Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR

I'm going to be really mean right now, but the main character of this section is Nikolaios... so we're returning back to him. Don't worry, you'll know the result of the looming battle soon enough.

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"A ruler often must do without companionship. Be wary of those that wish to draw close to you. When a true comrade is found, however, cherish them, as you would cherish your own life."​

A few weeks later...

Nikolaios closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the cold winds off of the mountains behind them made him shiver. Nikolaios partially sat up, and jealously glared at the other person in the tent. For a moment, Nikolaios thought Ioannis Thrakesios was asleep - but as he watched, he realized the boy's breaths were too shallow for someone in a deep slumber. Nikolaios gently tapped him on the shoulder.

"Whaaa..." Ioannis mumbled, failing at an attempt to feign tiredness. Nikolaios could sense the tension in his friend's voice - the two had been inseparable since the long voyage from Konstantinopolis, and something of an odd couple. Nikolaios was definitely the brain of the pair, always examining and questioning everything they encountered, while Ioannis, son of a general and already showing signs of being built tall and strong like his father, was the brawn. Many thought it impossible that too such as they could become close friends, yet they had defied the odds - to the delight of both the Strategos and Nikolaios' brother Michael. When a shortage of tents developed on the army's march north, the two had volunteered to share one cramped quarters, as an example to the others.

"You're a horrible actor, Ioannis," Nikolaios whispered, pushing aside the shakiness in his own voice. While the Prince could feign a thousand emotions believably, Ioannis was blunt and as capable of acting as a brick was capable of speaking. Ioannis finally sat up, and in the darkness Nikolaios thought he could make out a wry grin.

"Had to make the effort," the slightly older boy said. "Why are you up? Scared, are you?" The statement was partly a friendly taunt, but it confirmed what Nikolaios had thought.

"Just as much as you," the Crown Prince said, before sitting upright himself. "It's not every day you get into your first battle."

"Into!" Ioannis nervously laughed. "We're attached to my father's staff! We'll be sitting here on the hilltop most of the battle, helping coordinate which riders go where!"

"A sword knows not whether it hits a soldier or a bystander," Nikolaios murmured, before wrapping his blanket around himself and standing up. "I'm going outside to have a look - coming?"

He heard the ruffling of blankets as he opened the tent flap, and felt Ioannis standing next to him. Around them swirled the cold, quiet air of the Palestinian night. Campfires all along the ridge of Mt. Tabor sputtered around them, while in the valley far below the tiny lights of the thousands of Turkish campfires twinkled. From this distance, it was a beautiful and awe inspiring sight.

"It's my first battle too, you know," Ioannis said quietly. Nikolaios turned and caught his friend's face - quiet and severe, far too grave for that of a twelve year old boy. The moon was rising behind him, casting Ioannis in a perfect silhouette, a thought Nikolaios found oddly strange and comforting on the eve of their first test of combat.

"From the way you talk, you sound like a salted old veteran," the Prince murmured. "It's alright to be scared, my mother says. What makes the difference is whether you still act as you should while you are scared."

"Are you?" Ioannis looked down, nervously kicking at some mote of dust below.

"Very," Nikolaios shook slightly, looking at the distant campfires below. Some 30,000 Turks, armed to the teeth, ready to attack the combined armies on the morrow. He might have made an act of his own with anyone else, but around Ioannis acting against his fear seemed impossible. As much as Nikolaios didn't want to admit it, he couldn't hide emotions from the other boy.

"Well, you always said that those ancient Greeks relied on each other for support," Ioannis said, shivering himself, "what were the two heroes you told me about the other day? The pagans, as my father calls them. There was one whose name sounded like 'father' in Latin, and..."

"Achilles and Patrokolos," Nikolaios grinned slightly, filling in the blank for his less-educated comrade. "They were best of friends, some say even lovers. The ancients spurred each other on to acts of bravery in the face of odds... I suspect that's how they, and all since, have fought against fear." The wind blew colder, and the two boys shuffled close next to each other.

"Who was the braver of the two?" Ioannis looked down at the Crown Prince and asked.

"Achilles," Nikolaios replied, his teeth chattering. Ioannis shifted his position, and blocked the wind from his smaller friend.

"Very well. I shall be Achilles tomorrow, if you will be Patrokolos," the older boy grinned. "Braver deeds come to me."

"True," Nikolaios laughed, "but you do know that both Achilles and Patrokolos died at Troy?"

The grin suddenly fell from Ioannis' lips.

"Well that's a horrid tale then," the older boy looked back towards the Turkish camp. "Why is it all those ancient pagan stories end with everyone's death? Its so... depressingly terrible. Why don't they end like Digenis Acrites, with the hero retiring in pomp?"

Nikolaios sighed, and leaned against Ioannis. He was starting to get sleepy - talking with Ioannis had finally removed the fear that had gripped him about the coming struggle, leaving only weariness. "Because, without tragedy you can't appreciate triumph."

"What?" Ioannis had never been one to engage much in philosophy. "Give me a life of triumph, without tragedy, and I'll appreciate it greatly, thank you very much!"

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The next day, June 21st, 1103, saw the largest clash Palestine had seen since the original Arab invasion some four hundred fifty years before. 24,000 allied troops had arrayed themselves along the foothills of Mt. Tabor - the Croat javelins and archers in front, the Norman infantry to the left, the Romans in the center, and the Croat spears on the right. Thrakesios had assigned all of the cavalry, save 500 cataphracts, to the command of the Norman Bohemond de Hauteville (though nominally Prince Edmund was in command). These forces waited behind Mt. Tabor for the strategos' signal.

In the valley below arrayed the large, powerful Turkish army assigned to take Jerusalem - some 22,000 foot and 10,000 horse under the command of the Sultan's Master of Spies, Kermaddin al-Talil. Already at dawn, the allied army had arrayed itself for battle, and no more than two hours after the sun rose, the Turkish horse archers rode forward, leading the attack.

al-Talil's plan was to goad the Romans using his horse archers into abandoning their strong position, a strategy that had worked against numerous infantry-heavy foes in the past, yet the long range of the Croat bows and Norman crossbows kept the Turkish horsemen at bay.

Seeing the Turkish horse withdraw in confusion, the Prince of Slavonia, on the Roman right, spurred his 500 light Croat horse into a charge. The result was disastrous, as the Turks turned and with superior numbers overwhelmed the small Croat force. The Prince fled back up the hill, the Turks hot in pursuit, until the Turkish assault broke against the spears of the Croats and the Romans.

Emboldened by the defeat of the Croat sally, al-Talil sent a series of coordinated assaults up the hill. Infantry would first fake a rush up the hill, compelling the Croat and Norman missile troops to withdraw, before Turkish horse archers would gallop through gaps in their own infantry and pelt the Roman lines. Under the hail of fire, the Turkish infantry would advance, seeking to prod, push, and break the allied force.


On the left and in the center, the heavily armed and armored Norman and Roman lines held with ease, but on the right, the less well equipped Croats buckled, then broke. Turkish horsemen swarmed into the gap, and straight at Thrakesios and his staff. At that moment of desperation officers and pages alike became soldiers, and both Nikolaios and Ioannis both got their first harsh taste of combat as the Turks thundered into the Roman position, and swords and lances danced in the midday light. Strategos Thrakesios himself was wounded, and at a crucial juncture, Nikolaios' horse was struck dead under him from a Turkish lance. The Crown Prince likely would have died if Ioannis had not fought his way to the Crown Prince with his own mount. Nikolaios clambered on to behind his friend and the two hacked and slashed their way to safety.

Riders had already galloped back to the waiting cavalry and told them the general's position was overrun, and it was at this moment that Bohemond de Hauteville came into his own. Ignoring the protests of Prince Edmund (who feared the day was lost and wanted to save his precious and expensive knights), Bohemond ordered the Norman horse over the crest, to the far left of the end of the Roman line. While the Roman cataphracts desperately charged the Turks attacking Thrakesios himself, the Normans, under Bohemond's fierce and watchful gaze, formed into a long line, two deep, at right angles to the Turkish assaults.

After an hour and a half of desperate fighting, the Turks that had broken through were finally driven back down, and an amazed Thrakesios saw the Norman knights, banners fluttering in the wind, was already formed on his flank. A glint greeted Roman eyes, as Bohemond lifted his lance upward, and slowly, irrestistibly, the Norman cavalry began to move forward at a walk, then a trot. The disorganized Turks tried to reform, their battered infantry and cavalry forming up in the standard formation to recieve a Roman charge, yet something about the attack was different.

The Normans advanced as if nothing was in front of them. Some fifty yards from the Turkish lines, Bohemond's lance went down, couched in his arm, and his horse leapt into a gallop that within moments the entire Norman line followed. The ground shook and thunder rose in the air, at the last moment before impact a single, roaring cry added to the tumult.

"Deus Vult!"

It was as if a great wave from the sea hit mere sand and driftwood that was the Turkish lines.


The Normans thundered through the first Turkish line, shattered the second, and by the time their swords were drawn, the third was already backpedalling, then retreating. The more junior Roman commanders saw the opportunity, and without orders the entire allied line on the hill swept down on their hapless enemy, the Turks falling back tumbling back towards the Jordan Valley below.

According to legend al-Talil himself tried to rally his men, yet the wave of humanity pressing him shoved the old man and his horse into the retreat. Talil then leapt off his horse and took to buffeting soldiers with the flat of his blade, only to have his own panicking cavalry thunder into his position, trampling him to death. What is known is that his body was never found amongst the 15,000 Turks that died that day, nor was he among the 8,000 or so that were captured.

In one afternoon, the combined allied armies had utterly shattered and broken almost a fifth of the Sultan's entire army. One of the Turk's greatest commanders lay dead, and Jerusalem was saved. Yet all was not well.

Immediately plaudits and blame were argued over by the victors. The Romans and Normans chided the Croats for launching their ill-advised cavalry charge - the Croats countered the charge had led to the Turks launching their uphill assault that sputtered, leaving them vulnerable to the Normans. The Normans claimed victory belonged to them, the Romans claiming they held their ground allowing the Normans time to form their fatal charge. Rancor and discontent grew, and instead of advancing in pursuit of their broken enemy, the allied army remained content to sit in the Jezreel Valley and bicker over the spoils.

However, this backbiting and infighting came to an abrupt halt, for on July 1st, a courier rode into camp with the gravest of news.

A month prior, the Emperor had finally met the Sultan in battle. Demetrios had formed his small army defensively, with a daring cavalry charged planned to attack the throat of the Turkish army and kill the Sultan. The charge had faltered short of its objective, while the Turks had enveloped the Roman flanks. While the rump of the Roman army had managed through a fighting withdrawl to escape the field, some 6,000 Romans out of an initial 16,000 were dead. While the Turks had also taken horrendous casualties, the exact number was unknown. All that was known for sure was that Demetrios, called Megos, called the Undefeatable, the Unbroken, was in full retreat towards Aleppo, the Sultan right on his heels.


The next day, the Roman and Norman components of Thrakesios' army, some 18,000 strong, began a long march north to save the Emperor, and Christianity in the East...

Oh, and a P.S., there's a subtle hint about a surprise coming up hidden in this update.

I'm surprised no one's ventured a guess on the surprise yet! Oh well, I guess you all will have to wait a bit to see what it actually is.

Never trust a pile of skulls

Click to expand...

LOL, exactly. You have no idea who else came along and interpreted them before you get there with yours!

VILenin - No, not a cliffhanger at all... Think of it as a race between the Romans trying to unify their armies, and the Turks trying to stamp Demetrios out once and for all...

Fulcrumvale - Leave it to Nikolaios to spoil Ioannis' little fantasy by pointing out historical fact. He's a little too smart and a little too blunt to go the way Achilles did, believe me.

RGB - Yeah... Ioannis will be coming back again and again, if Nikolaios is the brains of that duo, Ioannis is the military brawn - a good one-two combo, if you ask me.

Estonianzulu - Oh, you had better believe the deHautevilles are not going to let the Romans live this down. The landless brother of Roger Borsa saves the day!

Alfred Packer - Thank you! I tried to capture the power of a charge with couched lance (where that spearpoint has the entire momentum of rider and horse and can punch through armor like nothing). Anna Comnena did a better job in real life - she said (and I'm paraphrasing, somewhat), "when the Franks prepare and launch their charge, it looks as if they could charge through the walls of Constantinople."

That's a much better description!

See, the other didn't interfere with this one at all.

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March 4th, 1105

Nikolaios paced the ground outside his tent, much has he did two years before, but now it was loneliness, not fear, that kept him awake. Ioannis had been roused in the middle of the night to attend to some midnight madcap planning session in the Imperial tent, leaving Nikolaios alone in the tent. The Prince was too used to having the warmth of someone sleeping next to him. Much had happened in the year and a half since he'd seen first combat, and Nikolaios had far more to reflect on than any thirteen year old should.

Thrakesios, despite his injury, had force marched the allied columns to the north. The advance was harsh and brutal, through the angry summer sun. 3,000 of the allied soldiers either fell from the heat or broke off the advance - most of them Norman infantry.

From the northwest, Emperor Demetrios' 10,000 survivors wandered to the south and west - unable to take the major roads due to Turkish skirmishers, the Emperor skillfully led his troops on a semi-winding path, constantly throwing false starts and incorrect leads to the Sultan, keeping him at bay with his mind rather than his sword. Southeast of Antioch Prince Ioannis Komnenos' 12,000, fresh from relieving sieges in the area, joined the Basilieus' line of march on August 11th.


It was not until the very start of September that Thrakesios' tired columns joined the Imperial Army near Baalbek, giving Demetrios a force numbering some 37,000 troops - the whole of Christianity's forces in the Levant, save 3,000 Croats who now laid waste to the undefended Muslim strongholds of Palestine. Demetrios turned and started countermarching towards his adversary, hoping for a final pitched engagement before colder weather began to influence the campaign.

What the combined Christian armies did not know was that the Sultan's pursuing army was only a shell of the force of 40,000 that had gathered at Arbela - Malik had lost close to 12,000 soldiers in the vicious fight, and had little to show for it. When word reached him that Demetrios was beginning to unify his armies, the Sultan broke off his pursuit on August 14th, and turned towards Palmyra with the intention of either making winter camp, or marching back to Mesopotamia should the Roman Emperor attack.


Demetrios pursued, but slowly - apart from Isaakios' contingent, all of the Roman and Norman soldiers were tired and weary. Hearing on the 5th of October that the Sultan had made camp near Palmyra, Demetrios did the same, to give his weary army a chance to rest and recuperate. It would also give him time to plan - come mid-February or March of the next year, Demetrios could marshal in the Levant more troops than the Sultan, an advantage he planned to use with devastating efficiency.


That winter was one of dearth and privation for Nikolaios, but also one of joy. While his arrangements in camp were spartan, for the first time the young man began to detect approval in his father's voice. Word had reached Demetrios of the events at Mt. Tabor, and how his son, despite being eleven, found himself in the midst of battle and fought bravely, despite being unhorsed at one point. Demetrios spent much time testing his son's martial skills, and Nikolaios used the points he'd learned from Ioannis and Michael to full effect. While it was obvious he would never regularly beat his father, he kept the old man honest and gave him a true challenge, something Demetrios relished.

For Michael and Ioannis as well, the winter proved eventful. Strategos Thrakesios became ill enough that he was briefly unable to command his wing of the army, and through the resulting chain of promotions and advancements to fill the gap, Michael recieved his first command - a tagma (or regiment) of 350 Trapezitai light cavalry, whose duties including harrying horse archers, skirmishing, and scouting the enemy. Ioannis, for his part, was given the official title of bodyguard to Prince Nikolaios, in honor of his exploit at Mt. Tabor. It was official recognition of a deep trust that had began some months before.

It wasn't until that spring that Thrakesios felt confident enough to take the field again.


The next year, despite all the plans put forth by the Emperor, the Romans, and the Normans, would prove indecisive. On February 9th, Michael's scouts reported the Turkish army, all 28,000, was marching rapidly towards the northwest. The Emperor reacted immediately - there were no troops between the Turks and Antioch, and Demetrios wasted no time in marching northwest himself in hot pursuit. As scouts came back and reported more and more, it became apparent something was wrong - after a few days the only troops spotted were cavalry, and then even they began to disappear. It wasn't until Michael himself spotted a contingent of cavalry breaking east and reported it to his father that Demetrios realized what had happened.

The Sultan, knowing that come Spring he would be outmanned in Syria, had launched a feint to the northwest with his whole army, compelling the Romans to pursue. Then he had cleverly began to split off his slower forces to march home, while keeping the Roman's enticed. Finally, when his fast cavalry broke for the east, Demetrios was left with nothing to show for the forced marches save a healthy one week's distance between himself and the main body of the Turkish army. When the Basilieus pursued even this, he ran into the second part of the Sultan's plan.

Waiting at the Euphrates River for Malik were an additional 20,000 troops, drawn from the north over the winter. When Demetrios arrived on the 5th of March, he found the Sultan's slightly larger army astride the opposite bank, with rudimentary efforts already underway to clear and obstruct the battlefield for the Romans.


The next eight months were a story of Roman attempts to find a crossing foiled by Turkish defensive movements. Without much fighting to show for their marching, the soldiers were becoming restless.

A constant and irritating problem were the Normans. Motivated by religious vigor and led by Roman enemies like Bohemond, they were becoming anxious and agitated. Despite the army's good state of supply, the Normans were the terror of the countryside, ransacking Muslim villages and looting anything remotely valuable.

Prince Edmund proved a continual procedural thorn in Demetrios' side, insisting he be actively consulted on all army decisions, despite his inferior breeding and status. When convenient to himself, Bohemond would move when the Emperor order, only to sit and "wait for instructions" from the English Prince when he didn't get his way.


To make matters worse, increasingly dire news came from Konstantinopolis from Hajnal, now Regent in all but name in the Emperor's absence. No Emperor wished to remain too long from the capital - all dissidents and troublemakers that would normally lay low would begin to show their heads, and gain confidence. To make matters even more frustrating, the Imperial treasury, before filled with gold and silver taxed from Sicily to Palmyra, was now healthily in debt. By Hajnal's own calculations, the Empire was now over 300,000 silver hypersolidi in debt, a debt that was only growing with time.

All of these things tumbled through Nikolaios' mind as he looked across the waters of the Euphrates River at the tens of thousands of Turks that had frustrated them for the previous year. All of these thoughts were leading Nikolaios to one, unenviable, even blasphemous fact:

The war with the Turks needed to end.

Romanion had lost almost 50,000 of her bravest young men, and keeping the rest in the field longer would only serve to weaken the state. The state and its well being came before all - even the personal pride of a previously undefeated Emperor attempting to make up for one major defeat. Nikolaios shifted the heavy cloak on his shoulders, and turned back towards his tent. When he flipped the tent flap open, he was surprised to see Ioannis back, just removing his own cloak and boots.


"How went the meeting?" Nikolaios asked, moving to a place next to his friend.

"Fine, same things as before," Ioannis murmured grumpily. "I have no idea why I was called at this horrible hour - I think it was simply because Prince Edmund was testy and wanted a cupbearer to oppress." Ioannis flicked off the shift of his shirt, and for a second Nikolaios' heart raced. The prince gulped, shook his head, banishing those thoughts. They were young, juvenile, came from reading too much of the Iliad.

"Uh, they made you a cupbearer?" Nikolaios covered his embarassment with feigned shock. Ioannis worked as an assistant to the Emperor - for him to be used as a mere cupbearer, by the Norman idiot, no less, was tantamount to an insult.

"Prince Edmund demanded, and your father at first refused, but apparently the Prince's complaints wore him down," Ioannis grumbled. "The Emperor has a scheme he thinks will finally outflank the Turks and get us across that accursed river... what?" Ioannis suddenly stopped, seeing the look of confusion, even sorrow on Nikolaios' face.

"It's... nothing," Nikolaios dismissed telling Ioannis about the need to end the Turkish war, let alone the other thing. He knew how Ioannis would react to the idea of ending the war - much the same way Nikolaios knew his father would.

"Nik, I know you find military campaigning much more dull than a good parchment to read, but please, tell me what it is," Ioannis clambered underneath the blankets. Nikolaios sat next to him, debated for a few seconds, then spoke.

"I need to convince my father to make peace with the Turk," Nikolaios sighed.

"Peace with the Turk?" Ioannis tried to hide the shocked squeak in his voice, but Nikolaios knew his friend's true reaction. "Um...why is that?" Ioannis tried to hide his disgust and confusion at the suggestion - an attempt that made Nikolaios smile lightly. Ioannis tried so hard sometimes to think of Nikolaios' level, to realize what he was getting at before exploding like so many others. The Prince looked down at his friend and explained.

"We're fighting a campaign we cannot win, with money we do not have, with allies we do not trust," Nikolaios summed everything up nicely. "The Turks are well led, and evading every attempt we make to bring them to battle... yet it is not like we haven't gained anything - the Fatimid 'Caliph' to the south has surrendered all his lands, as did the Emir of Jerusalem, and there is no land between the Holy City and Alexandria that is not Christian now."

"But we have gained no real Turkish territory, not to mention the Turkish Sultan is still in the field!" Ioannis finally complained quietly. "He has an army that could threaten the Holy City yet again!"

Nikolaios leaned back onto his own pallet, and stared up at the ceiling of the tent. "Does he really? How many Saracens were slain or captured at Mt. Tabor?"

"They lost 25,000 or more," Ioannis said quietly. "They went over the number estimates at your father's conference tonight. He's planning a double pince..."

"I don't care what he's planning," Nikolaios said gently. "So they lost 25,000 there, the Megos Domestikos has killed, routed or captured some 20,000, and Uncle Isaakios took care of another 5-10,000, and father killed as many at Arbela, despite the loss. Ioannis, can't you see it? The Turks are bled dry - they'll want to talk!"

"We have no Turkish lands to show for it though..." Ioannis started again.

"No, we don't, but we have plenty of Muslim lands, which is all the nobility, the Church and the people will care about," Nikolaios countered. For some reason he reached over and started absently rubbing Ioannis' hands with his own - they were already harsh and calloused from constantly wielding a sword, while Nikolaios' still occassionally got blisters around his own calloused fingers. Ioannis never seemed to mind. "We have a victory. I am afraid staying in the field will only turn that victory into defeat."

Nikolaios knew he'd made his point when his friend went silent. Several times he saw Ioannis start to open his mouth, before stopping as more thoughts hit him. Nikolaios waited patiently, until his friend spoke again.

"Your father won't like that at all," Ioannis finally said. "He wants revenge for what happened at Arbela."

"Shove what my father wants," Nikolaios hissed a bit, "I speak of the real situation."

"Suggesting this would make him utterly furious," Ioannis continued worriedly. "He was planning on our return to Konstantinopolis to host a great triumph, one to rival anything held before, not to mention he said he would cap the ceremony by formally make you Kaisar instead of the pointless rank of Sebastokrator..."

"What good is being heir to a crumbling empire?" Nikolaios testily shot back, before calming himself. "A successful dynasty is far better than a short lived empire. Father could force the Turks to engage in battle this year, he could crush the Sultan, but I fear he'll destroy Romanion in the process. Every day he isn't in Konstantinopolis is a day people plot just as he once plotted when Michael was on campaign. Every day the armies are in the field makes us have to tell yet even more creditors we cannot repay our debt. If I was Malik, I would want the armies of Romanion to stay in the field, in all their might, while their state rots underneath their weight!" Nikolaios turned away and leaned back against Ioannis again. The thought of Romanion breaking apart frightened him, and Ioannis' presence was reassuring. "I have to go talk to my father, while he has my respect, and before he finds some other reason to hate me just for who my mother is."

"He's past that now, Nik," Ioannis replied. "You living as he is, and your willingness to do military things has changed him, I think."

"We'll find out tomorrow," Nikolaios said grimly.

"We shall," Ioannis yawned. "There's another conference tomorrow - Bohemond is playing games again, and several of the Norman lords 'missed' the planning sessions tonight. So we need to call them in, and it takes place two hours after sunrise."

"You need to get to sleep," Nikolaios said what his friend wanted. Ioannis smiled sadly and nodded.

"As interesting as your thought is - and I wish you luck tomorrow - I need to get to sleep. I'm supposed to be delivering dispatches from the conference to your brother's cavalry, and I can't afford to fall asleep in the saddle," Ioannis said. Nikolaios sighed in fake annoyance.

"Fine, stop talking and go to bed already!" the Prince laughed. Ioannis snickered a bit.

"Goodnight, Nik. Good luck tomorrow," Ioannis said sleepily, rolling away.

"Goodnight," Nikolaios replied, resigning himself to staying awake with only the turbulent thoughts in his mind to keep him company.

I love you? Nikolaios mentally added to the statement, adding one more wave in the sea of nervousness - for his friend, for himself, for his father, and for Romanion itself...