Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR

Servius Magnus - At this point, it is safe to say Megoskyriomachos has evolved into a prime minister type position due to the relative lack of attention to the basic needs of governance by the Thomasine Emperors--Thomas I implicitly trusted Mehtar with everything, Thomas II cared about his army and campaigns, and left things in the hands of first Mehtar, then Albrecht von Franken, and von Franken has consolidated his position to where everyone who wants power in Konstantinopolis needs him. What remains to be seen, though, is if this office's power continues on after von Franken dies, or if its power came more from the individuals who held it.

Ksim3000 - Albrecht is most definitely going to push Louis Salah out of the limelight, as he's a potential threat. The Empire isn't truly united yet... the issue remains of what to do with Gabriel and Persia, and the Egyptian and Levantine Despotates are staying neutral at the moment--they titularly answered to Gabriel under the compromise, but obviously they don't want to back a losing horse...

4th Dimension - Indeed. "Anti-Emperor" does have a ring to it... And yes, the Church will be SUPREMELY pissed at Gabriel. The people I feel for are Gabby's kids. Their dad has screwed them out of an inheritance... literally!

Siind - You definitely have a point, but Emperors, when they felt powerful enough (or threatened enough) weren't above jailing Patriarchs, or even in one case, a Pope. The more usual method, IIRC, was to bribe or persuade other members of the clergy to declare the troublemaker an anathema, and compel the Patriarch to resign or go into exile.

Church law would likely equate Gabriel as sleeping with his brother's wife--which in their eyes is at least as bad as incest. I think its safe to say, regardless of the theological particulars, that the Church is going to FROWN on such...philandery.

And Gabby... self-control? What?

AlexanderPrimus - Killing the Patriarch openly would be a very bad idea... almost unthinkably bad. Then again, we had a Komnenid who tossed the Pope off of a balcony... but as we saw, he got his just due!

And yes, Nikky is 'Andalusi.' He might dress like a Saracen, but the Church is fairly sure he's reliably Christian--much more so than Gabriel. The Church has fully supported not-Roman-cultured Emperors in the past... Leo the Khazar comes to mind.

Avalanchemike - Still a little too early for the plague, so if that's what gets Alexandros, he's got quite a while to live!

Fulcrumvale - If Alexandros dies at this point, it won't matter much... his elder brother Nikephoros is heir to Gabriel's claims anyway...

The Turks weren't resettled, they're still vassals of the Emperor as they try to rebuild. And Gabby has a brief window he could act (see below), but if he doesn't... its kneeling or death.

Morrell8 - Interestingly enough, the numerical difference between Gabriel and Nikephoros isn't as bad as you think. Gabriel's son is raising new tagmata, and he has a few field units of his own left... so if push came to shove and he decided to leave his back uncovered, Gabriel could put a hefty force up against Nikephoros (60-70,000 maybe?). Nikephoros has the entire empire, yes, but remember the bulk of the tagmata disbanded after 15+ years service. He's got his Spanish troops, but most of them are in Spain, Italy, North Africa... so he'd have to rely on thematakoi mostly, and the few tagmata kept in Konstantinopolis... 100,000 or so. Considering Gabriel is a dangerous field commander (Nikky is no slouch, but...), those aren't devastating odds. Of course, Nikky's likely first priority is raising new tagmata, so unless Gabby acts within a very short window, (a year, perhaps two) the odds will quickly become insurmountable.

Vesimir - No! :rofl: And yes, considering how long people lived, and the devastation wrought, it was called "the Eternal War" by the people who lived through it... as for Prince of Persia, I loved that game as a kid, even if the spiked traps kept killing me!

von Sachsen - See above. Like many things in history, the name becomes less and less accurate as time goes on, but because people started calling it that, they just kept calling it that...

Tommy4ever - IRL the Ilkhanate initially was very supportive of the Nestorian community in Iraq and Persia, mostly because they worked with the Mongols against native ruling powers. However once the Ilkhanate converted, the support turned to persecution quickly...

FlyingDutchie - What would this AAR be without teasers? And yes, there's a compelling reason to keep Gabby around... or at least Persia. Is Nikephoros going to be impetuous enough to try to rule the whole thing?

Enewald - The Levant and Egypt certainly aren't backwaters. However, their Despotes are playing it safe, and haven't openly made gestures or support to either side yet. You can be sure once they know who the winner is (if there's even a conflict) they'll run that way...

KlavoHunter - For the sake of the Empire's health, it'd better be an era of peace. Years of war have ruined the tagmata, and devastated parts of the East. The last thing either realm needs is a devastating fratricidal war. As for Altani, the big thing she has to do is to make sure the gilded cage seems far more... interesting... than the outside world...

The_Archduke - The treason has been undone, but has the damage the treason caused been undone?

RGB - Ariq Boke is coming a few decades early to Japan, so let's hope the forecast calls for clear skies and placid seas, not typhoon...

Hannibal X - There's probably going to be moaning about Nikky... if anything the nobility of Konstantinopolis are good at complaining, but faced with the alternatives of a mad Thomas III and Gabriel, they'll groan, sigh, and shuffle into Nikephoros' camp... with some prodding by Albrecht, of course.


NExt update is started... maybe 5-10% done. I'm waffling between posting the update, or doing an updated interim on the army. Thoughts, requests?

May 15th, 1250

Ruggiero de Lauria sighed, and tsked at his apprentice. The boy shuffled back, wilting under the master cook’s withering gaze. De Lauria stuck his finger into the stew again, drew it out, and checked his initial assessment. Yes, the boy had thrown in far too much pepper, and not enough parsley. With a grunt and a wave, de Lauria banished his apprentice, to correct Her Imperial Majesty’s stew the way it was properly meant to be done.

As he watched the boy hurriedly back out of the kitchens of the Great Palace, no doubt fearing for his future as an apprentice cook, de Lauria sighed. Simon was occasionally incompetent, but de Lauria wouldn’t get rid of him—his foul-ups were always the perfect cover.

Today was the day, once again. De Lauria had made sure that Simon would help him mix Empress Theophano’s salmonrejo, a dish she had a relish for, no doubt inherited from her imperial line. As always, Simon got the particular ingredients for the Empress’ preferred version of the dish wrong. And as always, Ruggerio would toss him out to “fix” the mistakes himself—allowing him, a master cook, direct, unsupervised control over a meal that was normally supposed to have two people working on it for security.

Ruggerio hardly bothered to look around—the kitchens were empty, as always, and the marbled floors of the place made anyone’s approach plain as day to Ruggerio’s ears. De Lauria reached into his apron, and quickly measured and dumped the appropriate ingredients into the mixture—horsehairs, a few pinches of this and that—just as the recipe given to him long ago instructed. As he had once a month, every month, Ruggerio stirred the extra ingredients into the soup, adding a pinch of this and that until he knew their taste and texture would disappear.

Finally, Ruggerio took the pot off of the fire, and carried it to the underground cellars for cooling. As he walked, he didn’t think the thoughts that had troubled him long ago about what he’d agreed to do. Back then, his daughters needed marriage into good families, and while being a master cook to the Emperor in Spain was a prestigious position, his daughter’s still needed dowrys. And good families tended to be expensive to marry into.

500 gold solidii had brought Ruggerio’s initial cooperation—that had earned Ermisinde’s marriage into a branch of minor Italian nobility. Each year thereafter, as promised, Ruggerio received 500 gold solidii for a job well done. After the last of his six daughters was married, the money kept coming, and by then, Ruggerio was used to having extra solidii around… the lure of gold kept him doing his dirty business.

As he set the pot down in its special place amongst all the items being chilled for the evening’s meal, Ruggerio didn’t sigh, didn’t bemoan the moral questions of what he was doing. Ruggerio couldn’t fathom why Adrianos Komnenos wanted Empress Theophano to not have children, but the cook never bothered to ask.

The gold spoke too loudly, drowning out all other thought.


May 23rd, 1250

Anastasia Komnenos, sister to the most powerful man in the world, felt utterly powerless as the door to her chambers opened, letting in a sliver of light as well as the noise of a raucous celebration outside. As soon as a the shadow of a man stepped into the doorway, and acid taste filled her mouth.

Her wedding to Alexios four years before had been almost a fairytale—it’d taken place amongst the glittering courtyards of the Caliph’s Palace in Baghdad, and Alexios had looked like a positive god in his white coat with furs and diamonds. She’d thought that day she was getting married for the first and last time, to her one true love, the man she would gladly follow into the grave.

And then there was today.

In truth, her wedding to Albrecht von Franken had been an even more sumptuous affair—only the most lavish of ceremonies would do for the sister of the new Megas Komnenos being married to the powerful Megoskyriomachos. Three Patriarchs were present, with representatives of the others, as well as most of the dynatoi from the Balkans, Spain, Italy and Anatolia that could make it in person. There had been games in the Hippodrome, bread for the masses, solemn processions, and stolid speeches.

Yet as that bent form slowly closed the door to her chambers on her second wedding night, Anastasia felt nothing but contempt and anger. Contempt at the aged man she assumed would soon attempt to mount her, and anger at her brother for agreed to the sordid deal that would see the act happen.


Curtly, angrily, she hiked up her nightshift above her waist.

“Do your business and let me sleep!” she snarled, furious at her new husband, and doubly furious at her brother.

The figure in the darkness stopped moving. For a moment it hung there, as if impelled to stay in place, before Anastasia heard a quiet, soft noise. At first, she thought it was the rustling of paper. She frowned—there was no paper in her chambers. Then, slowly, she realized what it was…

…laughter. A raspy chuckle, the kind someone gave when their lungs were almost out of breath.

“You mock me?!” she snapped, nostrils wide in fury.

“No!” she heard Albrecht giggle. Giggle! “No! I do not mock you! Please,” the figure suddenly moved, and Anastasia felt her nightshift being yanked back down. She backed away from the figure, the confusion on her face hidden by the darkness. The bed moved—he was sitting beside her.

“I don’t wish to play games, Anastasia,” the old man said, mirth still dancing in his voice. “I am not up for such sport, literally.” The laughter returned, but the Princess could only scowl into the darkness. After a moment, it seemed like her husband read her hidden face, and his laughter subsided. She felt his hand pat her leg, not in any sort of lewd way. The feel was almost… paternal?

“This is simple politics, my dear,” she heard Albrecht say. More movement. He was now apparently laying beside her. “You know politics, Anastasia, you should have recognized that.” Silence for a second. “I know you were the political brain, between you and Alexios.”

Anastasia bit her lip, crossed her arms, and scowled into the dark.

“You are beautiful, do not doubt that,” Albrecht added in the dark, his voice sounding like the words were almost an afterthought, “but I shall not be visiting your chambers. The thought would rile your brother to no end!” Another slight chuckle. “No, that won’t happen. If you have… needs…” she could almost imagine him waving his hand as he spoke of such base things, “…take care of them discreetly is all I ask. I do not care if I am known as a cuckold in my dotage,” von Franken went on, “but do think of your son, and the trauma gossip would cause to his claims to the throne.”

“Is that why you did it?” Anastasia growled. How dare he think she would touch another after Alexios?!

She felt the bed move slightly. “Of course, that’s why!” she could almost feel Albrecht’s smugness in the room! “When Theodora died, I lost my connection to the imperial family. That connection is security for me and my family. By wedding you,” he went on, sounding like a tutor explaining a simple problem to a slow child, “I kept my person tied to the imperial family—and I am step-father to the heir of your brother. Simple, elementary politics, my dear.”

“I am not your dear!” Anastasia threw herself back on her pillow, cursing this day.

“You will learn to be.” The man in the darkness yawned, and she felt him pulling the covers over to his side.

“I will learn nothing!”

“Your brother has,” the voice retorted. There was only a hint of anger in its tone, but that was enough to make Anastasia’s blood run cold. “He has learned that through working with me, he can become Emperor. And not just Emperor, Megas Komnenos,” Albrecht added Nikephoros’ new title, a symbol of his paramount status in imperial politics. “You shall learn to play my game too. For now, my dear, let’s get some sleep. In the morning, the notables will want to know if the marriage was consummated. You shall say it was, as shall I. We shouldn’t begin our partnership with scandal, should we?”

Anastasia felt like beating the old man with her pillow, but instead the sister of the new Emperor of All the Romans turned away from the man she was married to, hoping the night passed swiftly so she could flee the marriage bed.


May 29th, 1250

Alexandros Komnenos, Prince of the Empire, too, felt powerless. His lack of control, however, had a far different source.

The second son of Gabriel Komnenos, Emperor, Lion of the East, glared at the source of his trouble, then at his elder brother. Crown Prince Nikephoros, as always, bore that blank, bored expression that made the excitable Alexandros ever so jealous. Above the giggling courtiers echoing through the marble rafters of the Caliph’s Palace in Baghdad, Alexandros could hear his brother sigh as they stood at mute attention, off to the side, away from the sordidness at hand.


“She’s clearly picking more men than women,” Alexandros heard his brother dryly comment.

“What did it say?” Alexandros hissed once again, as the noise of Frederica von Hohenstaufen-Komnenos laughing once again assaulted his ears. When he was thirteen, the boy, or rather the animal in his trousers, was swooning over the woman. But as Alexandros aged, he came to understand power. And understanding power meant he began to understand how that woman’s presence crippled his father… and thus denied him and his brother the power they ought to have.

Love then quickly gave way to hate. Hatred for how she’d so blithely snipped the manhood of the most feared general in the Roman Empire, anger for how she seemed to not recognize the damage her presence caused both to Gabriel, his sons, and even her own flesh and blood by her titular ‘husband.’ Even now, when the most dire news had arrived from Konstantinopolis, Empress Frederica was busily inspecting the long line of servants that had come with the courier—a gift, he said, from Nikephoros. All, both men and women, were very beautiful, and the 16 year old prince easily understood why.

Alexandros watched the woman and silently cursed her, even as she giggled at something a courtier said. With all the innocence of a thief, her fingers jabbed towards several of the new ‘servants.’ A bad taste filled the Prince’s mouth—he knew what they were for, and the thought of pleasure holding back his father, the Lion of the East… his stomach roiled.

“What did it say?” the Prince repeated, tearing his eyes away from the scene. Something, anything, to get his mind off of how that… thing had his father, and his, inheritance in its dainty hands!

“I’ve sent father’s copy on to him…” Nikephoros continued dryly.

“Well, what does it say?!” Alexandros positively snarled, not noting the exact words his brother said. He wanted to know, now!

“Read it,” his brother handed the parchment, torn seals of Emperor Nikephoros and Patriarch Simon dangling from the bottom. Alexandros skipped over the first sections—if it was like every letter, that was filled for boring language, not the meat of the thing at hand. His eyes flashed towards the middle… then bulged wide. He read again. He blinked.

“Excommunicated?” Alexandros choked off a screech.


“For sleeping with the wife of his brother, acting against the Christian faith, and…” Nikephoros stopped, then waved at the paper. “Read on,” he added, even as they heard a bellow from down the hall. So their father hadn’t been ‘asleep’ at all. The Lion was roused, but too late. Alexandros’ eyes flashed down further, and noted with surprise the letter wasn’t directed at Gabriel Komnenos, Emperor of the Romans, but to his sons, Nikephoros and Alexandros…

“This…”

“…isn’t the letter sent to father, like I said,” Nikephoros coughed. Alexandros blinked—Nikephoros never looked nervous, but Alexandros knew when his brother coughed was when normal men would have blanched white. The prince’s eyes flashed down towards the paper.

“If we kneel…” Alexandros said quietly.

“We get recognized as Emperors in Persia,” Nikephoros said quietly. “A demotion to be sure. Nikephoros even offers to graciously let us keep Mesopotamia under our rule.” The elder Prince chewed on his lip, even as his father’s bellows echoed through the palace. Alexandros looked over towards the throne—Frederica still sat there, looking over the train of ‘servants’ with a professionally lewd grin. He looked back to his brother. “But it’s legitimacy, something that after…” Nikephoros’ voice dropped even as he looked to the top part of the letter.

Excommunication. A call on every good Roman to try to usurp the throne from an unbeliever.

Alexandros’ blood felt like a floe of ice coursing through his veins.

“I…” Alexandros looked up the hall. He could hear his father already bellowing for his mail. “…How? Why does the Patriarch and the Spaniard write to us? What can…” Another glance up the hallway.

“Because I am co-Emperor to father,” Nikephoros said matter of factly, before coughing again. “Remember? I told father he needed to leave here to raise new tagmata, and he didn’t want to because of…” Nikephoros nodded towards the still giggling Frederica. Apparently after one of the new arrivals lifting the shift around his waist, she was infinitely pleased.

“And he made you co-Emperor so you could go raise the new army…” Alexandros’ voice dropped off into nothing.

Nikephoros was offering peace, if Alexandros and his brother would merely ensure that Gabriel Komnenos, Lion of the East, the Desert Demon, would stay in his gilded cage. If they didn’t stay their father’s hand, the Emperor, now calling himself Megas Komnenos, promised he would march on them with an army as numerous as the sands of the beach, and grind them all into dust. Alexandros would have normally tossed such words as he would chaff into the air, but even he could read a map. Nikephoros had the might of an entire empire behind him. Alexandros’ father?

“I…” Blink. Alexandros spun to look uncertainly at his older brother. “Um.. what are you going to do?” he asked, fear seeping into his voice. The prince saw the flash of a shadow down the hall—a servant scurrying for the imperial mail.

“I shall go to Konstantinopolis and beg penance on his behalf,” the Crown Prince went on. Alexandros thought he heard a slight hitch in his brother’s voice. “I…”

“And what if they try to kill you?” Alexandros hissed, terror in his voice. It’d been von Franken that had led them into this trap! Clearly! Why would he stay the hand of his killers when the son of Gabriel opened his throat?!

“They need me,” Nikephoros said with only the barest hint of a smile. “Von Franken has long said no one from Konstantinopolis could rule everything from Spain to Persia. He wants someone to run Persia, and the very thing that makes us and father hideous to Konstantinopolis makes us perfect for the East.” The Crown Prince shrugged, but Alexandros thought he saw him shudder, even so slightly. Was that a sniffle?

“And… and what of father?” Alexandros looked back down the hall. There were all sorts of curses being thrown at someone who’d brought the wrong gauntlets for the Emperor. “He surely won’t…”

“Father will call on the tagmata, but only the Gond tagmata will respond,” Nikephoros said, before glancing up the hall. Alexandros was almost sure his brother was about to cry. “The Gond answer to me. I am co-Emperor. Father can remain here, in the Palace, doing… whatever,” the Prince waved towards the mass of men and women still before Empress Frederica with a look of disgust mixed with remose, “while you and I actually rule.”


“I…” Alexandros looked up the hall. Already the clink of mail on marble was echoing, as the prince saw a figure in shining mail stalking towards them, a bevy of servants following. “Are you sure?” Alexandros asked. He feared his father’s wrath, but if Nikephoros said it had to be done? Nikephoros was the smart one. Nikephoros knew…

“The army is ready,” Nikephoros looked in that direction too. “They were raised by me, trained by me. I guess they’ll listen to me too.”

“In the name of God Almighty, I hope your right…” Alexandros added quickly.


There, so everyone got a little of everything—a little look at the army, while we move the story forward a bit. So Nikephoros (or was it Albrecht?) has laid the trap in Mesopotamia—Gabriel has been excommunicated, while his sons have been offered power and legitimacy, if they keep their father “caged.” Meanwhile, Adrianos has been evidently poisoning Theophano for some time, while perhaps Lord Albrecht has bitten off more than he can chew?