. Instead, the Arabs had taken to placing long stemmed grains and hay there to feed their horses. The Roman operative smiled.

He entered the unlocked building, his keen eyes picking up only disturbed rodents and tons of musty grains. He unslung the bladder of whale oil from his waist, spraying the flammable liquid everywhere. When he was finished, he threw the spent skin further into the building. Crouching, he drew flint and steel, striking them repeatedly. The sparks flew, igniting the oil soaked hay. Creo waited long enough to make sure the flames were spreading before he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Already, he could hear the cries of alarm as the fire and smoke began billowing out of the abandoned granary. Picking his way back across the curfewed city, he stole his way to the nearest gate, eased his form outside, and closed the door behind him. He then ran, trusting to his speed, his camouflage, and the distracting fire to keep him safe and unseen. He found his way back to his horse, the satisfied mare nickering as he approached. Mounting up, he lovingly rubbed her neck and waited.

The rumble of horses grew louder and in short order, the Knight Legionnaires gave forth their battle cry, horns blaring, voices raised. The swept across the fields and farms, attacking the surprised and unprepared defenders. Creo watched the battle only long enough to see the pale banner of the Arabian people fall from the closest parapet of Caesaraugusta.

Satisfied, he turned his mount northward, riding back to his new home of Lugdunum. There was nothing wrong with the great city, but it was a far cry from his former dwelling. His father, Baron Leofsig Uticus was always telling him though, “It doesn’t where you live Creo Uticus, as long as the stars shine above, you’ll always have a home to come back to.” He had never thought about his place in the royal pecking order; 4th son, no chance for a real inheritance. He was free to do what and whatever he wanted.

Now, all he wanted was to see his family again and go back to the home that was stolen from him. But it was not to be. Squaring his shoulders, the last surviving member of the royal house of Uticus, descended from the ancient Carthaginian people and of recent years, the Romans, rode bravely and without complaint to his new home. The home he was forced to live in; since the Saracen raiders had burned Utica to the ground.
 
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Senator Tiberius looked on with disdain at the parchment upon his desk. “And just how do you consider this to be a fair proposal, Sultan Rasheed?”

The Arabian diplomat appeared surprised. “Ah, so Senator Tiberius does not think this is fair? It is plainly written. It is a cessation of hostilities between your people and mine. It seems quite plain and obvious that both our peoples are and have suffered much in this latest conflict. Unless the Latin people have not yet had their fill of war. If so, I am sure that the Caliph would be willing to accommodate your needs.”

Tiberius frowned. “Don’t play games with me. If things were different, both of us know that our forces could sweep over your people like Neptune’s Chariot.”

“Don’t be too sure about that, Roman. All we must need do is declare a jihad against you and yours and the seas will weep blood for a year and a day.”

“Nice, real nice. Have your soldiers slaughtered any women lately? That’s all they’re good for is hurting the women and the weak.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, we just trounced the Roman people not too long ago, wasn’t all that difficult.”

“You…you…” Tiberius struggled to keep from exploding. Sultan Rasheed seemed to have difficulty calming himself as well. Breathing deeply, the Senator forced himself to relax. “It’s obvious that we have a way to go before we can deal peacefully in all things with each other.”

The mustached Arab nodded. “In this, I concede. Peace is a tenuous thing, like a spider’s web it is. But a spider’s web can be strong as well if it is needed to be.”

“Agreed.” Tiberius returned his attention to the treaty. “My concerns were not in regards to the terms of peace, that is spelled out and amenable. I’m speaking of the remuneration. The payment of the war crimes against me and my people.”

The Sultan frowned. “Payment? War crimes? What are you talking about?”

“Uhm, let’s see. The beheadings at Caesaraugusta, the burning of Utica, the enslavement of Roman citizens, the pillaging…”

“Now see here!” he interrupted. “We’ve never enslaved anyone! That’s a barbaric statement and I take offense to it.”

“Then who where the line of chained women and children that your tramped through King Proaga’s land after the last building in Utica fell? Just about every Zulu saw the atrocity, it’s what made them that much more anxious to take up arms against you.”

Rasheed shrugged. “What do they know. There was no such thing. It is a trick to get us to go back to war with each other. I would not believe those dark skinned devils as far as I can throw them.” He waved his jeweled hands. “Barring the slave issue, you’ve made your point. Well, we are a reasonable people, how does 20,000 of your lira sound.”

“It sounds like an insult. You are not selling me a rug, Sultan. You are paying me and mine for the atrocities your ‘soldiers’ committed.” Tiberius unrolled a sheaf of parchment. “According to our latest notes, your people have…let’s see…lets call it 196,000 equivalent liras in your treasury. Give us that and we’ll sign your peace treaty.”

The Arabian sputtered. His cheeks blew out and his color deepened. “What?!?! That’s an outrage! I will not sign it!”

Tiberius grinned. “Understood. Then sign over the garrisons of either Mpondo or Isandhlwana. Neither city is yours by rights.”

“Preposterous! We own those cities by the compact of war and conquest. We will not give them up.”

Tiberius nodded. “Then we are at an impasse. I will not sign anything unless you either relinquish a city you’ve subjugated, or empty your treasury to us.” He leaned forward, pressing the quill into the Sultan’s hand. “Mind you, this is a limited offer. If I leave here without the treaty signed for either of those conditions, I can promise you the full might of the Roman army thrown at your doorstep before the winter snows melt. And at that time, we will not be able to be bought off.” He sat back. “So sign it and let’s get this done, or don’t, and see how far we can take this war.”

The Arabian ambassador fumed, twirling the pen rapidly in his grip. “Fine,” he growled from clenched lips. “Fine. Take our treasury. Take it damn you!” He scribbled the huge figure of the Arabian’s holdings and monies across the treaty, followed by a flourish with his name. “Damned Roman bastard. Allah’ll have a special hell picked out for you and yours, mark my words.”

Tiberius gave the treaty a final once over and then signed his own name. Smiling, “I’m sure, Sultan. I’m sure. Lord Caesar will expect the monies to be sent to us no later than 3 weeks from this date. Failure to pay will of course mark this treaty as null and void…and resumption of hostilities will follow immediately.”

Sultan Rasheed stood, grabbing his own copy of the treaty. "You’ll get your money Roman. I hope your people choke on it.” Tiberius only smiled as he watched the furious Saracen storm out, on his way back home to tell his sure to be pissed off Caliph the bad news. The Senator laughed long and hard. At long last, the Roman people were at peace.
 
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foul humours
Click to expand...

LOL, when I looked at it the first time I thought that he said "foul humor". Weird for a Zulu king to die from that... :lol:

“Nice, real nice. Have your soldiers slaughtered any women lately? That’s all they’re good for is hurting the women and the weak.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, we just trounced the Roman people not too long ago, wasn’t all that difficult.”
Click to expand...

Ouch.

Peace with the Arabs?! Blasphemy! Overthrow the government and rename all the cities!
 
Whew - 4 updates yesterday. Hope that makes up for taking Sunday off (Silver ;) ). As for the Arabs, I would love to have continued riding over them, but the Zulu had gone to peace and were getting ticked off that I was in their territory. I needed them as a buffer/friend for now, so I went for peace - to built my infrastructure and to replace and bolster my very stretched army.

As for the 2 threats- Arabs are larger, but Egypt is closer - and I have had too many problems with her throughout this game and others as well - she'll be the next to go. If I can take her down, then I'll own the entire eastern area of the continent.

More today - later on. Thanks again to all.

V
 
Kirus held his glass high, the deep purple wine sloshing slightly as it threatened to spill over the side. “Never afore and never again, will any o’ us ‘ave the pleasure, nay the privilege, to serve under a man and cap’n as wonderful as Thrium, or ‘board a vessel as glorious as th’ Thundercloud, again. To Cap’n Thrium and the Furious Thundercloud; may Neptune guard ‘em and keep ‘em well.”

“To Thrium and the Thundercloud.”

When the wine was finished and the toast complete, Lord Caesar laid his hands gently on either side of the faded and stained logs that the deck master had delivered to him. “Master Kirus,” he said, his voice soft, “We thank you for the precious maps and books you’ve brought back to Rome.” The weathered sailor nodded in thanks. “We also thank you and the crew for the deeply moving stories of your encounters and actions over the years you spent at sea, as well as the years it took you to make your way home.”

“It’s been a long time, Lord Caesar.”

The council chamber was quiet, the gathered senators, nobles, and captains and harbormasters of Rome’s docks and other vessels still digesting the fantastic story. The remains of lunch and dinner, as well as the dozens of courtiers and servants still standing about, attested to the time and attention spent on the hearing of the fantastic tale.

Kirus sat down, his body tired; the exhaustion showing plainly on his face and the face of the remaining 40 odd assembled crew. “Over 200 good lads were lost durin’ the voyage a’ sea; maybe 150 during the final struggle ‘gainst the Phyrigians.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “We lost ‘nother twelve good boys runnin’ from the Sar’cens, and ‘nother nine while we were encamped a’ one o’ their slaveries.” Many of the men were openly tearing at this point, their bodies shuddering as they remembered the cruel treatment they had received during their temporary capture.

“The Zulus, Neptune bless their souls, broke us free. Damnedest sight you ever did see, Lord Caesar. Thousands o’ them crazed runners stormin’ the camp, slayin’ the Sar’cens. Young buck o’ a leader, can’ ‘member his name righ’ now, cut th’ bars and welcomed us as brothers. Some rogue legionnaire travelin’ with ‘em, Prospero, gave us the lay and low down as ta wot’s been happenin’. We grabbed our stuff and hightailed it home. Lost the last six o’ our number durin’ the long, long march home.” He looked fondly about the tables, smiling at each crewman that sat here, the pride showing plainly even under the weariness tainting their features. “And tha’, Lord Caesar, is tha’.”

“I speak for all gathered here, that you and yours deserve our respect and thanks.” He looked pointedly about the room, settling on his eldest son, Commodus, the heir apparent slouching across the table, face held in hands. He frowned. “Your deeds have exemplified what it is to be a citizen of Rome. And for that, you shall be commended.”

“We thank ya, Lord Caesar.”

The Roman king flicked his fingers. “No, I thank you.” Pointing to his naval commander, “Admiral Menedies.” The bearded officer stood. “I want these men all given promotions to whatever their next rankings might be.”

“Ay, Ay, Caesar.”

“In addition, I want these men to draw whatever pay is due to them for their time away from Rome. I want them paid at whatever their new rank dictates. In addition, each man is to draw a bonus of 200 lira apiece as a bonus for abilities and skills above and beyond the call of duty.”

“As you wish, Caesar.”

He held up his hand, forestalling the Admiral from leaving. “I also want the roster of the Furious Thundercloud checked. In addition to whatever pay they would have draw at their old rate, I want the families of every missing sailor and soldier that shipped out sent the same 200 lira bonus as well.”

“At your command, Caesar.” He stood unmoving for a moment, waiting for another order to be given. Finally, he bowed quickly and left to make the required arrangements.

The survivors murmured their thanks to the King, many of them unable to stop the now steady stream of tears from clouding their eyes. Using the table as support, Kirus stood once more and asked in a voice thick with emotion, “If Lord Caesar would give us one more boon?”

“Anything.”

“We’d just like ta go home.”

Staring at the sobbing man and the equally afflicted crew, Caesar stood stiffly at attention, placed his hand over his heart, and saluted Kirus and his men. The council chamber followed in suit. “As you wish, Kirus. We shall take up no more of your time. At some other point, I will speak with you at length, but for now, you have my respect and my leave.”

Moved, the men stood, returning the honors and salutes paid to them. Supporting each other, the remnant crew of the Furious Thundercloud left the council chamber and entered the city proper of Rome; home at last.
 
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Thanks Mistfit! Missed the crazed clown from the comment section for a while. Glad you're back.

As for more to catch up on...here it comes

V
 
Iuldias knocked on the door softly. From within, he heard the muffled, “Enter.” With great care, he placed his shaking hand on the handle and pushed. A gust of air billowed out, warming the former general.

“Am I disturbing you?” His voice still had the trace of a slur in it, the words distorted slightly by the partial paralysis of the left side of his face, but the former command was still obvious to hear.

“No, not at all. Come in, General.”

Iuldias chuckled as he shut the door behind him and using his cane, walked slowly to the laden desk. “General. Brutius, you are too kind by half.”

The brawny, dark haired Brutius smiled kindly. “I’ll always think of you as my General, sir.”

Sitting slowly on one of the few available chairs, Iuldias waved depreciatingly. “Maybe. That was some years back now. Different times, different days.” He sighed. “I hear we’ve begun commerce with the Egyptians again. Damned strange.”

Brutius shrugged. “The world keeps moving, general. There is a demand for our gems and jewelry and they are willing to barter good coins each season. Plus we can’t live in hatred of our neighbors forever. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“What about the difficulties in Giza? Are you going to tell me that the Egyptian Queen had nothing to do with riling up the native populous there? Its taken very long time to establish control there. Only recently were they able to finish both the Temple of Zeus and the Marcus Royal Library and Symposium. According to Lord Trajan…” he chuckled. “Lord Trajan! I bet that emasculates my brother general!”

“It is strange to hear it, General.”

“Indeed. Anyway, according to Lord Trajan, both project were finished at great cost and hardship. Couple of hundred thousand liras and a couple of thousand hard working men. Point is, I don’t think anything we do for the people of Giza is going to make them forget they’re Egyptian descendants. Just don’t want to throw good money after bad.”

Brutius shuffled the pages on his desk. “Tell me about it. My problems aren’t exactly like those, but have a similar vein.”

“I guessed as much during our conversation the other day. It’s part of the reason I’m here tonight.”

“Thank you, General. I know how difficult it for you to get around nowadays.” Iuldias bowed slightly in recognition. Brutius continued, “One of the things that we’ve been struggling with since the Saracens first attacked us is the lack of viable troops throughout the kingdom. There aren’t enough skilled soldiers available to help us not only police our cities, but defend them when the call is given.”

“I understood it was the responsibility of the dukes, counts, and barons, to field whatever soldiers are needed?” The older man struggled to focus, still finding it difficult to read with one eye blind.

Brutius pretended not to notice the trouble Iuldias was having, giving his former commander some respect for his ailment. “For militia purposes they do fine, but without royal support, few actual fighting bodies can be established with any regularity. It costs money, time, and manpower to commission the populous, craft the arms and armor, train, outfit, house, and feed the soldiers. Plus, there is also the wear and tear and passage of time, eventually these men do retire and new recruits get trained. Sure most of the local lords can support a few units, but eventually it does put a drain on the kingdom as a whole.”

“Hmm. I never knew that.” Iuldias was grinning as much as his ailment could let him.

“Sure you didn’t, sir,” Brutius pinched his nose. “Mars save me, but fighting numbers and budgets is just as difficult as fighting Egyptians some times.” He blew noisily. “Don’t get me wrong, general. ‘Commander of the Roman Armies’ and ‘Military Advisor to Lord Caesar’ have gone to great lengths towards improving my social life and future prospects, but who would have know it would require so much work?”

Iuldias’ patted his arm. “Anything worth doing, need to be worked at, Brutius. Never accept things as they are because you’re due them. No one is due anything. There is no reward for a job adequately done.”

“Hmm. I never knew that.” This time the burly Brutius was grinning. “Obvious words, General. Wise ones, to be sure, but obvious.”

“Maybe, you young pup. Lets see if you remember them when they count.”

“Bah! Back to my problems, if you don’t mind. We need a number of more modern units, trained armed and ready to march at the drop of a hat. That is going to require me to forestall some of Lord Caesar’s more ambitious projects. I can’t build libraries, temples, marketplaces, aqueducts, decent housing, parks, and museums in every city throughout the kingdom and properly defend the same locations at the same time.”

“Then don’t! Surely some of the public works projects and buildings have been completed?”

“Yes.”

The former general snapped his fingers. “Then recruit and commission the needed troops and companies in those cities and then reassign them upon graduation to the necessary duchies and counties as needed. This way you can work with Domestic Advisor, Senator Pius, and have Lord Caesar’s vision of an enlightened Rome continue unabated and the outlying cities and baronies are outfitted and defended properly as well.”

Brutius just stared. “Can you do that?”

Iuldias shook his head. “Me? No. I can’t. I’m just an old warhorse wandering the halls of power here. You? That’s a different story. There’s no reason why the Roman 9th Pike Men have to be stationed in Rome. Heck, during the Egyptian campaign, we were reassigning units all over the place. Heard the General Gaius did the same thing during Saracen defense, kept shuffling units back and forth between cities as needed.” He gripped Brutius’ shoulder tightly. “You have to be flexible, young pup. Think outside your orders if you have to. It’s a good commanding trait to have.”

“Thank you, General. That is good advice.”

“Pish-posh. Mars kept my brains intact for some reason when he clipped my with that boulder. Might as well use them.”

Brutius lifted a large jug of good Roman wine, shaking its contents invitingly. “Then if I were to fill your mug and bend your ear, you’d be willing to sit around and help me mire through this mess?”

Iuldias smiled, teeth showing. “It’s about time. I’m getting parched here. Pour me a deep one and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, and even some things you don’t! Like the fact you make an old man like me wait for a decent drink of wine!”

Both men laughed as only former soldiers and comrades in arms can; an easy rolling chuckle that filled the warm chamber with its presence and trickled down the halls.
 
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