Irsh Faq - I know. In CK2 I want something my Romanion would seriously fear to come storming out of the east and knock things silly...
Bagricula – Wow! In depth analysis deserves an in depth reply—where you’re at is about a year ago in my writing mind, but I’ll try to remember as best I can (and for what I don’t have remembered, I have some notes, etc. scattered around!
)
Manuel – Well, Manuel did face an empire-wide rebellion against his rule (not portrayed in the story mostly due to writer’s block), followed swiftly by Sulieman’s invasion of the Empire as well as Zeno’s machinations. The Empire pulled through, but for the first time in hundreds of years, Konstantinopolis saw the campfires of an enemy army across the Marmara…
Basil III – To be honest, this is a very harsh critique of Basil, something of a rarity. I love it! I’d have to agree with you—many of the traits that made him so popular amongst his people (as well as the readers) are the very things that led directly to the resulting mayhem. He
was a White Shining Knight, but the Empire doesn’t want, or need, a Shining Knight to rule it. One could argue it has more need of someone like Manuel (devious Machiavellian) as opposed to a chivalrous king. I tried to show this with some of the interactions between Basil and Sophie—there is a legitimate question of what is truly more honorable for a monarch: facing an enemy in the field, where thousands will die, or poisoning them in their own bed, where only one person dies?
Basil’s very magnetism also drove the creation of both of his sons, and fueled their rivalry as well. I have no doubt that if Basil had been physically present more during their youths, both Thomas and David would have turned out far differently. Instead of a father, both sons had a hero in the distance that they had to live up to and gain attention and love from. The fallout is still haunting the empire even as of the latest update.
The Empresses – Each had their strengths and their weaknesses—Hajnal was a devoted mother, she definitely made Nikolaios into what he became (exactly what the dynasty needed), but her devotion led her to inadvertently weaken the realm (and temporarily, her sons claim). Sophie succeeded in supporting Basil, but she failed in that her devotion to him blinded her to the need to do something with her sons. Basiliea by far, in my opinion was the weakest—she schemed too much, and Basil ended up being raised arguably by Rimini far more than he ever was by his own mother.
I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts on the upcoming events in the story as well!
Kirsch27 – HOI’s AI is pretty good, and yes, Vicky’s is as well. Paradox’s AI is, by comparison to others, fairly good overall… its not like the later Total War series, where you have random people DWing you simply because you’re at peace…
Darbuka88 – The ‘historical’ kick comes in every now and then, but the majority of the updates are still narrative, so don’t fear! Yes, “no soup for you” was a definite Seinfeld reference.
The ‘amount of action’ is something I’m not wrestling with, as there are simply so many interesting storylines across so many parts of the map that I’m forced to leave many aside simply to keep a few main ones going…
And without further ado,
Betrayal at Mashad…
“Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate.” – Sun Tzu
“Who is that?”
Altani Khatun worriedly looked at her husband, Tokhtamysh Khan, then back at that low, nagging cloud of dust hugging the horizon. Beyond lay the glittering towers and walls of Mashad—towers her money had built. It marked the beginning of her realm in Central Asia—and the start ugly rumors.
For weeks before the arrival of the Roman emperor, Altani had been hearing ominous pieces of information—men moving, the Khan in Sarai growing restless, but as soon as the Roman and Persian armies fell alongside for the long, and decidedly slow, march back to the border, the news of dark armies moving had gone to a trickle, and then nothing outside of normal reports. Maybe whatever was causing the trouble in distant Kashgar was over.
Not for the first time, Altani wished the slow moving horde of humanity would have moved faster.
The Roman Emperor had explained the tardiness of his armies candidly—he said he wanted the vast hosts to move as slowly through Persia as possible, stripping the countryside bare to make sure Persia could not be a threat to his realm, or Arghun’s, for the foreseeable future. Altani remembered how Arghun’s eyes had darkened at those words, but as the days and weeks crept by and the Romans nor their Persian lackeys did anything untoward, Altani began to think the Roman Emperor was holding to his word. After all, Gabriel the Mongol-Slayer was as much an enemy to him as the Mongols, wasn’t he?
Add to that, Andronikos had been more than cordial to her the few times she’d seen him. He undoubtedly knew who she was—the woman who had killed his father. At first she’d been stunned and confused, but now, two months in—perhaps that was his way of dealing with things. Nonetheless, she still sent her own scouts to personally check the ground on her behalf.
Nothing unusual, they reported.
So she frowned yet again at that distant pall, reining up her horse and wondering—why had the scouts not seen them? Thousands of questions raced through Altani
Khatun’s head as her
tumen reined up beside her. Arghun’s whole army came to a halt—Altani’s eyes flashed warily to her flank, then across the army. Both the Roman and the Persian forces were halting too…their ranks looked confused, uncertain. The rankers clearly didn’t know what that force was either.
“Who… what is that?” she asked no one in particular, as the host seemed to momentarily stop—distant smudges of black now flooding the plain before them. The dark mass quivered, like a monster taking in a breath, before drums rolled, and the host began to rumble forward yet again.
“They’re moving,” Tokhtamysh grunted. Altani heard steel sliding—without thinking, she drew her sword as well. The unknown force was fanning wide, banners of cavalry spreading raising a pall of dust as they spread to the flanks. Somewhere in the immense cloud, Altani’s veteran eyes were sure she saw banners of infantry.
Wait. She blinked, looking again. She recognized the symbols on some of them, but she couldn’t read them—they looked like banners from an eastern
ulus.
She frowned, as a rider galloped up.
“Orders from Arghun?” she asked, eyeing the steadily growing force. Nervously her eyes flashed to their flanks—the Romans and Persians had stopped as well. Good—they were holding to their word apparently.
“Arghun
Khan orders you to deploy your cavalry in battle formation, but to hold action!” the messenger said. Altani turned to him and curtly nodded, as Tokhtamysh began barking the requisite orders. As the distant force grew closer and closer, Altani’s eyes once again looked to her flank—the Roman force was moving again.
Backwards.
“Where are they going?” she murmured. Tokhtamysh saw the movement as well, and more orders went out—the
tumen was to refuse its flank. After moving a few hundred yards, the huge Roman army on her flank halted, then made an about face, weapons at the ready as they faced this new force.
“Ah!” Tokhtamysh laughed, “if those people come at us, the Romans will hit
their flank!”
“I hope,” Altani replied. They’d said that the Roman Emperor was well liked by his people, but that his nobles feared him—some said he was duplicitous, but despite many opportunities during their march across Persia, he’d held true to his word. They still weren’t to Mashad—the city glittered on the horizon, behind this new approaching host.
Riders galloped off from the Mongol, Roman, and Persian lines towards the new arrivals. So the Romans were confused too—that gave her no measure of comfort. If the Romans held firm to their promise of safe conduct, whoever this was would face utter ruin. She looked back towards those Roman lines, towards the great
labarum in the center that marked the position of the Roman emperor. She couldn’t see the face of the son of a man she’d killed decades before, but she imagined it… steely eyed, resolute, just like he’d looked at every banquet in his tent.
Surely, he’d…
“Those are Mongol banners…” Tokhtamysh murmured quietly.
Altani looked again, and saw it as well—amidst the sea of bright colors, there were numerous pennants of red and blue, the white eagle of the Mongol Empire fluttering in the dusty wind. What Mongols would be coming?
Suddenly, her mind placed where she’d seen those banners—it’d been years before, at the
kurultai to choose the successor to Ariq Boke. As death shimmered in the distant wind, one word came to Altani’s stunned lips.
“Kublai?”
The rumble and clank of an army on the move far closer made her snap her attention to her flank. At the double-quick, the Roman
tagmata were deploying, facing the open flank of Arghun’s army…
“I greet you in the name of peace, Kublai Khan,
Khagan of the Mongol Empire,” Andronikos said with a smile. The
Megas Komnenos looked up, as Antemios Syrenios,
Archekronokratos and representative of Andronikos’ trusted
Oikoi, nodded, then repeated the
Megas Komnenos words.
Inside the
Khagan’s tent, innumerable candles of incense made the air hazy and sweet—a cold contrast to the smell of death and destruction that hovered outside. The smoky room lent Andronikos’ counterpart an air of mystery. Kublai Khan, like Andronikos was slightly short and on the thin side—Andronikos could tell, despite the mains billowing yellow robes—and the strange hat he wore on his head dangled pearls and precious gems in front of his face. Behind that veil of riches was a young, open face, already split open by an enormous smile.
Andronikos had purposefully brought his immense ebony throne simply for this occasion, hoping to impress the
Khagan, only to find himself outdone. The Mongol had brought a throne of gold and inlaid gems, with silken cushions and peacock feathers adorning its priceless frame. Andronikos had tried his best to not be impressed. The army of his erstwhile ally was also immense, replete with contraptions and machines of war the Roman emperor couldn’t imagine, alongside feared formations Romans knew all to well. Despite all his efforts, however, the Roman
was impressed—both that Kublai had managed to bring sixty thousand men so far, and that his army had so utterly mauled Arghun’s, with minimal effort on the part of the Romans.
30,000 of Arghun’s men slain. The rest captured—or defected, once it was obvious the battle was going awry. All without Andronikos losing more than 1,000 of his own men, and some 4,000 of Gabriel’s Persians—no loss to the
Megas Komnenos really.
Not with what was gained.
“His Imperial Majesty returns your greetings,” Syrenios said.
“Tell His Majesty he looks in well health, and that I am thankful for his survival of the battle yesterday,” Andronikos said pleasantly. “I fear that if Your Majesty’s force had been a few days later than it was, I would not have been able to delay Arghun’s forces any longer.” Andronikos didn’t add that Arghun’s scouts would have still let Kublai’s men approach undetected—there was no reason to let the
Khagan know the reach of the Roman imperial purse.
The thin Mongol
Khagan smiled expectantly as Andronikos’ words went down the line of translation—first Syrenios translated the
Megas Komnenos’ words into Arabic for Kublai’s man, who then told the
Khagan. The Great Mongol nodded, speaking harsh noises as the pearls hanging from his hat clattered noisily.
“His Majesty says,” Syrenios grinned a few moments latter, “that he thanks you for your help in getting rid of the troublemaker Arghun, as well as giving his men the distraction needed to take Kashgar. Deception and illusion are often more valuable than one hundred thousand men, and Your Majesty’s efforts in the West were the mark of a master.”
Andronikos beamed at the compliment—what harm was there in accepting a little praise from the only man in the world close to him in power? “Please tell His Majesty,” the
Megas Komnenos said, “that his own skills at subterfuge are noteworthy as well. Perhaps,” Andronikos looked his opponent up and down, “His Majesty and I could exchange notes during his stay? As one…illusionist… to another?”
Syrenios translated, and the
Khagan laughed once the words reached his ears. He said a few words in reply, shrugging as he spoke. Syrenios laughed.
“His Majesty says a true illusionist must keep his work hidden behind smoke, mirrors and the assassin’s dagger. Otherwise,” Syrenios shrugged as well, “it wouldn’t be an illusion.”
Suddenly the
Khagan laughed, uttering more words to his translator, who rattled them off to Syrenios—the
Archekronokratos nodded, but Andronikos noted his smile suddenly became stillborn.
“His Majesty adds, perhaps one day you will be as great an illusionist as he.”
Andronikos turned to Kublai, and fixed the smile on his face—the verbal backhand would go unchallenged. Kublai was a mere Mongol. Andronikos was the
Megas Komnenos, heir to an line of emperors that stretched back almost 1200 years.
“Perhaps I have surpassed His Majesty,” Andronikos smiled pleasantly as he fired back. Syrenios spoke, words went through the train of translation, and Kublai laughed, before chattering words back.
“His Majesty says perhaps one day it shall be tested. For now,” Syrenios sighed, obviously relieved, “His Majesty has a gift for you.”
“A gift?” Andronikos nodded—Kublai had retreated, apparently. “Very well.” The
Megas Komnenos mentally kicked himself—he hadn’t brought anything to this meeting to give to Kublai! Andronikos had assumed they would give gifts at the official banquet that evening. He hoped his counterpart wouldn’t see it as a faux pas…
The
Khagan snapped his fingers, and soon servants materialized, holding an immense blade sheathed in a fine leather scabbard. Andronikos smiled pleasantly at first, until he saw the hilt.
It was of Roman make.
One of the servants bowed, offering him the sword. Gently, the
Megas Komnenos drew it, revealing a coppery red blade, as finely made as any sword the Emperor had ever seen before. For a few moments, Andronikos stared, remembering stories of a blade like this, before Syrenios spoke.
“The
Khagan says this was your father’s sword, taken by Altani
Khatun nearly twenty years ago. They found the blade by her body, still sheathed.” The
Archekronokratos coughed. “Um, the
Khagan says several prisoners identified it. He believes that its name in our tongue is
Pyroglossa?”
Andronikos nodded slowly, his eyes wandering down its length, its perfection. He had no memories of his father, only the stories people told of a young king filled with promise, a gentle man, a warrior, they said, without peer. For more than a few moments, Andronikos could not, dared not, to talk—the gold hilt under his fingers, the dusty steel before his eyes, they spoke volumes.
“Please tell His Majesty,” Andronikos finally said when he caught his voice, “that I thank him deeply for this most wondrous gift. My family’s honor has been avenged. I regret that I have no gift for him equal in value to this… treasure…” Andronikos’ voice dropped off as he felt the hilt—it fit, perfectly it seemed, into his own hands. He felt in his hands what his father had felt, all those years before…
“Majesty,” Syrenios clearing his throat brought Andronikos out of his reverie, “Kublai
Khagan says that you brought him an equivalent gift—Arghun Khan. His Imperial Majesty thanks
you, and is pleased his gift brought you so much pleasure.”
Andronikos clasped his hands around the blade one last time, before sheathing it and setting it next to his throne—there would be time to think, to remember, after business was done. Andronikos nodded his head. Kublai grinned widely, displaying a set of perfect teeth, laughed, then uttered more words to his translator. Arabic chattered around the room, before Syrenios turned to Andronikos.
“His Majesty says that you and he are much alike,” Syrenios translated, “He says that you both lord over vast, unruly realms of many peoples, many faiths, many cultures. He says that you, like he, has disloyal relatives both at home, and on the distant fringe. Finally, he says that he hopes the concord between you and he can remove one source of trouble for our glorious realms.”
“Tell His Majesty,” Andronikos nodded and smiled, “that I, too, hope that this agreement can bring peace and concord between our realms. I trust His Majesty found the offers presented on my behalf by the Polos to his liking?”
Syrenios turned, and once more words went through the tent. Kublai’s smile thinned slightly, but his demeanor still seemed rather jovial as he replied to his own translator. The man uttered words to Syrenios—but the
Archekronokratos seemed to stiffen slightly.
“The
Khagan asks,” Syrenios blinked nervously, “if you would considering a
joint arrangement in Transoxiania, as opposed to a Roman prince ruling the realm.”
It was Andronikos’ turn to blink.
That was
not a part of the pact forged long before between two monarchs leagues apart!
“Please remind the
Khagan,” Andronikos smiled sweetly, “that His Majesty agreed to a Roman client taking suzerainty over the Transoxus. We would not want to burden His Majesty’s realm with such… responsibilities, especially as His Majesty has spoken of his difficulties with disloyal relatives and disparate cultures.”
Syrenios nodded, and spoke the requisite words. After another set of translation, Kublai’s smile thinned. The
Megas Komnenos kept his firmly in place—he wasn’t about to be rattled by some eastern potentate. Kublai uttered more words—Andronikos noticed they seemed quicker, harsher.
“The
Khagan notes that alas, you did not come to his aid when his army was embattled,” Syrenios said. “He wonders if you’re struggles with disloyal people and cultures prevented you from falling on Arghun’s flanks sooner.” For his part, the young Mongol
Khagan’s lips parted in a sweet smile as well.
“Alas,” Andronikos sighed, “my orders were… muddled…by my generals. Regretfully could not deploy in time to do anything other than prevent Arghun from escaping. Tell His Majesty I sincerely,” Andronikos smiled thinly, “apologize for the damage done to his army. It will be quite hard to hold onto Transoxiania with such a force. In order to ease the strain on his resources, ask His Majesty if perhaps Romanion should be given responsibility for the Transoxus… as planned?” The
Megas Komnenos nodded to Syrenios, who quickly translated. The Mongol translator said harsh words, and the
Khagan’s smile grew thin as well. He uttered more words quietly, which were relayed back to Syrenios. The
Archekronokratos blanched slightly.
“Well?” Andronikos prodded, glancing at the
Khagan. Kublai’s smile grew.
“The
Khagan thanks Your Majesty for your offer, but he has more than sufficient force, considering the four
tumen that are behind Your Majesty’s forces.” Syrenios cleared his throat. “Ah, um… the
Khagan said a wise man never commits himself fully, but always keeps a reserve. So says someone named… Sunsu?”
Andronikos’ face didn’t move a muscle, but the
Megas Komnenos’ heart skipped out of his stomach and into his throat. Four
tumen. Behind the Roman army? Andronikos wished he could snap a few orders to have scouts confirm the rumor! But no, he couldn’t—not with Kublai sitting directly before him, smile wide and twinkling. The
Khagan had pinned him. Fine, Andronikos thought. Two could play the rough game of threats.
“Tell the
Khagan,” Andronikos smiled so hard he gritted his teeth, “that I thank him for his advice. Ask him if he likes to hunt. If so, remind him of the bear my dogs took down two years past—even a hound, when cornered, can take down something far larger. Perhaps tell His Majesty also that once even wounded, a bear is easily ridden down, even if it has killed the dog that attacked it.” Andronikos waved his hand, and Syrenios quickly spoke.
When his translator repeated the Emperor’s words, Kublai’s smile stood resolute, but Andronikos swore he could see something dance in the
Khagan’s eyes. Was it anger? Was it fear? The Mongol said something, nodding.
“His Imperial Majesty says your words are true and wise—he has seen many such things while hunting,” Syrenios said quickly, “but His Majesty says he is here to discuss Transoxiana. Perhaps another after the meeting is done, if time permits, His Majesty would go on a hunt with you.”
Andronikos wanted to grimace—the Mongol wasn’t budging.
“A joint monarchy,” Andronikos settled into his chair uncomfortably. This Kublai—damn him! “Tell His Majesty I propose a Roman prince and a Mongol princess, with their progeny jointly ruling in perpetuity.” He nodded again, and Syrenios translated. The Mongol translator only said three words before Kublai shook his head, that damnable smile still on his lips. More words.
“The
Khagan wants a
Mongol prince and a
Roman princess,” Syrenios translated.
Andronikos’ cheeks felt heavy, and he felt his smile sliding. Damn that Mongol!
Fine, Andronikos thought. We’ll play that game.
“Please remind the young
Khagan what happened the
last time a Mongol prince gained suzerainty over Transoxiania. Also kindly remind His Majesty that Transoxiania’s borders with Roman Persia are very porous—we can’t possibly stop all matter of… bandits, mercenaries, and troublemakers who could make it through and… disrupt… the realm.” Andronikos made no effort to hide the dangerous glint on the edge of his words—if this prince did not want to not use velvet gloves, then Andronikos would use iron gauntlets!
As the words were finally translated back to the Mongol, the corner of Kublai’s lip trembled slightly. Andronikos’ smile became a little more genuine, as he shifted into a more comfortable position on his throne—so the Mongol could be rattled!
“The
Khagan will consent to a Roman prince,” Syrenios said, before quickly adding, “if Your Majesty consents that a Mongol viceroy be dispatched to Samarkand, with veto power over all foreign policy decisions in the court.”
“Fine, a viceroy!” Andronikos flinched from the snapping voice, before realizing it was his own. Syrenios’ eyes were wide, and even Kublai had lost his smirk and was blinking in confusion. The Mongol jabbed his finger into the side of his translator, no doubt asking what the Roman had said. As Andronikos cursed the Mongol for making him lose his temper, Syrenios translated again.
“His Majesty wants…”
“A viceory, I agree to a viceroy,” Andronikos sighed, starting to put the fake smile back on his face, before deciding pleasantries were done for the day. Kublai had broken through, damn him! “Tell His Imperial Majesty though that We do not look kindly on those who meddle with previous arrangements. Such is not the behavior of a friend or an ally.”
The Roman emperor settled back into his throne, watching as his angry and bald threat went through the chain of communication. Kublai’s smile did not return, but by his tone, his words were measured calm—a contrast to Andronikos’ explosion.
“His Majesty wishes to know if you have someone in mind to become the Lord of the Transoxus?” Syrenios repeated the words Kublai uttered while Andronikos brooded.
The Emperor fought the urge to hiss. Transoxiania was supposed to be a distant client where he could dump a particularly bothersome relative. Now, with a Mongol viceroy meddling in affairs, that situation was about to become infinitely more complex. The man would no doubt be of close blood to Kublai, and would without question stick his nose everywhere he could, with spy networks ranging far and wide on the behalf of the ‘Transoxianian Court.’
It was the first time Andronikos had met his match, and there was nothing he could do about it. Kublai was too powerful, too far away—and the
Khagan knew it.
“Indeed, I do,” the Roman Emperor growled in frustration.
So Andronikos and Kublai have been plotting all along to destroy Arghun… and Andronikos simply milked the Persian predicament for all he could in the meantime! However, Andronikos meets his match, and Kublai ensures the
Megas Komnenos does not get what he wanted—free rein in Central Asia. Will Michael rise to Andronikos’ golden bait? And what’s been going on with Gaston Capet et al in the West in the meantime? And why is there a random picture of a baby at the end of the update? Andronikos returns to a surprise at home when Rome AARisen continues!
EXPLANATION TIME
Well, this brings us almost to the end of the current story arc/chapter and the start of another. The previous chapter is my best explanation on how a Roman Transoxania came into existence. In vanilla CK, Transoxania was a kingdom you could form if you controlled enough of the provinces directly east of the Caspian Sea—the Sultanate of Khwarezm in game kept nipping at my Persian creation, so I got mad and swatted it out of existence, and threw together Transoxania with a distant cousin as King from the remnants.
However, I mentally couldn’t justify this—the Mongols, to do them justice, would be too powerful for a Roman monarch to simply waltz in and do what he wanted in Central Asia. Hence the creation of the characters of Altani and Arghun (representing a much greater Mongol threat than the in-game Khwarezm being a pest), as well as the introduction of the politics of the Mongol Empire (in the story, one could argue the Mongols have been less cutthroat with each other than they were in real life!). So Transoxania comes into existence, but as a joint arrangement by an Andronikos eager to “promote out of Konstantinopolis” a legitimate threat to his throne, and a Kublai focused on China and wary of any future “Arghun Khans” arising to his West. It’s clunky, but that is the nature of real world negotiations and compromises as well—and to me at least, it sits a lot more believably than Andronikos launching a campaign through Astrakhan, across the desert, and personally conquering Khwarezm…