Requiescat in pace, Stilicho
Circle of Willis
Well-known member
Praetorium of Mediolanum, evening of December 31 424
“Father!” Flavius Eucherius shouted as he hurried up the stairs and flung open the door to Stilicho’s quarters, but immediately quieted down when he caught his aged mother’s reproachful glare and saw that everyone else gathered around the older man’s bed had done so in grim silence. He swept the Pannonian cap off his head and approached more slowly with his head bowed, as if he were an official and his father the Emperor rather than the other way around, slipping into a space between his dark-haired wife and eldest son – no doubt they had already said their farewells to the imperial generalissimo earlier, and his younger children had equally certainly been sent to bed by this late hour. “Forgive my tardiness, I came as quickly as I could, but the snows have made the Alpine passes treacherous at best.” Other than the high civil officials of court standing about the room, such as Joannes, he could see that they were joined this day by Alaric the Goth and his son Theodoric, both of whom were sitting in the corner with rather grim expressions on their faces.
“No worries, my son.” That Stilicho said these words in a thin wheeze, and that the old magister militum was bedridden and visibly pale beneath the candlelight, made Eucherius worry all the more. All his life, his father had seemed to him the very image of strength and vitality; that he had been reduced to this state, unable to even rise from his bed and bound beneath many blankets for fear that a cold breeze could blow his life away, was both almost incomprehensible and terrifying. “What matters is that you are here, now, while I still draw breath.”
“Nay, what matters is that you still draw breath at all, father.” The shaky quality to Eucherius’ own voice alerted Stilicho in turn, and he released his grip on the hand of his sole surviving daughter Thermantia – now garbed in a nun’s habit, having retired to a convent after the death of her husband Honorius – to instead grasp his son by the wrist. His grip was much weaker than it had been even a year or two ago however, and so it was far less reassuring a gesture than he had thought it would be. “What has the medicus found? Is this but a fleeting illness?”
Galla Placidia shook her head next to him, even as she gently placed one hand on her lordly husband’s shoulder. “A severe imbalance of humors, specifically of blood – that is what he said. He has already let out some more blood for the day, and instructed us to keep the blankets on to induce sweating.” The empress could not hide her grimace at the sight of her visibly weakening father-in-law. Was the medicus’ treatment not working? That could not be; it matched up perfectly with all she, and everyone else in the room, knew of Galen’s writings on humors. A feverish state, being both hot and moist, was clearly caused by an excess of blood, and the solution was to drain said excess by bloodletting and sweating…
“I cannot say I feel any better now than I did when the treatment began.” Stilicho shook his head without lifting it from his pillow. “But if the worst should transpire, and I fail to see tomorrow – “
“You will. You must!” Eucherius could not hide the note of desperation in his voice, returning his father’s grip with a much stronger one on the latter’s own wrist. “Rome still has need of you, father, as do I. We all do. We both know the last few years of peace you have won us cannot last forever, and indeed will likely not last much longer.”
“I remember well what we discussed last we set foot in the war room, son.” Stilicho coughed, needing a moment to settle down. “But my life is squarely in the hands of our Lord. If it is His will that I live to see another sunrise, I shall; if not, then I shall not. Only the rebellious Britons are so haughty and presumptuous to defy the destinies He has marked for each of us.” He sighed and looked up squarely into his only son’s eyes, taking notice of the trace of tears at their corners; something he had not seen since Eucherius was a boy. “Why do you grieve, Eucherius? Rome is finally secure from all threats. If I am called to our Father’s judgment tonight, I can face Him and give an accounting of all my triumphs and failures both without fear or regret, counting the state of the Empire among the former and certainly not among the latter.”
“Those rebel Britons you speak of, the barbarians stalking outside our gates, the East – they’ve all been quiet for too long.” Eucherius asserted, unwilling to let go of his father’s arm and inhaling deeply to steady himself. “No doubt they have been rebuilding their strength just as we have, father. When they strike – and we know they will – we must face them together, as we always have.”
“Yes…no doubt, indeed.” Stilicho sighed again. When he closed his eyes to blink, a wave of weariness struck him, and he had to fight a strong temptation to not open them again. “But when they strike, they will face you, Flavius Eucherius Augustus. The empire will be safe in your hands, you have proven that already. Martial strength, leadership on the battlefield and in peacetime both, the humility and patience to listen to those trying to help you…you’ve shown me you are capable of all these things.” He groaned and shifted slightly, wanting to prove to himself as much as his family and court that he was still strong enough to move. “Just exercise a healthy degree of caution in all your statecraft and battles both, and I am certain you will do fine, with or without me. You have many other worthy companions still to aid you in the battles ahead…”
“Aye, that he does. Including myself.” Came the gruff voice of Alaric, who had arisen from his seat and walked up to the emperor with surprisingly light steps for a man of his size. His hair had gone all gray now, just like his rival-turned-friend’s, and his own eyes had grown increasingly clouded, though fortunately for his remaining enemies Theodoric was still in his prime and able to remind all around of the fury of the fire-haired Balthings with a mean look. The barbarian king clapped Eucherius on the shoulder as the latter was inhaling deeply to contain his emotions and continued, “Have no fear, old friend. I am proud to have fought both against and with a worthy man like yourself, and will be just as proud to fight for your son against anyone who might challenge us.”
“…yes indeed, Alaric.” Stilicho looked just as surprised at the Visigoth’s display of friendship as his imperial son. The Goth typically wore his heart on his sleeve and was about as subtle as a warhammer to the face, and he’d be lying if he said the tribulations of the past decades had not forged ties of genuine companionship between the two old enemies – not to mention that, as he felt these were probably his final hours, he wished to avoid thinking uncharitable thoughts before facing God the Father – so he truly did not want to think Alaric was lying to gain their confidence in his final hours. But some old doubts die harder than the men carrying them. “I will pray that the bond of friendship between our peoples will endure for another thousand years. I must confess that I never expected to have a barbarian at my side in my last hours, however...”
“Oh?” If Alaric was offended, he didn’t show it, instead grinning beneath his silver beard. “Then what about a friend?”
“Now that, I was hoping for.” Stilicho matched Alaric’s deep laughter with a weak chuckle of his own and raised his other hand to shake the barbarian king’s one last time, while Eucherius and the other Romans present stood nonplussed. They’d all witnessed Alaric and Stilicho interacting on increasingly friendlier terms over the years, and it made sense considering how often the pair had fought together against threats to both their lives and peoples, but this was the first time any of them had heard the latter actually call the former his friend.
“Myself, I never expected to ever say this, either – but I will miss you, Flavius Stilicho.” Since pulling the magister militum into a manly embrace was not possible in the latter’s current condition, Alaric settled for clasping Stilicho’s raised hand with both of his own and giving it a firm shake. He did not notice the glance Stilicho shot toward the emperor, all but warning the latter not to completely lower his guard around the Visigoths even after this display. However, the gesture was not missed by Theodoric, who – never having been as close to Stilicho or even Eucherius – had been content to observe from his seat, and narrowed his eyes at the three older men. Was it even possible to get the Romans to fully trust him and his people, ever?
“Great general, the confessor has arrived.” Joannes cut in, having greeted the priest at the door to spare his overlord from the interruption. That was the cue for the Roman court to begin leaving Stilicho’s side, for his confession could not be heard by any other than God (through said confessor). Last to leave, of course, were Serena, Eucherius and the immediate imperial family.
To his grandson Romanus, Stilicho left a few words of wisdom. “Remember what I told you the first time your father allowed you to sit at the war table, Caesar: if you ever face the Huns, try to corner them against the geography of the battlefield, and if they should flee before you, think carefully over whether you should pursue them or not.”
To Thermantia, Eucherius and Galla Placidia, he left some final praises. “To think, I have watched you grow from toddlers at my feet to the fine man and women you are now. I do not wish to sound uncharitable towards your brother, my good-daughter, but it is equally important that I am honest as I prepare to face the Almighty: you and Eucherius have been – and, I am sure, will continue to be – far finer rulers of the Occident than he was. May God continue to watch over you, the Roman People, and I suppose even the Senate as well…”
To his wife Serena, the magister militum had the least to say. Theirs had been a political marriage arranged by the elder Theodosius as a reward for Stilicho’s loyal and competent service, and had initially been as frosty as most political marriages tended to be. But the two increasingly warmed up after the birth of their son and daughters, and through the various political crises they navigated together. When she kissed him on the cheek for the last time she heard him say, “I love you,” with sincerity in his voice, and lingered by his bedside for longer than she thought she would.
Not long after the priest heard his final confession of sins and administered the last rites, Stilicho closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. This time he truly would not open them again, though it took till morning for anyone to find that the longtime savior of the Occident had – despite the hopes of his son – passed away. Thus ended one of the most important chapters in the history of the Western Roman Empire...
“Father!” Flavius Eucherius shouted as he hurried up the stairs and flung open the door to Stilicho’s quarters, but immediately quieted down when he caught his aged mother’s reproachful glare and saw that everyone else gathered around the older man’s bed had done so in grim silence. He swept the Pannonian cap off his head and approached more slowly with his head bowed, as if he were an official and his father the Emperor rather than the other way around, slipping into a space between his dark-haired wife and eldest son – no doubt they had already said their farewells to the imperial generalissimo earlier, and his younger children had equally certainly been sent to bed by this late hour. “Forgive my tardiness, I came as quickly as I could, but the snows have made the Alpine passes treacherous at best.” Other than the high civil officials of court standing about the room, such as Joannes, he could see that they were joined this day by Alaric the Goth and his son Theodoric, both of whom were sitting in the corner with rather grim expressions on their faces.
“No worries, my son.” That Stilicho said these words in a thin wheeze, and that the old magister militum was bedridden and visibly pale beneath the candlelight, made Eucherius worry all the more. All his life, his father had seemed to him the very image of strength and vitality; that he had been reduced to this state, unable to even rise from his bed and bound beneath many blankets for fear that a cold breeze could blow his life away, was both almost incomprehensible and terrifying. “What matters is that you are here, now, while I still draw breath.”
“Nay, what matters is that you still draw breath at all, father.” The shaky quality to Eucherius’ own voice alerted Stilicho in turn, and he released his grip on the hand of his sole surviving daughter Thermantia – now garbed in a nun’s habit, having retired to a convent after the death of her husband Honorius – to instead grasp his son by the wrist. His grip was much weaker than it had been even a year or two ago however, and so it was far less reassuring a gesture than he had thought it would be. “What has the medicus found? Is this but a fleeting illness?”
Galla Placidia shook her head next to him, even as she gently placed one hand on her lordly husband’s shoulder. “A severe imbalance of humors, specifically of blood – that is what he said. He has already let out some more blood for the day, and instructed us to keep the blankets on to induce sweating.” The empress could not hide her grimace at the sight of her visibly weakening father-in-law. Was the medicus’ treatment not working? That could not be; it matched up perfectly with all she, and everyone else in the room, knew of Galen’s writings on humors. A feverish state, being both hot and moist, was clearly caused by an excess of blood, and the solution was to drain said excess by bloodletting and sweating…
“I cannot say I feel any better now than I did when the treatment began.” Stilicho shook his head without lifting it from his pillow. “But if the worst should transpire, and I fail to see tomorrow – “
“You will. You must!” Eucherius could not hide the note of desperation in his voice, returning his father’s grip with a much stronger one on the latter’s own wrist. “Rome still has need of you, father, as do I. We all do. We both know the last few years of peace you have won us cannot last forever, and indeed will likely not last much longer.”
“I remember well what we discussed last we set foot in the war room, son.” Stilicho coughed, needing a moment to settle down. “But my life is squarely in the hands of our Lord. If it is His will that I live to see another sunrise, I shall; if not, then I shall not. Only the rebellious Britons are so haughty and presumptuous to defy the destinies He has marked for each of us.” He sighed and looked up squarely into his only son’s eyes, taking notice of the trace of tears at their corners; something he had not seen since Eucherius was a boy. “Why do you grieve, Eucherius? Rome is finally secure from all threats. If I am called to our Father’s judgment tonight, I can face Him and give an accounting of all my triumphs and failures both without fear or regret, counting the state of the Empire among the former and certainly not among the latter.”
“Those rebel Britons you speak of, the barbarians stalking outside our gates, the East – they’ve all been quiet for too long.” Eucherius asserted, unwilling to let go of his father’s arm and inhaling deeply to steady himself. “No doubt they have been rebuilding their strength just as we have, father. When they strike – and we know they will – we must face them together, as we always have.”
“Yes…no doubt, indeed.” Stilicho sighed again. When he closed his eyes to blink, a wave of weariness struck him, and he had to fight a strong temptation to not open them again. “But when they strike, they will face you, Flavius Eucherius Augustus. The empire will be safe in your hands, you have proven that already. Martial strength, leadership on the battlefield and in peacetime both, the humility and patience to listen to those trying to help you…you’ve shown me you are capable of all these things.” He groaned and shifted slightly, wanting to prove to himself as much as his family and court that he was still strong enough to move. “Just exercise a healthy degree of caution in all your statecraft and battles both, and I am certain you will do fine, with or without me. You have many other worthy companions still to aid you in the battles ahead…”
“Aye, that he does. Including myself.” Came the gruff voice of Alaric, who had arisen from his seat and walked up to the emperor with surprisingly light steps for a man of his size. His hair had gone all gray now, just like his rival-turned-friend’s, and his own eyes had grown increasingly clouded, though fortunately for his remaining enemies Theodoric was still in his prime and able to remind all around of the fury of the fire-haired Balthings with a mean look. The barbarian king clapped Eucherius on the shoulder as the latter was inhaling deeply to contain his emotions and continued, “Have no fear, old friend. I am proud to have fought both against and with a worthy man like yourself, and will be just as proud to fight for your son against anyone who might challenge us.”
“…yes indeed, Alaric.” Stilicho looked just as surprised at the Visigoth’s display of friendship as his imperial son. The Goth typically wore his heart on his sleeve and was about as subtle as a warhammer to the face, and he’d be lying if he said the tribulations of the past decades had not forged ties of genuine companionship between the two old enemies – not to mention that, as he felt these were probably his final hours, he wished to avoid thinking uncharitable thoughts before facing God the Father – so he truly did not want to think Alaric was lying to gain their confidence in his final hours. But some old doubts die harder than the men carrying them. “I will pray that the bond of friendship between our peoples will endure for another thousand years. I must confess that I never expected to have a barbarian at my side in my last hours, however...”
“Oh?” If Alaric was offended, he didn’t show it, instead grinning beneath his silver beard. “Then what about a friend?”
“Now that, I was hoping for.” Stilicho matched Alaric’s deep laughter with a weak chuckle of his own and raised his other hand to shake the barbarian king’s one last time, while Eucherius and the other Romans present stood nonplussed. They’d all witnessed Alaric and Stilicho interacting on increasingly friendlier terms over the years, and it made sense considering how often the pair had fought together against threats to both their lives and peoples, but this was the first time any of them had heard the latter actually call the former his friend.
“Myself, I never expected to ever say this, either – but I will miss you, Flavius Stilicho.” Since pulling the magister militum into a manly embrace was not possible in the latter’s current condition, Alaric settled for clasping Stilicho’s raised hand with both of his own and giving it a firm shake. He did not notice the glance Stilicho shot toward the emperor, all but warning the latter not to completely lower his guard around the Visigoths even after this display. However, the gesture was not missed by Theodoric, who – never having been as close to Stilicho or even Eucherius – had been content to observe from his seat, and narrowed his eyes at the three older men. Was it even possible to get the Romans to fully trust him and his people, ever?
“Great general, the confessor has arrived.” Joannes cut in, having greeted the priest at the door to spare his overlord from the interruption. That was the cue for the Roman court to begin leaving Stilicho’s side, for his confession could not be heard by any other than God (through said confessor). Last to leave, of course, were Serena, Eucherius and the immediate imperial family.
To his grandson Romanus, Stilicho left a few words of wisdom. “Remember what I told you the first time your father allowed you to sit at the war table, Caesar: if you ever face the Huns, try to corner them against the geography of the battlefield, and if they should flee before you, think carefully over whether you should pursue them or not.”
To Thermantia, Eucherius and Galla Placidia, he left some final praises. “To think, I have watched you grow from toddlers at my feet to the fine man and women you are now. I do not wish to sound uncharitable towards your brother, my good-daughter, but it is equally important that I am honest as I prepare to face the Almighty: you and Eucherius have been – and, I am sure, will continue to be – far finer rulers of the Occident than he was. May God continue to watch over you, the Roman People, and I suppose even the Senate as well…”
To his wife Serena, the magister militum had the least to say. Theirs had been a political marriage arranged by the elder Theodosius as a reward for Stilicho’s loyal and competent service, and had initially been as frosty as most political marriages tended to be. But the two increasingly warmed up after the birth of their son and daughters, and through the various political crises they navigated together. When she kissed him on the cheek for the last time she heard him say, “I love you,” with sincerity in his voice, and lingered by his bedside for longer than she thought she would.
Not long after the priest heard his final confession of sins and administered the last rites, Stilicho closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. This time he truly would not open them again, though it took till morning for anyone to find that the longtime savior of the Occident had – despite the hopes of his son – passed away. Thus ended one of the most important chapters in the history of the Western Roman Empire...