Right now I'm planning on a mix of styles, though the next update will be in the same character-format.
For the Dream of the Dead Empire: A Post-Roman TL
- Thread starter shakaka36
- Start date
Right now I'm planning on a mix of styles, though the next update will be in the same character-format.
Alright. I'm presuming you're going to be focusing on the post-Roman West? Or will the continuing Empire in the East get a look in? If you want some thoughts on the East, I can PM you with some ideas for a sixth century TL I'm probably never going to finish myself!
Personally, I'd be quite interested to have a look what's happening in Britain. The late fifth century seems (from what I've recently read) to have been a time of uneasy truce between the first wave of Anglo Saxon invaders and the Romano-British, who had to some extent fought back. In OTL, this all fell apart within a couple of generations and Saxon conquest, hitherto paused, picked up again- will this still happen ITTL?
The first chapter, which will take us through about 2 generations or so, will be mostly focused on the West. I'm operating under the theory that events in the East have sufficient internal momentum (and the butterflies from my TL are not going to have much impact on Persia or Slavic migration for a while) to keep things there following more or less the OTL trajectory for the short term.
However, especially once we get into the second half of the 6th century, expect to see events taking a much wider scope with significant divergences around the Med. I'm currently revising some of my 6th century stuff (it was a bit more convergent than I'm comfortable with), and would very much be interested in any ideas you've had.
As for Britain, dw. I have plans. Unfortunately the historical record sucks so much for Britain in this period (most of the time we can only say that a certain event happened in say, a 50 year time period) that a lot of it has to be guess work on my part, and I am going to move some things around to make the story work in a way that probably is not the most likely interpretation of history. But it should still be interesting.
Sorry about the delayed update everybody, I've been rushing to finish up some work before the long weekend (Labor Day in the US). I'll also probably be out of pocket till Tuesday spending time with the wife and kids.
so here goes....
Gaul – Autumn, 480
Possessed by grief and rage, Childeric, King of the Franks, rushed to exact the blood price owed him by the ancient laws of Frankish society. To hell with his advisors, family and friend alike! And to hell with that useless Roman, Georgius! What purpose is there in having a doctor at court if he cannot save the heir to the throne from a simple little poison! All his muttering about ailments of the brain was clear nonsense. Any fool could tell that the Burgundians had been up to something the whole time they had been in Tornacum (Tournai). Hell, they were already riding south before anyone had even noticed they’d left the banquet hall!
So Childeric, spurning the good counsel of his court, summoned his subjects to battle. Regulus and free-man alike arrived to stand by the side of their King. Even the Ripuarian Franks, so often want to defy their Salian brothers, came to fight. Five thousand men were more than enough to rattle some Burgundian cages. The host gathered at Tornacum, while Childeric negotiated with an embassy from the Alemanni, whose territory he would have to cross to reach the Burgundians.
The Alemanni, well aware that after so long occupying a prime spot on the old Roman frontier, they had missed their shot at grabbing substantial new territory on the other side of it, were eager to cut a deal that they hoped might one day make the Burgundians easy prey for their own predations. By mid-Autumn they had accepted Childeric’s request, allowing him free passage through their lands, provided that his army not pillage Alemanni villages for supplies (Roman towns under Alemanni control, were fair game), and they took no territory from the Burgundians (What use would Franks have had for land so disconnected from their own?)
The court tried once more to convince Childeric to hold off the war until the Spring, fearing that the winter cold would be as much an enemy as the Burgundians. Childeric could not be dissuaded. Just a few days before the first frost of the season, the warriors of the Franks began their march South, to avenge the death of Clovis.
******
Augusta Treverorum (Trier) – Spring, 481
Manius Aurelius Paulus Albinus, Albinus to most, began every day with the same routine. He awoke each morning to the rising sun, peering through the window to brighten his bedroom. After first taking a moment to clear his mind from its nightly torpor, the old man would rise from bed, clothe himself, and say a few quick prayers.
Then he would head to the kitchen, and make himself a simple breakfast, some bread and dried fruit, and step outside to watch the city begin its quiet rise. The servant girl, Ingunda (a Goth), would chide him later for not rousing her to cook for him. That was her job, she would insist, and a man of his age should be sleeping longer. After his light meal and some people-watching, Albinus would retire to his study, to review correspondences. The world had gone to hell, and the Rhineland had been no exception. Fewer and fewer people returned his letters these days, and a circle of regular letter-writers stretching across the Western Empire and as far off as Syria, had dwindled to the point that almost all the mail he received came from other Rhinelanders.
It annoyed him. He knew his friends were occupied by other matters, that the world had become a great struggle for many. But the pretenses of Roman civilization still meant something to Albinus. Perhaps even more now than before… For with Empire having departed these lands, Romanitas could survive only by the conscious will of its practitioners. When he thought of all the good Roman families that had abandoned the traditions of classical learning to become petty warlords… little better than the barbarians themselves… Not for Albinus. He was a true Roman gentleman, and at 68, far too old to try his hand at being anything else. He would live his life as he had been taught to. Each day he would take up the proper obligations of a Roman of his station.
But not this day.
This day would be different.
******
Georgius, court doctor of the Salian Franks, was exhausted when, at last, the army approached the city of Augusta Treverorum. He rode with his aides, young Frankish girls with quick minds and nimble fingers who did their best to follow Georgius’s instructions and absorb some of his medical knowledge. The morning was grey and ugly, a perfect mirror of the marching Franks’ morale. The sun struggled to shine through heavy clouds, and a light spring snowfall was already melting upon the ground. A couple of drunk young warriors had stumbled into the still freezing hell of the Rhine in the night, but by the time their friends could fish them out, it was too late for Georgius to help them. It had been a bad year for the good doctor’s record of helping people.
Itta, one of his aides, flashed him a look of concern deeper than any 16 year old ought to know. It was the same look he saw on the faces of many of the leaders of the Frankisk force. The same look he wore himself.
He had warned Childeric, as sternly as any unarmed subject could warn his King, that the King’s poor health would struggle against the stress of a winter campaign.
But Childeric had ignored him, and insisted on heading south, to campaign through the winter. It had started well enough, the warbands had converged at Tornacum, and the negotiations with the Alemmani had been concluded to Frankish satisfaction. They had made good time leaving the Frankish lands, and the Winter had proven fortuitously mild. Itta, a rare Christian among her people, had declared it to be God’s blessings upon their expedition. Georgius had not asked her why God would help an army of pagans rushing off to avenge the death of another pagan, nor had he shared with her his conviction that in his experience, good fortune was merely a joke God played upon humans so they would be surprised when something bad happened.
They were just approaching the Burgundian border, in the midst of a ferocious snow storm, when it happened. A sickness had been spreading among the warriors for the preceding few weeks. Standard winter fare really: coughing, sneezing, sore throats, nothing to be concerned about.
Then Childeric had caught it.
At first it was just an angry red throat, starting each morning but typically gone by midday. Yet after a few days he started coughing up blood, and could barely ride. Then came that terrible, freezing morning, when Georgius went into the King’s tent, concerned for the well being of a ruler who was usually an early riser.
Concern well placed.
For Childeric, King of the Franks, was dead.
And his army turned north.
******
Albinus hurried out to the gate, where other gentlemen of the city where greeting the leaders of the Frankish force camped outside. What a morning…
He had barely dressed before he heard the hammering of a gloved fist against his door. He was initially unconcerned; surely Ingunda could deal with whatever rude complaint was disturbing an old man at such an earlier hour. He could hear her rushing out of her quarters, muttering foul curses in Gothic, curses that Albinus, who had lived with Ingunda for over twenty years, pretended not to understand. He could hear the sound of the great iron lock being undone and the door opening, and Ingunda started to address the unwelcome guest in… Frankish?
That had gotten Albinus’s attention. Some Franks lived in the city, to be sure, and others came through it with great regularity. But if a Frank were to be knocking at his door at this hour of the morning with such fierce urgency, that could only mean that whoever it was was here on the business of the city’s barbarian overlords. And for that, Ingunda would not be sufficient.
It had turned out that the Frank at his door was a herald, come to spread the word to the city’s leading men to come down to the Porta Nigra. Having delivered his message, the young man moved on, no doubt to bother some of Albinus’s (likely sleeping) neighbors.
Ingunda had bundled him up in a coat of fur, a garish piece from deep in Germania. He had resisted, but she was adamant (It’s still chilly! A man at your age cannot afford to catch a cold!). She then proceeded to prevent him from leaving before she could make him a bowl of hot stew. If this is what it was like to have a wife, Albinus felt greatly affirmed in his decision to never acquire one.
Finally Albinus was off… rushing down to the gate for fear of having already missed some important news.
When he arrived, he found Frankish guards swarming around the great gate. Having seen him from a distance, they called one of their superiors, who identified Albinus as one of the city elders. He was rushed into a small chamber within the gate, where he found assembled around a dozen of his fellow citizens, as well as several Frankish nobles (a few he could recognize, namely Einhard, a Regulus with authority over lands near Saxony, to whose daughter Albinus had taught some Latin a few summers earlier, whenever the girl could climb off the local boys long enough to listen to him).
He could also see Georgius, King Childeric’s physician, and an occasional correspondent of Albinus’s.
“Georgius! So glad to see you again… though I must concede we were not expecting you to return quite so soon... It’s only been a few months, so can I safely assume that our dear King was victorious over his foes in even shorter order than usual?”
Georgius looked uneasy and exhausted in equal measure. Albinus was clearly missing something.
“.. And where is dear Childeric? I’m afraid it will be difficult to throw a proper royal feast without more warning, but… What? What is it?”
“The King is dead Albinus, a sickness took him a few weeks ago. We travel now to return his body to Tornacum for burial.”
That, Albinus was not expecting.
“Dead… Of a sickness… at his age?... What a terrible thing. What a terrible thing indeed. What can we do? What have we been called here for?”
Georgius cleared his throat, taking a moment to consider just how to phrase the instructions he had been given by Childeric’s brother Chlodemer.
“As you well know, my friend, this tragedy comes not long after the unfortunate death of the late King’s eldest son, Clovis. There are some who might seek to exploit these events, to achieve private gain from perceived instability within the Kingdom. What we need from you, Albinus, and your friends, is to communicate the message throughout the Rhineland that the Merovingians are still in control, and there is nothing to fear.”
Albinus placed his hand on the doctor’s shoulder.
“You look positively exhausted Georgius. Which is no way for a doctor to be. Why don’t we retire to my home for an early lunch, and you can take a break from this awful business.”
*******
Georgius had had no idea how much he’d missed a fine Roman couch, until he lay down upon it. All those months in tents, marching down to face the Burgundians… His back hurt, his legs hurt, his left elbow (which he’d once shattered as a boy) howled with pain in the cold weather. Here in a real Roman city, he could relax, enjoy a light meal, and pretend for a moment that the family to whose service he had dedicated the last two decades of his life was not about to be extinguished.
“So tell me Georgius, what do you think will happen?”
“I don’t know… I really don’t. Everyone will play nice till the burial. The Ripaurians will go home first, and then everyone else. The King’s family will try to hold things together, try to anoint one of the younger sons. Chlodemer is wily, he’ll give the puppetry a shot. But… With Childeric gone there’s a lot of Merovingians interested in a piece of the power…”
“So they’ll fight over it?”
“Of course. One faction will grab one boy, and the other the second. Then some third group will decide they don’t need a son of Childeric at all. They’ll pick a cousin or a nephew and raise him up. The nobles will split every which way, and then some Regulus with a grudge against Childeric will make the case that it’s time for the subordinated family lines to rise against the Merovingians. The Ripaurians will drift off completely, to do God knows what.”
“Relax my friend… Have some more wine, this is a safe place.”
“There is no safe place. Don’t you get that? When the Franks fall apart the Saxons will come from the East, the Alemanni from the South… God only knows what King Euric will do! It’ll be bloody. And you will not be immune.”
“We will be fine. We’ve suffered through worse.”
“You’ll have to choose Albinus. You Rhinelanders will have to choose where your loyalties lie. Heavens save you if you choose wrong.”
"I suppose so."
Albinus worked hard to contain his excitement. It had been years since he had had a real political task in front of him. He knew their would have to be meetings of the learned men of the city, and of the other towns nearby. They would want to establish a joint-position for mutual benefit, that much was clear.
But Georgius was also being overdramatic, Albinus knew that. It was by no means certain that anarchy would befall the Franks. Even if it did the resultant struggle could last just weeks, and perhaps remain confined to fierce argument and bloodless shows of force and popularity.
So all options would have to be considered. The defense of the city, their glittering stronghold of Romanitas deep in the lair of the barbarians, was paramount.
But given the chance...
Well, suffice it to say, Manius Aurelius Paulus Albinus knew exactly where his loyalties lay.
so here goes....
Gaul – Autumn, 480
Possessed by grief and rage, Childeric, King of the Franks, rushed to exact the blood price owed him by the ancient laws of Frankish society. To hell with his advisors, family and friend alike! And to hell with that useless Roman, Georgius! What purpose is there in having a doctor at court if he cannot save the heir to the throne from a simple little poison! All his muttering about ailments of the brain was clear nonsense. Any fool could tell that the Burgundians had been up to something the whole time they had been in Tornacum (Tournai). Hell, they were already riding south before anyone had even noticed they’d left the banquet hall!
So Childeric, spurning the good counsel of his court, summoned his subjects to battle. Regulus and free-man alike arrived to stand by the side of their King. Even the Ripuarian Franks, so often want to defy their Salian brothers, came to fight. Five thousand men were more than enough to rattle some Burgundian cages. The host gathered at Tornacum, while Childeric negotiated with an embassy from the Alemanni, whose territory he would have to cross to reach the Burgundians.
The Alemanni, well aware that after so long occupying a prime spot on the old Roman frontier, they had missed their shot at grabbing substantial new territory on the other side of it, were eager to cut a deal that they hoped might one day make the Burgundians easy prey for their own predations. By mid-Autumn they had accepted Childeric’s request, allowing him free passage through their lands, provided that his army not pillage Alemanni villages for supplies (Roman towns under Alemanni control, were fair game), and they took no territory from the Burgundians (What use would Franks have had for land so disconnected from their own?)
The court tried once more to convince Childeric to hold off the war until the Spring, fearing that the winter cold would be as much an enemy as the Burgundians. Childeric could not be dissuaded. Just a few days before the first frost of the season, the warriors of the Franks began their march South, to avenge the death of Clovis.
******
Augusta Treverorum (Trier) – Spring, 481
Manius Aurelius Paulus Albinus, Albinus to most, began every day with the same routine. He awoke each morning to the rising sun, peering through the window to brighten his bedroom. After first taking a moment to clear his mind from its nightly torpor, the old man would rise from bed, clothe himself, and say a few quick prayers.
Then he would head to the kitchen, and make himself a simple breakfast, some bread and dried fruit, and step outside to watch the city begin its quiet rise. The servant girl, Ingunda (a Goth), would chide him later for not rousing her to cook for him. That was her job, she would insist, and a man of his age should be sleeping longer. After his light meal and some people-watching, Albinus would retire to his study, to review correspondences. The world had gone to hell, and the Rhineland had been no exception. Fewer and fewer people returned his letters these days, and a circle of regular letter-writers stretching across the Western Empire and as far off as Syria, had dwindled to the point that almost all the mail he received came from other Rhinelanders.
It annoyed him. He knew his friends were occupied by other matters, that the world had become a great struggle for many. But the pretenses of Roman civilization still meant something to Albinus. Perhaps even more now than before… For with Empire having departed these lands, Romanitas could survive only by the conscious will of its practitioners. When he thought of all the good Roman families that had abandoned the traditions of classical learning to become petty warlords… little better than the barbarians themselves… Not for Albinus. He was a true Roman gentleman, and at 68, far too old to try his hand at being anything else. He would live his life as he had been taught to. Each day he would take up the proper obligations of a Roman of his station.
But not this day.
This day would be different.
******
Georgius, court doctor of the Salian Franks, was exhausted when, at last, the army approached the city of Augusta Treverorum. He rode with his aides, young Frankish girls with quick minds and nimble fingers who did their best to follow Georgius’s instructions and absorb some of his medical knowledge. The morning was grey and ugly, a perfect mirror of the marching Franks’ morale. The sun struggled to shine through heavy clouds, and a light spring snowfall was already melting upon the ground. A couple of drunk young warriors had stumbled into the still freezing hell of the Rhine in the night, but by the time their friends could fish them out, it was too late for Georgius to help them. It had been a bad year for the good doctor’s record of helping people.
Itta, one of his aides, flashed him a look of concern deeper than any 16 year old ought to know. It was the same look he saw on the faces of many of the leaders of the Frankisk force. The same look he wore himself.
He had warned Childeric, as sternly as any unarmed subject could warn his King, that the King’s poor health would struggle against the stress of a winter campaign.
But Childeric had ignored him, and insisted on heading south, to campaign through the winter. It had started well enough, the warbands had converged at Tornacum, and the negotiations with the Alemmani had been concluded to Frankish satisfaction. They had made good time leaving the Frankish lands, and the Winter had proven fortuitously mild. Itta, a rare Christian among her people, had declared it to be God’s blessings upon their expedition. Georgius had not asked her why God would help an army of pagans rushing off to avenge the death of another pagan, nor had he shared with her his conviction that in his experience, good fortune was merely a joke God played upon humans so they would be surprised when something bad happened.
They were just approaching the Burgundian border, in the midst of a ferocious snow storm, when it happened. A sickness had been spreading among the warriors for the preceding few weeks. Standard winter fare really: coughing, sneezing, sore throats, nothing to be concerned about.
Then Childeric had caught it.
At first it was just an angry red throat, starting each morning but typically gone by midday. Yet after a few days he started coughing up blood, and could barely ride. Then came that terrible, freezing morning, when Georgius went into the King’s tent, concerned for the well being of a ruler who was usually an early riser.
Concern well placed.
For Childeric, King of the Franks, was dead.
And his army turned north.
******
Albinus hurried out to the gate, where other gentlemen of the city where greeting the leaders of the Frankish force camped outside. What a morning…
He had barely dressed before he heard the hammering of a gloved fist against his door. He was initially unconcerned; surely Ingunda could deal with whatever rude complaint was disturbing an old man at such an earlier hour. He could hear her rushing out of her quarters, muttering foul curses in Gothic, curses that Albinus, who had lived with Ingunda for over twenty years, pretended not to understand. He could hear the sound of the great iron lock being undone and the door opening, and Ingunda started to address the unwelcome guest in… Frankish?
That had gotten Albinus’s attention. Some Franks lived in the city, to be sure, and others came through it with great regularity. But if a Frank were to be knocking at his door at this hour of the morning with such fierce urgency, that could only mean that whoever it was was here on the business of the city’s barbarian overlords. And for that, Ingunda would not be sufficient.
It had turned out that the Frank at his door was a herald, come to spread the word to the city’s leading men to come down to the Porta Nigra. Having delivered his message, the young man moved on, no doubt to bother some of Albinus’s (likely sleeping) neighbors.
Ingunda had bundled him up in a coat of fur, a garish piece from deep in Germania. He had resisted, but she was adamant (It’s still chilly! A man at your age cannot afford to catch a cold!). She then proceeded to prevent him from leaving before she could make him a bowl of hot stew. If this is what it was like to have a wife, Albinus felt greatly affirmed in his decision to never acquire one.
Finally Albinus was off… rushing down to the gate for fear of having already missed some important news.
When he arrived, he found Frankish guards swarming around the great gate. Having seen him from a distance, they called one of their superiors, who identified Albinus as one of the city elders. He was rushed into a small chamber within the gate, where he found assembled around a dozen of his fellow citizens, as well as several Frankish nobles (a few he could recognize, namely Einhard, a Regulus with authority over lands near Saxony, to whose daughter Albinus had taught some Latin a few summers earlier, whenever the girl could climb off the local boys long enough to listen to him).
He could also see Georgius, King Childeric’s physician, and an occasional correspondent of Albinus’s.
“Georgius! So glad to see you again… though I must concede we were not expecting you to return quite so soon... It’s only been a few months, so can I safely assume that our dear King was victorious over his foes in even shorter order than usual?”
Georgius looked uneasy and exhausted in equal measure. Albinus was clearly missing something.
“.. And where is dear Childeric? I’m afraid it will be difficult to throw a proper royal feast without more warning, but… What? What is it?”
“The King is dead Albinus, a sickness took him a few weeks ago. We travel now to return his body to Tornacum for burial.”
That, Albinus was not expecting.
“Dead… Of a sickness… at his age?... What a terrible thing. What a terrible thing indeed. What can we do? What have we been called here for?”
Georgius cleared his throat, taking a moment to consider just how to phrase the instructions he had been given by Childeric’s brother Chlodemer.
“As you well know, my friend, this tragedy comes not long after the unfortunate death of the late King’s eldest son, Clovis. There are some who might seek to exploit these events, to achieve private gain from perceived instability within the Kingdom. What we need from you, Albinus, and your friends, is to communicate the message throughout the Rhineland that the Merovingians are still in control, and there is nothing to fear.”
Albinus placed his hand on the doctor’s shoulder.
“You look positively exhausted Georgius. Which is no way for a doctor to be. Why don’t we retire to my home for an early lunch, and you can take a break from this awful business.”
*******
Georgius had had no idea how much he’d missed a fine Roman couch, until he lay down upon it. All those months in tents, marching down to face the Burgundians… His back hurt, his legs hurt, his left elbow (which he’d once shattered as a boy) howled with pain in the cold weather. Here in a real Roman city, he could relax, enjoy a light meal, and pretend for a moment that the family to whose service he had dedicated the last two decades of his life was not about to be extinguished.
“So tell me Georgius, what do you think will happen?”
“I don’t know… I really don’t. Everyone will play nice till the burial. The Ripaurians will go home first, and then everyone else. The King’s family will try to hold things together, try to anoint one of the younger sons. Chlodemer is wily, he’ll give the puppetry a shot. But… With Childeric gone there’s a lot of Merovingians interested in a piece of the power…”
“So they’ll fight over it?”
“Of course. One faction will grab one boy, and the other the second. Then some third group will decide they don’t need a son of Childeric at all. They’ll pick a cousin or a nephew and raise him up. The nobles will split every which way, and then some Regulus with a grudge against Childeric will make the case that it’s time for the subordinated family lines to rise against the Merovingians. The Ripaurians will drift off completely, to do God knows what.”
“Relax my friend… Have some more wine, this is a safe place.”
“There is no safe place. Don’t you get that? When the Franks fall apart the Saxons will come from the East, the Alemanni from the South… God only knows what King Euric will do! It’ll be bloody. And you will not be immune.”
“We will be fine. We’ve suffered through worse.”
“You’ll have to choose Albinus. You Rhinelanders will have to choose where your loyalties lie. Heavens save you if you choose wrong.”
"I suppose so."
Albinus worked hard to contain his excitement. It had been years since he had had a real political task in front of him. He knew their would have to be meetings of the learned men of the city, and of the other towns nearby. They would want to establish a joint-position for mutual benefit, that much was clear.
But Georgius was also being overdramatic, Albinus knew that. It was by no means certain that anarchy would befall the Franks. Even if it did the resultant struggle could last just weeks, and perhaps remain confined to fierce argument and bloodless shows of force and popularity.
So all options would have to be considered. The defense of the city, their glittering stronghold of Romanitas deep in the lair of the barbarians, was paramount.
But given the chance...
Well, suffice it to say, Manius Aurelius Paulus Albinus knew exactly where his loyalties lay.
Nice update- that's the Franks out of the picture, then. The Visigoths can remain the superpower of the region for a little longer, I guess. Or, perhaps Albinus is right and this just means different Franks. I'm guessing, though, that this is going to butterfly their adoption of Chalcedonian Orthodoxy?
I've dropped you a PM, by the way- be interested to hear your thoughts.
I've dropped you a PM, by the way- be interested to hear your thoughts.
The Franks are in for some trouble, but don't count them out just yet. As for the religious issue: religious history is not my strong point, I have the outlines down but I struggle with the finer points. So reader input on the matter would be much appreciated.
I just saw your PM, will get back to you soon
In a nutshell, the Frankish conversion to Chalcedonian Orthodoxy (the terms "Catholic" or "Orthodox" can also be used and aren't anachronistic, but I think "Chalcedonian" describes things better in the 450-700 period) did a lot to help them consolidate Gaul, because they were able to enjoy good relations with the Church that the Arian Visigoths were not. It also meant they could generally enjoy cordial relations with Constantinople.
Excellent update. I'm intrigued by where Albinus' true loyalties lie.
You've picked an interesting period for a timeline and I enjoy your writing too. Presently I'm working on a Roman TL and have done it in the style of an ATL history book - but reading this excellent work makes me wonder if I should not, on occasion, mix it up a bit and use narrative.
I don't know the period as well as I should, but did the Franks (and other Gaul kingdoms) make use of local Roman decurion power structures? Did those even exist in that period?
You've picked an interesting period for a timeline and I enjoy your writing too. Presently I'm working on a Roman TL and have done it in the style of an ATL history book - but reading this excellent work makes me wonder if I should not, on occasion, mix it up a bit and use narrative.
I don't know the period as well as I should, but did the Franks (and other Gaul kingdoms) make use of local Roman decurion power structures? Did those even exist in that period?
It's going to be a little while before any Frankish leader is secure enough in their leadership to make definitive policy on religious matters. Most Frankish leaders are going to be either too preoccupied with other things or unwilling to anger the members of other religions by making a firm position one way or the other. In this period the bulk of Franks are pagan, but a good number likely were already Christian through individual/family conversion, both Arians and Chalcedonians. So I expect passive Christianization to continue at least in the short to mid-term.
I had originally planned to do a history book-style TL, but decided to switch to a character-based narrative after reading Basileus444's Byzantine TL. I'm enjoying it so far, but intend to hopefully switch back and forth between different narratives as the TL progresses.
The Decurion system for city government was in decay after the late 3rd century, when the Imperial government essentially stripped cities of any fiscal autonomy. Thereafter local notables became much less interested in city government and often looked on it as a burden. This is also why you see a decline in major public building works funded by local leaders after the late 3rd century (erroneously often seen as a sign of economic decline), because there was no longer a great political career to be had in local politics. Instead there was more of a focus on Imperial bureaucratic service.
I have generally assumed that with the collapse of the Empire, the system has fallen completely into disuse. However, in areas like the Rhineland, an informal version of it is reasserting itself, with city elites gathering together to take charge of their civic destinies. The Franks are not generall city people, and they don't much care how urban Romans order their personal affairs, so long as they pay the demanded tributes. In OTL the Rhineland remained one of the strongest outposts of Roman urban civilization in the West well into the Frankish period, with Trier in particularly serving as an outpost of urban society long after it had collapsed in most of Gaul. Indeed though now regarded as fully German, it may have been Romance-speaking as late as 1000 AD.
Indeed. Some Rhineland landowners were still determinedly describing themselves as "Roman Senators" well into the seventh century.
Well the Alemanni are being realistic. They know the Franks are going to need supplies on their march, and they also know that barbarian armies in this era have not quite developed mass organized supply trains. So if they're going to take those supplies from someone, better the Romans than the Alemanni themselves.
I originally had a section giving more detail of the march itself, but deleted it because I didn't feel it added much. But one of the details in there discussed that because they were in too much of a rush to besiege places, the Franks mostly just extorted supplies from towns and even made simple trades for them.
Clovis really did a lot of the work of making the Merovingians the royal family of the Franks (he eliminated the minor kings for example). So a stable situation where two members of the Merovingian family divide the Frankish lands is not too likely at this stage. More likely that if one Merovingian can't prove their ability to dominate the whole area, then some other family will make a play to knock them off. Not to mention that the Ripaurian Franks barely recognize Merovingian authority at all in this period (again, Clovis and his sons were the ones that really put them under control)
You'll see both in the next update
The next update, which will probably come in the second half of next week, will start to make clear where the action is going to be for the next little bit. These first 3 pieces of the TL are mostly stage setting, establishing the field of play and many of the major characters for the initial period. Now there are still a lot of people to bring in, such as King Euric, as as yet only mentioned by others.
And then we still have the events across the Narrow Sea to introduce...
Interesting. Will be difficult to wait that long of course, this story is fantastic.
Just out of interest how far ahead have you planned in the TL? Do you have a vague vision of what the long term effects of West Europe (and perhaps even the entirety of Europe) will be?
I'm betting Albinus's loyalty is to Syagrius!
I am betting that he is loyal to himself