The Morea, a Palaeologid AAR

Olaus Petrus: Indeed he would have. But because both he and Valsamon died before their father, we shall have some very interesting side effects. I can't tell you too much right now, but let's just say that the event surrounding and immediately following the succession when Georgios III dies will determine the course of the rest of the Morea's history.

Imbert ran through the freezing rain of late February, 1223. He shivered as the ice cold deluge continued to pour upon him. He had a thick coat, but he was not using it to protect himself. He could not. He carried in his hands a cargo far more precious, or so Grand Master Stephanos Beroiaios had told him. The child he held, all wrapped up in his coat, carried with it the fate of the Morea, the Grand Master had said. But Imbert was not sure how, since the child wasn’t even a Palaeologus.

He thought back to a few nights ago, when Grand Master Stephanos had first approached him…

Imbert paced back and forth in the room. He was anxious. He was nervous. He was utterly frightened. He had been summoned by the Grand Master, despite his only being an Initiate into the Order of St. Alexios Dekanos. What could the Grand Master want with him? Had he done something wrong? Something utterly wrong? What was going to happen?

His question was answered when Stephanos Beroiaios entered, accompanied by Captain Kallistos. The Grand Master was an imposing figure. Ever since he had been recruited to the Dragons, Imbert had heard legends about the man, but now he saw that no tale could do justice. His hair had gone completely gray, though he was only in his forties. He had visible battle scars on his face, and Imbert was certain that many more lay hidden under all of the Grand Master’s garb. His beard was full, and every bit as silver as his hair. And his visage displayed at first the heart of a warrior, yet somehow also revealed a gentle soul within.

Imbert saluted the men, and Stephanos returned the salute. Kallistos then looked to the Grand Master and said, “This is the one I was telling you about, sir.”

Stephanos motioned for Kallistos to leave, and the captain obeyed. When they were alone in the room, the Grand Master said, “You are Imbert, correct?” There was still a detectable trace of his Makedonian accent as he spoke.

Imbert replied that this was correct.

“I was told that you were eager to prove yourself, Imbert.”

“Very much so,” answered the young man.

Stephanos clasped his hands behind his back, began pacing, and said, “Tell me, Imbert, why did you join the Order of St. Alexios Dekanos?”

“I want to defend this kingdom,” was Imbert’s reply. “The Conciliarist heretics are gaining too much power. King Georgios is weak and feeble. He has given all of his power away to the Council. These are dark times for the Morea, and what’s worse, nobody seems to know it! The King has made a few minor social reforms, and this is all anyone seems to talk about. They don’t see the weakening of the church! Nor do they see the degradation of our Kingdom’s law! King Georgios has even gone so far as to place State Law above Canonical Law! And by all the Saints, if the King will not take a stand to defend his kingdom, then someone ought to!”

“The King may have made many mistakes, young Imbert,” said Stephanos, “But you are young, and have only known him in this weak-willed state. I knew him back in his glory days, before the turn of the century. I fought with him in his Great Crusade against Tunisia. I was there when he fought battles against Zeyd al-Rashid. He was a different man then. I do not know what has happened to him that he has done all these things. But he is old now, 63 years old to be precise. And he has many burdens upon his soul. The death of both of his sons is a terrible pain to bear. But do not forget that as Dragons our loyalty and our duty is always to the King and to the Dynasty. Be careful in how you criticize the King.”

Imbert nodded and said, “I apologize, sir.”

Stephanos smiled and said, “You are forgiven. We all err at times. Now, on to your mission. As you know, Mikhael Angelos, the rightful Prince of Lykia, fled to the Morea almost twenty years ago. As you also should know, he had a claim to the throne in Constantinople. This made him a valuable asset, and a potential weapon against the Dukas. However, until very recently, he had no male issue, and his branch of the Angelid Dynasty was feared to go extinct. But, last summer, his wife conceived a final child for his family. Mikhael, however, was killed by Anoetoi agents before the child could be born. We received word yesterday that she gave birth to a healthy baby boy and named him Manuel. However, she died in giving him life. This leaves the lad with no one to care for him. It is of the utmost importance that you go to the maidservant who is currently sheltering him and bring him back to us, before the Anoetoi can get to him and kill him.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Imbert, “But why would the Anoetoi want to kill an Angelid baby? I thought they hated the Palaeologi, not the Angeli.”

“You are correct,” was the Grand Master’s reply, “And it is for that reason that the boy must die, in their eyes. For Manuel Angelos will play a key role in the survival of the Palaeologid dynasty.”

Imbert was puzzled by this, “Is he the boy that St. Alexios spoke of in Nikephoros Dekanos’ dream? The one who will lay low the heretics?”

Stephanos shook his head, “No. No, that is a different boy. Manuel has been chosen by God for an even greater purpose. Ever since the founding of the Morean Kingdom and the Royal Palaeologid Dynasty of Georgios I in 1066, the Palaeologi have not made for themselves many friends. Indeed, there are many who will try to destroy the Royal Bloodline once and for all. Manuel is the only one who can save them. That is why he is so important. For us, and the Anoetoi. They need him to die, in order to destroy the Palaeologi, and we need him to live in order to save the Palaeologi. That is why you must deliver him to us as quickly as possible. The fate of the entire Palaeologid Dynasty, the entire Kingdom of the Morea, and perhaps even the entire world, is as stake here. You wanted to prove yourself, Imbert, well, here is your chance…”

…And prove himself he would. As another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky and the resulting thunder boomed and echoed across the terrain, Imbert held the crying baby close to his chest to comfort and protect it. This baby carried with it the fates of a Dynasty, a Kingdom, and according to Grand Master Stephanos, possibly a whole world. He would not fail to bring the baby safe and sound back to the sacred halls of the Dragons. He uttered a quick prayer to God for the safety of the child, and a quick prayer to St. Alexios for his own safety…



It was a warm spring day in Sardinia. The birds were out and about, the herdsmen were busy tending their animals, the peasants were enjoying a day at the market, and the courtyard of Cagliari Castle was filled with the sounds of swords clashing.

The first of the two combatants was the young Prince Konstantinos Palaeologus. He was tall for his age, for he was only fifteen yet he already appeared to be a man. His hair was a sort of dirty blonde that was characteristic of Palaeologid Royalty: Georgios II, Stephanos, Konstantinos I and II, Petros, and Georgios III, as well as some Palaeologi who had never been crowned King, such as Georgios III’s father, Draganos, or the young prince’s own late father, Valsamon, had all had dirty blonde hair; though for stylistic reasons, such as closer resemblance to Georgios I, most artists portrayed them all with brown hair. In his right hand, Konstantinos held a fine steel longsword, and he handled it remarkably well.

His opponent was a tall Italian named Anselmo Concini. His hair was a rather dark shade of brown, and he had a thick mustache, which always used to make the young prince laugh. Anselmo was not the tallest of men, but he was a formidable opponent nonetheless. Konstantinos revered him as a great swordsman, though most men mocked him because he used a rather thin blade which he called a “rapier”. They would joke that such a thin blade should be used as a kitchen knife by a wench, and that it could not stand up to any blade held by a true man. But this did not bother Anselmo. He was more than a match for any other swordsman, and he knew it.

As the battle continued, Anselmo would lunge, Konstantinos would evade, parry, block, and deflect. Next, the prince would go on the offensive, yet despite his valiant efforts, he could not get through the Italian’s defense. The two carried on like this for over an hour, with the occasional encouragement from Anselmo as his young pupil continued to improve.

In a room adjacent to the courtyard, Imbert stared out the window as the two men engaged in combat. Now a Post-Captain in the Dragons, Imbert had developed into quite the swordsman, and spent his spare time trying to teach the Prince proper sword technique. This Anselmo Concini did so much damage to the Prince’s skills with his “rapier” and his “fencing” tactics. It was a wonder the Prince had any skill left. As the two outside continued their bout, Imbert snorted to himself.

“Oh come off it, Imbert!” said a man sitting on a barrel in the corner of the room, a mug of ale in his hand. The man was one of Imbert’s peers, another Post-Captain in the Dragons. Wiping some droplets of ale from his beard, he added, “I know the man’s an Italian, but he’s served the Dynasty faithfully since King Georgios conquered this damned island. And that was before the Prince was even born!”

“That doesn’t matter, Evander,” was Imbert’s reply. “I don’t trust foreigners. By all the saints, we are Dragons, Evander! Sworn to defend the Palaeologi from all threats! This man is not a Morean, and I don’t trust him.”

“You know,” said Evander, putting his mug down, “Grand Master Stephanos is technically a ‘foreigner’. He’s Makedonian. Born and raised beyond our borders.”

Imbert waved the idea away with his hands, “That’s different. Grand Master Stephanos is still Greek. And he fought with King Georgios in the Tunisian Crusade—”

“—Anselmo helped us defeat Pisa. It was his knowledge of their tactics and politics that helped win us this island. He is every bit as trustworthy as Stephanos if you ask me,” said Evander, getting up from his seat, and now quite upset with his friend’s irritability.

Imbert was about to make a sharp retort when suddenly the door to the room flew open, and in walked Prince Konstantinos and Anselmo. The Italian patted his pupil on the back and said, “You fought-ah very well-ah, my Prince.”

“Thankyou, teacher,” said the lad, bowing his head. Then, turning to Imbert, “Master Imbert, did you see us out there? How did I do?”

Imbert nodded, his arms still crossed, “Naturally, my Prince. You have the blood of many great warriors in you, including all three Kings to bear the name Georgios.” He then looked Anselmo in the eyes and said, “I just wish you would spend more time learning Morean swordsmanship with me, and less time with this foreign dog and his odd styles. That is why Evander and I were sent here, to teach you how to fight like a Prince of the Morea should.”

Anselmo simply nodded and said, “you have-ah the right to disagree with-ah my styles. I respect-ah that right.”

Konstantinos, however, was not so level-headed about Imbert’s comment. He grabbed Imbert by the collar of his shirt, and the Dragon was amazed at the Prince’s strength. The lad looked Imbert right in the eyes and said, “You watch your tongue. Do not forget that all of the Royal Palaeologi are part Italian, descended from Georgios I and his Queen, Lavinia. She was an Italian, Imbert! An Italian! What’s more, some of our greatest warriors have been non-Greeks. Aba of Peresechen and his sons, Ipa and Goar. To this day their descendants rule Moldau in my grandfather’s name. Or have you forgotten your own country’s history?”

Imbert bowed his head, “Forgive me, my Prince. I was out of line.”

The Prince released him and said, “Yes, you were out of line.”

With that, Konstantinos stormed out of the room, followed by Anselmo and Evander. Imbert walked over to a barrel and sat on it. He hid his face in his hands and lamented his posting. He had wanted to stay and help raise and train the young Manuel Angelos. After all, he was the one who delivered the boy to the Dragons, shouldn’t he get some part in his rearing? But Grand Master Stephanos had been instant. Imbert was to be promoted and sent to guard the young Prince, with the cover story of being the boy’s swordsmanship tutor. But Imbert hated it out here in Sardinia. The people were different, the food was different, even the feel of the place was different. He just wanted to be back home in Korinthos, where he had been born and raised…

AlexanderPrimus: Thanks for the high praise! I really appreciate it, and I hope to continue to live up to that comment.

RGB: Little known historical secret: Anselmo Concini is the inventor of the rapier. I realize that realistically, it is definately too early for the rapier, but I thought it would be an interesting touch for his character. But just because the rest of the world isn't ready for the rapier, that won't stop Ansemlo.

Olaus Petrus: Gee... I dunno...

ComteDeMeighan: Thanks! Glad to have you onboard! I don't know if you're all caught up yet or not, but if you still have some catching up to do, feel free to comment as you read through. It's always nice to get fresh input on older ideas.

General_BT: You fence? I shall be learning in the coming school year (in theory at least. Nothing is official yet). And yes, I know it is early for the rapier. But don't worry, you won't see armies fighting with them. It is simply a unique touch to Anselmo Concini. The rest of the world is still in the medieval mindset of weaponry, and the distinct difference between their weapons and his will be seen several times throughout the story.

Once again, the update is shorter than I would have liked. But I am still getting back into the groove with this one. Length and quality should increase as the story progresses. Hope you enjoy it.



Alexes walked the streets of Peresechen, head held high. He looked around at the most prominent Pecheneg city in Moldau and smiled. His people had come a long way. While there were still some who resented the fact that about 150 years ago the Moreans had conquered their lands, most Pechenegs could see the benefits that came from Morean rule. It had taken over a century, but now there were Orthodox Churches in every Pecheneg city, and in most villages. The Moreans had also brought order, stability, and technology to the once semi-nomadic Pechenegs. Yes, the Pechenegs had much to be thankful for, and also much to be proud of.

Alexes himself had much to be proud of, as well. He was a descendant Aba of Peresechen, through his third son, Aspar, the younger brother of both Goar and Ipa. What’s more, ever since Goar and Ipa’s lines had died out, Aspar’s line ruled Moldau in the name of the Palaeologi. Aspar’s son, also named Aspar, had taken over in 1174 when Goar’s son, Iaroslavl had died without any sons of his own. When Aspar died in 1181, his son, David, Alexes’ father, became the Prince of Moldau. Now David was aging, and would soon pass the realm of Moldau to Alexes’ older brother, Suarn. But that was okay with Alexes. Alexes was still the most renowned Pecheneg warrior alive. What’s more, he had his son, Kunstinten, who would be eight years old soon, and his wife, Maria. Alexes had everything he needed to be happy.

As he neared the southern gate of the city, a messenger came up to him and bowed, distracting him from his musings. Alexes asked the man to state his business, and the reply came, “I come with word from his illustrious majesty, Georgios III of the Morea. I have a message for your father, Prince David.”

Alexes nodded and said, “Come with me, then. We must get this to my father as soon as possible.” And with that, the two men hurried along back to the castle.


Konstantinos looked up from his writing for just a moment, but that was one moment too much. Protodeacon Andronikos had already taken notice and had struck the Prince’s hand with a horse-whip. The lad reacted quickly, but not quick enough. His hand recoiled in pain, and he turned his attention right back to his work, while the Protodeacon said, “You are not to take your eyes off of your desk until you have finished transcribing the entire Book of Ezra. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master,” was his response. Ever since he father had died, Konstantinos had practically been raised by three men: Anselmo Concini, Imbert Nikolaidos, and Andronikos Chrysasphes. Anselmo gave him his military education, while Andronikos provided him with a more formal education in religion, history, grammar, Greek, Latin, Italian, and mathematics. Imbert was more like his bodyguard it seemed, though he often tried to teach the Prince “correct” sword technique, often contradicting everything Anselmo taught him.

He sighed to himself. There were still three whole chapters of Ezra to transcribe. And what’s worse, today Andronikos was making him do it in Latin. It was one thing to transcribe the Septuagint or the Greek New Testament. That was his native tongue, even if they were written in ancient dialects. But the Vulgate… Latin had never been his strong suit, and he especially was not fond of “Church Latin”. If he had to read and write a dead language, he preferred to use the civilized form, not the petty slang used in Jerome’s day. But what could he do? Andronikos insisted, and Konstantinos dared not refuse the Protodeacon.

Some people accused Andronikos of having too much control over the Prince. They said Konstantinos was just his puppet. This angered, offended, and insulted the Prince to no end. During his lessons, yes, he called the Protodeacon “master”, but that was where it stopped. Though he often heeded Andronikos’ advice, this was not because of some sort of control. Andronikos was a very wise man, and Konstantinos knew it. But the decisions were always and would always be his. He would not become weak like his grandfather had. Georgios may have allowed first his eldest son, and then the Council of Bishops, to control his policies, but Konstantinos would be different. He would be King one day, and he would actually be a King, not just wear a crown.

Suddenly a messenger entered the room and said, “I have a message for Prince Konstantinos!”

The Prince could hear Andronikos sigh with irritation before asking, “Can’t it wait? The Prince is in the middle of a lesson in both Latin and the Holy Scriptures.”

Konstantinos heard the messenger reply, “I am sorry, Eminence, but it cannot. It is direct from King Georgios himself. I was ordered to bring this straight from Korinthos to Cagliari.”

Before Andronikos could say anything, Konstantinos seized his chance to get out of his transcribing. He quickly got out of his seat, turned to face the messenger, and said, “Give it here, friend. I must see what my grandfather wants.”

Protodeacon Andronikos shot an irritated glance at the Prince, but the lad simply replied, “This is an affair of state, Andronikos. That is more important than transcribing Ezra in Vulgar Latin.”

He then opened the letter and read it quickly. Looking back to the messenger he said, “Stay the night with us in Cagliari to rest. You have done well thus far. On the morrow, I want you to return to my grandfather and tell him I shall depart for Korinthos with all haste.”

The Protodeacon raised an eyebrow inquisitively, and the Prince replied, “My grandfather is hosting an extravagant ball and feast, and all the major nobles of the realm have been invited to attend. How can his only grandson and heir not be among them?”

Without letting Andronikos have a chance to reply, Konstantinos departed to make ready for the voyage to Korinthos. He had never left Sardinia in his 15 years of life. He was most excited to see his future capital. The Protodeacon sighed as his young pupil left the room. Had he ever been that young himself? He found it hard to believe. Then he had to remind himself that he was only 38. He wasn’t all that old yet himself. He was getting there, but not quite yet.

Once the lad had left the room, Imbert Nikolaidos stepped out from the shadows where he had been watching. He walked to the Protodeacon’s side and said grimly, “The boy shows you no respect, Eminence.”

“He is strong-willed,” was the reply. “It is a good thing. The Morea needs a King with his sense of independence. The Anoetoi heretics have grown far too powerful. Their secret network, the Krypteia, controls the council, and thus, effectually, the Kingdom. We’ve not even had a Patriarch since the murder of Patriarch Nikephoros almost thirty years ago. Both Church and State are in chaos. The façade of stability that is presented to the world is just that, an image. This Kingdom is ready to tear itself apart, Imbert. But Konstantinos can save it.”

“He can’t do it alone, though,” said Imbert.

Andronikos shook his head, “No. No he can’t. But that is why you are here, Post-Captain. That is why the Dragons of the Order of Saint Alexios of Korinthos were created. You are the weapon against the Anoetoi and their Krypteia. You are the secret guardians of the monarchy.”

However, Imbert continued to protest, “But the Krypteia have us on the run. While this posting in Cagliari is far from heretical influence, and thus is relatively safe, in the rest of the Kingdom the Dragons are struggling to survive. Konstantinos may be safe here, but once he goes to Korinthos for this feast, and later to succeed the throne on Georgios’ death, he will be within the heart of Krypteia activity. They will kill him for sure, no matter what we do to protect him. And if Konstantinos dies, then the Morea will tear itself apart. The Euboian Dynasty is failing, Eminence. The other great noble branches of the Palaeologid bloodline are all coveting the throne for themselves. These are dark times we live in.”

“You worry too much, Post-Captain,” said Andronikos calmly. “The boy Manuel Angelos, you remember him, correct?”

“How could I forget him?” was the Dragon’s response. “I was the one who delivered him to the Dragons at Grand Master Stephanos’ request.”

The Protodeacon nodded, “Then you should also remember what was foretold about him.”

With a sigh, Imbert answered in the affirmative, “Indeed I do, Eminence. He shall be the one to save the Palaeologid Dynasty. Through him the hope of the Morea shall endure.”

“You are correct,” said the holy man. “And this prophecy was given to eight different witnesses, all of whom received the same vision from St. Alexios himself. Do not doubt these words, Imbert.”

“With all due respect, Eminence,” insisted the Post-Captain, “We need assistance now! What can a mere boy of seven do?”

“God is in control,” was all that Andronikos would say on the matter. He then put a comforting hand on Imbert and said, “Now, go and see to the Prince. Help him prepare for his journey. Neither myself nor Master Concini will be able to accompany him on this journey to Korinthos. You must guard him well, Imbert.”

Imbert saluted and answered, “I will protect him with my life.”

AlexanderPrimus: Here, the last four or so paragraphs, starting with "While Alexeia was still under construction" and going on to the end of the update should answer that question.

Snugglie: Glad to have you back on board! And glad to hear that you have enjoyed the story so much thus far! The rest of the story should get even better (that is, assuming that my story-telling skills are as well developed as the imagination that has come up with the rest of the tale).

RGB: Well, that is the general idea. The Anoetoi want to bring about total anarchy, and in order to do that they first need to undermine the authority of both the Church and the Crown. By removing the Patriarchate, they have done just that. Let us hope that our new generation of heroes can stop them before it is too late!



To all readAARs, my hope is to have another chapter up sometime next week. But that will be a rather busy week for me, so it may have to wait a bit longer. But if at all possible, I will get the next update up next week.

This is a reminder to all readAARs: the AARland Choice AwAARds are coming up soon!​

Don’t forget to vote when this round of the ACAs begins. Find your favourite AARs and vote for them! Vote in as many categories as you can. And if you’re someone like me who only has the time to keep up with a handful of AARs, perhaps just take a few minutes out your time to skim through a few AARs in categories you wouldn’t otherwise have a vote for, find a few worthy AARs, and give them your votes. The more participation we get the better, and the more full that participation is, the more rich the experience.

Last but not least, (and no, I am not about to campaign for votes ), I would like to eliminate any confusion as to what category this AAR is running for, should any of you choose to grace me with a vote. If you should choose to vote for The Morea - A Palaeologid AAR, this AAR is running for the category of Favourite Crusader Kings Narrative AAR.

Alexes led the messenger through the halls of Peresechen Castle. The walls were highly decorated with the Coats of Arms of Aba’s dynasty, paintings of the great man and his progeny, and also a beautiful rendition of the Battle of Birlad, where Aba had been gravely wounded in defense of the young King Georgios II. Alexes mused that although technically Birlad had been a defeat, Aba and his men had slain enough of King Branimir’s Croatian army that Croatia was later defeated by the armies of Supreme Commander Alexios Dekanos soon after. The Battle of Birlad was the finest moment in Pecheneg history, and Alexes was proud to be descended from the Hero of Birlad.

As they entered the hall, Alexes saw his father, David, slouching in his throne. But David was not slouching out of laziness. The poor man was so ill in his old age that it was a wonder he even had the strength to reach his throne. A tear welled in Alexes’ eye. He was proud of his father. A lesser man would have given up, and either die, or stay in bed sick, letting his son rule in his stead. But David knew that so long as he was still alive, he was Prince of Moldau and servant of the King, and nothing short of death would stop him from doing his duty. Alexes knew that Aba would be proud of David.

Alexes introduced the messenger to his father. When the old Prince indicated weakly with his hand for the messenger to speak, Alexes whispered to the man, “Speak loudly, so that he can hear you.”

The messenger nodded and said in a raised voice, “My lord David, Prince of Moldau, ruler of the Pechenegs, descendant of the great Aba, and loyal servant to the King, I bring word to you from my master, Georgios III: King of the Morea and of Naples, Master of the Aegean, Prince of the Peloponnesus, and Count of Korinthos and Achaia. He declares that a great feast is to be held this year in Korinthos, and he requests all nobles who can attend to do so. Should any noble be unable to attend, he may send another in his stead. There is also to be a tournament in which the nobles and knights of the Kingdom are to compete. Any noble wishing to compete may enter, or name a champion to fight in his stead, but every noble house must be present. Any other men of noble birth who wish to compete are also welcome. The King understands your condition, and is well aware that you are unable to attend the feast or compete in the tournament. As you yourself, as well as your family, have displayed loyalty to the Palaeologid Dynasty which is unmatched save by the Dekani, though the Dekani have of late fallen out of favour with the Crown, your representative is promised the seat of highest honour at the feast. The King wishes to know whom you shall send.”

David motioned for his chancellor to draw near, and the man did so. The Prince of Moldau whispered something into the man’s ear, and a moment later, the chancellor announced, “My Lord David thanks his majesty, the King, for this kind invitation. Because he is unable to attend personally, he has decided that his representative, at both the feast and the tournament, shall be the younger of his two sons: Alexes.”

The messenger promptly bowed and said, “I shall tell his majesty.”

Alexes, however, was startled, as was his elder brother, Suarn, who was also present. They both walked up to their father to ask him the reasoning behind his decision. Ultimately, both knew that Alexes was by far the better swordsman, so to have him be the representative in the tournament was a given. But Suarn was the elder of the two brothers and the heir to Moldau. Surely he should represent his father at the banquet at least.

David reached a feeble arm out to his firstborn, rested it on the man’s shoulder, and said, ever so weakly, “Suarn… I do not have many days left in me. Perhaps a month. When I die, I will need you here to take over control of Moldau. Our people need you, Suarn.”

Suarn resented Alexes for having both honours at King Georgios’ great feast, but what could he do? He loved his father and could not bear to disappoint him. Summoning up all his strength, he managed to utter, “As you will father, so let it be.”

David nodded his thanks, then said to Alexes, “Alexes, my child, you must go and make ready at once. You cannot afford to be late. Now, by the time you return, I will almost certainly be dead. So come, my son. Embrace your father one last time.”

Alexes’ eyes began to water, but he did not let the tears fall. He would be strong for his father. He embraced the old Prince and said, “I love you, father. I swear on the grave of our forefather, Aba, that I will win this tournament to honour your name.”

The old Prince smiled and said, “No matter how you fare, I will be proud of you. I am proud of both of my sons.”

With that, the two young men left the courtroom. Once in the hall, Alexes tried to put a comforting hand on Suarn’s shoulder. But before he could speak words of comfort, his older brother threw the comforting hand off from his shoulder and shouted, “Do not touch me!”

Alexes knew how much his brother had been hurt and wanted to help. But Suarn would not see reason, and in his indignation, the heir to Moldau stormed away furiously. Alexes sighed and went to say goodbye to his wife and son. From there, he would make for the coast, and then sail to Korinthos, to do his duty to his father…


It was late at night, and young Manuel Angelos knelt down beside his bed in prayer. He prayed first for Grand Master Stephanos, who had raised him these past seven years. Stephanos had been very good to him, and the young boy prayed for God’s blessings upon the Grand Master. His thoughts then turned to what he continually overheard Stephanos and the other Dragons speak of: his destiny. They always said that he was destined for great things. That he would become one of the greatest and most famous of Moreans. That he had been chosen by God. But he never understood what any of it meant. So he prayed fervently for an answer. He begged God to show him what this great destiny was, this mighty task for which he had been chosen.


When his prayers were finished, the young boy climbed into his bed and tried to sleep. He tossed and turned for about an hour before exhaustion overcame him and he at last began to rest. As his sleep began, so too did a mysterious dream…

There were two great doors standing before him. Manuel was certain that at such a young age he did not have the strength to open them. Yet something compelled him, and so he pushed at the doors. To his surprise, they opened rather easily. He walked through them and beheld a large room. He turned around and closed the doors behind him and, as they closed, the doors disappeared.

Suddenly, he realized he was standing on a large tile. Looking around, he quickly discovered that there were many tiles. The floor was an 11x11 grid. Beyond the tiles, there was nothingness. He did not understand any of this.

Then he noticed that in the middle of the room there stood two men, conversing. He walked over to them, eager to ask them where he was and how he could get back. As he approached, they became aware of his presence, or perhaps they had been all along, and turned towards him, with gentle smiles on their faces. Manuel immediately recognized the man on the right. He had seen the statue and the crypt of this man enough times to know that face by heart… It was King Georgios I! The King wore his suit of chainmail, covered in a light grey tunic with the Morean Cross emblazoned on his torso. His red cape was magnificent. Manuel noted that the other man was similarly dressed, and then realized who it was: St. Alexios Dekanos!

Suddenly, Georgios knelt down to be at Manuel’s level and said, “Manuel, my child. Do you know who I am?”

The young boy nodded, “Yes, your majesty. You are King Georgios I. You are the first and greatest King of the Morea and the founder of the Palaeologid Dynasty. The Dragons are sworn to protect your heirs.”

Georgios smiled, “That’s right.” Then, indicating to St. Alexios, “and you know this man as well, correct?”

Manuel nodded. Then St. Alexios said, “You are wondering, however, why it is that you are here…”

Once more, the boy nodded. The Saint smiled, “We were sent as an answer to your prayer, as messengers to give you your answer. The Lord does indeed have a plan for you, Manuel, much as he did for my descendant, Nikephoros. However, your path, should you choose to follow it, will not involve the same levels of hardship and suffering that his path required. Granted, you will have your struggles, but you will not be betrayed, tortured, and martyred for your loyalty to the Palaeologi the way he was. But his suffering was necessary. For his trials paved the way for the Dragons to begin their battles with the Krypteia. And what’s more, a new, more terrible enemy than the Krypteia and their masters, the Anoetoi, is coming. This new enemy is what the Dragons have been preparing for this whole time, though none of them yet knows it. This is the enemy Nikephoros was told about. He gave his life to ensure that this new enemy would not succeed in destroying either the Palaeologi or the Morea. And you, Manuel, are the fulfillment of the promise to him that his sufferings would save both the Dynasty and the Kingdom. He paved the way for you, Manuel.”

“But I am only a boy,” replied the lad. “A boy from a dispossessed family. I have no mother, no father, no relatives at all, save my usurper uncle in Lykia. I have nothing. What can I do?”

Georgios put a reassuring hand on Manuel’s shoulder, “God is with you, my child. He will make certain that you have everything you need. But do not feel that this is being forced on you, son. The path you take is, as always, a free choice. This is the path you were born for, the path that will give you the greatest sense of fulfillment. But if it is not the path you desire, then do not take it. God is not limited in His ways. One way or another, His purpose will be accomplished.”

Manuel straightened up and said, “I… I think I can do it. I am willing, sire.”

Both Georgios and St. Alexios smiled.

Suddenly, Manuel awoke. The dream had not felt that long, but he soon realized it was morning. He quickly rushed to find Grand Master Stephanos and to speak with him about the dream he had just had…


Konstantinos stood on the bow the ship and took a deep breath. Ah! The exhilaration of the open sea! So much freedom! He had never been on a boat before. He had practically lived in Cagliari his whole life, only leaving when he could escape for a few hours by riding his horse, Basileios. Thinking of his horse, the Crown Prince smiled. He had insisted that Basileios be brought with them on the voyage. What’s more, nobody seemed to have suspected his true reasons.

Feeling proud of himself, Konstantinos began to walk back towards the aft, where the stairway into the lower decks was located. He marched, head held high, until Imbert Nikolaidos stepped into his way and said, “What exactly is going on inside that head of yours, my Prince?”

The lad chuckled nervously, “Wha-whatever to do you mean?”

“The horse,” said Imbert. “Why did you bring the horse?”

“Basileios is my best friend,” the Prince insisted, “the only one who gives me freedom. I want him to share in this journey with me! There are plenty of open spaces near Korinthos where we could ride for hours!”

Imbert folded his arms across his chest, “And just how do you know that? You’ve never left Sardinia before.”

The lad smiled, “You have told me several times about the beauty of the Peloponnesus. God’s Country, you called it. The most beautiful land on earth! You have told me all about its history, its landscape, its people.”

“That may be true,” replied the Dragon, “But I know you. There’s more to it than just wanting to ride Basileios all across the Peloponnesus. What is it?”

Konstantinos sighed, “Well, since it involves you anyways, I guess you’re gonna know sooner or later. Might as well tell you now. I am going to compete in the tournament, and since it is a combined jousting-sword competition, I will need a mount. And who better than Basileios? He’s the most powerful war horse in the Morea!”

Imbert shook his head, “Absolutely not. You are not going to compete.”

“And why not?” demanded the Prince.

Insistent, Imbert said, “For one thing, you are too young. You aren’t even sixteen years old yet! For another, you are a member of the Royal House of Euboia and you are Crown Prince of the Morea! It is illegal for any member of the Royal Family to risk his life in a tournament such as this!”

“I know I’m young,” answered Konstantinos, “But thanks to you and Anselmo, I’m one of the best swordsmen in the Kingdom! And I’m big and strong for my age! I could easily pass for a man of about twenty! Besides, with the armour I’ll be wearing, my face will be hidden, so nobody will know that I am competing! I’ll fight under a false name!”

“Even if I were to agree to this,” said Imbert, “Which I haven’t, the court would notice you were missing from their section of the audience.”

“We’ll make up an excuse then!” was the Prince’s reply. “After the feast, I’ll retire to my chambers and we’ll say I’ve taken ill, with orders not to be disturbed! Or that I’m meditating. Or deep in prayer. Or something! Point is, we’ll make them think I won’t even be at the tourney! Please, Imbert! I beg of you!”

With a sigh, Imbert asked, “Why is this so important to you? If you can give me a valid reason, I may, and I cannot over-emphasize may, consider letting you do this.”

“My grandfather’s health is failing, Imbert. We both know it,” said Konstantinos. “He won’t live much longer. A year or two at most. That means that soon, I am going to be King. And these warriors at this tournament will soon be my men. My men. If I am going to entrust my life and my plans for the Kingdom to their martial prowess, I must see firsthand just how good they are. And what better way to learn their skills than by facing them in combat? I will get to see how they perform in the heat of battle. And in order to properly judge a man’s performance in battle, one must be engaged in the same battle. I cannot properly ascertain their abilities watching from the stands. I must be in the fight with them! I must face them in the joust and with the sword! There is no other way, Imbert! Now I’m begging you, please, help me!”

“Alright,” replied Imbert, “I won’t stop you. But what do you need me for?”

A smile crept across the lad’s face, “I’ll be fighting under the name… of Imbert Nikolaidos…”