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A great update! Thomas really showed that arrogant brat of his didn't he? :) (Yes i don't really like Gabriel)
 
How older characters rather quickly fade in importance or capability seem to be a thrend. Now it seems to be Thomas II's turn, though he deserves it. Only one to remain important despite his older days whom I can think of was Mehtar Lainez.

Excellent chapter though, as usual always a pleasure to read. Rooting for another one soon :)
 
vanin - Only a few more minutes and then you have it! The older characters fading also tends to be me trying to keep things fresh for myself... I usually get REALLY excited when a new generation comes of age, I write a bunch about them, I'm overbrimming with ideas... then they get older, and I get tired of writing about them, so I switch to the next new generation. Stylistically, I guess it prepares you all as readers for the hand-off of power, but I admit, most of it comes from me being a selfish writer. :)

Deamon - Well, Thomas certainly showed him up. Maybe not at the best time though...

Ksim3000 - These Byzantines certainly would have oodles of tragedy and even some comedy in them. Just like the real Byzantines... which makes me think, why is there such a dearth of good Byzantine movies out there? :(

asd21593 - Succinct and profound... as well as correct.

Qorten - Chaos you mean...though that chaos is nothing compared to what happens this update...

Calipah - Thanks for you help with cultural tidbits I would have otherwise glossed over through ignorance! Maybe you should do a CK AAR at some point, from a Muslim perspective... It'd be a lovely counterpoint to mine!

von Sachsen - Well, if the blue triangular flag can get its act together to take advantage...

Kirsch27 - The Empire does have huge armies. Yet how many of the thematakoi, especially from places like Egypt, are Muslim levies? Suddenly things get more interesting when that little equation comes up...

Fulcrumvale - I doubt Thomas would care much so long as he got to play architect. That said, how exactly did the unknown man 'know' there was going to be some major event requiring the Patriarch to perform a solemn duty? And what solemn duty would it be?

Nikolai - City stormings are usually tragedies... I've tried to keep that as the tone here. Should Thomas II storm Mecca, it'd likely be an immense tragedy for more than just the inhabitants.

Enewald - At least Thomas didn't kill Gabriel--he's crazy enough he could have. As for Theodora, she's just a facet of how far his mind has slid. As for Helene... simply put, her husband's too far gone...

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“And behold, angels did lift the cradle above the torrent, holding the Aionios safe through the flood tide of God’s wrath. For the flood shall cleanse the earth, while the Aionios shall cleanse our souls.”The Eternal Tablet


March 19th, 1238

Just outside of Alexandria, Egypt



“Papa! Look! There are fish flopping!” five year old Georgios yelled.

“Fishies?” young Isaakios, barely three, looked up. “Fishes!” he happily burbled.

Sharif al-Hinnawi grunted, as his master Nikolaios Komnenos sighed and picked up his middle son.

“What what?” Nikolaios complained, ambling his bulk over a small rise in the dunes on the Mediterranean coast. The Katepanos of Egypt, Regent in the name of his brother Theodoros, hadn’t wanted to take his household on this excursion outside of Alexandria. However, as Sharif had seen firsthand, the whining of children could have an immense effect on the will of their parents.

“Papa! The sea!” eight year old Stephanos added. The two brothers each took one of their father’s pudgy hands, and began to tow the bulky Nikolaios up the dune. The most powerful man in Egypt sighed, looked to his personal bodyservant Matthias with a shrug, and let his children tug him up the hill.

“You were saying, My Lord?” Sharif forced himself to hide a smile at his lord’s predicament. By the look Nikolaios gave when he turned around to his logothetes, al-Hinnawi knew he hadn’t succeeded.

“I was saying,” Nikolaios grunted as small hands pushed and shoved him forwards, “that… gah! That these calls about…”

Nikolaios’ voice dropped off into nothing, not that Sharif was paying attention. His own eyes were riveted on the fast retreating shore. Water frothed and roiled, as the mass of the Mediterranean receded into the distance of its own accord.

tsunami03.jpg

“That’s bloody strange,” Nikolaios blurted out to no one in particular.

“See papa! Look at all the fish!” Stephanos erupted, jumping up and down. Indeed, the mudflats now wet and sticky under a sun they’d never seen were alive with flopping fish, creeping mollusks, and all other manner of sea creatures never seen in the light of day.

“Can we go fetch some?” Georgios whined in that voice only five year olds can master.

“Please?” Stephanos added the eight year old equivalent.

For the Katepanos, the decision was over in an instant.

“Yes! Of course!” he waved his hands off towards the exposed sand below. “Don’t get yourselves too dirty, or the laundress will be cross!” he shouted after their already running forms. Nikolaios sighed, then looked at his bodyman. “Keep an eye on them,” he nodded off towards the running children. At Isaakios’ whine, he added, “Take the little one too.”

As the three children splashed and played, Sharif allowed himself a momentary smile before the huff from his master told him he needed to come back to business.

“As you were saying?” the logothetes prompted.

“Oh? Ah yes,” the Katepanos re-found his train of thought. Free of children’s voices, it was now a far easier task. “Alexandria. Mosques. There’ve been rumors of some kind of uproar going on in the Muslim community about the Emperor’s campaign in the Hejaz.”

Sharif snorted. Rumors of an uproar? Just rumors?

“What?” Nikolaios asked, brow furrowed. “Well, what? I don’t pay you to snort sarcastically while I’m ignorant of what is happening, I pay you to tell me. Out with it.”

“The area around Mecca is haram. Only Muslims are supposed to come close to the Holy City—yet now it is surrounded by your Emperor and twenty thousand men. I’m surprised there haven’t been riots in the street yet.”

“Do you think it will come to that?” Nikolaios asked quietly. Sharif turned, and saw the logothetes eyes—soft and worried, yet revealing a steel soul within. Al-Hinnawi knew his master wouldn’t want to unleash his thematakoi on a horde of unarmed people, but if the Muslims took to the streets…

Inshallah, I hope it does not,” Sharif said quietly. Chaos in the streets? Knives out, blades drawn? Sharif had heard stories of what Roman Emperors did to rebellious subjects, and far too much blood spilled at the end of those tales. Muslim he might be, but al-Hinnawi knew he was a subject as well.

“I’m just worried,” Nikolaios said. Pudgy hands found their place on his hips. “Then again, I’m always worried. It’s my job!” A thin smile formed on the Katepanos’ lips. “Heavens knows my brother does so little he needs three men to worry for him!”

“I’ll agree to that,” Sharif said distantly, his eyes drifting back out towards the sea. Matthias was busily giving young Lord Isaakios a piggyback ride through the mudflats, while Georgios and Stephanos were busily grabbing fish, snails, and all other manner of strange creatures and stuffing them into their trousers. Al-Hinnawi winced—Nikolaios would undoubtedly explode at seeing those fine trousers ruined, and the logothetes could only imagine what the laundress would say.

Yet Al-Hinnawi’s eyes drifted past the child and their mayhem, and further out to the now distant lapping waves of the ocean. Despite the fact he heard words coming from his lord’s mouth, he couldn’t turn his eyes away. Why had the sea so suddenly surrendered her lands? The Saracen’s brow furrowed, as he saw a thin, distant line of white on the far horizon. He squinted. What was that?

“…are you listening?” Nikolaios’ angry complaint drew him back to the real world.

“Um… sorry, my lord,” he bowed his head in a hurried apology, even as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. From somewhere, he heard seagulls screeching, then taking flight. Something was not right.

“I said we need to do something about all of these demagogues and charlatans in the Delta,” the Katepanos grumbled, fidgeting angrily with his hands. “They’re saying the reason the Emperor hasn’t taken Mecca is because that blasted place…” the Katepanos halted momentarily, before a slight look of shame came over his face. “Apologies, Sharif, I intend no offense.”

“None taken,” al-Hinnawi murmured, his mind only half listening.

“They’re saying it can’t be taken, because God protects it,” the Katepanos finished far more respectfully. “And for the life of me, I’m starting to wonder. Sharif, do you know how many times the Emperor has tried to take those walls? Theodoros says five!” The Katepanos began his pacing again, “Five times! Six, now, probably, considering how long it takes for news to get here from Hejaz!”

“Nikolaios,” Sharif said, forcing his mind to come back to the problem at hand, “you know what I’ve said before, and I’ll say it again. If the Romani don’t want an issue with these mullahs and imams…”

“…we shouldn’t have laid siege to Mecca and Medina, yes I know!” Nikolaios waved his hand dismissively. “Believe me, in a perfect world, where I was in charge, we wouldn’t have—I would’ve taken the Sharif’s head, an annual tribute and been done with it. But the Emperor is down there, as is my brother, and for the sake of Christ, it’s just one town! It’s not as if we’re burning every mosque, and…”

“You Christians will never understand,” Sharif said quietly, shaking his head.

“…they’re… what?” Nikolaios’ line of complaints drew to a strange halt.

“You Christians have no single location like Mecca in your faith,” al-Hinnawi finished his thought, anger rising in his voice. “You have holy places, yes, but your holy places aren’t inviolate, they’ve changed hands again and again. Look at Jerusalem! First the pagan Romans, then the Christian Romans, then the pagan Persians, Romans again, Arabs, Turks, then Romans once more! Mecca has always been inviolate, always revered, and… what is that?” Sharif’s angry tirade slid to a halt, as a distant rumble greeted his ears.

“I…I don’t know…” Nikolaios’ his own anger long forgotten. Al-Hinnawi’s gaze returned back to the sea. The line of white was much larger, and obviously closer—the distant rumble was coming from its direction. For a split second, the logothete’s mind hung confused as to what he was witnessing, before he made a chilling conclusion.

The roar was the sea.

“Matthias!” he screamed, without even thinking of consulting Nikolaios first, “Get the children back up here! Now!”

“Is…is that?” he heard Nikolaios ask, his voice flushed with panic.

“It’s the water!” Sharif yelled, the roar now ominous, the ground trembling slightly underfoot. Already Matthias had hefted little Isaakios onto his shoulder, one hand grabbing Georgios as Stephanos jogged alongside through the muck and mire. Already, though, the thick stab of white had coalesced into a frothing, seething wall of water, towering 30 feet, rushing towards shore as the sea eager retook what it previously had owned. Matthias only had a moment to turn, and above the roar and shout of disaster, Sharif thought he could hear the servant scream.

And then the water was upon them.

tsunami07.jpg


==========*==========​

From Summation of Risks of a Recurrent Eastern Mediterranean Tsunami, by Dr. Ismail Skleros, presented at the World League Disaster Prevention Commission, 2002

…The island of Crete and its environs are also a potential threat area for the peoples of the Eastern Mediterranean. While I assume you all have read the preliminary studies on the “Day of Horror” tsunami of 365 A.D., we can at this juncture delve into a far more complete account of the events of March 19th, 1238. Unlike the previous disaster, recorded with sparing detail by ancient historians, the entire Roman world was aghast at the tragedy of 1238—an event that would have great repercussions in the years to come. First, I’ll begin this presentation with a brief summation of the event itself, as well as its repercussions, and then we’ll delve into the scientific modeling my colleagues and I have been using to simulate this quake, and our results which show that the Eastern Mediterranean is long overdue for another disaster of this scale.

First, the tsunami itself. The cause of this disaster was an earthquake centered just off the shore of southern Crete, with an estimated magnitude of 8.2 on the Solomades scale. Crete, as you know, lies just north of the convergent boundary between the Aegean plate and the African plate. By the descriptions left behind—Eugenios Tachymides’ being the most complete from Crete itself—the shaking lasted many minutes, which is indicative that the entire plate boundary, several hundred kilometers, came unhinged, or to use my colleagues’ nomenclature, unzipped. This released an enormous amount of energy, enough that parts of the island of Crete were uplifted by as much as 7 meters. This massive uplift itself generated an enormous disturbance in the waters of the Mediterranean Sea, but massive underwater landsides shown here, and here, added to the enormous volume of water placed into motion.

crete1238earthq.jpg

The 1238, like the 365 quake, was center south of Crete, where the African plate dives deep underneath the lighter Aegean plate. The shaking caused portions of the Cretan mainland, as well as the slops of several offshore islands to slump into the sea, in effect amplifying existing tsunamis.

The end result, ladies and gentleman, was an enormous tsunami, the likes of which had not been seen in the Eastern Mediterranean Basin for a thousand years, and has not been seen since in this region. The Aegean itself was protected by the bulk of the island of Crete itself, and wave runups were comparatively small—at the extreme end, a wave of roughly 1.5 meters came ashore at Smyrna, causing moderate damage. To the south, however, the full energy of this massive shift had no intervening barriers to block its fury.

Waves on the southern side of Crete were absolutely enormous—the village of Sephardion, we are told, was among those wiped out. In years past, it was simply assumed Sephardion was just another coastal community. However, thanks to archeological work by Lady Edessa, among others, we now know that the remains of Sephardion lie on a 17 meter high bluff, which implies truly enormous waves! Further to the south, waves did not reach such biblical proportions, but nonetheless waves at least 8 meters high struck most of Egypt and the Levant, in some cases depositing ships two or three kilometers inland, as well as devastating the Roman port cities of Alexandria, Damietta, Cyrene, Tripoli, Gaza, Acre, and Beirut.

tsunamirunups.jpg

A guesstimate from historical descriptions as to the tsunami run up caused by the 1238 earthquake. The extreme runup along the southern coast of Crete was likely found in two causes—first, the islands extremely close location to the quake epicenter, so the strength of the tsunamis were undiminished by distance, and two, local landslides amplifying the disaster.

The toll that this disaster placed on the Roman world cannot be underestimated. In economic and human terms, the disaster likely took well over 200,000 lives… we are told some 30,000 in Alexandria alone. Ports from Acre and Gaza to Damietta and Alexandria itself were devastated. In particular, the damage to shipping and ports along the Egyptian coast caused a temporary, yet major disruption in Imperial grain shipping through 1239, which would have major political consequences of its own in Konstantinopolis. Yet the social ramifications of this event go beyond simply a shortage of grain, or the devastation of cities.

Alexandria, the chief victim of both the tsunami of 365 and the 1238 disaster, was a major commercial hub, regional capital, and the center of one of the most ancient and revered Patriarchates in the Christian world. Its devastation, especially the inordinate amount of destruction amongst the Greek quarters of the city (which tended to lie closer to the waterfront than the Muslim sectors crowded away from the shoreline), and the destruction of the Basilica to St. Demetrius, headquarters of the Patriarch of Alexandria, caused a ripple effect amongst Christian theologians throughout the Roman world. In essence, the question of Komnenid religion changed from “How has God blessed us?” to “How did God let this happen?” For the results of that, I only think we need to turn to the works of St. Hypatios, or Adhid al-Hinnawi, or Ibn-Tamiyya, to see how different peoples answer this fundamental change of thought in different ways, as well as the profound effect this change had on history.

An aside to this—amongst the survivors of the catastrophe in Alexandria was a young Adhid al-Hinnawi, barely 2 years old. While, of course, we can’t find any evidence that he rode through the flood tide in his crib, as attested in The Eternal Tablet, we can say his father’s villa was on one of the few rises close to the shoreline of the city. This, more than any water-tight crib construction, probably ensured his survival.

Co-current with Mother Nature’s upheaval, the spring of 1238 also saw major political upheaval as well. Recall that this was the time period when the Roman army under Thomas II was besieging the holy cities of Mecca and Medina, and that 1238 is only a year removed from the chaos that would be 1239. When news of the disaster finally reached the Hejaz…

==========*==========​

I originally got the idea for this from reading about the actual 365 earthquake that sent a tsunami down to the Egyptian coast and had an amazing effect on the ancient Roman world (to the point that as late as the 6th century, citizens of Alexandria commemorated the anniversary of the “Day of Horror.”). Added to this was that the Komnenid Empire in this timeline did not have to deal with two major earthquake disasters that happened in our timeline—the devastating 1138 Aleppo earthquake, and the similarly deadly earthquake in Cilicia, both of which leveled whole regions and killed tens of thousands. So, our Komnenids were overdue for having to deal with a major natural disaster, and this seemed as good as any to toss their way.

That all said, one thing I think CK misses is an event for some kind of major disaster in a realm—a kingdom level event. Very low probability of firing, but if it does, one province gets a loss of a building, and income. Daughter events could fire for the liege of the afflicted lord, giving the opportunity to offer help, or reject, with consequences. Other daughter events could also fire saying people think the disaster was a sign against the ruling lord, etc. etc. The possibilities are endless…


..that all said, our Roman 'heroes' have another huge crisis on their hands... possible Muslim rebellions, cities that need rebuilding, what is next to pile on their heads?
 
1238 is only a year removed from the chaos that would be 1239. When news of the disaster finally reached the Hejaz…

Hmmmmmm.......

....I wonder.
 
I was going to write a whole analysis, but I think "this is extraordinarily bad" pretty much sums up my feelings on the matter.
 
My, this is going to have some reprecussions. I could tell it was going to be bad at "There are fish flopping!"
As an aside, Gladiator was just on, and I couldn't get that Joachim Pheonix was Comedus and not Thomas I Komenos out of my head.
 
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Ah.

So..the rational level-headed administration drowns, and the city guard are due to start slaughtering the unwise.

Ah, Egypt.

Also, Mecca - sounds like a Masada myth to me.
 
Severe devastation to what probably are the most important regions of the Empire, aside Anatolia. This is most likely the sign the muslims have been waiting for, that Allah is with them in this conflict against the Christian infidel. I foresee a dogpile of crap happening to Rhomanion following this earthquake, wether they be vast muslim revolts, renewed Mongol (now Tartar?) aggression, Timur being born 50 years too early or Bardas' machinations coming to fruition.

As Gabriel said to his father: You will ruin the Empire.
 
The trouble with these signs is, different people come up with different explanations, so, potentially, we could have a lot of trouble.
 
Heh.

Scarce had they set foot in the city, bewailing the death of their benefactor, when they perceived the earth to tremble under their feet, and saw the sea swell in the harbor, and dash to pieces the ships that were at anchor. The whirling flames and ashes covered the streets and public places, the houses tottered, and their roofs fell to the foundations, and the foundations were scattered; thirty thousand inhabitants of all ages and sexes were crushed to death in the ruins. The sailor, whistling and swearing, said: "There is some booty to be got here." "What can be the sufficient reason of this phenomenon?" said Panglossa. "This is certainly the last day of the world," cried Kandidos. The sailor ran quickly into the midst of the ruins, encountered death to find money, found it, laid hold of it, got drunk, and having slept himself sober, purchased the favors of the first willing girl he met with, among the ruins of the demolished houses, and in the midst of the dying and the dead. While he was thus engaged, Panglossa pulled him by the sleeve. "My friend," said he, "this is not right; you trespass against universal reason, you choose your time badly." "Brains and blood!" answered the other; "I am a sailor, and was born at Epieros; you have mistaken your man, this time, with your universal reason."

Some pieces of stone having wounded Kandidos, he lay sprawling in the street, and covered with rubbish. "Alas!" said he to Panglossa, "get me a little wine and oil; I am dying." "This trembling of the earth is no new thing," answered Panglossa. The City of Bengala, in India, experienced the same concussions last year; the same cause has the same effects; there is certainly a train of sulphur under the earth, from Bengala to Alexandria." "Nothing is more probable," said Kandidos; "but, for God's sake, a little oil and wine." "How probable?" replied the philosopher; "I maintain that the thing is demonstrable." Kandidos lost all sense, and Panglossa brought him a little water from a neighboring fountain.

The day following, having found some provisions. in rummaging through the rubbish, they recruited their strength a little. Afterwards, they employed themselves like others, in administering relief to the inhabitants that had escaped from death. Some citizens that had been relieved by them gave them as good a dinner as could be expected amidst such a disaster. It is true that the repast was mournful, and the guests watered their bread with their tears. But Panglossa consoled them by the assurance that things could not be otherwise, "For," said he, "all this must necessarily be for the best. As this volcano is at Alexandria, it could not be elsewhere; as it is impossible that things should not be what they are, as all is good."
 
That's the trouble with signs and portents: French intellectuals use them for their own nefarious ends.
 
Hey everyone!

I'm still working on the next update, I'd say the text is about 30% done as of right now... look for it to be up probably sometime next week--unfortunately my work schedule has really ramped up thanks to the holidays, so I don't have as much time to write as I used to. I'm still aiming for an average of an update a week however!

vanin - I remember teaching Candide to my undergraduates, and all of them who actually read it loving it (there were significant numbers who assumed it was a boring old book and never touched it, sadly). Next update is going to tie directly into whether Thomas has "ruined" the Empire, or whether Gabriel, Donauri, or someone else manages to pull him back from the abyss (not that it'd be an easy thing... Thomas is stark raving...)

RGB - Oh, what have the French done wrong? Aside from souffles? As for Mecca, if things go badly, it could definitely turn into a Masada...

Llewelyn - You get a brownie point for that. Two actually. That was great! :rofl: Kandidos now only needs to travel to Persia and find the lands of the East are not as inviting as he hoped...

English Patriot - Signs and portents usually either a, tell people what they want to believe anyway, or b, tell them what they most fear. There's very little middle ground usually...

Laur - I felt sorry for the poor Planeteer who had love as their power. So lame...

asd21593 - Mother Nature, during the TIME OF THE MONTH!

Enewald - I think Cthulu's arrival would be a sign for everyone to run away in stark terror/madness, not worry about petty things like revolting against a heathen ruler... :)

Mcy1000 - Maybe a Cthulu/Genghis Khan love-child?

von Sachsen - Hooray! I've corrupted your view of a movie! :D

Fulcrumvale - Sometimes brevity is the mother of genius. Sometimes its just stating the blatantly obvious. Sometimes it's both. :)

humancalculator - ...a round of kumbaya commences? :)
 
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“And God did then strike down the leader of the infidel, as he did Paul…”The Eternal Tablet

A Blow to the Headhttp://www.fileden.com/getfile.php?...com/files/2008/8/14/2049509/thomaswounded.mp3


“…and many in Acre.”

Gabriel Komnenos sighed, sipping on a cup of water and wondering what the world was coming to. He would’ve much preferred a cup of steaming grappa to take tht edge off his nerves, but any alcohol was near impossible to find in the Hejaz. So the Crown Prince sipped water in his prison of cloth, as distantly the noises of men shouting and the clang of steel yet again filled his ears.

“And Gaza?” Gabriel asked, stretching his legs.

“The same,” Georgios Donauri grunted. The man was nearly the same age as Gabriel’s father, but he looked easily twenty years older. Wisps of white were already appearing in his gray hair, and the deep wrinkles of years of campaigning wore into his face. “Bloody mess, the whole thing.”

“Any rumblings?” the Crown Prince mused. The shouts from the battlements had grown louder—the Crown Prince mused likely the assault had been driven back again. For their lack of trained fighters or weapons, the defenders of Mecca had fought with tenacity and brutal staying power. Seven attempts on the walls had failed, and even Gabriel had given in that timber might need to be brought in from Egypt to build proper siege towers and battering rams.

oldgeorgiosdonauri.jpg

Georgios Donauri has changed greatly since donning the red of a strategos in 1211. When young, he was a playboy, a manipulator of the Emperor, but through time, trial, war and grief, he’s grown to become one of the most respected imperial commanders and most trusted allies the Komnenoi have. It also helps he’s Gabriel’s father in law…

“The usual,” Donauri shrugged. “Some Muslims are saying it’s God’s wrath poured on us Romans. Mind you, some of the angrier clerics in our own ranks are saying the same. Others say it’s a sign of the end times, others say it’s a sign of God’s Judgment on the sins of the world.” The strategos leaned back and rather unceremoniously put his boots on the camp table before them. “No idea what idea is going to take charge of the bloody lot. But with the troubles I hear…”

Gabriel grunted. Bardas, Despotes of Italy had long been chafing that he was not Kaisar since Gabriel’s majority, and the Prince had no doubt that Adrianos of Edessa and Albrecht were up to their own machinations as well. The longer the Emperor tarried before Mecca without success, the bolder they would become—and that was before the chaos from the Great Flood Tide and earthquake.

“If we aren’t careful…” the Crown Prince murmured, kicking his own feet up as well. The shouts outside were closer, and Gabriel couldn’t make out the words. He shrugged—he’d find out soon enough.

“But enough about that,” Gabriel sighed, shaking his head. Talking about gloom and doom that one could do little about didn’t suit him—he’d much rather talk about what little good news there was. Quietly, he tapped the dour Donauri on the shoulder. “Taking Medina? Well done, well done!”

The old strategos of the Basilikon Toxotai shrugged with an off-putting smile. His humility was genuine, but if Gabriel had his way the man would’ve received a triumph in Konstantinopolis. True, his tactics were far more patient and less… overt…than the Emperor’s, but calmly waiting out the defenders, and conducting a ruse to make them think that Mecca had already surrendered had worked wonders.

“It was nothing extraordinary, Highness,” Donauri muttered quietly. “Always know what your enemy’s thoughts…”

“…and never let them know what you think,” Gabriel finished the famous phrase from the Megas’ Strategikon. “I…”

“The Emperor! The Emperor has been wounded! Make way!”

thomaswounded.jpg

Gabriel spun around, to see a panic-stricken kentarchos, head a mix of mud and blood, ripping open the tent flap. The Prince and strategos only had a second to move their feet before a bevy of men burst in, carrying the limp, armored form of Emperor Thomas II Komnenos.

Instantly, the tent exploded into chaos, as churigeons rushed in, attendants rushed out with water pails, and officer and soldier alike pressed forward, trying to catch a glimpse of their “Little Glory” in his stricken state.

“Clear the room!” Gabriel barked. There was no question, no thought to his status as an official nonentity in the camp—he was the Emperor’s son, and he immediately took charge. “Clear the table!” Gabriel snarled, hands fumbling with maps and goblets that soon came crashing to the ground. Grunts and groans echoed, as Thomas II’s body finally was laid on the sullied mess. Then, and only then, did Gabriel get a chance to look at his father.

The Emperor’s armor was soiled with mud, but little else.

“How was he hurt?!” Gabriel asked, perplexed, as shouts and calls echoed out of the tent. A raging torrent of voices answered his question, so many that he couldn’t understand what they said. It was shortly thereafter that hands shoved Eleutherios Skleros forward, armor bedraggled and all, with cries of “He knows!” and “He was there!”

“Eleutherios?” Gabriel asked, worriedly running a hand just over his father’s face. There was breath coming from his lips—he yet lived.

“Highness,” Eleutherios said quickly, easily forgetting the formal bow under the circumstances, “We were on the…” the man started, before words were shorn from his mouth.

Gabriel looked momentarily back at his stricken father—churigeons had already stripped the Emperor of his armor, desperately searching for the wound… in vain. The Prince’s gaze snapped levelly back to Eleutherios. “And?” he asked, more sharpness entering his voice than he intended. Yes, the man was likely in shock and confused by what happened, but the churigeons needed information, and now! Skleros still looked frightened, and finally Gabriel noticed the cracks in his parched lips. The Prince barked for some water, and shortly the logothetes found a goblet shoved into his hand.

“We were on the battlements,” he continued, downing the water as if it was the very nectar of life, “His Majesty scaled the walls just before me. Unlike the last few times, when we reached the parapets, we found no defenders. Then…” his voice started to fade, as murmurs came from the direction of the churigeons clustered around the Emperor. He was moaning. Skleros looked over, eyes unusually wide and fearful, before continuing his story, “Then they came out of the towers, screaming in ambush. A heathen, dressed in fine armor, charged the Emperor shield first, and knocked His Majesty off the parapet…”

“He fell?” one of the churigeons asked, fear in his voice. “How did he land?”

“On his head and neck,” the logothetes said gravely. “I…”

“Destroy…”

trio1.jpg

The chaos in Thomas’ mind…

All eyes turned to the source of those words, clear as day amidst the terror and tumult inside the tent. Emperor Thomas II Komnenos’ eyes were wide, pupils tiny against the flashing white of those mad orbs. “The heathen…”

“He speaks!” one of the churigeons said in delight, “He’s awake!”

“Praise be unto God,” Donauri whispered quietly.

“No, you must save them!” the Emperor hissed, eyes wide. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and he looked about the room. Few of the churigeons were paying any attention, their efforts now focused on the Emperor’s pulse, or smelling the vapors coming from his mouth to check for ill humor. The Prince looked towards Skleros and Donauri—the former shrugged, the latter was too busy tending his friend.

“Save who, from what?” Donauri was by his friend’s face, shouting. “Thomas! Speak to us!”

“But they are infidels…” Thomas’ face went ashen pale, fear pushing his voice into a high falsetto. “They should be burned! All of them! Then the lemons…”

“He’s clearly gone mad,” Skleros made the understatement of the century in a deadpan. Gabriel looked over at the logothetes and grunted in confusion.

“If you kill them, the Empire will die!” He shrieked to no one, and everyone. “Die…”

“He landed on his head?” one of the churigeons asked worriedly.

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…was disturbed by a blow to the head…

“Yes,” Skleros repeated, his own eyes fearful. Just as suddenly as the Emperor’s shout echoed through the tent, it died away into a series of harsh, rasping gasps, his eyes bulging from his face. The churigeons clustered closer, hissing that water and leeches were needed, that ill humors were robbing the Emperor of his breath. Gabriel pressed close as well—if this was the end…

Just as suddenly as they began, the raspy breaths stopped, replaced by slow, deep ones. A churigeon announced the Emperor’s pulse had slowed to something steady, and hastily the summoned servants and their cargo of leeches were curtly dismissed. The Emperor’s countenance calmed, the furrowed brow and pained face replaced by one that seemed, cool, serene, as if he were asleep.

“Is… is the worst past?” Gabriel muttered aloud. “Is…”

“I saw them! They did it! I hear no more voices!” the Emperor shouted suddenly, eyes flashing open, his voice clear as a clarion call. A smile flashed across his lips, revealing teeth blackened from age and diet.

“Saw who?” Gabriel asked, confused, “What voices?”

A nervous murmur went around the room echoing Gabriel’s questions.

“Mary, Jesus, and St. Muhammad!”

“St. Muhammad?!” the words tumbled from everyone’s mouths at once. From some, they came as a slip drip of confusion, from others, the fountain of disbelief. Gabriel blinked—once, twice. St. Muhammad? Even the worldly Crown Prince was stunned at such a blasphemy!

“Yes! They drove away Acheron, Memnon and Theodora!” the Emperor burbled gleefully. Gabriel’s frown deepened—his father’s face was excited, cherubic almost, but his body moved not an inch. Even in his madness, the man Gabriel knew would have been gesturing wildly, pointing, waving as he talked. The Prince nudged a churigeon as his father went on.

“They drove them out! I hear silence inside my head!” Thomas laughed. It was a weak, choking noise. One of the churigeons pricked the Emperor’s limp hand with a needle. Thomas’ rasping laughter continued, as Gabriel’s eyes went wide.

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…and replaced by something no one understood…

He was paralyzed.

The churigeons pricked, prodded, and even poked, but the Emperor’s laughter and insane talk continued unabated. He hardly even noticed that the men were about him, let alone showed any sign their ministrations caused him pain.

“I was falling… falling…” he said, eyes lit up light shining torches, “but then I felt hands catch me! I felt them!” his eyes flitted down towards his languid body. “And then I saw the three faces—Mary, mother of Christ, Christ himself, and St. Mohammed! Mary told me not to fear,” the words tumbled onward in a torrent of noise, “and Christ told me to keep my faith! And then St. Mohammed said to spare the Muslim cities, to show the graciousness of God!” The Emperor’s voice arced to a falsetto, covering the confused gasps of those present, “’All will be well!’ they said, if Mecca is spared!”

“Madness!” one of the priests whispered.

“Blasphemy!” another muttered quietly.

Gabriel flashed a deadly glare up towards the two voices. I mattered little what they said—or how true it might have been—to utter those two words about the sitting head of the Roman state was a dangerous thing indeed, tantamount to treason. At his dangerous look, the two offenders frowned and closed their mouths—while they had their opinion, they would wisely keep it to themselves, at least as long as the Crown Prince was present.

“Doctor?” Gabriel turned to the chief churigeon, a rotund, puffy fellow named Mzilaptes. He coughed, eyes nervously looking at the others, plainly wishes he didn’t have to speak.

“He is obviously delirious,” the chirugeon said nervously. “Considering the gravity of his injuries,” the man cast a forlorn look at the Emperor’s useless arms and legs, “I would say it is a matter of time before a combination of the delirium and his injuries take him from us.”

“Do not enter Mecca!” Thomas screeched. For someone unable to move, his lungs suddenly mustered a great deal of power.

“Gabriel,” Donauri leaned close and hissed, “Stability is crucial! With the flood tide, and Bardas, if word gets out that the Emperor…”

“I know!” the Crown Prince hissed, looking at his father. The man by his eyes wanted to writhe about in some strange world between pain and ecstasy, but his limp body gave not an inch. The irony of the situation was simply astounding—his father had come around, after becoming so delirious no one would listen to him. Now, with the disaster, machinations at home and the army stuck here before Mecca, something bold, something decisive needed to be done. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed—he had an idea.

“Donauri, I’m going to need a shield,” he whispered to the strategos over his father’s continued yelling.

“A… what for?”

“One of the rituals of crowning an Emperor is to lift him onto the shields of the army,” Gabriel whispered more harshly. “I need a shield, and four preferably strong people to lift it!”

“I…but…” Donauri looked over towards the still ranting Thomas II, “he still lives!”

“There’s precedent!” Gabriel spun and grabbed the strategos by the shoulders. “When Nikephoros I was killed by the Bulgarian Krum, his son Stauriakos was technically the Emperor, but,” Gabriels’ whisper dropped to a dangerous tone, “as Stauriakos was paralyzed in the disaster, he was unfit of body, thus, the Empire needed a new Emperor!”

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With his father incapacitated, Gabriel knew what he had to do…

“Wh…what would it gain?” Donauri asked warily.

“If I approached Mecca in parley as an Emperor,” Gabriel went on, “it would make any agreement we made legally binding, and the sooner we can disengage the bulk of the army from the Hejaz, the sooner we can make sure Albrecht, Bardas, and all the snakes in Konstantinopolis are in line for an orderly succession!” Gabriel spun around. “Guards, fetch a squad of soldiers and a large shield!” Gabriel called. “And seal the camp! I don’t want word of any of this getting out!”

Amidst the tumult and confusion, no one noticed that Eleutherios had slipped away into the night…
 
Move fast, move decisively...and don't forget to watch your footing, or you may fall off the wall.

Also, er. Thomas falling down was awfully conveinent for too many parties. I'm suspecting it wasn't a simple ambush.