For the Dream of the Dead Empire: A Post-Roman TL

Author’s Preamble

So after several years as a lurker and only very occasional poster on these forums, I’ve decided to move forward with my first timeline. It is something of an amalgam, the combination of several different ideas I've had at various times that I've weaved together into (what I hope is) a coherent TL.

The POD occurs shortly after the fall of the Western Roman Empire and will be shown in the first post, and as such I’m reluctant to give away too much here. But the general idea is to tell the story of a world where the late antiquity/early middle ages divide is less severe. Many of the stars of the first portion of the TL will be Romans: noblemen, administrators, priests and especially soldiers, trying to navigate what it means to still be Roman when the Empire has gone. While post-Imperial romanitas is a major focus, I do hope to extend the focus to other concepts, so expect to see certain other things from Antiquity that didn't survive the shift to the medieval world (well, or at all) being thrown a lifeline (I'm a big Freddy Mercury fan, so I may throw Zoroastrianism a bone).

This is not an Imperial Restoration TL. Belisarius isn’t going to march to the Rhine. In East and West alike, Romans will still have struggle hard for their survival. The inspiration for the political structure of much of this TL was China in its periods of division. I wanted to tell the story of a West where from the breakdown of a great empire emerges locally dominated subunits, and how those subunits operate once their leaders accept that humpty dumpty is not going to be put back together anytime soon (though the Memory of the Empire is not forgotten).

Credit is due to many, not least to the Romans for being so interesting. My thanks to all the writers of Byzantine TLs on this board, which have been a major inspiration for this TL, even if it is not quite Byzantine in focus. In particular, thanks to Basileus444, whose Age of Miracles TL has been a favorite lurking spot of mine, and who has done much to warm my opinion of character-driven prose.

Special Credit to Peter Heather, whose work got me excited again about a topic I’d grown meh on. In his honor, I have often adopted his theories with respect to the period as the basis for events in the TL.

I have taken some liberties with the history with regard to matters that we cannot properly understand due to the lack of surviving evidence. I hope you will find that these are not to egregious and do not stretch the TL’s credibility. Sometimes, in the early part of the TL before I can reasonably claim butterflies to defend everything, I have created new characters who have no historical existence. But I have always tried to make these characters appropriate, the kind of people who MIGHT have existed. In general, I'm compensating for the restricted cast history has remembered by adding some original people who should still seem very plausible to the reader.

Finally, with respect to place names, I was wondering what everyone’s opinions were for what names to use for towns and cities in this era. Many well-known settlements, like Soissons, are typically referred to by their modern name in discussion of their history. Obviously using the original names would be more authentic, but I also don’t want the reader constantly referring to reference maps to recall what I'm talking about every time a city is named. Ditto for regions, like Provence. Though I have decided, on this point, to use the modern names for rivers, feedback on the general question would be much appreciated.

I am looking forward to hearing people's opinions, good or bad!

Enjoy!
 
Chapter 1: Deep in the ruins, we build

The Realm of the Salian Franks – Summer, 480

Childeric, King of the Franks, sat stiffly at the banquet table. He tried his best to listen to the mindless chatter of those seated around him, stifling off a yawn while some Regulus from lands in the East (Dago- something?... No, that was earlier…) complained about Saxon raiding parties and needing support. How could he explain to this man that Saxons were like ants. You could crush a million of them, but they’d just pop up somewhere else tomorrow.

The King had slept poorly the last few nights, and not even the finest Roman wine, stolen from beyond the Somme, had been able to help him. He had been seized by a pervasive sense of anxiety that he could not shake. His grandmother would have said that the Gods were sending him a sign, rousing his mind to troubles ahead. Childeric, however, was not a superstitious man. After all, they said that the god of the Romans could raise the dead, turn cities to sand and build great temples in a single week, but never did he rouse himself to save the dying Empire.

No, more likely his anxiety was not the work of gods but of men. The Burgundian noble Gundahar, cousin to that people’s King, had been staying with the court for the last week, and every time Childeric spoke to him the Burgundian seemed more… annoyed. He had come north to discuss opportunities for diplomatic cooperation between the two peoples, and customary hospitality demanded that Childeric give him fine quarters and throw this damned feast in his honor.

King Childeric couldn’t quite put his finger on it… but something about Gundahar just wasn’t right…


******


Gundahar loathed Northern Gaul. He could not abide its forests, its icy winters, and its pale, fat women. He had insisted on making this embassy in the summer to at least avoid one of those problems. Like his cousin, King Gundobad, Gundahar had had a career in the old Empire. Not as a leader in some federative force, but as a real Roman officer in the real Roman army. He had dined in Ravenna and Rome, and romanced Bronzed beauties from the lands across the sea. His Latin was coarse, a soldier’s Latin, but a thousand times the better of any of his Frankish hosts. As he so often did in occasions such as this, he missed the Empire.

Indeed he had stayed in its service nearly to the end, years after his cousin had returned to the Burgundian lands to claim his crown, taking many of the Empire’s Burgundian officers with him. It was only in the Winter of 475, with the reign of Augustulus as frail as a newborn babe, that he saw the writing on the wall and began to pack his bags. He had thought, for a time, of heading East by ship. He thought of Syrian women, his favorite, and dreamed of seeking a posting in Antioch (a city he knew only by the descriptions of others), perhaps settling down with a wife and children, living out his life and dying happy, far from the cold wet land of his fathers.

But his cousin had sent word for him, and he had answered. With great regret, he had wandered back to his people.

His orders (Commands? Suggestions? Gundobad the Patrician had issued orders. Gundobad the King, something quite different) were to investigate the willingness of the Franks in forming a coalition for mutual benefit in Gaul. Both parties feared the Visigoths in Spain and Southern Gaul, and Gundobad also worried that Odoacer might seek to spread his influence beyond Italy and into Gaul. So far Gundahar was unimpressed. The Salian Franks struggled to threaten even the lands of the Roman general Sygarius, and were certainly in no position to challenge the Visigothic King Euric. Gundobad had suggested the Franks had a great future, and could be an invaluable ally or a deadly threat to the Burgundian Kingdom. Gundahar disagreed.

As he watched Clovis, the eldest son of King Childeric and heir apparent, making a fool of himself before the banquet hall to the clear annoyance of his father, Gundahar had a hard time imagining these people had any kind of future at all...


******


Clovis, eldest son of King Childeric, was very drunk. It was not, he might have insisted, his fault. Indeed he’d been drunk for most of the past few weeks, in an effort to cure himself of the dull pain in his leg that had followed a nasty fall from his horse. Of course some would maintain that if he hadn’t been drunk while riding the horse, he might not have fallen. But where was the fun in being young if you could not drink all day, make merry all night, and annoy your father at the same time? After all, he had his whole life to do serious things.

He could see the Burgundian staring at him, eyes flaring with contempt. To hell with him, that whore to the Romans. He had heard it whispered by the attendants who had come North with him that their master loved the Romans more than he loved his own people, and Clovis cared nothing for the judgment of such a man as that.

He winked at Gisela, who was standing across the banquet hall from him. She was talking to her father, some whiny Regulus from the East who had been so annoying Clovis’s father earlier, no doubt about the marriage he was negotiating for her with a major court noble. Clovis wondered how her father would react if the he knew that the son of the King who so neglected him, had very much not been neglecting his daughter. Why just a few hours earlier, he had had her out behind the hall, her legs spread before h-

All of a sudden, his hurt leg seemed to collapse from beneath him, sending him tumbling to the floor. The Burgundian smirked at him, while most of the Franks pretended not to notice his embarrassment. Clovis tried to stand, but suddenly his head seared with pain. Not the pain of too much wine, something else… Not poison either… Suddenly his vision started to darken, and the roar of the banquet grew quieter… as if further and further away. And for a moment, he had the most curious feeling, like something was lodged in his brain… some dark threat that had blocked the passage of his life-force…. His spirit….


******


Georgius, a Roman doctor who had come into the service of Childeric years earlier, rushed to the fallen Clovis. The boy’s eyes were fluttering, and he did not respond to his name. He yelled to a servant to bring him a candle from one of the tables, but even when held up to Clovis’s face, there was no reaction to the light. The eye fluttering stopped, and Georgius held his ear to the boy’s chest. He could hear no breathing nor any heart beat.

With a heavy heart, Georgius turned to his liege, King Childeric, who stood just a few feet behind him. Childeric had not always had great love for his son, but… This was always the darkest part of a doctor’s work. How does one say these things to parents?

“I am sorry my King… I am sorry… He is dead.”




 
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Yes. The same Clovis that united the realms of the Franks, expanded throughout Europe, and converted to Christianity. Western civilization is going to be very different indeed. ;)
 
Ooh, Subscribed! :D

So the king of the Franks died of a stroke?

Glad to hear!

Yep, from a stroke. He developed a blood clot in his leg after his fall, and unfortunately for him it worked its way into his brain.


Of course Clovis's death isn't worth much so long as his father is still alive. But after that...
 
Good start. You have hinted that more of the classic world will be preserved in your timeline. I wonder what shape the eventual 'successor' to Rome will take - anything at all like OTL Holy Roman Empire?
 
Here comes an update...



Noviodunum (Soissons) –Late Summer, 480




Syagrius was angry. Very angry. He barely even remembered his wife was in the room, not so much yelling at her as yelling in her presence.

“Can you believe the nerve! The nerve of those pampered Greek fools!” The General snarled his words as he grabbed a goblet and flung it at the wall, shattering it.

He paused, and kneeled by the fragments, picking one of the larger ones up and holding it to his eye. He really should be more careful. Luxury goods were hard to come by, with Northern Gaul largely cut off from the Mediterranean system of economic exchange. And that, of course, was what had so annoyed him about the envoy.

“I mean… to send some portly little shit from Constantinople all this way, to come asking for my help. My help! What the hell do they think it is I can do from here?”

“I know my love, I kn-“

“-After all this time,” cutting off his wife, Syagrius continued to fume, “after all this time where we have been ignored, as if we didn’t exist! As if good Romans hadn’t sacrificed an ocean of blood to hold the line here in the North, against all odds and with no help from Ravenna or Constantinople! While they were treating with the barbarians, throwing them fancy titles and enough gold to dam the Rhine!”

“I have nothing… Gabrielia… We have nothing. They come up here and they throw out their maps, maps some pigshit who’s probably never left Thrace drew, maps that show the Great Dominion of Syagrius! A mighty redoubt of Empire from the Somme to the Loire, from Armorica to the lands of the Burgundians! And it’s all a lie… all of it…”

Syagrius sank into his chair, and in that moment felt every second of his 47 years. He stared down at one of the maps brought to him by the envoys of the Emperor Zeno. It showed clear marked borders, Group X on one side, State Y on the other. But that was a lie. Gaul was nowhere near so simple. The reality was Gaul was dotted with dozens of tiny little territories, some under the control of barbarians, others in the hands of Romans. Now the great Barbarian Kingdoms, and particularly the Visigoths across the Loire, were real enough. In their core territories they were conceivable as real political entities. But towards the borders their control was thin as paper, dependent on the voluntary loyalty of so many little warlords, who respected the King only when the King’s warriors were nearby.

And Northern Gaul… Northern Gaul was worse still. The lands that the Eastern Emperor thought to be Syagrius’s were anything but. It was true that Romans held the lands this map showed. It was also true that of those Romans, Syagrius was the most powerful, and recognized as leader by almost all. But his authority was brittle, constantly dependent on the feeble willingness of his subordinates to listen to him. It was easy enough to get everyone on the same page to fight a battle or two against attempted invasion or some of the larger raids. But trying to get everyone together for a positive campaign, to actively expand their position instead of just defending it… That was an impossibility that the envoys seemed not to understand.

Emperor Zeno was looking for options, new ways to order his influence in the West.

But he wouldn’t find it here. He was better off throwing some more titles to the Goths.


******


A few days later, early one morning, the envoys headed back south. Syagrius, eager not to anger the spirit of his dear mother, had utilized all the good graces he could muster, trying to sound like the good Roman gentleman his parents had raised him to be… back when it still seemed like there was a future for good Roman gentlemen. He treated his guests to fine meals (never mind that it meant wasting luxuries that the envoys could easily acquire in Constantinople), impressed them with his Greek (rusty but not uneloquent) and joined them for mass in the cathedral.

Syagrius was relieved to see them go. Although neither side had said as much, he suspected that the envoys had gotten a reasonably accurate impression of Northern Gaul. The Emperor Zeno would soon know that the great Roman leader beyond the Loire was just a struggling old soldier, trying not to get overrun by his nasty neighbors or overthrown by his stubborn subordinates. He was not the man upon which to build a new Imperial policy in the West.

The sweet relief, of low expectations.


After a fine lunch, Syagrius was informed that a friend had come by his headquarters. Marcus of Narbonne, a former local official of that city, he had been forced to flee north a decade earlier, after being discovered to have romanced a few too many of his colleague’s daughters. He had since become a priest (a specialist, he always insisted, in instructing women on how to pray), and after failing to find a nice city willing to take him in, had become something of a wandering missionary, traveling around Northern Gaul and even beyond the Rhine, spreading the word of god and the legs of gullible women.

He was also something of an information broker. Marcus was always willing to provide a little information to Syagrius, insider information that would otherwise take weeks or months longer to make it to him. Of course that information came at a price, but it was a price in wine, and always worth it.

Syagrius sent word for Marcus to be brought up to the dining room, and had a servant fetch some wine. When the good father appeared he was adorned in his priestly vestments, clearly trying his very best to have the servants think he was a serious and dour man of the church.

“My friend!” bellowed the General, embracing his guest.

“Ah Syagrius, you look worse every time I see you,” responded Marcus with a smile.


******

Marcus had excused himself for the night. He said he wished to retire to the rooms Syagrius had prepared for him, but the general had no doubt that he would be out in search of a woman.

Syagrius carefully pondered the information he had been brought. Clovis, the upstart son of Childeric, paramount King of the Franks, had died, felled by poison at the hands of a close relative of the Burgundian King. The poisoning had occurred at a banquet held in honor of the Burgundians, who had been visiting Childeric under the pretense of negotiating an alliance. They hurried to escape the Frankish lands thereafter, leaving before suspicions had even turned against them. War between the Franks and the Burgundians would inevitably involve the Alemanni, and could significantly alter the balance of power on his eastern frontier.

Marcus said that Childeric himself had been lately of poor health. Combined with the difficulty he would likely have getting the eastern Franks to support a war, it was likely he would hold off until the next year’s Spring thaw, at the least. Childeric had other sons, but Clovis was the eldest by a good margin (Marcus had suggested that the older of the others could not have been more than 10), and if anything should now happen to Childeric, then war would almost certainly break out among members of his own family as well as the various under-Kings for primacy over the Frankish people.

There was an opportunity in all this, he could feel it. But he had to be careful. Syagrius was always careful to remember the weakness of his position.

One wrong move… and they could all so easily be flung into the sea.



 
Can't help you with the names I'm afraid, but great new update. I hope Syagrius can succeed, the odds are against him of course - but then the odds have been against the romans before and they have triumphed.
 
Can't help you with the names I'm afraid, but great new update. I hope Syagrius can succeed, the odds are against him of course - but then the odds have been against the romans before and they have triumphed.

I guess the issue is just whether people are okay with my using the Modern names for locations, or would prefer (for authenticity) that I use the historically accurate names.
 
I guess the issue is just whether people are okay with my using the Modern names for locations, or would prefer (for authenticity) that I use the historically accurate names.


I for one would prefer historically accurate names if it's not too much trouble for you. You can always make a footnote detailing the modern name of the place/river/whatever.

This, however, is not that important, and I can enjoy a good story regardless of the naming conventions used.

EDIT: Reminds me of an old post I did with a simmilar premise (Clovis dead) https://www.alternatehistory.com/di...?t=215200&highlight=surviving+domain+soissons
 
Thanks for the kind words everybody! Any feedback/criticism? Is the character-based narrative sitting well with everyone? Any characters you really didn't like?

I should have the next update up (where we'll be picking up some distance from the POD) in the next 24 hours.

EDIT: Reminds me of an old post I did with a simmilar premise (Clovis dead) https://www.alternatehistory.com/di...?t=215200&highlight=surviving+domain+soissons

That topic, and a couple of other discussions of the Domain of Soissons are what convinced me to start the TL this way. Earlier plans had a POD in the 6th century (that also, in retrospect, stretched plausibility at points). Starting earlier and with Soissons gives me the opportunity to really deal with the Imperial periphery, while a later POD leaves you somewhat beholden to the Mediterranean.
 
I've attempted something like this TL (link). I took the battle of Deols as POD. I thought that having Aquitaine and Auvergne still part of Syagrius' realm would allow it to last.
 
Any feedback/criticism? Is the character-based narrative sitting well with everyone? Any characters you really didn't like?

It's great and the characters are superb.

That topic, and a couple of other discussions of the Domain of Soissons are what convinced me to start the TL this way. Earlier plans had a POD in the 6th century (that also, in retrospect, stretched plausibility at points). Starting earlier and with Soissons gives me the opportunity to really deal with the Imperial periphery, while a later POD leaves you somewhat beholden to the Mediterranean.

I can't believe I actually influenced a TL :eek:.
 
This looks a solid start- nice to see a new late antique TL! Will it all be told in "story" format, or will there be some history book style writing too?
 
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