The mark of a good commander is measured in their ability to maintain their armies. Whether it be battlefield losses, environmental losses, or troop unrest, a commander must always be able to maintain his forces. Those who cannot do not remain commanders long.
In the case of one Postumus, his troops are on the verge of choosing a new commander.
"The gods are angry."
"Neptune tears at our ports with storms."
"The second we sail to Africa, we'll drown."
The men aren't wrong; the weather is terrible. If they sail to Africa now, they are all going to drown.
Postumus sighs and looks to his officers and his new linen man, his former scribe now head bureaucrat. A simple man by the name of Marcus Fabricius Fabatus.
Everyone just calls him "Fabatus."
Fabatus clears his throat and adresses the tent.
"With all due respect, we don't have the provisions, ships, or manpower to hold Africa without losing everything to Gallienus."
In the back, one of the more battle-hungry commanders raises a hand.
"Well, we could always circle back to Germania; those barbarians are just asking for it."
Like-minded officers nod along. This doesn't sit well with Marcus Simplicinius Genialis. A man who fought off a massive German force back in his province, Rhaetia. He was a former governor before defecting to Postumus. So when he speaks, listen.
"We are not provoking the Germans. If we do, we are going to lose to Gallienus. The manpower required for any meaningful engagements north of the Rhine would ruin us."
Postumus looks at the flaps, right at the men supposedly guarding them.
"If we don't loot someone, the troops will replace me. Possibly you as well. Worse, they might force you into my position.
The officers collectively shudder at the thought. You may get the title of Caesar, but if your troops force you to be Caesar, you know they will replace you if things go slightly wrong. At best, you escape to some hidden villa with all the gold you can horde. At worst, you get caught by the new Caesar.
Marcus Piavvonius Victorinus clears his throat "With all due respect the legionaires are spoiled. The tabulae made life too comfortable for them."
He slams a linen tabulae on the table. The starch coating thuds on the table; the cloth stays intact, resisting the officer's anger.
The table is covered in reports of troop unrest and pay disputes. The breakaway provinces of Britannia, Hispania, and Gaul weren't rich to begin with. Years of rebellion broke them. Even the tabelae cannot help.
Fabatus picks one up and puts it close to him. The linen cloth is so tightly knit, giving it a texture similar to parchment.
Tabula Militaris (military record)
Legion/unit: I minervia
Province: Gallia Narbonensis
Sector / Fort: Portus Veneris
Commander: Gauis Pulcher
Date: 1018
Present forces: 2792
Combat Ready: 2458
Killed (since last report): 17
Wounded: 317
Deserted: 6
supplies 20 words
Sufficient food, clothing, and armor. Require two wagons of bandages. seven pounds of leather.
Commander observation: 40 words.
The men are restless. They are scared to cross the sea, but they want more pay, more loot. They are paid enough. They are bored and scared to sail. They need a distraction. Rhine victories left them wanting more success.
Legate stamp
"It isn't the fault of the Tabulae. They are a good solution. Don't whine when they can't fix human behavior, Victorinus."
In a flash, Victorinus moves to attack Fabatus. He has no plan, only the raw intent of hurt pride.
Postumus slams his fist on the table. Victorinus halts. Everyone turns to look at postumus.
"So while my men are scared and hungry for war and an enemy, their officers bicker like children."
No one moves their eyes, all affixed to Postumus.
"My men desire war, but Neptune denies them. So I shall give them an enemy."
Postumus looks sharply at Fabatus.
Fabatus, are there any traitors left who would turn on me for Gallienus?"
Nervous Fabatus answers. It doesn't escape his attention that the men near him have stepped back. As if the wrath of Postumus would set the portly bureaucrat aflame.
"Honorable Caesar, the tabulae have convinced many of your glory. Never before have our citizens beheld such efficient governance. Those who would turn on you are but the thoughts in men's heads. None would defy you in action."
Postumus remains silent. A few of the generals look at one another, looking for solutions in the eyes of those who are just as lost as they. Some feet shuffle awkwardly; a few hands grasp harder than usual.
Finally, Postumus breaks the silence.
"Have the men return to the Rhine. But during the march, I want scouts going ahead and finding any Christians on our way. Allow the men to vent themselves on them."
The officers nod and leave to prepare the march back to the Rhine.
Genialis stays behind.
Postumus looks at the empty tent. Two men of legend in the same place alone.
Postumus looks at Genialis.
"So, hero of Rhaetia, why are you still here? You have men to coordinate."
"I would like to stay behind with my men to see if the weather were to improve and to prepare ships and provisions for such an event.
Postumus is suspicious but signals for Genialis to continue.
"I can ensure that the men here do not mutine and that when the time comes I can send for you. With a fleet ready to take Africa."
Postumus thinks he turns to Genialis.
"So be it, but I will not leave you with your own men. I shall leave the LegioXXIIPrimigenia. Command them with any local forces you can scrounge up."
Genialis salutes and bows.
Postumus looks at the tablae strewn about the table like leaves in fall.
Damn things. I can't wage a proper war without one of you telling me my house is on fire. Postumus laughs. Not only is he blaming the messenger. He is. Blaming the messages themselves.
Postumus leaves the tent. As the tabulae lay there. Inert yet having changed the course of one rulers life.