Ravenna, Italy - Capital of the Western Roman Empire
August AD 476
Mid-afternoon.
Romulus did not like being called beautiful.
What boy in his twelfth summer would enjoy such a compliment?
Boys Romulus’s age wanted to be called brave, or fearless, or courageous, or clever.
Not beautiful.
But Romulus’s father had taught him well, and Romulus had learned to accept such compliments with grace and humility as befitted his status.
Because, you see, Romulus was the Emperor of Rome.
A young, rather strikingly beautiful Emperor of Rome.Â
And the Emperor of Rome was at this moment swimming back and forth across the river, testing his ability to swim without taking breath and relishing the warmth of the late afternoon sun, Taking a break from his fortunate, unusual, slightly ridiculous, beautiful life.Â
It may seem odd that a boy of his age could be the head of a vast empire like Rome. It had even seemed odd to Romulus when his father had first expressed his intention to make Romulus the Emperor.
But, as his father correctly pointed out, some of the greatest Emperors in history had been very young when they ascended to power.
Including the greatest of all. Romulus’s personal hero: Alexander the Great. The legendary war leader who became King of Macedonia when he was still just a teenager.Â
During the first ten years of his reign, Alexander led his victorious army on an incredible conquest, sweeping across most of the known world.
Alexander was everything Romulus aspired to be brave, courageous, loved by his people, clever enough to defeat his enemies, ruler of a vast Empire.
Just like Romulus.
Except for the part where he was loved by his people.
Defeated his enemies.
Or actually ruled his Empire.
Romulus’s father did the actual ruling.
Romulus pulled himself from the water and rested on the large, flat boulder nestled into the left bank. He lay back with his arms behind his head and his eyes closed.
Romulus had been on the throne for a little less than a year, since just after his eleventh birthday. He wasn’t stupid. Romulus knew that his elevation to this exalted office wasn’t popular with everyone. His father, the general Orestes, had been the Magister Militum under the previous Emperor, Emperor Nepos. That meant he was the supreme commander of the entire Roman Army. It was an impressive office to hold. Romulus’s father was an impressive man. He had a long and interesting life, even serving once in the court of the great Hun King Atilla years earlier. Romulus was his only son.
Romulus knew Orestes loved his son fiercely. He spoke frequently of his dream that they might rule Rome together, father and son.
But even Romulus was stunned when Orestes announced one day that he intended to depose the emperor and install Romulus on the throne.
Romulus was even more stunned when he made that dream a reality.
It turned out to be ridiculously easy. Emperor Nepos fled from the city without even attempting to defend himself.Â
Most people expected Orestes to assume the throne himself. He certainly had the military support to do so. No one would have dared oppose him.
But Romulus’s father was a clever man.
He knew the people of Rome would never accept him as Emperor. Especially because, despite being born a Roman citizen, he had served for a time in the court of the Atilla, the enemy of Rome.
That would be seen as a betrayal and disqualify him from office.
But Romulus’s father had a different plan.
He would put his son in the purple toga. Romulus was young; he didn’t have a legacy tarnished by the past. He would be seen as pure and untainted.
“The people will flock to such a young and beautiful Emperor,” Orestes had explained. “The boy is impossible not to love. And of course, he will do exactly as I say.”
Young and beautiful.
Those words again.
On the day Romulus was presented to the Senate for acclamation as Emperor, his father's servants had washed him and combed his messy curls into some semblance of order. The scented oils were next. They were rubbed into his back, chest and neck, leaving his skin shiny, almost glowing. Romulus didn’t like the smell of the perfumes. They stung his nose. But he knew better than to argue. His father had the last word in this, as in all matters. Romulus was dressed in an Imperial purple tunic and a wreath of gold was placed on his head.Â
“Son, you cannot move or tip your head once you are wearing the wreath. It will slip off and it cannot slip off – do you understand?”
Romulus nodded, but only with his eyes.
The Senate was full-throated in its support. But then that’s not surprising, when Romulus’s father’s loyal soldiers were stationed outside of the Senate chamber.
The Senators were hardly going to refuse his request.
His acclimation as Emperor was a blur. The only thing Romulus remembered well was a comment from some obscure Senator that their new Emperor was “the striking image of the young Alexander of Macedon.”
Romulus beamed with pride at that compliment.
Of course, being Emperor was nothing like those stories of Alexander.
Romulus hadn’t gotten to be head of a vast army. That was his father’s job, and he hadn’t launched any glorious conquests.
At least not yet.
Romulus hadn’t actually left the palace in the ten months since his accession to the throne. His father had even insisted that his lessons continue, so he was stuck with a tutor for most mornings.
“Education is key to success,” Orestes would tell him. “A great Emperor is not just brave, he is wise. Wise enough to know the benefit of knowledge.”
Romulus had to learn Greek, which he failed to see the point of. His father pointed out that Greek was the language of Alexander.
Luckily, Romulus had a gift for learning languages. He easily picked up what would take other children hours of study.
In the afternoons, Romulus would train with one of father’s officers. Romulus liked that aspect of his schooling. He enjoyed the feel of a sword in his hand, even if they dulled the blade to avoid injury, and his skill in sword play and spear throwing was improving.
As far as actually being Emperor, Romulus had a few ceremonial duties to carry out, mostly involving long and boring religious ceremonies. He occasionally had to attend meetings and read out speeches father had prepared for him.
Hardly the glorious life of a new Alexander.
But Romulus’s favourite thing to do was to swim. The Palace had a pool, pumped with fresh water daily and heated even in the wintertime. It was nice enough. But this was the late summer, and Romulus didn’t want to swim in a pool. He liked the feeling of plunging into the flowing waters of the river, feeling the currents pulling against him.
Besides, there was a perfect boulder at the edge of the river. Romulus would climb up and joyfully leap into the water.
Romulus’s father said it was “unbecoming of the emperor” to be leaping and shrieking into the water, in full view of palace staff.
But father was away, settling some unrest among disloyal units, so Romulus was free to do as he pleased. Who else would dare tell the emperor what he could or couldn’t do?
The cool water refreshed his body and mind, dulled from hours of study on this warm afternoon. And now Romulus lay on the boulder, his eyes closed, enjoying the best part of being Emperor.
Until raised voices from the palace caught his attention.Â
Romulus sat up.
One of his father’s most trusted advisors was running towards him. Romulus picked up his discarded tunic and quickly pulled it over his wet head and shoulders.
Something was wrong. Romulus had never seen this man run.
“Sire,” he said as he approached breathlessly, “begging your indulgence for disturbing your contemplations, but I have been tasked to ask you to come at great haste. There is news of your father.”
Romulus stiffened at that phrasing.
Not “from your father,” but “of your father.”
It sounded ominous.
And so, it proved.
A short time later, Romulus, now dried and dressed in his familiar purple, entered the audience chamber of the Palace to find a group of his father’s men there, looking dirty, dishevelled, and worried.
One of his father’s generals, a man called Patricius, who had served his father for as long as he could remember, fell to his knees. Romulus stiffened at the sight of tears in his eyes. “Sire, I come bearing ill tidings.”
Romulus nodded and sat on his throne, trying to look composed and calm. Two emotions that he was certainly not feeling at that exact moment.
“Sire,” said Patricius, “your father has been betrayed. A traitor named Odoacer has taken up against him.”
“My father,” said Romulus, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice, “will quickly deal with such treachery. No doubt this Odoacer’s disloyalty will be speedily dealt with.”
The colour of Patrius’s face told Romulus that his words were far from the truth. The worst was to come.
“Deepest apologies, Sire. Your father is dead.”
Romulus’s white and trembling hands gripped the marble edges of the throne.Â
“Odoacer marches on Ravenna and intends to seize the throne…” Patrius continued. But Romulus couldn’t listen. His father was gone.
Romulus felt like a little boy again, He had to try his best not to burst into tears.
Patrius kept speaking, but his words sounded distant, like an overheard conversation in another room.
All Romulus could think about was his father.Â
The man who Romulus most aspired to be. The man who had always been there, guiding him, teaching him, protecting him.
That man was gone.Â
Romulus was alone.
“Sire?”
Romulus blinked, trying fiercely to bite back the tears that threatened to flow. He would not cry. Not now, not in this place.
“Sorry.”
“Sire, what are your commands? What shall we do?”
Romulus gulped. Now, in this fateful hour, Romulus truly was the emperor. There was no one to tell him what to do.Â
For the first time in his life, it really was up to him.
Romulus shook his head. He focused on what Patrius had just said, what he knew to be true.Â
Odoacer and his men were approaching the city.Â
To resist at this point would invite pointless bloodshed. Romulus had no right to ask men to die needlessly in his name.
Further resistance against Odoacer, a seasoned general, and his legions of Roman soldiers, was useless.
And so, Romulus made his first, and last, meaningful decision as Emperor.Â
* * *
By the time Odoacer arrived in the Imperial Capital, the city gates were open, and Romulus sat on his throne, grimly awaiting his fate.
Being a child would offer no protection. Romulus would not be the first child killed for political reasons. Like all Empires, the Imperial history of Rome was a bloody one.
Romulus stood when Odoacer entered the audience chamber. He was unsure what the protocol was in this situation. What was the correct way to behave when receiving the man who killed your father and intends to overthrow and possibly kill you?
“General Odoacer...” Romulus began, trying to keep the fear and grief out of his voice.
“Save it, boy,” replied Odoacer. “I’m not here to kill you. You’ve no need to plead for your life.”
Romulus bristled. At that moment, he was acutely aware of how young and how powerless he really was.
“Send for a scribe, boy. Let’s get this business done.”
Romulus nodded to one of his advisors.
“You are to write the following and sign it,” said Odoacer. “You can write, can’t you?”
Romulus nodded.Â
“Good. Make it legible too.”
A scribe arrived with some paper and a writing implement. He set it down on the table in the middle of the chamber, and Romulus had to step down from his dais to reach it.
It would be the last time he sat in that exalted position.
“Right…” said Odoacer, “let’s begin–” Odoacer stopped and looked around the nearly empty room. “No, this won’t do.” He looked at the advisor who had retrieved the scribe. “You there, summon the senate.”
“The senate, Sire?”
“Yes, the senate. Are you deaf as well as stupid? Assemble them here. What the boy is going to do must be witnessed.”
As the sun was setting, the Senate arrived. Or at least enough of them to bear witness.
“Right then,” said Odoacer, “the boy is going to write exactly what I tell him – and sign it. Then you will all sign as witnesses.”
The senators gave assent with their silence. Romulus was under no illusion that the senate would do anything but support Odoacer’s wish. The Senate had never approved of Orestes’s elevation of his own son to Emperor. The senators were shrewd men. They would look after their own interests.
“I Romulus Augustulus…” Odoacer paused and looked at Romulus. “What are you waiting for, boy? Write.”
Romulus began to write, humiliation rising in him.
“I, Romulus Augustus, on this day, do renounce the imperial throne and cast down the power and privilege given to my person by the Senate of Rome. I hereby abdicate all offices I have sworn to hold. In my final service as Emperor, I assert that there is no longer any need for two separate halves to the Empire. The Empire will be ruled from Constantinople from hence forth and…”
Romulus looked up. He could hear the murmurs of unrest among the senators. Odoacer wasn’t making himself Emperor. He was proclaiming himself as King of Italy, a position which hadn’t existed for centuries.Â
It was inconceivable.
The centuries-long unbroken line of Emperors, Emperors who had ruled the most powerful empire in history, would end with him.
A boy.
But Romulus continued to write, hand trembling and eyes tearing.
Romulus didn’t know what would happen to him after the letter was signed. It was certainly possible that he would be taken outside and brutally put to the sword.
Would the pain be intolerable? Would merciful blackness descend? Would he be reunited with his father?
Romulus knew his small neck wouldn’t offer much of challenge for an experienced swordsman. One swing and his life would end.
But, for whatever reason, that didn’t happen.
Instead, after the letter was signed and sent off to Constantinople, Romulus was escorted to a small room in the servants’ quarter of the palace.
There he stayed for a few days, guarded by Odoacer’s men, until he was summoned.
“Romulus Augustulus,” Odoacer declared, sitting on the very throne Romulus had ruled from, “I have decided to be merciful and let you live.”
Romulus tried to let the enormous relief show on his face.
“A boy should not pay for the sins of his father,” Odoacer continued. “Since your only sin was obedience to your father, I will be magnanimous. You are to be exiled to Campania where, so long as your loyalty to the Empire is unquestioned, you shall remain undisturbed and live in the style of an ex-emperor.”Â
Romulus let out a breath. He was to be exiled.
His life would continue.Â
Odoacer turned to address the court who had gathered in the imperial chamber. Odoacer wanted witnesses to his mercy.Â
In a loud voice, Odoacer continued.
“Let history show that King Odoacer spared the life of Romulus Augustulus on account of his youth and beauty.”
The more he thought about it, the more Romulus understood how smart Odoacer’s plan was. By not claiming the empire for himself, Odoacer had shown wisdom. His fealty to the Eastern Emperor would offer a measure of protection and, by sparing the life of the boy emperor, he had deprived those who might seek to overthrow him a martyr to rally around.
Days later, Romulus, his tutor, and a couple of servants travelled south to Campania escorted by Odoacer’s soldiers. His request to ride on horseback alongside the soldiers had been refused.
Another small humiliation to remind Romulus of all he had lost.
It was Romulus’s first time seeing this part of the country he had ruled. He wondered if the citizens who saw their small group pass by imagined that their ex-Emperor sat in a simple cart at the centre of the convoy.
After days of travel, Romulus arrived at his new home, the Castel Del’Ovo, a small armed fort and residence on an island in the Bay of Naples. Here, cut off from the mainland by water, Romulus would while away his days, continue his lessons, and await an uncertain future.
It wasn’t the worst place to live, for a while at least. For the first month, Romulus was so grateful to be alive, he forgot to be bored. But after weeks of staring at the same walls, restlessness started in settle in.
His requests to travel to the mainland were steadfastly refused. Luckily, the commanding officer, a Centurion named Flavius Octavian, wasn’t completely unreasonable, and did permit Romulus to take short walks around the island. But still, restlessness was hard to shake. Every day, Romulus’s walks would get longer and farther. He became more and more daring. He snuck past his guards and out of the estate. He swam out as far as he could into the ocean before having to turn around. But still, Romulus could not shake the boredom. He missed life at the Palace. He missed his father. He even missed being the puppet emperor.Â
He was fated to a life of exile now. He would be lonely and bored for the rest of his days. Romulus would never find adventure again. Until one day, he did.
Romulus was walking a rugged stretch of coastline when he spotted a sea-cave in the distance. As he approached, he saw something unusual lying in the grass and walked up to it. It was a cloak made of a fabric in a style Romulus had never encountered. The stitching was finer than Romulus had ever seen and, even more strange, it seemed to be fitted for a child.
Just like Romulus.
And it was left just outside the entrance to a cave.Â
The mystery was too tempting for Romulus to resist.Â
It was at least an hour until he was expected back for the evening meal.
Was someone else on the island? Someone his own age? Romulus tried to not get too hopeful.Â
As much as he didn’t like to admit it, Romulus’s biggest problem since arriving here had been loneliness.
Loneliness and grief for his father and the life he once had.
Romulus could suppress these feelings during waking hours. But at night in bed, they crept unbidden into his mind.
Some days on this island, he felt like he was destined to live out his days without hope, like this was some sort of punishment from God.
Endless, lonely waiting.
Each day unchanging. Nothing to look forward to. No serious prospect in his life, just the bleak path before him.
Nothing but his memories.
Romulus didn’t like feeling that way. He didn’t much like feeling sorry for himself. But sometimes he couldn’t help but fall into such melancholy. He craved any sort of distraction.
So, Romulus picked up the cloak and went into the cave. The darkness swiftly fell, and Romulus had to walk slowly with his hand outstretched to avoid colliding with the stone walls.
The cave mouth turned into a passage which wound deep into the island. More than once, Romulus thought about turning around and going back.
But something kept him going.
Something pushed him forward.
Curiosity?
Grief?
Or just stubbornness.
Either way, it led him deep inside the cave. Where, this far from the entrance, it should have been pitch black. But it wasn’t.Â
Somehow, light was entering the cave. There must be a crack in the cave ceiling far above, letting the sky shine through.Â
But as Romulus made his way toward the light, he realized the light was not coming via the sun, but through… a door.Â
A wooden door.
Completely impossible, yet entirely real.
And Romulus, with nothing to lose, reached for the handle.
It turned.
And swung open.
