My day was already off to a bad start. Those idiot carpenters had delivered an atrocious new table; my old one had been fine and gilded, but this replacement was clearly subpar. When I interrogated the man, he claimed his shop was waiting on petitions detailing shortages of gold and finery for craftsmen. Everything was more expensive these days.
I, a senator of Rome, couldn't afford a damned table. Truly, we live in capricious times. Those forms took three years to successfully implement, yet all other reforms regarding government administration were but ash from the mouths of the Senate. It mattered little when the empire had none of the coin to afford any proposed reforms.
I stare at my wine goblet; it is clay, a cheap thing fit for plebs.
"Gallienus is a damned fool; he gives us the burden of governance but puts all the silver in the stomachs of his precious cavalrymen."
Rome has long planned to increase the forms' utility beyond complaints and civil unrest. Plans were drafted to modify the forms and add more details, refining them into a mighty beast of governance.
There was one small problem: change costs money, and Rome is broke.
Forget adding stamps; the Senate earnestly debates the cost of ink for the date section of the form.
Along with that is the cost of training the form handlers, the people, and the magistrates on what date should be put on the form. Nothing in government is cheap, especially papyrus work.
The Senate debates and calls Senatum, but nothing changes the fact that Rome is bankrupt. The currency is in shambles, and Rome cannot expand anything unless they want to spend more worthless currency to make more worthless currency.
Thankfully, Vettius had a plan. That bastard Honorius already does it: hear other people talk and take that wisdom as your own
&&
A small room holds the matter of a dedicated group to solve one simple matter. How to pay for the Roman state.
The home of Senator Vettius has held many dangers. Gladiators, traitors to the republic, criminals, bankers, and rich Christian refugees. Never has it held the imperial budget.
Rome's territories are a mess. Postumus and his Gallic empire demand attention from the legions. Northern tribes demand attention from the legions. The Sassanid Empire demands attention from the legions.
None of which is free; the empire debased its currency so many times to pay legionaries their fair share. Odenathus and the East pay the eastern legions out of pocket. Dacia pays its legionaries directly from gold mines. The rest are paid in worthless coins.
Still adding it all up, Rome can barely afford the army, least of all an expanded bureaucracy.
Vettius and his new table seat some of the finest men in Rome. The men at his table are not those men.
To his left sits Titus, still young and naive. The only reason Vettius allowed this uppity pedarii to attend his meeting was the boy's family, the Gens Claudii. Thankfully, the boy isn't a complete fool.
Flanking Titus is Gnaeus, dreamer, economist, and friend of Rome's finer inventors and architects. The man keeps suggesting reforms that the state cannot afford. Not a complete fool, but a politician he is not.
To the right of this little Senate is Marcus Magon. Appointed by one of the barracks emperors, the man's rank as senator is flimsy on a good day.
Last but certainly not least, Septimia Zenobia, the first senator without an Adam's apple. Brilliant, certainly, sadly, her posting was not welcomed with open arms. Many senators still whisper of ancestral shame and declining values when she strolls by.
I should have stayed out of politics the moment the empire had all these damned soldier-emperors. No, I had to listen to my parents and join the bloody senate.
Well, no use complaining now; it's time to salvage the mess before him and forge the new Roman Empire.
Vettius puts his fist before his mouth, clearing his throat with a cough that isn't a cough.
"Fate, Rome, and your unique skills chose this group."
The group stares at Vettius; no applause, not even a polite smile, graces their faces.
Titus, brave Titus, breaks the silence.
"We were the only ones who accepted this invitation."
That gets a chuckle from Marcus and Gnaeus; even Zenobia can't help but smile.
"That may be true," says Vettius. "But have you considered that you are all brilliant?"
Vettius points at Gnaeus.
"Your suggestions for ports, concrete, and funding investors would be brilliant."
"Yeah," mutters Gnaeus, "if we could afford them."
Vettius, unperturbed, points at Marcus next.
"Your Dacian reform stabilized Dacia; for once, news from the north isn't portents of doom."
Marcus isn't as optimistic.
"The gold mines barely stabilize our economy. The games were dismal; hardly any lions arrived for the new year."
Vettius claps his hands together like a judge's staff.
"That is exactly why we need to fix the Roman economy. We can either complain about Hannibal at the gates or fight like Scipio."
The group sits a little straighter at that; Titus even verbalizes support.
Zenobia raises a hand, a question, clearly clawing behind her lips.
"Wonderful speech, truly, but let's not forget we need bullion. A thousand wagons of gold and two thousand of silver if we want to pay for the army, the state, and the new bureaucracy."
Vettius smiles; he didn't call them all here to wallow in fear.
"That is why I want you four to give suggestions, and don't worry, I will give due credit to the recommenders."
The four senators grin at that, partially in amusement and partially because they were concerned Vettius would attempt to steal credit again.
Gnaeus stands first.
"I suggest we sell as many slaves as we can to the Arabs and Saharan caravan masters. Not all of them, but a considerable number of war captives from the north, migratory populations, and excess slaves. Second, we stop trying to fight Postumus; we don't invade the West. We hold what we have until reconquest doesn't bankrupt us further."
Titus slams his fist onto the table.
Coward, you would let that so-called Gallic Empire hold Roman land while we sit here debating coin!"
Gnaeus answers, his voice firm against this impetuous young man.
"I would have Rome survive; you wish to retake the lands Postumus took? Great. With what army, what coin, and what food?"
That question takes some of the wind out of the young man's sails. Unfortunately, youth was never renowned for moderation.
"I would have Rome retain its honor."
Marcus Magon laughs.
"And I would have Venus and Vesta warm my bed, but I go home to a cold bed."
Zenobia sighs, not enjoying the juvenile humor.
"What Magon means," says Zenobia, giving the African a glare that could melt iron. "We can't retake the West without losing the empire."
Titus and Marcus both look sullen. One for his youth, the other because he acted like a youth.
Vettius turns his head left to right; the group is obviously losing focus.
"The point is that we need to pay the military and the government something. Our currency is a joke, our economy is in the gutter, and our enemies tear at us."
Titus mutters, "We're better off paying the proles with papyrus."
Zenobia snaps her head up and stares at Titus.
"Say that again."
"What proles with papyrus!" I note it was a neat alliteration, but—"
Zenobia interrupts Titus before he can make some idiotic comment on Roman superior comedy.
"What I mean is, with the proliferation of papyrus forms, we could pay the legions with papyrus. Back in Ostia, people were scrambling to get their hands on the stuff."
The group thinks about that for quite a bit. Papyrus is a hot commodity nowadays with the forms and bureaucracy. In fact, paying the legions in Egypt, Palestine, Syria, and North Africa with papyrus might work.
Vettius knew it; he knew the false invite would work. humiliate himself with the useless masses of the Senate and gain the allegiance of the finest minds of the empire. Sure, he didn't get everyone, but that doesn't mean he is going to throw out the fine stallions because he didn't snatch the entire herd.
The plan was simple: send invitations to the entire senate, but prepare special invitations to the poisoned prodigies. When they enter his domus, they feel unique, vetted, and special. They also lower their guard, sympathizing with the man whose party wasn't filled to the brim. You can't be suspicious of a man who looks like he just lost the world.
Now these fools are drafting an outline for paying the army with plant fibers that the empire has artificially turned into rare commodities.
Everything's coming up, Vettius.
The quintet gaze at the completed bill like a newborn baby.
Promise the eastern governors tax exemptions and, of course, ceremonial titles if they pay the legions with papyrus.
Gnaeus states the final tabulation. "The fiscal burden of the legion could go from eighty percent to sixty-five, maybe sixty percent."
Marcus clasps his hands together, grinning ear to ear.
"That gives fifteen percent of the budget back for magistrates, clerks, and improved forms."
A cheer resounds through the room. Servants step forth, pouring wine. Vettius looks at each of his helpers.
Zenobia sips her wine with grace forged from years of aristocratic parties.
Gnaeus drinks with full abandon, the stress of a republic falling from the man with every gulp.
Titus, in an attempt to honor his family and Rome, tries to keep some dignity during these festivities.
Senator Magon joins Gnaeus in the revelry; both men have had a hard time in the eternal city.
Vettius drinks last.
I have a plan, allies, and good wine. Truly, what more could a Roman ask for?
&&
Far away in the lands of Postumus, advanced linen bureaucrats roll sheet after sheet of labulae. Rome may celebrate its next step, but Postumus is a mile ahead.
In Colonia Agrippina the capital of his empire Postumus adresses his men.
"Scribes of the Gallic empire truly I say you are the backbone of my empire!"
"My soldiers you have fought well for your Caesar, truly I would not be here if not for you."
Postumus smiles as a thousand bureucrats cheer his name. Soon joined by the soliders of his empire. A thunderous roar resounds through the capital of the Gallic empire.
Ave Postumus!
Ave Postumus!
Ave Postumus!
"The empire prospers under by Tabulae now we must spread our rule to the rest of the empire."
"I love Brittania."
The brittanians of the empire cheer swords banging on shields for the man who saw fit to rule their island free of charge.
"I love Hispania."
The hispanians citizens traders, civilains and bureucrats cheer no less enthusaltically than the soldiers. They yell cheer and throw flowers at the feet of Postumus.
"and I love Gaul!
That gets the loudest cheer of all. the enitre city cheers. This was the man who defended their lands from barbarians, fixed their roads, and gave them Tabulae for free, while their cousins pay for forms in the lands of Gallienus.
"Shall I keep my Tabelae to myself or shall we share my love with the empire"
The entire city screams "Share" it lands like a judge screaming guilty!"
"Then I have one question who here will join me as we take North Africa back for good and honorable Romans"
The enitre city roars resolutely and with no hesitation yes. Soldiers bang their shields, citizens throw flowers, merchants applaud and give free wares, nobles stand pride clear on their faces.
"Then march with me"
Postumus jumps down from the podium landing perfectly as if he practiced the maneuver for days.
The man's army follows him to either destiny or death, only the gods know.
All Postumus knows is his men demand war so he will give it to them.
Postumus and his men leave the city to the following chant.
"Hail Caesar!"
"Hail Caesar!"
"Hail Caesar!"