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

Ofaloaf

shakaka36 said:
I read it a few years ago at University, though I concede I don't have a perfect recollection of it, nor access to a copy. A focus on 'Roman warlords' is obviously a major focus of this TL, at least early on. Given the decided lack of evidence for the period, I am trying to embrace the spirit of the period as much as possible, while accepting that reflecting the precise history is all but impossible. On the point of Soissons, I have given Syagrius more or less the traditionally accepted borders for the Domain, while also underlining his relative administrative weakness and making clear that he operates in a context where he is heavily constrained by the existence of other powerful Roman warlords.
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Fair enough. If you're only a recent graduate, it shouldn't be too hard to bluff your way into a local university's library system, since you still know the ropes. Managed to get into the University of Michigan's papyrus collection myself once, without anybody challenging me.

One thing that both MacGeorge and the great Peter Heather have emphasized was how relatively barbaric Syagrius was, if his behavior leading up to the Battle of Soissons was any clue. That Clovis named the time and place of the battle beforehand and that Syagrius was willing to go with that suggests that the Gallic warlord was, if not infused with the ways of the Franks, at least so familiar with Frankish ways that he was willing to work within their system of warfare.

Btw, are you still working on your CKII mod?
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Yes, although I've been posting updates on it anonymously elsewhere just because... I dunno, that's what I've been doing. To make Soissons relatively weak and unstable given its size, I made the CK2 Soissons just a ducal-level title, and gave the western half of the Duchy to a count, that nebulous Paulus figure who's vaguely mentioned in accounts of the Domain of Soissons. Makes it easier for Franks to conquer it like that.
 

euromellows

Is it known how many children or other family Syagrius had? If he can get the external borders of his domain stable, is there longevity in his dynasty?

P.S: When is the next update coming out? I always look forward to updates on this timeline.
 

shakaka36

No it is not!

I am gradually emerging from the blighted hellscape of a workplace disaster the likes of which I hope none of you ever see.

There will be an update! It's half written already!
 

flo

Good news indeed!

I really like this timeline, a new update would be really nice. Keep it up!
 

shakaka36

Okay everybody, it's been a sad and long delay, but I'm finally back on track.... So here's the new update!








“For generations before Augustulus, the West had been wracked by conflict, as one great power struggled to assert and maintain its control over Gaul. Though the power was a different one, my generation, would be no different.”

-An extract from The Visigothic Wars, by Marcus of Narbo
​


Tornacum – Summer, 482

Theuderic sat in the empty banquet hall, in the very seat from which he had watched Clovis die. Though he’d been drinking, he remembered that night well enough. His cousin had been acting the fool, stumbling about and attempting to bend over any and every young woman who got within a few feet of him. Then Clovis had stumbled, at first seeming to have tripped, but then clearly suffering from something more serious. Theuderic had roused himself slowly, and the crowd around the dead prince was so thick, that he never did manage to see the body. Until the burial that is. He would never forget that ghostly moment, when Clovis’ left eye opened, revealing an orb, once white, now the color of fetid, congealed blood. Georgius had told them all this was natural, that sometimes even after death the process of decomposition could cause certain random involuntary movements.

But of course Georgius wasn’t at the funeral.

He never saw the damn eye.

Instead Theuderic had met with a priest, a wise man of the old ways rather than some Christian fool. The sage told him that the dead can see past the time of the living, into the days to come, and cautioned him that the eye of Clovis had perhaps seen a vision of great death and horror, and revealed itself as a warning of things to come.

So it was with great concern that Theuderic participated in the events of the court. Like most peripheral members of the Merovingian family, he had supported the brief regency of his uncle, Chlodemer, last living brother of Childeric. Chlodemer had promised what seemed a winning political formulation: continued rule by the Merovingians, with Clovis’s eldest brother Childebert as King in name only; wider disbursement of authorities and court patronage within the Merovingian and closely related families, and a continuation of Childeric’s general ambivalence towards the affairs of the Ripaurian Franks. It was a set of policies designed precisely to avoid the kind of bloody in-fighting that could easily see the Frankish lands torn asunder or conquered by greedy neighbors.

It might even have worked, were it not for the Saxons. They had come streaming over the border into the eastern reaches of the Frankish lands. The Saxon problem had been growing for years, and was in serious need for royal intervention. But, stable as Chlodemer’s regime had seemed, it was in no position to rally a substantial force to campaign in the forests of Saxony. That failure had driven the Ripaurians away from him, with more than one eastern Regulus withdrawing their recognition of Childebert as King. Even some Salian Frankish leaders closer to Saxony began to drift away from royal authority.

That had given an opportunity to the anti-Chlodemer faction at court, chiefly centered around Guntheuc, Chlodemer’s own sister, who had taken up the cause of her younger nephew, Sigebert. Her faction sought to reassert a strong central royal power in Tornacum, then to use force to bring the other families and the Ripaurians into line. As 481 progressed, the initial stability of Chlodemer’s authority evaporated. In late October, not long after the first snow of that year’s brutal winter, men loyal to Guntheuc had killed Chlodemer, arrested Childebert, and placed Sigebert on the throne.

The coup had seemed stable at first, and most of the court fell into line. Then the Romans seized Samarobriva, a staggering blow to the legitimacy of the new regime.

Soon conspiratorial networks opposed to the regency of Guntheuc were spawning throughout the land. Theuderic, not much of a fan of his dear aunt, had been quick to drift towards them.

That’s how he got to be here.

Sitting in the great banquet hall, while his sword dripped blood onto the wood of the table.

While little Sigebert’s corpse lay motionless behind him.

Already rotting in the Summer heat.


********


Northern Gaul – Autumn, 482


“Tell me Desiderius… are you barbarians always this late?” Yawned Syagrius from the back of his horse, man and beast looking west to the setting sun.

“For the last time, you dirty provincial… If having a Burgundian grandmother makes me a barbarian, then you General, are a shepherd.”

“What?”

“Because... your soldiers’ mothers are... you know what… it’s not important.”

Desiderius, an Italian who had come North into the service of Noviodunum just a few years before, was many things.

Funny, was not one of them.

But Syagrius could not help letting loose a brief smirk at the younger man’s expense, as he peered back down the southern road upon which the man they were waiting for was traveling.

Gundahar, cousin to the King of the Burgundians, was riding down the road towards them. Seeing the man, Syagrius turned to Desiderius.

“Remember, this silver tongued bastard walked his way into the court of the Franks, and poisoned a boy in cold blood to achieve his King’s goals. Give him half a chance and there’s no guarantee he won’t do the same to us.

“Agreed.”

“Though... You do know, General, that Gundahar was an officer in the Imperial Army? He may well not require a translator… Indeed he may well be insulted that you brought one.”

“Ah. Well, in that case… you shall be… my court chaplain…”

“I’m a pagan, General.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“You really shouldn’t try to make jokes.”


********


Off the coast of Massilia (Marseilles), Fall, 483


The man born Abd Manaf ibn Hashim, peered out across the bow of the ship. He could see their destination, the ancient city of Massilia, in the distance. A pearl they had told him, a great outpost of refined Greek culture, sitting upon the border of two great seas, the Mare Nostrum, and the fouler sea of the barbarian kingdoms beyond. Of course “They”, were his old colleagues in Antioch, pampered Syrians, Greeks and Armenians, who had never stepped foot in The West.

The captain of the ship had told him, that Massilia was no more a Greek city than Odoacer was an Imperial official. It was a self-propelled farce, one that outsiders simply agreed to indulge. This was the place that he was to make his new home, the crowning glory of a mediocre career. His official posting was to serve as the Emperor’s representative in Gaul, to liaise between the various barbarian nations, and the fragmentary Roman warlord fiefdoms, and maintain the fig-leaf that Gaul was still part of the Empire, and its current possessors, acting only in the interests of the Emperor Zeno.

But Ibn Hashim, was under illusions. He was traveling to a Visigothic city, with only a pair of Imperial soldiers to serve as guards and the budget to hire only a single clerk, and perhaps a servant girl for the house he hoped actually existed. At best, he was a spy, to report back secretly to Constantinople, at worst just another little piece of prestige thrown to King Euric of the Visigoths.

He preferred to be called Michael, the name he had adopted as a boy, to try to fit in with his peers. That was to prove a fool’s errand, for he quickly became known by the moniker “Michael the Arab”. His mother came from one of the (very much) lesser branches of prominent tribe within the Ghassanid Confederacy, proud servants of the Empire for many generations. His father, on the other hand, came from a long line of desert wanderers, from the far reaches of the Arabian Deserts. Like many of their kind, they had been propelled North, out of the wastes, pushed by population growth and endemic political struggle, and pulled by the hope of new lives in rich Syria.

At least that was the idea. While official discrimination against Arabs was rare, popular dislike for the newcomers ran deep among the settled Syrians. Untrustworthy wanderers, heretics, bringers of a foul tongue, a dangerous threat to market incumbents, these were but a few of the charges laid upon Arabs by their neighbors. Michael was smart, quick to learn, eloquent in Greek and functional in Latin (more than could be said for many of his more “Roman” colleagues). He had risen, quickly if haphazardly, through the Syrian bureaucracy. Eventually claiming a respectable mid-level position in the financial offices in Antioch, he hoped to achieve a settled and successful life, in spite of his unfortunate ancestry.

But the Imperial Bureaucracy was not built on competency, but on nepotism and sleeze. It was a game of who-knows-who, and Michael the Arab, oversupplied of brains but undersupplied of powerful friends, fell afoul of it. The truth didn’t matter. That the senator had thrown himself at Michael, didn’t matter. When the scandal broke, who did everyone believe? The wealthy, generous aristocrat with a family history of distinguished service, or the Arab?

And so here he was, sent out to pasture at the end of the world, with a promotion that was really an very early retirement, likely never to return home again.

The ship was now approaching the dock. One of the sailors, a foul-mouthed Maurian, reminded him to collect his belongings before departure. Of course Michael kept his valuables upon him at all times. He did not trust the Maurians, men of the mysterious lands of Western Africa, who so easily shifted their allegiances to whosoever offered them the most coin.

Michael smirked as he mulled the thought.

“Like the Arabs of the West…”


********


Noviodunum – Autumn, 482


“….And that, is just the problem! The Visigoths unite the bulk of Spain with the most productive regions of Gaul. We circle around their sides… First Odoacer in Italy, then my cousin’s lands above that, then the Alemanni, the Franks, through to you, and the Brythons beyond…”

Gundahar was close, he felt, to bringing home his point to his Roman hosts.

“So you would have us all try to work together, in some grand alliance to carve pieces off Euric’s kingdom?” responded Syagrius.

“No. Not everyone. What I’m talking about, is a kind of… realignment. My cousin’s kingdom faces the same quandary as you do General: powerful enough to defend itself from rivals but too weak to advance itself. One day the Visigoths, or perhaps Odoacer, will decide that they are tired of we middling states, and we’ll be powerless to stop their march. We must act TOGETHER to wreck the Visigothic project NOW, for we won’t have another chance.”

Stick before carrot. Fill the audience with fear before offering them a solution.

This was not the first time Gundahar had had to argue a point before an audience of soldiers.

“Only together, will we have the strength to best the Visigoths. Divided we would be overpowered, and grant them the very excuse they desire to drive us into oblivion…. But together, we have more than enough men to crush Euric on the field and drive over the mountains and out of Gaul forever.”

“Share Gaul with Goths… Or share it with Burgundians!” Interrupted some fat old man from down the table, whose name Gundahar had not caught. “What’s the bloody difference!”

“Silence!” Thundered Syagrius. “My apologies for the interruption, Burgundian, go on..”

“Of course… My cousin’s proposal is to make war as soon as possible, perhaps in the Summer of next year.” In the interruption, Gundahar had lost his place, and needed a moment to reclaim his thoughts. “The question is… What do you want? Do you want to sit up here in this da-“ Now that wasn’t it....

The General stepped in to save the argument. “The question is, will we continue to languish here, in the North, far from the Great Sea, slowly starving for access to technology and the luxuries of what used to be the Roman way of life? Or will we take advantage of this one great chance to strike back and reclaim Southern Gaul?”

The General was gambling. He had decided to throw his support behind the effort before the discussion had barely even begun. The Frankish civil war had quieted the Eastern Frontier, and now he had an opportunity to the South. The Franks could put themselves back together at any time, who knows what the strategic context would be in just a few years? He had to act now. Whether his subordinates could be convinced to support such an effort, was a very different question. He had a little surplus political capital, earned on that muddy river to the North, but not much. So his plan was to force the assembled Romans to choose between selfish reluctance and stubborn military pride. If he put the matter to them here and now, then by objecting they risked seeming to be cowards before their fellows.

“We will join you, Burgundian. Unless, anyone here would like to object?”

Silence throughout the room. The only sounds the subtle shifting of eyes, as one commander looked to his neighbor, some excited, some desperate for someone else to make the first refusal. But no words, none at all.

Syagrius had won.

“Now, gentlemen, I shall leave you to enjoy this feast. If our Burgundian friend would be so kind as to follow me back into my office, I would love to discuss some maps.”


 

Basileus Giorgios

Nice update! I'd appreciate a quick history-book style summary at some stage, though, all these Frankish manoeuvrings are leaving me rather lost!
 

shakaka36

Basileus Giorgios said:
Nice update! I'd appreciate a quick history-book style summary at some stage, though, all these Frankish manoeuvrings are leaving me rather lost!
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I was trying to put together an infographic to capture it, but it... well let's just say it did not ADD to comprehensibility...

The main thing to note is that the Frankish plot continues to thicken, and there is no obvious end in sight. Clovis and his sons were responsible for a good deal of the institutionalization of the Franks, and so this crisis falls upon a political order the organizational fundamentals of which are not good. The Franks will not go the way of certain other Germanic groups from the period, and disappear entirely due to a bad couple of generations of political leadership, but it'll get worse before it gets better!
 

shakaka36

Fair enough. If you're only a recent graduate, it shouldn't be too hard to bluff your way into a local university's library system, since you still know the ropes. Managed to get into the University of Michigan's papyrus collection myself once, without anybody challenging me.
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Well, as much as I'd like to think of myself as a "recent" graduate, I'm really more of a half-decade graduate... And I went to school in Norway so I doubt I could parlay that into getting into my local university in NYC.

Is it known how many children or other family Syagrius had? If he can get the external borders of his domain stable, is there longevity in his dynasty?
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We don't know. I've given him children in the TL because he PROBABLY had some, but we dont know. We do know that his family continued to be important in parts of gaul well into the Frankish period. Though of course we don't know if these are his descendants, or some other branch of the family.

Is the ERE going to feature heavily in this or will it just be some individual characters?
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Yes! Not yet though. Once we really get into the 6th century the ERE will be a much bigger part of the TL. For now most of its role will be through the prism of various characters like Michael who are the instruments of ERE policy in the West.
 
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