Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR

Here's part of the next update... the thing has become far too long for a single post, so I've broken it apart into two, probably three parts. Enjoy!


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April 23rd, 1120

Normally the small chapel of Hagios Pavlos was host to a precious few parishoners under its crumbling roof. A few miles outside of Konstantinopolis but worlds away from the city's intrigue, the parish priest had little idea who the five travellers were that stopped for the night to shelter under his leaky roof - indeed, he was long asleep. This anonymity would come in handy, even if, as Christophoros Komnenos noted with a growl, water was dripping from the ragged ceiling above and into the midst of the small, rickety table they were all clustered around.

All the important dissent in the Empire were there - and a motley crew it was.

Christophoros himself cut a strong and dashing figure - tall and broad, in many ways he looked like a fair-haired version of Basilieus Demetrios in his youth. He'd served as Megos Domestikos for over a decade, and true, while the Crimean affair had been a debacle, the full blame did not rest on him - his father bore the brunt of the fault for the decisions made that resulted in the battles of Lukomorie. Yet in the ten years since he had distinguished himself well - Ankyra had been subdued with minimal fuss, as had Crete. Yet in the pantheon of Romanoi strategii, he was well behind Isaakios Thrakesios and his own brother Nikolaios, let alone the demi-god Demetrios Megos. Yet for some reason, that hadn't stopped Siddiqa from summoning him to this meeting.

Part of it was exciting for Christophoros - it was a chance to fully embroil himself in the past-time of the Romanoi - plotting. And in this case, plotting for something that he felt was rightfully his own. Christophoros had been born five weeks before Nikolaios, and had been accepted as a legitimate son, yet Nikolaios was the co-Emperor and heir to the throne, and more alarming, it appeared that Demetrios had come to simply accept the arrangement!

Yet Christophoros was no fool. He knew that taking on Demetrios himself was beyond question - the Basilieus was far too popular, even if he'd ceded day to day control of the Empire to his son. Yet if Nikolaios somehow fell, and the choice of successor fell to the elderly Emperor, Christophoros was confident his father would select him, not Ignatios as Siddiqa hoped. He was confident that almost everyone in this chamber conspiring was an unspoken future enemy of the other. Such was the way of Roman politics.

Take, for instance, the two Dukid cousins. Prince Andronikos of Thrace was the older of the two, almost sixty-one years of age. His movements, his speech, and even his mind, were slow and deliberate, years of experience honing him to carefully consider each and every action his mind or body took. When he did speak, it was with an impressive and gravelly voice - it was clear the greatness of the Dukas line fell on him, and sadly not on the Dukids who had worn the diadem. Despite the deep wrinkles of age, he was handsome to a degree, the remnants of a man that during his youth had the pick of the young maidens of Konstantinopolis.

Prince Michael was by only a few years the younger of the two, yet from his look no one would have expected it, and clearly he was the pawn of his elder cousin. His speech was slow and halting, but for a far different reason - his father and mother had been cousins, and in retribution, it was said that God had struck Michael with slowness of thought and speech. Where Andronikos was handsome in appearance and thought, Michael was misshapen, even ugly, and words tumbled from his mouth when he spoke without consulting his elder cousin. Which wasn't often - a lifetime of experience had made the Prince realize he needed Andronikos to even function.

Both, Christophoros had no doubt, would salivate at the opportunity to have a Komnenid child on the throne after Demetrios' death. A child could not defend themself, not without powerful backers and supporters. And other than Nikolaios and Christophoros, none of the Komnenid children had a significant faction that could back them - Ignatios spent most of his time with his uncle, the Metropolitan of Baalbek learning the ways of God, Michael was dead, Georgios had been sent to rule as comes of Senoussi and some other badland province in the theme of Cyrenaica because he slept with too many daughters of the nobility. Either Ignatios or Georgios would be chewed alive by the Dukids - if not these Dukids, then their successors.

Finally there was Siddiqa's personal pet, or so Christophoros had named the Metropolitan Kyrill of Thessalonike. He was a personal assistant to Patriarch Anathasios, and it was rumored that he'd shared Siddiqa's bed on several occassions. Tall and stately, with a flowing black mane down to his waist, he looked the part of the Patriarch - something Christophoros had no doubt that Siddiqa had promised him for his cooperations. Lately he'd become a mouthpiece for her rhetoric against decadence in the Imperial government, with a sermon in Hagia Eirene calling for the end of "certain sinful influences" in the Empire.

It was no secret to Christophoros that the Patriarch and the Church chafed at being so close to the Emperor, and even under his personal thumb. As much as the Patriarch might hate the Latin schismatics, he coveted the independence with which the Bishop of Rome conducted himself, freely thumbing his nose at the Western Emperor and kings. A weakened monarchy would give the Church just that independence that it sought.

"You are all gathered here," Siddiqa began, breaking Christophoros' reverie, "because in one way or another, we are all united against one common foe - Nikolaios Komnenos, co-Basilieus of Romanion. And I have information here that you would find most interesting..."

"So how do you plan to rid us of the prop holding up the Emperor?" Metropolitan Kyrill interrupted. The man hated Nikolaios in particular with a passion - the then-Crown Prince had publicly gone against some of Kyrill's more iconist sermons.

"The prop?" Siddiqa laughed. "Basilieus Nikolaios is far more powerful and far more dangerous than you give him credit ... he's proven himself on the battlefield and in the realm of intrigue I'm not sure there's an equal. Nothing short of full cooperation from all four of you will bring him down. Nothing less than a cooperative assault from the Church and by the armies of the Empire will bring him down."

"First," Andronikos said slowly, "how can we trust the Mistress of Spiders, and second, what is in this for us?" He leaned forward slowly, his long face drawn longer by worry. "We are risking much even by meeting you here... what would we have to gain from Ignatios succeeding to the throne?"

Christophoros nodded. He wanted to know his own stakes in this.

"Well, to start with the Megos Domestikos, young Ignatios would need a champion and counselor in court. I would ensure you were raised to Kaisar, and given the Principality of Varna, in addition to your present position as Megos Domestikos." Siddiqa smiled. "You would recieve lands to improve to pass to you and yours..."

And launch a bid of my own to replace the child-Emperor, Christophoros thought. That part was completely unspoken, and it alone made the prospect of a child-emperor favorable to him -- but there was one major problem.

Varna.

Varna used to be a border march, a theme on the edge of the Empire that held many troops - something which made its lack of resources and poverty an aside. However, now that the Empire had expanded and the theme of Wallachia was the new border (and on a now-peaceful border with the Western Empire at that) there were hardly any troops in Varna, and even more poverty without the business of the army buttressing up commerce.

"As for you, Andronikos and Michael, I promise you the lands of Chaldea and Trebizond respectively, once the Empire under my son goes on the march against the Turk yet again!" Siddiqa continued.

Christophoros frowned. His father had always promised that once the armies and resources were ready, they would ride again against the Turk, and Chaldea and Trebizond would be his. Both of these regions were immensely rich and powerful, and would not only be filled with rich coffers, but many soldiers as well, befitting their likely border status. It would be a powerful base to begin machinations against Nikolaios - as of now, Christophoros had a powerful title, but his command over the military was trumped by its loyalty to Demetrios and friends of the monarchy such as Isaakios Thrakesios. He had a large salary, but that was nothing compared to the income of holding vast estates and territories. He needed land if he was to make a bid on the throne.

And that...woman... had just offered up the sure lands he would recieve to the Dukids.

He restrained himself from frowning, while his mind, coldly and with precise calculation came to one conclusion. He smiled grimly.

"...further to the Church," Siddiqa was saying, promising lands in Armenia to the Church - Kyrill more specifically.

"Isn't it unwise to promise lands that are not yours?" Kyrill asked thoughtfully.

"The Turk is weak," Christophoros jumped in. If he was going to do this, he needed to act now, and keep the plot alive. "The next Emperor could be a babe in swaddling clothes and they will be able to make great gains against the Turk. In fact I am puzzled as to why mine own father does not move against them. These lands she has promised are as good as yours."

Siddiqa smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Thank you, Christophoros. If the Megos Domestikos in charge of all the Empire's armies says so, then surely it will happen."

Kyrill smiled, his fears apparently mollified. He nodded his head in thanks.

"S...s...so how shall we do this?" Michael asked. Christophoros noticed now that the Dukids' hands shook as he spoke. We are led by the weak... he groaned.

"Simple. Kyrill will launch some specific denunciations, and then..."

"Specific denunciations?" the Metropolitan asked, eyes wide. "So the rumors are..."

"True," Siddiqa said finally, and even Christophoros winced. Nikolaios, of all people, engaged in such blatant debauchery.

As temporal as the Imperial throne might be, in the eyes of the Romanoi it was also a spiritual position - hence the mosaics and icons around the conspirators that depicted past Emperors with halos and conversing with Christ. To have such a holy position in the hands of someone who did acts so dark, so deeply against the teachings of Christ and Church would undoubtedly bring the wrath of God upon the throne, and as a consequence, all Romanoi.

The Megos Domestikos winced. He wondered how damning Siddiqa's evidence was - the very act of her levelling so calmly such a dangerous accusation made him believe her. Speaking such things about an Emperor was tantamount to treason if they were spoken in slander. If they were spoken in truth...

Woe betide us and the Empire...

Christophorors muttered a quiet, brief prayer to himself, as Siddiqa continued.

"For the past ten years, Nikolaios Komnenos has, regularly and debauchedly conducted himself in carnal relations with one Ioannis Thrakesios," she said calmly. Michael Dukas started to speak, but Siddiqa immediately knew what he was going to say, and answered his question before he could speak. "I offer as proof the simple facts that one, Ioannis Thrakesios, despite his attractiveness, position in society and need for alliances has not married, or even looked at a woman. He is easily one of the more coveted men in the city, yet he refuses the touch of any woman - yet he is not pious to any agree. His drinking is legendary."

"Two, Nikolaios keeps a whorish wife around on purpose, as she distracts attention from himself and his sinfulness. His wife claims he is impotent, yet he has never shared her bed. Nor has he shared a bed with any woman! Third, by all known information, Thrakesios and Nikolaios have spent inordinate amount of time with each other, even after Thrakesios was moved from being the Emperor's bodyguard. Then..."

Siddiqa continued down the list of damning evidence, and as she spoke, Christophoros realized how utterly thorough she was.

Kyrill's face blanched, as did the Dukids as the list of Nikolaios' sins went longer and longer. After a few minutes, the collective mood of the room was one of disgust.

Nikolaios had to go, and for the briefest moment, Christophoros felt a unity, a purpose in the room. Once he remembered the lands at stake, that sense of unity quickly faded away.

"So as I said, it is imperative he is removed from the throne," Siddiqa said finally. "Kyrill, you and the bishops beneath you will begin a series of sermons on the decadence in the Imperial government, calling some members of the regime catamites and sodomites. You will be careful to target Ioannis Thrakesios first, and only mention the name of the co-Basilieus once the crowds have been whipped into a proper fury."

Kyrill nodded.

"When the mobs are good and ready, the Dukids will march their thematikoi on the city, along with the forces of the..."

"You plan to march on Konstantinopolis?" Christophoros asked warily.

Siddiqa nodded. "I have no doubt that in your position as Megos Domestikos that you'll be able to..."

"Wait," Christophoros held up a hand, eyebrow raised. "You expect me to order the army, the same army that loves Emperor Demetrios to no end, to march against him and throw him out?"

"We aren't going to throw out Emperor Demetrios, we're..."

"That is how the army will interpret it!" Christophoros snapped. "Even if Nikolaios has committed all of these grevious sins, the army will keep his sins and Demetrios separate. Any orders saying to march on the Great Palace will be seen as a coup against their beloved Komnenos, and not only will I likely lose my head, but also each and every one of you will be struck down by the army!" Christophoros shook his head, unable to believe that Siddiqa thought she could merely have him order the army away. He was beginning to doubt the chances the coup could succeed in the first place. He needed to stall them, but still lure them in - to not have a promise to march with them...

When he looked up, she'd already leaned back, and crossed her arms. "Well, what do you propose?" she asked.

"Something far simpler. I can arrange for the army units in the city to be demobilized or on garrison duty elsewhere through some more... palatable and normal orders," Christophoros offered. "Adrianopolis has been protesting their tax levies for the past year, and I have no doubt a simple parade of the Hetaratoi through the streets would persuade them to rethink their position - and get ten tagma of the Imperial Guard out of your way..." Little did they suspect...

Siddiqa leaned forward, folding her hands in thought, before turning to the two Dukid princes. "Would that still work for you?"

Michael immediately looked at Andronikos, and it was apparent numbers and times were moving in his mind. "Well..." he rumbled after a moment, "I'm thinking we should move the thematikoi of Dorostorum first, so that when we move, we move as one great mass. Dorostorum can marshal perhaps 10,000, and I can use the 15,000 of Thrace to place 'obstacles' in the way of your Hetaratoi should they attempt to return, Megos Domestikos..."

"Obstacles?" Christophoros asked warily. He wanted to be able to return quickly to the city, if needbe...

"Nothing too odd... checkpoints, a few felled trees a road here or there cluttered with troops clearly marching away from Konstantinopolis," Andronikos said. "Michael, I shall lend you my own Domestikos to manage your troops' affairs. Don't worry cousin."

"A...a...alright."

As the plotters continued, Christophoros began to develop the plot within his own mind... timetables, what needed to be discussed, what needed to be done. If Christophoros' plan worked, the thematikoi, as well as Kyrill and Siddiqa, would have a surprise waiting for them. The trick would be to let this coup succeed far enough to weaken his brother, but not so far that his brother was toppled. Siddiqa was too dangerous to have around.

Such was the honor among politicians and thieves.

Mettermck - Oh yes, everyone in this plot has something to gain from Nikolaios' downfall - namely a better position to take the other plotters out! I think maybe the Church is the only one whose eventual end goals do not involve the eradication of their estwhile allies.

VILenin - Oh, this web gets even more intwined as time goes on. Nikolaios, as of the end of that post, doesn't know whats happening...
yet.

Fulcrumvale - As always, the Army will prove to be the trump card in court politics. Demetrios is their beloved Emperor. Nikolaios led them to an honorable treaty against the Cumans. Christophoros has been the head of the army for quite some time. Ancient Kaukadenos is the head of the navy. Who will do what? Time will tell.

Estonianzulu - Thats the interesting thing about the Byzantines - no matter how solid and powerful they seem, they are always a plot or so away from destruction. A powerful eagle, but a fragile one...

The next part of the update...

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"In the heart of every dangerous situation there is always an opportunity for gain."​

As Siddiqa began to plot, the Empire continued onwards, unaware of her plans. Negotiations between the Holy Roman Empire, Romanion, and the French continued over the dowry that would be owed to Romanion for the marriage - and until the negotiations were complete, Demetrios would not have a bride. However, Berthe proved far too tempting to the Emperor. He repeatedly slipped into her bedchambers, and the end result nine months later was a technical bastard named Romanos. Soon after his birth the King of the Franks gave in on several key points, negotiations were concluded, and Demetrios and Bertha were solemnly married. Shortly thereafter, Romanos was declared a legitimate son of the Roman Emperor.


The ranks of fatherhood, titularly, had been joined by yet another member of the Imperial family in the meantime, though this birth was one with far dicier political implications...

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May 29th, 1120

Nikolaios furiously paced the marble tiles of his official chambers within the Great Palace, his robes actively swishing back and forth as he ferociously looked at the door to his chambers, his mind stewing over that woman.

Only a week ago, the Metropolitan Kyrill had delivered yet another thundering sermon on the decadence of the Imperial Court, going so far as to mention 'unholy acts' were surrounding the Imperial person. He'd toed the line at saying Nikolaios was committing sins, but it was vague enough that the co-Basilieus knew he could not openly counterattack the cleric on grounds of slander. At least not yet.

Things with Ioannis were growing worse as well. The rumors swirling around him specifically were growing more numerous by the day. Stories that he'd never touched a woman, that he debauched with men and boys, that he spat on the crucifix. While at first it seemed only a few wide-eyed conspiracy lovers followed the tales, they were slowly becoming more and more believed. Ioannis' house now had slurs written in chalk on the walls, and he complained his soldiers openly laughed behind his back.

The two had agreed that Ioannis, for at least a time, needed to leave the city. Nikolaios knew if he said anything officially the fans of rumor would fly further, but it was not hard for him to use his personal network of agents to change a few orders from the Megos Logothetes, and thus on June 3rd, Ioannis had boarded a ship bound for his new two year appointment as the Imperial governor of Sicily. Many would question the timing, yet Ioannis' senior position meant that his record of service and political links could be used as an explanation. In the meantime, Nikolaios had begun to dedicate much of his waking hours to unraveling where the rumors began. The rumors, coupled with Ioannis' absence, had made Nikolaios feel under far more stress than before.

And now, this happened.

"How could she have done that?" he muttered to himself, as the doors creaked open, and in walked Empress Jacinta, her normally calm, demure face a sea of fear.

"Majesty, I..." she started to speak right away, until Nikolaios raised his hand.

"Jacinta," he started slowly, walking towards and then around her, "why were you boarding a ship bound for Cyprus?"

Her mouth moved, but no words came out. She was smart enough to realize she'd been caught, and that lying would only get her further into trouble.

"Was it an unscheduled trip to some friends you haven't told me about? Was it a vacation from the city? Did your dead father reappear in some remote mountain there?" he asked acidicly. He knew if her secret trip had been any one of those things, she would have told him, or at least one of his many stewards and secretaries. For an Empress to suddenly leave the city without notice looked extremely bad for the monarchy - as usually it implied she was fleeing the city for a reason. Most of those reasons were often inconveniently scandalous.

He'd known she had dalliances with men in the court, and he'd kept her around because all the rumors about her kept any rumors about him neatly in the background. A philandering Empress was far better gossip fodder than a boring, studious Emperor. Yet he'd expected Jacinta, with all of her intelligence, to be careful. Yet now, rumors were reaching his ears of the unthinkable.

"Majesty..." she started to say quietly, before stopping momentarily. Nikolaios stopped his pacing, his face only inches from her. He raised an eyebrow, but refused to speak. The silence would do the work of getting her to talk, and after a few moments, the words began to tumble out.

"I was lonely, I didn't know what to do, he was there, and I am..."

"You are what?" Nikolaios asked somewhat incredulously. Jacinta's eyes looked down, fearfully.

"With child, Majesty," Jacinta knelt, tears coming to her eyes. Nikolaios gritted his teeth and gave a low, almost feral growl, and by instinct he raised his hand as if to strike her. Yet even as his anger played the emotional field, his analytical mind was considering the problem, and all the possibilities it laid before him. After only a moment, he lowered his hand.

"You are?" he said tiredly, walking away from her.

"Majesty! I beg you! Mercy..." she started, until Nikolaios raised one robed hand. Jacinta fell silent.

"Who is the father?" he asked coldly. When she didn't reply immediately, Nikolaios turned with lightning speed and harshly grabbed her arm. "Who?!"

"Konstantinos Agyros!" she cried, tears freely flowing as Nikolaios twisted. As soon as she spoke, he let go, leaving her a crying heap on the floor.

"Stupid girl," he hissed at her. "You know that by spreading your legs for him, you sent him to his death?"

Jacinta looked up again, her eyes speaking the words she knew would have no effect. Nikolaios mercilessly continued onwards.

"You should count yourself fortunate," he ruffled the sleeves of his robe till they were set properly again. "I'll take the child as mine. No one needs know of your indiscretion, and you shall remain at court, cloistered in your chambers. You are not to leave that wing of the palace unless expressly permitted by me." He looked her dead in the eyes. "If you ever set a single foot outside of those halls, your life will be forfeit. If you do not do as I say for the rest of our marriage, your life will be forfeit. Am I clear?"

Jacinta wept, but nodded.

"Now go, and feel fortunate I am not my father," Nikolaios said harshly. Jacinta bowed yet again, and quickly fled his room.

Nikolaios sighed, and filled his goblet with wine before walking towards the window to look out onto the Queen of Cities. "In every danger, there is opportunity," he whispered to himself, "and this would be the perfect opportunity to cut down whoever is spreading those rumors..."

He made a mental note to send one of his personal agents to the docks on the Golden Horn that very night.

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Seven months later... 11th of December 1120

"A boy?" Nikolaios asked one of the rushed maidservants. Basilieus or no, at the moment they didn't care who we was. One finally stopped long enough to say it was indeed a male, and that the child would be produced to him forthwith.

The news of the Empress' pregnancy had spread through the court like wildfire. Nikolaios had smiled and fawned. The Empress played the carefully scripted part Nikolaios gave her. Together, they persuaded the court that the child was legitimate, even as Nikolaios' agents made sure young Lord Agyros suffered a horrendous accident - his ship, like many in the Romanoi navy, was equipped with nozzles to launch naptha at opposing vessels. Someone accidentally turned the nozzle into his own ship as it sailed down the Aegean. Witnesses said the ship burned as if someone had filled its hold with pitch.

It was only a short while later when a squalling bundle of anger was brought out to him. The child was so small, his face bright red with rage at being taken from his mother, yet soon after he reached his father's arms, he grew quiet, even if he flailed about occassionally.

Nikolaios smiled grimly at the squirming little child.

"Malhaz," he whispered the young man's given name - Michael, it would translate into Greek, yet to Nikolaios' ears the harsh syllables of the Cuman tongue had a sound of forboding. The young boy threatened to wreck his carefully laid plans for succession - many would expect him to succeed, but now, in the midst of this crisis, it would do far more harm than good to leak to the public at large the young man's parentage. So Nikolaios smiled, cooed, and played the part of a proud father while his wife gratefully slept. Her life likely rode on her job acting, and she played the part well. Already, rumors were circulating that Nikolaios had recieved some miracle cure for his impotence, and according to the Empress, was a carnal demon in the bedchamber - hence the young Prince.

The new rumors did well to stem the tide of increasingly alarming stories circulating around the court - not just the usual muck-ups of events, but accurate descriptions of meetings between Nikolaios and Ioannis, including when, where, and how long they lasted. Someone clearly knew a lot of information on them - and their very act of slowly ramping up the amount of detail in the rumors keyed Nikolaios onto two things.

One, the person was an expert in the field of intrigue, which ironically precluded many members of the court from being the instigator. Secondly, the person was holding back the actual nitty gritty details for some big unveiling down the road, which mean thtye were planning something big - something like Nikolaios' overthrow as Basilieus.

Culprits who wanted such a thing abounded in the Romanoi court. There was Christophoros, the Megos Domestikos who was likely publicly and privately pushing his case to be the actual successor to Demetrios. He not only could claim he was a legitimate child, he had a son already - Mathias was nearly 9 years old. There was the Mistress of Spies Siddiqa, whom Nikolaios could not remove no matter how he tried - Demetrios would not budge, and the elder Emperor, as always, had the army behind him. Then there were the countless dynatoi who would benefit from a fall of the Komnenids from grace - the Dukids, the Agyrids, the Angelids, Paleologids, Byrennids - the list went on and on.

Yet Nikolaios refused to believe a mere member of the dynatoi would have the resources to get such detailed information on him, the co-Basilieus - which left a high member of the court. Christophoros did not have the intelligence, in Nikolaios' mind.

Which left Siddiqa.

"You don't know it yet, but you are your step-father's salvation," Nikolaios whispered to the boy, before turning towards the steward. "Open the curtains. Let us show Konstantinopolis the son of the Emperor!"

The steward nodded, opening the curtains wide, allowing the bright light of the sun to bathe the room in its glow. Nikolaios walked forwards, out onto the terrace that overlooked the crowded Augustine Forum. As the crowd clamored for a closer look, Nikolaios held the babe high in the air, and the people roared.

As far as the people were concerned, another Komnenos was born.



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The noise of the crowds in the Augustine Forum had a tendency to echo off the roofs of the Great Palace and the Hippodrome, and rumble into the personal quarters of Siddiqa, Mistress of Spies. It was a trait of the location she alternately loved and hated - loved because it made secret conversations unintelligible to those who wished to listen in, hated because it made it hard for her to think.

Siddiqa this day cursed her luck once more- it was sheer luck seven months before that one of Nikolaios' flunkies had caught the ever gullible Jacinta attempting to board a ship for Cyprus, where she could have had the child in secret. It was not sheer luck that the inept woman had created no cover story for her trip, nor had she tried to persuade her husband that there was a legitimate reason for the journey. From the moment she heard the Empress speak of her husband's prowess in bed, Siddiqa knew she'd been compromised.

Instantly the rumors she was carefully cultivating were washed aside with tides of thanksgiving for the birth of a male heir to the co-Basilieus. While the child born an unpronouncable name of the Cuman tongue (yet another testament to Jacinta's increasing ineptness), he would be baptized as Michael, a ceremony that would only increase the outpouring of joy.

Instead of talking of a sordid affair between Ioannis and Nikolaios, the buzz of the court was the Empress' account of Nikolaios' prowess in the bedchamber. Kyrill's sermons were supposed to become increasingly vicious till the Empress fled - thereupon the cleric was to ask surreptiously why Jacinta left, and introduce Nikolaios' sordid acts to the wider world. Instead, Kyrill looked foolish as the Imperial belly grew larger and larger. Instantly the best laid plans and hard work ran awry, and Siddiqa was forced to improvise.

The Mistress of Spies was no fool. Time would take care of the problem of the child. She too knew who the father was, and unlike Nikolaios, the son of the Prince of Ephesos had been a short, stocky lad straight fair hair and blue eyes. Some of her informants had seen the child, and told her that its eyes were blue. She had no doubt as it grew it would look less and less like its darker father and mother and more like its real parent. Then the rumors she'd begun would start again.

She knew she could speed up that time too. She could fan rumors on the child's parentage, but int eh current atmosphere of celebration they would not fly far. Not for several months... several critical months.

She also knew time was not her ally. When Nikolaios took the child as his own, when the Basiliea spoke of her husband's skills, Siddiqa knew this meant Nikolaios knew someone was after him. The Mistress of Spies had no idea if he knew who, but she knew the Basilieus would be planning and preparing. His agents would be sniffing about, and she had no doubts about how far his personal network of spies extended in the city of Konstantinopolis.

To make matters worse, she knew something else that no one else but Empress Bertha and her closest maidservants knew - the Empress was with child. And should that child be a male, that'd be yet another body between the throne and Ignatios.


Which meant moving now seemed to be the best option.

But now? Her timetable had called for a slow buildup. Kyrill had lost the attention of his flock, and was even forced to give a sermon congratulating Basilieus Nikolaios on the birth. She was beginning to doubt the dedication of the Megos Domestikos to her plan of usurping the throne, a throne she knew Christophoros coveted for himself. And the Dukids, as always, were proving slippery. Andronikos in particular was making noises that convinced her that, given the chance, he would make an attempt to retake the crown his brother had been ignominiously forced to surrender some thirty years before.

Every one of her fellow conspirators was an ember that she was precariously juggling in a house of tinder.

She made a quick assessment.

Christophoros was the most dangerous of her allies - he commanded respect in the army, which meant the Dukids were slightly more reliable. Yet without the authority of the Megos Domestikos, she needed to move... quickly. As the noise of the crowds echoed and reverberated off the roofs of the Great Palace, she drafted a quick note, and attached it to the talons of her most trusted pigeon. With a whisper and a coo, she sent the bird off to Adrianopolis and Dorostorum.

To her chagrin, two weeks later Dorostorum replied first, and alone. Old Andronikos had passed only a week prior, and his son wanted no part of the plan. Michael - plodding, slow in speech and thought Michael - was marching on Konstantinopolis.

Siddiqa cursed.

Well, the last part of this story arc is almost finished - it should be posted either tomorrow or Monday. Several scoundrels will get their just due, there will be an invasion, and a major tragedy will strike one of the main characters. So stay tuned!

Alfred Packer - Michael is definitely a pawn right off the bat. In Nikolaios' eyes, no matter how the child grows up, he will have the fatal flaw that he is actually a bastard, some potentially damning information that could sabotage any attempts Michael makes at ruling.

Subcommandante - Sorry Rodney King, but Byzantine grudges are Byzantine grudges.

Fulcrumvale - Siddiqa's in panic mode. The plan had been to shepherd the Empress away to ensure the pregnancy didn't become public. Leave it to trusting, bumbling Jacinta to get herself caught by her husband and the plan collapse.

VILenin - They sure do. That's what comes from relying on an untrustworthy rival and two aged Dukids (one of whom is inbred and not bright) as the pillars of her plan.

Estonianzulu - Siddiqa's position is becoming very uncomfortable all of the sudden...

Mettermck - We'll have to see.. though you get a little preview above of what's about to happen.

“We must be careful to control our mind’s impulses, and be sure that we control our obsessions, and that they do not control us.”​

When Siddiqa received Dorostorum’s notice, at first she was confused as to what she should do. Fleeing to Dorostorum on the eve of the arrival of his declaration against Nikolaios would give her away – staying could prove even more complicated. To add to her woes, her son Ignatios had just left the city for Mount Athos for a pilgrimage. Siddiqa weighed her options, and decided heading for Dorostorum to head off the Prince was her best chance.

Her sudden departure did not raise too many eyebrows, except those of the Megos Domestikos. Suspecting something was going on, Christophoros weighed his own options, and decided that Siddiqa’s sudden departure indicated whatever was happening was not well-planned, and his best chances lay with siding with his father and brother. He duly organized a ready detachment of the Hetaratoi, ostensibly to head towards Adrianopolis for their planned parade.

Siddiqa’s plan had backfired, and it continued to get worse. Dorostorum insisted that all that needed to happen was for his columns to press onwards towards Konstantinopolis, and all of Thrace and Greece would rise against the Emperor. When Siddiqa cajoled, he refused to budge. So she fled further south, hoping to snatch her son from Mount Athos and flee to some foreign place of safety.

When the news of Dorostorum’s march officially reached Konstantinopolis, it hit the city like a thunderclap. The Prine of Dorostorum’s disabilities were well known, and it surprised many that a member of the Dukas family, out of the blue, would make such a bold move towards the throne. Especially considering any person with half a brain in the city could predict one result.

For the previous ten years, Demetrios Komnenos had been content to live on the sidelines of Romanoi politics. He ate, he slept, he rested on his laurels and intimidated enemies by simply being alive. He’d actually taken up writing, and he’d finished two treatises on warfare while Nikolaios ran the day to day affairs of state. Now, he insisted on taking to the saddle in person to lead the Imperial columns against Prince Michael.

The affair was hardly a fight. Dorostorum marshaled only about 4,500 thematikoi troops altogether, most of them poorly armed and armored kontoratoi, and almost no kataphraktoi. Demetrios brought with him half the Byzantion tagmata, including the Hetaratoi, some 1,500 other klibanophroi, and heavily armored infantry. The resulting battle was more of a rout, with Prince Michael dying cowering in his camp as the Imperial troops thundered over the rebel positions.


And thus the first phase of the sordid affair ended. Siddiqa managed to collect Ignatios and with the survivors of the abortive coup fled to the first ships that would take them passage anywhere, and their destination ended up being Alexandria in Egypt. Knowing that the weak-willed Prince Edmund (still ruling the Crusader States at age 45) would bow to an angry Emperor that surrounded him on all sides, Siddiqa fled even further south, towards the lands of the Emir of Mallorca and Aswan, Iskender Ahmed.


Two years passed before the Imperial Court discovered Siddiqa’s location – two years in which Nikolaios had put together all the evidence of the plot, and started punishing participants in Konstantinopolis. His blood up and now in the saddle, the formerly moribund Demetrios quickly celebrated an auspicious occasion – the birth of another son, named Manuel. Nikolaios now had a real, legitimate heir to follow his position, and quickly the co-Basilieus took steps to ensure he would be in charge of the babe’s future education.


Celebrations did not last long however, for quickly Megos was on a ship, along with th Byzantion tagmata to Egypt, and a call was placed for soldiers from the around the southern Mediterranean to join him. Ioannis Thrakesios, still in Sicily and urged on by the need to squelch rumors of his unmanliness, responded to the call.

Some 7,000 Romanoi in all launched the invasion, and resistance was light. The only battle of note took place in Quattara, where 1,500 of the Emir’s finest stood and fought. Ioannis, leading the Emperor’s column and still dogged by rumors, drew up his tagma of 1,000 and launched headlong into combat before the Emperor could arrive. After an hours worth of ferocious fighting, the Emir fled, yet laying amongst the dead was the flower of Nikolaios’ life.



Demetrios himself had a better time on the campaign. Berthe was soon pregnant again, and on January 19th, 1124, she gave birth to a baby she named Demetrios. The Emperor was overjoyed. His other sons watched warily. On January 20th, advance scouts for the Imperial armies found young Ignatios in the ruins of an abandoned camp. His mother was no where to be found.

On February 8th, 1124, Demetrios declared that, despite Siddiqa not being found, the Aswan Campaign, as it was being called, a success, and all of the Nile down to the First Cataract was now in Christian hands. Not everyone, however, were pleased with the results of the campaign.

Nikolaios publicly showed mourning for only a short time – there was too much statecraft that needed to be done for more. All around him though could sense that something within the Emperor had died as well. He threw himself even more into the minutae of running a vast Empire, arguing with everyone over the tiniest of details. Yet within his agitated mind, there was a void.

A void, he knew, no one would ever be able to fill.

So Nikolaios supervised the building of new churches, of new roads. He presided over several changes to the Imperial law codes. He became godfather to another brother, named Demetrios after his father. He arranged for several family members to marry the royal heads of Europe. He even helped expand the zoo in Kontantinopolis. Yet as much as he tried to keep himself busy with other things, Nikolaios’ mind kept falling back to one, singular thought.

Nikolaios wanted Kyrill.

The Metropolitan needed to be made an example of what happens when one spreads scuripptious rumors about the Imperial family – and nothing would say “don’t tread on me” like a high ranking clergyman suffering the same punishment as a common slanderer. That was the official, state-assisting reason Nikolaios kept telling himself. Mentally, he did not want to acknowledge the dark need for vengeance for the death of his lover, an act he attributed to the post public of the guilty. Siddiqa had escaped, and Ignatios, only 12, bore no blame. Kyrill though…

In Nikolaios’ eyes, if Kyrill had kept his mouth shut, Ioannis would have stayed in Konstantinopolis, and never boarded that fateful ship to Sicily. Ioannis would have never felt the need to prove himself beyond the ordinary by responding to the call for an expedition to Aswan. Ioannis then would have never died in Nubia.

Yet Kyrill was firmly under the protection of the Church, and from this position of immunity, continued to blast the Imperial administration as corrupt and decadent, even if he stopped some of his more sordid allusions after Dorostorum’s fall. Fetching Kyrill would prove too much of a headache.

For several months Nikolaios managed to resist the urge, but finally, he gave in when Kyrill from his pulpit proclaimed that Prince Michael of Dorostorum was likely in Heaven, and approached the Patriarch. He explained the evidence that there was a conspiracy, knowing full well that Patriarch Anasthasios probably knew all along, and ended with a demand that Kyrill be submitted to Imperial justice for treason and slander.

Yet the Patriarch of course wanted something from the deal – there was not enough direct evidence to link him to the debacle, and Anasthasios did want changes done within the Imperial administration. The Patriarch needed to save face, as well – he would not let Kyrill go quietly unless he received something in return. Nikolaios offered his aged, insane uncle Evangelos.

Evangelos had originally gone insane back in 1105, under the stresses of leading a campaign against the Cyrenaicans. In the succeeding years, despite being quietly sequestered at a monastery near Mount Athos, the mad Komnenos had made repeated public appearances. First he’d claimed he was a prophet from God, sent to tell the people to obey the liturgies of the True Church. Then he began claiming the Church was an anathema itself and should be overrun. The man by now was old, senile, and discredited within the monarchy itself – but had a significant following amongst the peasantry.

It was thus how the dark deal was reached. Anathasios would deliver Kyrill into the hands of the Imperial government, while Nikolaios would use his authority to arrest and condemn Evangelos for undermining the Church. Both sides could walk away claiming a victory for their cause.


It was thus, on May 6th, 1125, that Kyrill went to the Great Palace. The Metropolitan had been informed he was about to receive the confession of a now repentant Nikolaios. Little did he know what was truly about to happen…


========================== ============================

Nikolaios calmly sat in his personal chambers, a light breeze blowing in through the window. It ruffled his hair and kissed a sad, worn face. Nikolaios was now thirty-three, yet one could assume by his face he as some fifteen years older. Its ugliness was now enhanced by wrinkles.

He was simply dressed, as befitted a man who, ostensibly, was about to make a confession to a high ranking clergyman, a confession that would no doubt be trumpeted from the pulpit. Someone no less trustworthy than the Patriarch himself had led Kyrill like a sheep to what would soon be his slaughter.

As if on cue, Nikolaios heard the door to his chambers swing open, and he turned and rose. Standing imperiously in the doorway, in full regalia of a Metropolitan, stood the great Kyrill of Acre. The Metropolitan walked forward, and Nikolaios made at first to bow as if receiving a blessing. At the last moment, however, he stopped, and stared the clergyman straight in the eye.

“You are a plant for the Patriarch, are you not?” Nikolaios asked directly, dispensing with even a veneer of pleasantries. “Put there so Anathasios could influence things, without having his hands dirtied?”

Kyrill returned Nikolaios’ imperious stare with one of his own. “An Emperor you may be, but such rudeness is sacrilege when it is done to a man of God.”

“I know a Man of God when I see him,” Nikolaios growled. “Mine Uncle Manuel is a Man of God. The Patriarch is a Man of God. You sir, are no Man of God – you are a treasonous snake!”

Kyrill realized something was going on, and his mouth started to open, but no words came out.

“Ah, so the wretch refuses to speak?” Nikolaios said venomously. “Fine then. Kyrill of Acre, you are arrested, and condemned!” Nikolaios signaled with his hands, and loyal men of the Kappadokia Guards appeared in the doorway.

“What?!” Kyrill stood dumbfounded.

“In the name of the Emperors Demetrios, and Nikolaios, I hereby find you guilty of the crimes of treason and slander against the person of the Emperor, and against the Empire as a whole,” Nikolaios spat the damning sentence.

“Outrageous!” Kyrill shouted, his hands balling into fists. “The Patriarch will not stand for a Metropolitan to be treated in such a brash…”

“His Holiness Patriarch Anathasios agrees with me, and gave his blessing,” Nikolaios hissed. “You have no friends, you have no allies!” Nikolaios leaned close, only inches from the man’s face. “You are at my mercy,” the Emperor’s voice dropped to an icy, deadly whisper.

“Majesty,” the Metropolitan bowed, his eyes looking up fearfully into those of Nikolaios. Kyrill suddenly realized how exposed he was, and the co-Emperor’s lips curled partially into a sneer.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Nikolaios asked sharply.

“Majesty,” the Metropolitan bowed even lower, panic seeping into his voice, “Mistress Siddiqa came to us with significant evidence and proof!” His voice had now descended into blubbering. “She had letters between you and Strategos Thrakesios! Charged as a Man of God, faced with such evidence…”

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Nikolaios’ voice dropped back to a low, deadly whisper. “You quote the name of that bitch? And you ask for mercy…”

Kyrill stopped speaking, only incoherent noises of fear coming from his mouth.

“You nearly caused a civil war, you conspired with enemies of the state, you spread slander about the city concerning the person of the Emperor,” Nikolaios started to pace around the hapless old man, “and finally,” his voice dropped to such a quiet whisper that only the Metropolitan could hear him, “you cost me the love of my life.”

Kyrill’s eyes went wide at the implications of Nikolaios’ statement, but the Emperor wasn’t done.

“And no words you can say, no robes you wear, can protect you from that. Guards!” he barked, backing away from the condemned man. “Take ‘the man known as Kyrill of Acre’ and clap him in irons! Blind him!” When Kyrill’s voice started to squeak, Nikolaios added with a snarl, “and if his lying tongue says anything more, you will cut it out and feed it to the dogs!”

“He confessed! He confessed! Let me go!” Kyrill screamed.

“That noise is irritating, cut out his tongue!” Nikolaios growled. “And cut off his nose, yet leave his ears so he can hear people all around him cry out in shock and horror at the terrible shadow of a man he will become!”

Kyrill screamed again, and Nikolaios smiled grimly as the guards dragged him away. Justice, in a twisted, macabre sense, had been done.

No one could ever dispute that the condemnation of Kyrill of Acre did not have its desired effect in terms of statecraft – the message that slander and treason would be punished brutally, no matter who the perpetrator, was received loud and clear by the whole of the populace, from dynatoi to the lowliest peasant. Yet in Kyrill’s home diocese of Acre, dissent arose. The mutiliated man, wandering the streets, became a rallying cry against Nikolaios.

Future generations would land plaudits on Demetrios – Demetrios the builder, Demetrios the Conqueror – but this one act overshadowed all the contributions of Nikolaios in the eyes of the Greeks. A maimed clergyman left a maimed legacy for another hundred and fifty years…


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Siddiqa's plot is ended, there is an heir for Romanion, but Nikolaios has managed to utterly soil his reputation in anger at the turbulent priest. Meanwhile, despite his newfound vigor, Demetrios only grows older (by 1125, our "hero" is 57 years old). How will the succession play out? And why is there randomly an image of the Cap of Monomakh above this teaser? Stay tuned to find out!

Since people are wondering about the family size and everything, I thought the following would be a useful visual aid.


This is the first of what I hope will become many updates to the Komnenid family tree, though my greatest problem seems to be size. For now there are pretty pictures of the various characters, but shortly that might get changed to just names as children and children's children sire broods of their own. I also do not have titles added... as the story goes on, titles will get added when and where they are revelant. For now, the pictures that are glowing denote Emperors... hence Demetrios and Nikolaios.

(B) denotes a bastard that has not been legitimized, (LB) denotes a legitimized bastard. Unless he is found out, Malhaz will remain an (LB). Also of note - Michael had a bastard son right after his arrival in Konstantinopolis. The boy Konstantinos never really knew his father and died early on. Also of note is that Georgios, despite not being legitimized, has the early beginnings of a brood, as does Christophoros...