Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR

Leviathan007 - That's if I was going up into those regions. At this point I was RPing the game (otherwise it would've been a runaway WC), and I saw no reason for the Byzantines to head up towards Germany or Poland - those are barbaric peoples, best left fractured on the border instead of infighting inside the Empire.

Servius Magnus - Yes, Drogo's plan worked (with the help of some save-game editing to overcome silly AI :rofl. And there'll be plenty of burning and looting shortly...

Devin Perry - Oh...um...yeah, of course I meant to do that! You know all the in-crowd calls them Selju, not Seljuk?

Enewald - No, I'm going to continue on from the vantage point of whoever controls Constantinople. It's the simplest way, considering how fuzzy everything will start to get from here on out.

Babington-Smyth - No, its a five province Welsh kingdom that arose after the demise of Richard de Normandie. Those Welsh last quite a long time, IIRC...

Kirsch27 - Well, not necessarily in the madness sense - the historical Caligula is a debated figure... and after Thomas Jr has run his course, I expect he'll have a legacy that will be debatable too. That, and "Little Soldier's Boot" will have some meaning for how his life goes...

The_Archduke - The key word is might. I expect there to be wailing and gnashing of teeth before this, however.



Next update has been delayed (It's about 40% written). I wanted to get something up to remind everyone that it's once again time for the ACAs!http://forum.paradoxplaza.com/forum/showthread.php?t=388444 Please take a couple minutes over the next month and vote to support your favorite AARs! I would like to ask this quarter, however, for you to consider Rome AARisen for Best Overall AAR in CK only. Part of the reason I like the ACAs is for how they can expose new writers to an audience, and to be honest, I think it's someone else's turn to take a spin for Best Narrative. There are a bevy of choices for Narrative here in CK - Furor Normanicus, Daughters of the Dragon, AEthellan: A Tale of Kings, The Morea, Solomon of Itil, Piety of the North Star, The Eagle in Winter - and those are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head! This is a good time to take a read around, and see what's out in AARland. Don't go too far away, for the next update for Rome AARisen should be up tomorrow night!

October 29th, 1202

On any other day, Dominic de Guzman, Tutor and a Master Teacher within the Palace School, might have enjoyed the late October sunshine and cool temperatures. Today, however, he was silently cursing his luck. He wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose and frown at the noise assaulting his ears. For once, it wasn’t the screeches of the children he was supposed to educate – it was something far more odious and annoying. Out of politeness towards high society, he merely blinked, and gave a tiny, private sigh.

The Spanish friar had travelled to Konstantinopolis in 1190 as a scholar, a man interested in the interplay between reason and faith. Impressed with his range of knowledge, piety and dedication, Metropolitan Konstantin Kanaris had used considerable influence to get the Latin a post at the prestigious Palace School tutoring students on the Latin realms of Christendom. Yet, in this city whose skyline was dominated by the largest churches in Christendom, whose Empire practically claimed sovereignty over the Christian world, he saw rot, decadence, and decay. Nobles flaunted fine silks and obscene pomp in favor of Christian morals and just piety. Reason and sense were thrust aside in favor of cruelty and sloth. There were many days he doubted that the faith ever resided in this city.

“…and furthermore, Father…” the woman before him shrilled. She was a perfect case study of this nonsense, in Dominic’s eyes. Her husband was some nominal imperial bureaucrat – Grain Monitor, Chief of Aqueducts or some similarly inane position – but she primed about as if she were the Empress of Konstantinopolis. Largely this was due to her maiden name – Dominic had discovered that anyone named Komnenos, whether they be high born or, like her, daughters of illegitimate backwoods nobility from Pereschen, was liable to expect, even demand, that they be treated like royalty.

It was times like these that Dominic thought about leaving his post at the palace school and returning to preaching amongst the small folk.

“I swear, I think my daughter is an idiot! She won’t play,” the foppish Eirene continued, “she won’t do threadwork, she won’t do her old tutors readings! The little trollop won’t even say a word!” The society matron hissed towards the girl huddling behind her. “She’s a completely unsocial, unmitigated disaster!”

Dominic looked down at the cause for all the ruckus, whose head was only barely peeking around her mother’s skirt. Helene Dadiani was barely nine, with chubby, rosed cheeks and stubby fat fingers. Her dark blond hair was put up in an obviously painful bun, and her gray eyes seemed filled with fear at this stranger before her mother.

“We shall endeavor to do our best, My Lady,” Dominic forced himself to be polite. He had to be - since the news of Emperor Thomas’ defeat at Messina, all Spaniards in the city were one step away from being wanted men. “I will personally oversee her tutoring in the Bible and ancient Greek, while the polite ladies of the court will endeavor to teach her the womanly arts necessary to find a good husband.”

Eirene Dadiani snarled, and Dominic suddenly found a finger in his face.

“You’d better! You’re a Spaniard, aren’t you? Troublemakers, the whole lot of you!”

“Yes, I am from Spain,” was all Dominic could sputter out. He sighed, swallowed his pride, and cleared his throat. The standard spiel should work. “But even in as barbarous a place as Cordoba, we have learned the art of Roman court etiquette, and aspire to reach such heights. That is why I came to Konstantinopolis, and that is why I will make an excellent teacher for your daughter.”

By the look on Eirene Dadiani’s face, he knew she’d bought his words. Dominic consoled himself in that there were no outright lies in the words he spoke.

“Very well. Helene,” the woman roughly grabbed the little girl desperately clinging to her legs and shoved her forward, “this is Father de Guzman. He is to be your instructor and teacher from now on.”

The girl looked up at Dominic, then back to her mother. While no words came out of her mouth, Dominic could easily read the shimmering in her eyes. Gently, the friar knelt to almost her level and extended a hand.

“Helene,” he said in his quietest, most gentle voice. “My, that is quite a pretty name.”

The girl looked back at him, eyes wide, still on the brink of tears.

“Do you know where your name comes from?” Dominic asked. “Here, take my hand, and I shall tell you.”

The little girl looked warily towards the friar, then back towards her mother, before slowly taking Dominic’ hand.

It took only an hour for Dominic to deduce that Helene Dadiani was not, in fact, an idiot as her mother believed. She would nod, she would smile, and she clearly was entertained by Dominic’s rendition of Helen of Troy, but she wouldn’t say a word. Every now and then, she would stare off into space, as if some daydream had her complete and rapt attention. Nothing Dominic could do seemed to break her of the spell of whatever was going on in her mind – yet without saying a word, she’d managed to articulate her interests far better than he’d hoped.

The friar hadn’t seen many cases like this – if anything, his experience was that the children of the upper crust of Konstantinopolis were almost too sociable. They’d readily forego their studies to play polo, chase skirts or tights as it may be, or bully and harass those of lesser station. Dominic could tell already simply exposing her to the other children would be an unmitigated disaster – they’d leap onto her lower social status and shyness like hyenas on a carcass.

Yet he needed to get her talking to someone, another child…

As he turned into the courtyard of the Blacharnae complex, he saw someone that might just unwittingly help him…

“Majesty!”

The target of Dominic’s call was far from the fray of playing children, his head sullenly down, staring off into space. The tall, lanky form of Thomas Komnenos, now Thomas II, Emperor of the Romans, was hunched. A pair of morose brown eyes glanced up at their teacher, but said nothing.

Dominic fought to put on a smile. So Helene Dadiani wouldn’t speak. Thomas hadn’t since news had arrived from Messina that his father had perished. The boy had cried through his coronation, and said nary a word at court save slight mutterings to himself – though likely he couldn’t get a word in if he wanted on account of his mother. While he dove into his lessons with vigor, he never played, never seemed to have any fun at all. Instead, he’d slink away, hiding.

Dominic knew little else to do. Maybe, just maybe, the two might help each other.
Maybe the two recluses would hit it off. Maybe they wouldn’t – he was guessing the latter from the scowl Thomas was giving and the way Helene clung to his leg with unholy force.

Dominic sighed. At worst, he’d made Eirene Dadiani happy. It wasn’t every day the daughter of a bureaucrat got to meet the sitting emperor.


Meanwhile…

On any other day, Dowager Empress and Regent Christina would have simply laid back and let the breeze coming from her window caress her body. She was tired, to be true, but today was no ordinary day. As she reached for a towel to clean her sweat drenched body, she groaned. She’d already read the parchment slid under the door at her request. From next to her, she heard the crumple of paper as another pair of hands read the latest news from Italy.

“That fool Leo betrayed us,” a voice next to her matched her complaining sounds. Christina looked over towards Georgios Komnenos, Prince of Antioch, and gently slid a hand over to pat her naked lover.

“He did,” Christina sighed, she rolled out of her freshly unmade bed and took several raspberries from the tray on her counter left by her servants. As she nibbled, she reflected back on the past year. Oh, how everything had gone right, and how she thought she had everything well enough in hand.

Leo and Georgios’ betrayal of the Emperor at Messina had worked perfectly – Leo Komnenos had taken his portion of the fleet and sailed for Taranto, while Georgios returned his wing, surreptitiously including the Imperial tagmata, back to Konstantinopolis. She had been amused by the confusion of the young whelp and his alliance after Thomas’ death. The vast coalition of the West had been united by only one thing – their opposition to Emperor Thomas Komnenos.

At his death, suddenly individual needs and wants rushed to the fore. Of course, a few promises and bags of coin did wonders as well. Christina had learned all of Sophie’s tricks, and her own men rubbed shoulders with the Italian elite just as Sophie’s did. After the demise of Thomas, the war suddenly made little sense to the Genoese and the Venetians. Their cities were built on trade and access to the East, access that was cut off so long as hostilities continued. The conflict was also dangerous for Alexios as well – dallying in Sicily meant leaving Spain open, a prize Drogo Capet had long publicly coveted with decades of plots and machinations. And to add to all of this, Leo and Georgios had led the bulk of the Thrake Stolos away from the battle, meaning the backbone of the Imperial Fleet, as well as the vast army marshaled by Thomas, was still alive and well.

Christina had expected this – nay, she’d known it, and things should have fallen into place. Alexios, his flank seemingly secure against Konstantinopolis for the time being, would hurry back to Spain to prepare defenses against the French invasion everyone expected, while Christina would magnanimously grant privileges to the Italians in return for their renewed loyalty to the Roman state. She already had a machination in place to take care of Drogo, after his usefulness in pinning Alexios was done. For his role in the betrayal, old Leo Komnenos would be named a Basilieus and return to Konstantinopolis as a junior emperor to her own son. In a fell swoop, Christina of Dau, widow of the Emperor, would sweep in as Regent, quell the civil war, divest Romanion from the problems of Spain, and secure the throne for her ten year old son – which meant full power for her for at least six years, and probably more. Had not Empress Zoe, Empress Eirene, and countless others ruled the Empire while their sons languished in the palace?

She looked down at the proclamation from Naples. Why did that fool have to mess everything up?


“He’s declared himself Autokrator of Italy?” Georgios grumbled, shoving his covers aside. “Autokrator! He’s challenging our authority!”

Christina winced at the Georgios’ pronoun choice, but said nothing. There was no use in correcting him, not yet. Not while Leo and other, more important threats were about.

The Prince of Apulia and Calabria was basing his claim on the fact that he was the eldest surviving Komnenos, and harking back to centuries of tradition where the ablest relative, not the eldest son, ruled the Empire. At Leo’s declaration, her plans for Italy had fallen like a house of cards. When Leo declared his status as Autokrator, his son the Prince of Calabria not only knelt before him, but seized Imperial Sicily as well! Leo’s nephew, Phillipos Spartenos, prince of Salerno had quickly followed. Then the Orsini’s of Benevento, then the de Hautevilles of Spoleto. Even the Prince of Leptis Magna had quickly abandoned Konstantinopolis! Now, the self-styled Emperor in Italy straddled the Mediterranean, and cut off Imperial Carthage and Kairouan from the rest of the Empire, and deprived Christina of her only route to threaten the Italian city states to the north!

And despite his treacheries, the man did have a long list of admirable accomplishments. To add to her woes, her husband’s repeated wars had worn the dynatoi thin. Leo was popular, and few nobles were going to look kindly on yet more requests from the central government to raise an army to suppress Leo – not unless something horrendous happened to his reputation. Some of her agents even said that the dynatoi were privately approaching Leo to set up trade arrangements, as if he was a legitimate holder of the crown! None less than Adhid Kosaca, son of the Megos Domestikos and heir apparent to Kairouan, had already private approached the new Autokrator regarding trade privileges!

“Yes,” she nibbled on yet another raspberry, lost in thought. Christina closed her eyes and sighed. She’d never expected that old lecher to hold to his words, but this? The dynatoi were lost. What about the Imperial tagmata?

“What does the army think of this?” she asked.

“They’re split,” the Prince of Antioch and Strategos of the Levantikon Stratos said, rising from the bed. “Some want Leo as he’s seen army command. Some want him because of his nickname Methysos, the Drunkard,” Leo shrugged. “Soldiers like a man who can drink, they know he won’t withhold their wine. He’s rather well regarded. They see him as more of a leader than Heraklios, that’s for certain… stupid young whelp!” Georgios spat with venom. He flashed a look up towards Christina. “If that little whelp ever touches you again…”

Christina laughed, but not for the reasons she knew Georgios would think. Georgios Komnenos had brought her little story of Heraklios taking advantage of her far better than she could’ve imagined. When it joined with his naturally jealous nature…

“He was rather good,” she admitted. Of course, that was because she’d taught Heraklios everything. “But not nearly as good as you…” she added, dropping the last word down to a husky purr. “I only wish you’d taken me earlier…”


Georgios flashed a lascivious smile, and Christina grinned in response. The two were just about to kiss when…

…there was a knock on her bedchamber door.

Georgios jumped, eyes wide in panic. If he was caught in bed with the Empress…

“Who knocks?” Christina called, hurriedly putting on her own sleeping shift.

“Majesty, His Majesty Heraklios bids you welcome him to your chambers,” Christina heard one of her maidservants call through the door.

“Heraklios? Here? Now?!” Georgios hissed. The strategos’ eyes had changed – instead of being wide with fear, they were now filled with rage. Instantly his hand darted to a plate of food lying near their bed, and he brandished a butterknife. “He won’t take you from me!” Georgios whispered, cutlery in hand.

“Georgios, put that down!” Christina hissed back. She’d expected him to be feisty, but not to the point of drawing butterknives! “He shan’t have me back, Georgios, you know that!” She brought a hand up to the strategos’ cheek. “He might be an Emperor, but I am an Empress,” she cooed. “It all shall be fine…”

“Majesty! His Majesty requests entrance!” the voice behind the door called yet again.

Christina’s mind raced. What to do? Heraklios was an Emperor, and would do something foul if he found his lover with another in her chambers. Georgios was a jealous fool. The problem settled in her mind, and after a few seconds, an idea came into her head. It was desperate, it was a gamble, but if it worked…

“Now be quick, go behind the curtains, over there,” Christina gestured by the window. Quietly but forcefully she hustled Georgios behind the purple drapes, then pulled them in front of him. They weren’t quite long enough, but she hoped the glare of the outside might hide the strategos’ feet somewhat.

She turned, and quickly ran her hands through her hair, straightening it somewhat. A quick glance showed that all the strategos’ errant clothing was safely hidden by the covers. When she reached the door, she gave one last look back at the drapes, and took a deep breath. She prayed Heraklios, and Georgios, both would act as she suspected.

When she opened the door, she wore the biggest smile her nervous face could muster.

“Heraklios, my love!” she purred, “Come in, come in! I merely had to untangle myself from my sheets!”

“Christina,” Heraklios smiled. He took her by the hand, and walked her into the room. She tugged slightly away from the bed, and towards the table. To her surprise, he followed – something she didn’t expect.

Something wasn’t right.

Gently he pulled out her seat for her, then sat across. Heraklios waved his hand, and gently one of the servants set a jug wine down between them, while the other set two finely crafted goblets on the table. At his nod, both servants bowed, and backed away until they had left the chamber, closing the door behind them.

“Fresh from Italy, sent by mine cousin, Bartholemaios,” Heraklios said, filling each goblet. “I thought that after the proper mourning period for your late husband was over, that we should celebrate!”

Christina nodded warily. Bartholemaios was Leo’s second son. She sniffed the wine jug, and the brilliant smell of vintage Italian wine greeted her nose. She breathed in, and could almost smell the vineyards, the salt…

The salt?

Even as she flashed Heraklios a smile, Christina’s mind went into overdrive. Such a smell couldn’t have been caused by improper fermentation – it could only come from one thing.

Poison.

“To celebrate our new life, love,” Heraklios smiled gently, pouring two cups of wine. He pushed one cup directly in front of her. “The madman is dead, and we are free to live together!”

Who would’ve put the poison into the wine? Christina mentally ran through a list of suspects. The servants were well paid, loyal – in any event, if they were involved, they were a pawn of someone else. Leo? That would’ve been obvious, considering the old lecher’s leap for power, and that it came from his son. Heraklios? Part of Christina doubted the young man would’ve been capable of such callousness, but she’d learned, long and often, never to trust anyone…

“Yes,” she said, smile bright, plastered on her face. She dared not glance towards the curtains that contained Georgios – she knew the strategos’ sandals were poking out, and that the curtains were probably trembling from his jealous rage.

It was time.

She upped the ante and leaned forward, putting her cleavage on display. As she expected, Heraklios’ eyes were rooted on her. She knew Georgios’ were as well.

“My clever love,” Heraklios smiled, taking her hand and kissing it. “Defeated Alexios and the Italians with their own greed. Though,” his smile dimmed slightly and an eyebrow arched in question, “what do you plan to do with Drogo?”

“I’ll deal with Drogo soon, don’t worry,” Christina crooned, gently stroking behind the young man’s ear. She watched his eyes – yes, on the surface they had the same puppy-look of when she first seduced him, but behind the wide faced smile and brilliant eyes she saw calculation, plotting, planning.

Heraklios had turned. Her nose – and her instincts, were right.

She gently pushed the wine goblet away, her mind racing. The ease with which she seduced him meant she doubted he came up with whatever scheme was running through his head. Leo… it had to have been Leo. Bartholemaios had no grudge against her, and didn’t have the means to make such a strike. Somehow Leo had seduced Heraklios as well with charms of his own.

Co-Emperorship? A woman? A man? I mattered not.

“No wine for me today, love,” she whispered, reaching for another raspberry. No, the wine would have some other use…

“And why not?” Heraklios raised an eyebrow. Christina heard a hint of suspicion in his voice. She glanced over towards the curtains, and saw that Georgios was already moving. Impatient man!


After that moment’s look, she looked Heraklios directly in the eye – the boy was still staring at her. Good.

“Because,” Christina put on her best smile, leaning further forward, “I have a surprise for you.”

From the moment she locked lips with him, she knew what would happen. Heraklios gave a muffled cry of surprise, before old instincts cropped up and he returned her kisses passionately – so passionately he didn’t hear anything until the jealous roar of Georgios Komnenos, a split second before the strategos struck.

Georgios Komnenos wasn’t a large man, but he’d seen almost thirty winters in military service. So even though he swung with only a first, he knew inherently where to strike. Heraklios tumbled forward, his head smacking the wooden table, eyes bulging as the dull smack of the powerful hit reverberated around the room. She had to put on her best look of shock as Georgios struck the back of the Emperor’s head again and again, just as she’d hoped. When Georgios finally regained himself after the sixth blow, the deed was already done. Heraklios Komnenos lay twitching on the floor next to the table. After a moment, even the twitching ceased.

“Oh god,” Georgios whispered, hands covering his lips.

Christina looked down at Heraklios’ limp form – a huge, deadly bruise had already formed at the base of his skull. Christina knew from all the assassin work she’d planned over the years that Heraklios would definitely not come back from such an attack. Good.

Now to solve her other problem.

“Love!” she looked up at Georgios, “Oh God! What have you done!? We shall both be discovered!”

“D…discovered?” Georgios stuttered, eyes wide and fearful. She could see the ramifications rushing through his head. His eyes shot even wider.

“Unless… help me, love!” Christina said hurriedly, leaping up from the table. “Turn his head, while I fetch the wine…”

As the two of them hurriedly worked, Christina laughed in her mind. With one little stone, she’d killed off one man between her and ruling in Konstantinopolis, given the army and people reason to make war on the second, and bounded one of the most powerful generals in the Empire to her through sex and guilt.

As she gave her best panicked screams for servants to come quickly, she decided that today was a good day after all…



So finally, the next update! Heraklios has perished, Christina now has a casus belli against Leo, and the whole Komnenid Empire seems to be slipping into war. How will she deal with Leo? And how will she deal with Drogo? All this and more coming up when Rome AARisen continues!

And once again as a reminder, please go vote in the ACAs! And please do not vote for Rome AARisen in Best CK Narrative! (some of you didn’t read! I appreciate your support, but I want to let some of the other narratives shine too! )