Besides the great expanse across the Rhine known as Germania, there were also the lands bordering the Danube, that sister river of the Rhine, which ran thirteen hundred miles until it reached the Euxine Sea. Along its banks were found the savage lands of Thetia, Pannonia, Dalmatia, Dacia, Maesia, Thrace, and Macedon. Some of these lands had inhabitants that still savored the taste of human flesh. Others were remnants of ancient cultures far older than Rome that still influenced their lifestyles, such as Macedonia from which the noble Alexander derived his heritage.
The empire had brought much to the world, and even now was contributing greatly to the project of providing a modicum of civilization to those within its borders. The barbarians across the frontiers looked with envy upon the acquisitions of those that had placed their allegiance with the Eagles and had sworn fealty to the emperor of the world. While the barbarians hungered for their wealth, they also despised them for surrendering their pride and letting the Romans rule over them. Wealth flowed in a never-ending stream into the ports and cities of the empire.
Furs from Scythia, carpets from distant Babylon, the wealth of a thousand subject peoples filled the coffers of the imperial city of the Caesars. Trade goods came even from lands so distant that most thought them only to be myths.
Every year on the summer solstice, a fleet of ships would set their sails from Myoshormos in Egypt to follow the winds that would carry them to the far island of Malabar, where they would trade for the wealth of the Orient. They brought back jade, precious stones, rare animals for the arena, and most valuable of all, silk. A pound of the fine material was equal in value to a pound of gold. In December or January, the ships would set sail again to let the changing currents of the winds return them home, from whence their previous cargo would eventually find its way to the bazaars and markets of Rome itself.
Trade was the life blood of the empire. Without it, the boundaries of the empire would soon have shrunk until it contained no more than the Seven Hills of Rome itself. One may take a land by conquest, but it cannot be held long without trade. Rome had not started out to be master of the world. She had only wanted to provide herself with secure borders. But she found that every time she conquered a savage or hostile land and absorbed it into the framework of her own empire, there was always another savage or hostile land lying just beyond. In order to secure the peace of the lands she had just acquired, she would have to fight and conquer those on the new frontiers.
In comparison, Casca's small lands were poor, but he was satisfied and indeed would have preferred not to have even the responsibility he did. The dreams of conquest and dynasty were not his. He knew he was not the stuff kings are made of. In his heart and mind, he was still a common soldier and was content with the things a soldier found pleasurable-a little wine from time to time, a roll in the hay with a willing wench, and a little time to occasionally lie in the sun and sleep. The business of ruling a small tribe was almost more than he could deal with. So he ruled as a simple soldier with few rules other than common sense. He was smart enough to know that what the Romans thought of as the good life would destroy his people. Strange, but he did think of them as his people. They were just simple folk with rough rules of honor and justice. They would not have the immunities to corruption that one would inherit if he was brought up in the cities of the empire. It was best for him to keep as much distance between them as he could from the civilizing influences of Rome. The rot would come soon enough without him helping it any. He had had no desire to affect the mantle of greatness, but fate always forced him into a path he would have preferred to avoid. He was content to be himself and no more.
But in Rome, the new emperor had a maggot that ate at his soul. Casca knew he came from common clay. The Emperor Maximim wore a heavy crown. Corio, the shipbuilder, had brought Casca up to date as best he could on what had transpired in the empire since he had crossed the Rhine those long years ago, and the news was not good.
Rome was decaying from the inside even faster than he had thought she would. He had first seen the rot setting in when he had served under the Eagles of Avidius Cassius in Persia. In the last thirty years, there had been twelve emperors in Rome, and most had lasted no more than a year or two and some only a matter of days or weeks.
Currently the new master of the world was one Maximim. Born of the barbarian races, he now ruled over the noble bloodlines of the senate by virtue of his favor with the army, who had put him on the throne after watching the empire being sold to the highest bidder by the praetorian guards. They'd decided that Rome would be best served by one of their own-a soldier who had risen from the ranks and had proven his courage in battle fighting shoulder to shoulder along with them. The fact that he was not of fine and noble blood they considered to be in his favor. Maximim's mother was of the tribes of the Alani and his father was a Goth. During the reigns of Septimus and his son Severus, he had attained the high rank of centurion, but the raw sore of frustrated ambition always lay in the back of his thoughts. He'd waited patiently, building his reputation with the legions. Eating their food, and living in the same tents that sheltered the most common of his soldiers, he'd built a bond between him and the legion that he knew would one day serve him well. He waited, biding his time as emperors were assassinated or replaced, knowing the legions were growing ever more discontent with the weak selections of the senate and praetorians.
When Severus had returned from the Persian wars to conduct a new campaign against the German tribes, he had met with Maximim, then Commander of the Ninth Legion, on the banks of the Rhine.
There, when the troops were passing in review, the legion spontaneously, or so it seemed, proclaimed Maximim emperor and proved their devotion to him by murdering Alexander Severus. Maximim was emperor, but the knowledge of his common blood ate at him and he soon set about eliminating anyone who could remind him of his less than noble lineage. While affecting the manners of the nobility in public, he still had the rough courage and temperament of his barbarian mother and father, and proved it time and again, not hesitating to proscribe on any pretext any who got in his way. He knew his power rested on the spears of the legions, and so he set about securing their loyalties even more by giving them donatives of money that they hadn't earned by service in battle. But Maximim forgot that when one gives money to a man who hasn't earned it, the man will take it, but will also grow to despise the giver as well as himself; and it's easier to get rid of the giver than eliminate oneself. It's also a lot less painful.
Maximim's biggest screw-up was when he set to melting down the statues of past emperors. That he might have gotten away with. But when he took to melting down the statues of the holy gods of Olympus and Rome itself, he went too far. When you get the priests after your ass, you don't last long in this world. He could order a man's wife and children sold into slavery to settle a debt. That wasn't too bad; the man would just usually grumble and bitch about it for a while. But when you messed with his gods, you'd find your ass in a sling soon enough, with the priests whipping it rather soundly. There have been few in history who ever survived the wrath of a righteous priest who has had his easy living taken away.
Casca shook his head and poured another mug of mulled wine spiced with a few bits of rare cloves for himself and Corio. Casca sipped, swallowed, and wondered. Why do men seek that which will destroy them? What is the drive that forces man to seek power over the bodies of even his friends and family, when they should know from history that the same power that they will hold so fleetingly will lead not only to their destruction, but to that of their own children and comrades. It would be better to have a small holding where one could watch his children, as well as his fields and herds, grow tall and strong in the sun, instead of having to worry about seeing them cut down before his eyes by those seeking to replace him on some decaying seat of senseless power.
Corio agreed with Casca's sentiments exactly. Bidding him good night, he stumbled off to his chambers to sleep off what he knew would be a bad head in the morning.