“I daresay the darkness began at Tabriz… and from there it spread.” – Albrecht von Franken, Histories
June 5th, 1213
Thomas sighed, and broke off another piece of cheese to eat alongside his bread. He had long since stopped glaring at Sinan and Mahmud, two of his principal strategoi on this campaign, for their eating meat on campaign. To each his own, the Emperor had decided—as for his own food, Thomas ate what the men ate. Both he and Helene agreed that any more would be an extravagance.
“…letter from your son Antemios’ governess,” Demetrios Lainez, strategos and prostratos of the Army of Mesopotamia read from the second to last in a stack of letters waiting for Imperial attention. A brief whisper of wind blew in from the outside, bringing with it the noise of smiths, carpenters, and men… the noise of an army preparing for a long siege.
“What does it say?” Thomas asked. Sinan slurped out of his wine glass, causing Lainez to glower. Thomas waved his hand to get his chief of staff back on topic.
Lainez scanned through the letter. “He’s learning to walk.”
Thomas smiled. Helene would love to know how her one year old was doing, even as her belly was starting to swell with yet another child.
“Next letter,” Lainez said, after a grin of his own. “A minor problem in the north,” Lainez said after a moment. “A certain comes named Alexios Thrakesios reports that a representative of the Cumans insulted him and Your Majesty’s Person.”
“Why does he write here, and not to his own prince?” Thomas mumbled around the bread in his mouth.
Because Prince Petrosian is a fool?
“He says Prince Petrosian refuses to authorize troops to go northwards when… hmm,” Lainez muttered. “Bloody confusing. Petrosian apparently says the Cumans have raided into Astrakhan, under the leadership of a new Khan. The lead raider is someone named Jebe, or Jebi or something.”
“Who is the new Khan?” Sinan asked.
“Genghis, Chingiis, something?” Lainez threw his hands up.
Genghis sounds like a Turkic title…
Yes, Petrosian is a fool! Acheron chirped.
“Send back that Thrakesios can launch a punitive expedition north as soon as possible,” Thomas muttered. He took a drink of watered down wine. “Um… if Petrosian is so busy, tell my cousin Anastasios in Imeretia that…” Thomas thought for a second, “um…he should loan five hundred riders to Thrakesios, and that the Imperial purse will compensate him… so on and so forth, you can fill in the details, Lainez!”
“Of course,” Demetrios said. A few moments of harsh scratching with his quill, and the Prostratos nodded towards one of the endless array of couriers that stood outside the otherwise plain Imperial tent. “To Sochi, then Dalassena,” Lainez ordered, pouring hot wax onto the parchment before affixing the imperial seal.
Demetrios Lainez, served as Prostratos, or second in command, of the main Imperial Army during Thomas’ Turkish campaign. As Prostratos, he was often charged with running the day to day affairs of the army and correspondence, allowing the Emperor to focus on more strategic matters.
“Any more business?” Thomas asked.
Lord, I hope there is. I can’t put up with that stick… Theodora whined as Thomas glanced towards the linen partition that separated the small “planning/public” half of his tent from the half that held his bed and waiting wife.
Demetrios Lainez followed his emperor’s glance, then grinned lopsidedly at Thomas. “None that I can think of, Majesty,” Lainez added with a decidedly wicked smile.
“Good,” Thomas rose. Immediately, the other members of the Imperial staff rose as well. “Well then, goodnight gentlemen, and…”
“Majesty!”
Thomas stopped as the words filtered through the tentflaps. While Thomas gave an exasperated sigh, Sinan and Demetrios both chuckled.
“No rest for the wicked,” Thomas sighed, and sat back down. “Let him in.”
Lainez started for the tent flap, but before he could arrive, a muddy, grimly hand rudely pulled the linen away. In stepped a figure straight from a seeming mudpit—Thomas could just barely under a sea of mud, grime and sweat, make out the tabard and armor of a chillarchos. His plumed helm, by regulations to be kept at his side at all times, was no where in sight. Indeed, the man didn’t even have his regulation spatha. Memnon complained at the lack of discipline, but something told Thomas to calm his voice.
He gestured for the man to come in further.
“You couldn’t have cleaned yourself up before appearing before your emperor?” Lainez grumbled, glaring at the muddy footprints the man was leaving behind.
Yes, if he’d cleaned up, he’d be looking very nice indeed! Theodora said lasciviously, before tossing in an imagined rendition of the man with no clothes. Thomas immediately reacted. He thought of spiders—that sent her scrambling away.
And you couldn’t shut up before you snap at a bedraggled man! Idiot! Acheron chimed in just as Thomas got Theodora to disappear.
Quiet. He’s a capable idiot, Memnon added sharply.
“Quiet, all of you,” Thomas spoke in his head.
“Where do you come from, chillarchos?” Thomas asked. If the man hadn’t changed…
“I bear news from the north, from the army of the Prince of Edessa and Chaldea,” the man said, still breathing heavily.
“You’ve obviously ridden a long time. Demetrios,” Thomas said, pushing the voices back, before turning to the still grumpy strategos, “get one of the campstools and some water. Bring them here please.”
Good. Subtle way to tell Lainez to cool down, Memnon said, obviously pleased. Sometimes, sometimes, Memnon made perfect sense.
As Lainez turned to do his lord’s bidding, Thomas’ eyes went back to the man. “What is your name?”
“Eudoxios Skliros, Majesty,” the man rasped. Lainez returned with a goblet, which the muddied courier downed in three enormous gulps. Several staff looked away in slight disgust. Their looks were only magnified when Thomas himself took the goblet from the young man’s hands, and motioned for him to sit on the nearby stool.
He’s still nervous, Memnon observed. Calm men give more complete reports.
Manuel screwed something up, Acheron hissed.
Thomas wanted to shout the voice down, but he secretly agreed. His dear cousin Manuel was more known for the unorthodox combination of obscene piety and devious cunning than he was for any tactical skill. In fact, only his rank, incessant complaints and Mehtar’s fears of any politicking he would do if he wasn’t in the field had landed him his field command. In a perfect world, Thomas could have sent the Prince to a monastery and been done with him.
Manuel Komnenos was a descendant of Matthias Komnenos from the mid-12th century. Known more for his political maneuverings and famous piety, Manuel was not the best person to lead a field army. Yet due to his stature amongst the dynatoi, when it came time to select a leader for the mostly noble-lead Northern Army, Thomas had little choice but to turn to his esteemed 63 year old cousin…
“What unit of the Prince of Edessa’s army are you attached to? The Edessan Guards? Chaldean Cataphracts?” Thomas asked, trying to make the man feel more at home. He felt Memnon agreeing with the attempt, while Acheron loudly snapped the man should be slapped till he spoke. As Thomas pushed Acheron further back, he was greeted with a look caught between dismay and confusion on Eudoxios’ face.
“I…”
“Oh please!” Thomas leaned back, upping the informal ante. “You might be with the lowliest levy, but you’re a soldier in the Imperial army all the same. There’s no shame!”
“I was with the Komnenoi tagma…”
Good men, Memnon observed, quickly rummaging through Thomas’ memory for the relevant information.
For once, I agree with the annoyingly patient one, Acheron grumbled. They’re deadly in the field, Thomas. Good fighters.
“Ah, so Prince Manuel’s personal guards!” Thomas nodded in recognition. The haughtily named Komnenoi were among the finest thematakoi cavalry in the East, arguably the equal of some of the Emperor’s own tagmata. “How does my cousin…” Thomas’ words dropped off as he absorbed the tense the young man used. “Was?”
Uh. Oh.
Eudoxios nodded.
“Were you transferred?”
“No... Majesty, I…” the man stammered, looking down.
“Out with it, whatever it is!” Lainez hissed in annoyance.
Yeah, out with it!
Something has gone horribly wrong… let him take his breath…
Thomas glared at Lainez, who fell silent. Under the Emperor’s calm gaze, Eudoxios took a deep breath, looked back up, and tried to hold himself at attention. The rattling of his shaking chain hauberk echoed around the tent.
Something’s gone absolutely horribly wrong…
“Give him a moment, Lainez,” Thomas cautioned, hoping to prod Eudoxios gently. “Start at the beginning, take as much time as you need,” Thomas added, folding his hands patiently.
“As Your orders,” the Eudoxios started, his voice choking slightly, “Prince Manuel sent half his column to follow the western foothills of the Zagros as a flank cover for Your Majesty’s advance. However, once he entered the Zagros proper, the Prince felt it prudent to detach 10,000 men to assault towns and villages along the Caspian coast, with the intent those forces would rejoin us at Tabriz.”
ANOTHER fool! That detachment got cut off! Acheron fumed, storming about in Thomas’ mind. The idiot! Your mother should have lopped his head off when she had the chance!
Calm, Acheron… let the man finish…
Thomas blinked for a second, before finally one side gained a slight upper hand.
“So… this detachment was attacked?” Thomas asked calmly.
The only group it could be would be the Emir of Tabriz… but if Mehtar’s informations and grain suppliers are right, there can’t be more than 6,000 or so men in the Emir’s force. Even the detachment should have crushed them easily…
FIRE MANUEL! Acheron snarled.
Thomas looked over at Lainez and Sinan. They both nodded, they were thinking the same. The Prince of Edessa needed to go, as soon as possible.
“No… Majesty,” the young man’s voice brought the Emperor back from his nascent plans. “Our main column started over the passes of the Zagros, and the Prince deployed flankers and skirmishers as he should. Two days in…”
“That fool!” Lainez snapped. “He got ambushed, didn’t he?” The strategos tossed his goblet to the other side of the tent in disgust. “What a moron! He was ambushed by the Emir, wasn’t he!”
Stop interrupting him!
Fools! Both of you!
“Let the man speak!” Thomas roared. At the sharp thunder of his voice, Demetrios stopped in mid-tirade, and quickly found his stool yet again.
“Um… yes…Majesty, we were ambushed. By Sultan Faramarz and his whole army.”
The early stages of Tabriz, before half of the Sultan’s force had arrived
“Faramarz?” Sinan was already out of his seat, “How the hell did Faramarz get to Tabriz? Wasn’t he in Heart only three months ago?”
Three months ago we received word he’d been in Herat, Memnon clarified. Many things can happen in three months’ time…
Thomas, I need troop numbers… If Faramarz force marched back, he couldn’t have brought that large of a force. 15 to 20,000 maybe?
“How many did the Sultan bring to the field with him?” Thomas asked, his voice even and calm as he crossed his arms. Memnon ran through more figures, more thoughts, as Eudoxios looked away for a moment.
“I… I don’t know, Majesty,” the man confessed, “mayhaps 40,000 or more.”
“40,000?” Lainez whispered.
Acheron and Memnon both repeated the number in surprise.
“Surely you miscounted or something!” Sinan blurted out. “I mean…”
“That was the count from Lord Kaukadenos… we could see only some of the banners. There may have been more,” Eudoxios confessed.
“So there’s now 40,000 Turks in the Zagros?” Demetrios was on his feet, stalking around the tent like a panicked, angry panther. “40,000 at least!”
Thomas gritted his teeth. “How many reinforcements does the Prince need?” Memnon was frantically backpedalling on his ideas, new plans were arising. If they detached 10,000 men off the siege lines at Baghdad, they could force march them up to near Mosul on short notice, soften Faramarz’s blow until the reserves could stiffen his ranks…
“He...uh…he can’t take any reinforcements.”
“What do you mean?” Thomas raised an eyebrow, before glancing over towards Sinan. The strategos shrugged. “If he was ambushed by the Sultan, who had a force nearly twice his, why wouldn’t he want reinforcements after such a battle? Has he gone mad?”
“He’s dead, Majesty,” Eudoxios said quietly. “His column of the Northern Army—20,000 men, were utterly destroyed by Sultan Faramarz!”
“Utterly destroyed?” Mahmud finally stopped gaping enough to speak for the first time. “What do you mean…utterly destroyed? How utterly destroyed?”
“Milords,” Eudoxios pinched the bridge of his nose and looked down. Thomas watched as the man shuddered once, before taking a deep breath, and looking back up at all the expectant faces. “The Sultan’s men rolled boulders into the path of our army, and even more down onto the midst of our forces, splitting us in two.” Pause… deep breath. “The Turks were coming from every rock, every cranny on both sides of the pass. Make no mistake, Majesty, your lord cousin fought hard, and his men took many Turks with them. But nine men out of ten, almost all our supplies, field kits, siege train, baggage, and even the banner Your Majesty bestowed on us at the start of the campaign, are gone.”
The aftermath…
“Gone?” Sinan said absently.
“The banner is gone?” Thomas whispered to no one in particular. Words from seemingly an age ago flowed back into the Emperor’s mind, words that quelled even Acheron.
So the time had come.
“How did you escape?” Thomas asked, buying himself time while he and his voices conferred. Already Memnon was frantically running through numbers and calculations, shouting them out to no one in particular in the Emperor’s mind.
“Majesty, I had been sent to the rear of our column by Lord Komnenos to relay an order to Lord Kaukadenos,” Eudoxios began. “When the Turks started the rockslides, Lord Kaukadenos attempted to charge over the rocks to save the rest of the army. When it was apparent we couldn’t do anything, he ordered us to flee.”
“He ordered you to flee? That cowardly swine! Next time we see them, I ought…” Lainez was rumbling again, stalking over to the chest where regional maps were stored.
“The Prince of Mosul likely so no reason to needlessly sacrifice his men,” Thomas cut off his general. He knew Andreas… Andreas was brave by default, almost to the point of recklessness. If he’d ordered a retreat…
“Why?” Lainez exploded. “Because of him, and that ass Manuel, ee have no army between Faramarz and the Armenian and Azeri themes!” Lainez snapped, hastily throwing parchments aside till he arrived at the correct map. He tossed it onto the hard wooden planks that made the floor, where it landed in a haphazard heap. “He’s got our entire offensive by the hip!”
“If Faramarz lunged towards Mosul and Nineveh…” Mahmud said quietly.
Thomas nodded. He could read a map as well as anyone, and Memnon was barking the same thing in his mind. In a swoop, the Sultan could cut off both the Main and Southern Armies from their supplies in Romanion, and end the war, and maybe Thomas, in the space of a few weeks…
Thoughts ran back and forth. Memnon spoke in a panic, Acheron shouted, and Theodora tried to wrestle away from the holds Thomas had placed on her. The Emperor closed his eyes as the noise of worried generals overwhelmed the small tent. Amidst the chaos, the gloom, the storm, he crawled into a small corner of his mind, safe from the loud noises all around him. As Lainez argued for an immediate withdrawl, and Mahmud pushed for an immediate assault on the city, the Emperor proceeded his own thoughts. He asked Memnon a question… there was a quickly reply. Suddenly, Thomas’ eyes snapped back open.
“How few men can hold the siege lines around Baghdad?” Thomas muttered.
“Majesty, we need at least 40,000 to properly ring the city,” Sinan said, before quickly leaping back into the loud and long debate with Lainez. Thomas grabbed the maps prepared by his scouts of the city defenses, and scanned as his subordinates shouted. Memnon whispered thoughts, Acheron even added some boldness.
“Thom… Majesty!” Sinan caught himself in front of the courier, “why are you grinning!?”
Thomas held up a finger, and walked to the edge of the tent.
“Courier!” Thomas barked, “Take a letter!” he shouted outside, before turning around, the smile on his face now enormous.
“To who?” Lainez asked, confused.
“To your uncle,” Thomas replied. “I want Konstantinopolis secured before any word of Tabriz reaches the walls. The gnats even will be thinking of revolt when they hear what their Emperor is going to do.”
Thomas watched as eyes went wide around the room. Memnon and Acheron both whispered more, and Thomas continued. “I’m marching north away from the Baghdad siege lines,” Thomas said matter of factly. Memnon was right, Faramarz wouldn’t expect that. The Sultan’s plan was brilliant, but premised on Thomas being a cautious commander. Memnon (and Acheron grumpily) hastily added that so far Thomas had been cautious.
Now was the time for daring.
“Sinan, I want a list of what supplies would be needed to take 25,000 men off the siege lines and force march to Mosul in a week,” Thomas continued.
“25,000?” Sinan asked quietly. By the look on the strategos’ face, Thomas knew he might as well have said he was made of clay.
“Don’t look so surprised,” the Emperor gently chided. “And pack your things,” Thomas added, stopping just in front of Sinan, “you’re coming north with me. Mahmud, Demetrios, I’m going to leave you in joint command here at Baghdad.” Thomas restarted his pacing.
“Um…” Lainez started to speak, before his mouth closed with a click and he sharply nodded. Thomas read the look in his eyes—on one level, Lainez doubted Thomas’ plan would work. On the other, he’d had that same look the night before Potenza, and like all the men present, he’d seen what his emperor and a little determination wrought on a battlefield.
“Ierousalyma Fylakas, Varangoi Defteros, Athanatakoi, Hetaratoi, Archontoupolai, Titanoi and Basilikoi Toxotai,” Thomas rattled off the list of tagma Memnon fed him. “I need their strategoi here. Now,” the Emperor’s pacing became more frantic. “I need scouts from each tagma, we’re forming a special flying chillarchoi of scouts to find and keep tags on Faramarz, and…”
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So Romanion has suffered perhaps her most devastating defeat since the death of Nikephoros I at the hands of the Bulgarian Krum, and Thomas is forced to abandon his siege at Baghdad to respond. All the while, a new force is raiding the northern reaches of the Volga. Plots abound next time, when Rome AARisen continues!
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