Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR

Chaos reigned in the Emperor’s tent.

“We’re outnumbered, two to one!” Demetrios said breathlessly.

“They have over fourteen thousand horse!” Georgios Pantiokanes, personal manservant to Manuel, complained loudly.

Manuel Komnenos, Emperor of the Roman Empire, Vice Gerent of Christ, etc. etc. ignored all the words coming from his plainly frightened generals and courtiers. He knew he was outnumbered. Only a mere glance showed that unlike the Normans, the German army was likely every bit as confident and disciplined as the Romanoi, so victory was not likely.

In Manuel’s mind, there was no need to continually cluck over the facts that were patently obvious. Instead, one should work on finding a solution.

All morning Manuel had personally looked about at the terrain around them, hoping that Italy itself could offer some salvation. The ground was flat, perfect for cavalry – altogether horrible for a Romanoi defense. Manuel had considered his options regarding his prisoners. He thought about handing Bohemond over to the Germans, but the wretched Norman king had the nerve to die of pleurisy two days before. Young Robert, barely 13, was now King of Sicily and an imperial prisoner. He had a future, and thus couldn’t be handed to the Germans.

Manuel’s mind wrestled with his options as everyone else panicked, and slowly a plan came together in his mind. A few minutes later, right as Georgios was yet again bemoaning the lack of Imperial cavalry, Manuel spoke.

“I’m going to ride out to meet him,” Manuel said simply.

“What, Your Majesty?” his page asked in horror.

“Brother, don’t be foolish,” Demetrios counseled. Yet Manuel didn’t hear their words. All he saw before him was the vast clearing between the two armies, and a chance for a bold solution to the problem ahead of them.

A solution that didn’t involve his 17,000 attempting to take on twice their number.

“Georgios,” Manuel spoke over the naysayers, “go and fetch me a flag of truce. Run over to the German lines and tell them I wish to speak to Hermann, directly. Demetrios, I’m going to need an escort – ten of your best riders will suffice, in the best armor and raiments you can find on such short notice.”

Both the Megos Domestikos and Manuel’s personal manservant looked at each other quizzically, before bowing and dashing off to see to his demands.




A full hour later Manuel and his small escort sat gamely on their saddles, halfway between the two great armies drawn up for battle. It had been a tense five or ten minutes before the front ranks of the German army broke open as well, and Manuel had caught is first glimpse of his erstwhile opponent.

To say that Herman, King of the Romans and Emperor of the Western Empire was a giant among men was an understatement. The German easily stood some six and a half feet tall, taller than Charlemagne, so tall that despite riding an immense stallion his stirrups hung low to the ground. He came out dressed in armor, the raiments of war, not the fine robes of the Easterners. Manuel instantly saw the message that was being sent – to Hermann’s men he was their commander, their lord of war. Likely he’d spent so much money maintaining his magnificent army he probably couldn’t maintain imperial clothing befitting his station.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hermann rumbled as he and his own escort trotted to within earshot.

“Imperial Majesty!” Manuel called, forsaking protocol for a second. Technically the Emperor of the East was the senior of two, and should have been addressed first. Manuel hoped Hermann would understand the signal as a sign of what would follow. “Greetings!”

“Hail Caesar,” Hermann grumbled half-heartedly as his horse drew nose to nose with Manuel’s.

“Come, Majesty. Let us discuss our differences as men of Christ, not men of war,” Manuel gestured off to the left, away from the ears of pages and escorts. The words had been carefully couched and picked.

“And what if you have some ruse?” Hermann asked darkly. “I’ve heard of your reputation, Majesty.”

“And what if I had some ruse?” Manuel shrugged. “It would be useless. Majesty, look at the differences between us – I am no physical slouch among men, yet you are literally a mountain. I have no doubt if we lived in more barbarous times you would be capable of literally rending me limb from limb. What do you, a mountain among mere foothills, have to fear from me, the most average of all?”

Manuel watched and smiled as the Western Emperor’s face went slightly red. Manuel had offered a compliment, stated the obvious and called out his compatriot. If Hermann did not accede, in the eyes of those gathered here he would look to be a coward. And while one or two Germans might keep a secret, Manuel knew the twenty escorts Hermann had brought could not.

After a moment, the German Emperor gestured off to the left, and the two rode away from their escorts and towards privacy.


“Why?” Manuel finally said, gesturing towards the splendid German army gathered. Even discounting its numbers it was easily the most fearsome military force Manuel had ever seen. Perfectly equipped, vast in number. “Why is such a fearsome host here in southern Italy, rather than further north cowing the Italian princes and German dukes?”

“Because of that splendid host,” Hermann pointed towards the Romanoi, making Manuel laugh.

“Your army is here merely to take on mine?”

“My army is here to enforce a settlement to the question of southern Italy,” Hermann said sharply.

“Robert has already made peace with me,” Manuel smiled thinly.

“At the point of a sword,” Hermann said gruffly. “I propose a more honorable settlement.”

“And what if I want the current settlement? That I rule all of southern Italy in the name of Romanion?”

Hermann shifted in his saddle and sighed. He looked bored. “Then I will be forced to do the unfortunate thing and annihilate you here on the battlefield, and curry Papal favor for the rest of my reign.”

“Ah, that possible, even likely considering our current circumstances,” Manuel said with an ironic smile. It was the obvious, perhaps even an understatement. “However, that would do you and yours far more harm than good.”

Manuel’s smile became genuine when Hermann sat up in the saddle. Good. He had his attention.

“How is that?” the German emperor rumbled. “How is me embarrassing the East and proving we are equals in poor form for myself or my sons? How is showing your arrogant Greek ass that we Westerners are far better in battle bad for my progeny? How…”

“Am I your greatest enemy?” Manuel raised an eyebrow, cutting off the other Emperor.

Hermann stopped in mid sentence, then blinked. “What?”

“Am I your greatest enemy? Who has caused you and yours the most trouble over the course of your reign? Has it been the Eastern Empire?”

“No…” Hermann’s voice trailed off. “You are my enemy now…”

Manuel rolled his eyes. The uncouth German really couldn’t see what he was getting at. Very well, the Greek would spell it out for the barbarian. “Who has funding and encouraged your opponents, from the Dukes of Bavaria to the magisters of Northern Italy? Who has constantly sought to check the power of the Western Emperors, so he doesn’t lose his own? In short, Hermann, my cousin, who is you greatest enemy?”

“The Pope…” the German Emperor said quietly.

“What concessions did he give you?” Manuel sighed. “A few excommunications? Recognition for your son? A promise on lay investiture?” Manuel’s horse snorted, the only noise that broke the silence. “You know he does this because I’m here – because Romanion is here,” Manuel gestured to his army. “As soon as we’re gone, and as soon as you’ve recrossed the Alps, Innocent, like the Popes before him, will renege his word, and you’ll be bereft of any leverage on him.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Hermann asked in the same quiet tone. Manuel could see in the man’s great eyes he was weighing his fellow Emperor’s words. The Greek smiled – he knew he had him.

“Because, if Romanion remains in southern Italy, Rome will always be under threat, and if Rome is always under threat…”

“I’ll always get concessions?” Herman growled. The Western Emperor had realized where Manuel was going.

“Exactly. The greatest thorn in the side of the Western Empire will be brought to heel, as a mangy cur runs to its master at the first clap of thunder,” Manuel said simply. Hermann frowned – it’d been apparent he’d be hoping for some diplomatic humiliation for his erstwhile opponent. It was apparent now that such a humiliation would harm Hermann as much, if not more than Manuel.

“I see,” was all the King of the Romans said quietly.

“You need me here, Majesty,” Manuel said with simplicity and frankness. “You have me at a disadvantage, but you need me in southern Italy.”

“But I cannot simply let you simply ‘take’ southern Italy,” Hermann suddenly looked up. That mind was in gear again, much to Manuel’s chagrin. “I must save face as well, and look like I accomplished something.” It was Hermann’s turn to smile.

Manuel sighed. Here, he knew he was stuck, and the German had a point. If Hermann marched away from here leaving Manuel with all of the south of Italy, it would be taken as a sign of weakness by his great lords, and the Pope might call on one of them to depose such a weak and Orientally-friendly ruler.

“What if I make Robert the titular Prince of Apulia?” Manuel asked. As a member of the dynatoi on paper Robert would still rule, save on behalf of the Romans. In practice, Manuel already had planned on sending his cousin Zeno to actually rule the province. It would look as if Manuel had given a concession to the Western Emperor, bolstering Hermann’s position – Manuel cared less about what the dynatoi thought. They were cowed and afraid of him, so he thought. “Robert would still rule, the Normans would officially be in control. The Pope would have to call for Te Deums throughout your realm and thank you for keeping me from taking all of Italy. Yet His Holiness would know who the true rulers of south Italy were, and he would supplicate to you accordingly.”


Hermann slowly ran a great hand through his immense beard in thought.

“Give the item some thought, cousin,” Manuel said coldly. Time to ratchet up the pressure. “It would serve both our purposes, and keep us from having to seek a bloody decision on the field. You have a larger army than me, but trust in this, Your Majesty, I will maul your forces so horribly you couldn’t keep a cow in line in Germany, let alone the great dukes.”

Hermann was still silent for only a second longer, before he nodded.

“Agreed,” the King of the Romans said quietly.

“Agreed?” Manuel raised an eyebrow, before he smiled. “Ah, with such innocuous words great decisions are made.” The Emperor visibly relaxed, before holding out his hand. “We shall work together then, as comrades in Christ and the Imperial diadem.”

Manuel’s hand was fairly engulfed in that of the German. “So we shall. Though, if we are to be friends, even partners, I would be remiss if I did not mention something. His Holiness has been planning a counterstroke against you for some time,” Hermann said. “He has been in contact with the…”

“…Cuman?” Manuel raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Yes, I thought as much. Only opponents on our border other than you the Pope could be in discussions with. I already have some plans in the works for them….”

“And what of Naples?” the King of the Romans asked. “Duke Godfrey inexplicably broke his oath of fealty to King Bohemond when you Greeks invaded. Technically Naples belongs to no one right now…”

“What of Naples?” Manuel blew off the question, despite its importance. Naples was a part of the Duchy of Salerno, and was the single wealthiest city in the south of Italy. Basiliea’s father was the Duke of Salerno – and Manuel saw no reason to stir that hornet’s nest just yet. Godfrey was old, he was fat, his days were numbered. He could do as he liked for now. Manuel was sure of one thing.

Godfrey would not take the title King of Sicily. That was for Manuel, and Manuel alone…



Konstantinopolis, June 7th, 1953

“Andreas!”

Andreas Venizelos looked up, his face peering from amidst the sea of papers and books that covered his desk at the Imperial Archives in Constantinople. He’d already lost track of half of his notecards in the mess, and part of him cursed. His dissertation was already unwieldy, and the helpful archivists, by bringing even more documents every day, were unwittingly adding to his misery.

“Yes?” the doctoral student called. With some effort he managed to clear the notecards from his lap so he could stand.

Approaching him was Konstantin Demertzis, one of the better known of the invisible archivists in the state archives, and a chief component of the overwhelming amount of research material Andreas now had to dig through. To Andreas’ amazement and relief, Konstantin only had a single volume in his hand, and at the pace the old man was running, it must have been something important.

“Andreas,” Konstantin said breathlessly as he came up, “I found it!”

“Found what?”

“The final key to your research into the Manueline government!” Konstanin fairly wheezed as he handed the document over to the young researcher.

“Is a small dispatch book from an Imperial Spy in southern Russia, then known as Cumania,” Demertzis said in awe. Gently the archivist blew dust off of the cover of the cover. “No one has been in here to look at this in ages… I only came across it by accident when cataloguing the contents of its fond and folio yesterday. I thought you could use it in your research.”

Venizelos was too engrossed in the small volume in his hands to hear any of the words the archivist might have been saying. It had been well established that for centuries the Imperial government had a well organized and maintained intelligence machine, as far back as the days of Justinian. But it was a rare treat for a historian to come across evidence such as this. Unable to restrain himself, Venizelos carefully opened the book, which fell open:


So Manuel has managed to beguile Hermann into an arrangement, and he has taken care of the Cuman threat. Will letting it publicly be known that he has assassinated a fellow head of state come back to haunt him, or will it have the desired effect of cowing all of the enemies on his borders? And what will Basiliea have to say about this arrangement – her goal was to get her father as King of Sicily, not to have him reduced to an independent duke and little else? All of this and more when Rome AARisen continues.

A final note: The book style presentation has been borrowed from A Pictorial Lesson in the Art of Dynasty: Blood, Power et Conquest . Its a new AAR, and I really really like the graphics presentation in it (my imitation does it very poor service). I'd urge all of you, if you haven't already, to take a look!

Ksim3000 - Time and patience permitting, I'd love to run this narrative all the way up until 1400 (or at least 1300 when some interesting things happened) and then into EU3.

As for the little homage thing, its something I'm hoping to continue every now and then during my updates, trying to do a different AAR's style I find fun, or interesting. If anyone has any recommendations on one I should look at, let me know!

Fulcrumvale - The Turks are still getting their act together, but believe me, they strike back with a vengeance in the future. Devastating vengeance...

Chief Ragusa - Manuel'll have the problem of an angry wife on his hands. Basiliea's goal was to get her father made King of the Normans... not her husband...

canonized - My skills are getting better with practice, but the book thing is nothing compared to 2coats'.

Enewald - A new patriarch gets appointed once Rome is actually in Byzantine hands... and yes I agree... there's too much white on that map...

Nikolai - When I first saw Vice Gerent, I thought it was a typo as well, until I looked up Gerent and found its an actual word, meaning something akin to lord or steward. So the actual title I had been rendering before as Vice-Regent is actuall Vice-Gerent. XD

English Patriot - Manuel only pointed out the obvious, and pointing out the obvious is the best way to get someone to come to your side...

Oh... and as to where I was this weekend. My boyfriend and I went up to Chicago to see the "Distant Worlds" symphonic concert in Rosemont. All the songs played by the symphony were parts of the Final Fantasy video game series. While I'd never played Final Fantasy before in my life (my boyfriend is addicted) it was an amazing time, and the music was utterly fantastic (it was performed by the Chicagoland Pops Orchestra). He also got me a CD of all the music.

Other than that, we stayed at a schwanky hotel, went up and saw the sights of Chicago and in general took two days off from the hectic business of life for some fun time. It was great... I highly recommend if that concert stops by near you (its a world tour) to think about going to see it! Chicago itself was, as always, magnificent.

Ksim3000 - I have no idea what Manuel's theme would be... something dark but regal I imagine...

The CD is music from the orchestral versions of the music... most of the songs, from what I understand, come from 6-10. They did a medley of music from the first three, but IIRC, 12 was not used at all. They also did a couple pieces in concert that aren't on the CD.

I think they might have already made their European stop already - the CD was filmed at their performance in Stockholm, and from what I understand, the Chicago performance was their only one in the States.

canonized - I have only a signed book, my boyfriend has a signed book and CD case. Mr. Uematsu seemed rather stunned at the enthusiastic reaction he got (whenever the crowd even thought they saw him he got a standing ovation). He was very polite, though he seemed rather confused by the cos-people that showed up in force. The conductor was fun to meet as well - he really got into the music!


Hopefully tomorrow night I'll have a small update for all of you!

Seven years later... April 18th, 1152

Taranto

Zeno Komnenos sighed and looked at the tall, dark man standing next to him. The domestikos of Apulia and Calabria had been raised in Greece by parents who spoke Greek, but like them he was near coal black. In Zeno's mind, Thomas Demertzis would always been a Nubian.

"How many?" the Logothetes and titular ruler of southern Italy asked.

"About forty," Demertzis pointed to the plaza below the Palace of Taranto, seat of Imperial power. Below, merchants in stalls blithely continued their business, ignoring a small group of people only now pushing into the plaza, their voices raised in a chant the distance distorted into mere noise.

"Rowdy Normans," Zeno hissed between his teeth. Manuel had explained that the post of Logothetes of the two newest themes in Romanion would be highly prestigious, yet now, after seven years of suppressing intransgient Norman nobles, flushing out brigands and bandits, Zeno saw what this post truly was.

Exile.

Thats what this "rewarding" post had been. Zeno was no fool. Apulia and Calabria were rich, yes. They were prestigious, yes. They were also far removed from Konstantinopolis. The themes would undoubtedly become extremely important if war broke out in Italy, but since the agreement between East and West, an uneasy peace had reigned - so Zeno gained little real, military power on that front.

Indeed, Hermann and Manuel annually exchanged gifts, had permanent legations in each other's court, and publicly proclaimed the "unity of the eastern and western halves of the Empire," but even the dullest courtier would know such an arrangement would be short-lived at best. So long as the Pope was wedged between the two they needed each other. If the Papacy ever backed down...

Zeno winced as the noise of the rabble-rousers grew louder. Most of the marketplace looked on in confusion or amusement at the small band of trouble-makers, but the Logothetes saw more and more were joining the small throng. He turned to the local domestikos and nodded.

As orders were relayed, the small throng slowly grew more and more. Zeno watched with halfhearted interest, his mind lost in thought. The cries were becoming more audible now, and Zeno made out several words in broken Greek about taxes and war. He grumbled - so word of the upcoming Cuman expedition had already been leaked.

"Logothetes!" Zeno heard someone shout in such horrific Greek it made the cries of the protesters below seem as elegant as Aristotle. Zeno turned, and despite his annoyance, bowed to his titular master.

Robert de Hauteville was a gangly lad, and at 20, was still in the spring of youth. His dark locks were cut short, and he still was without a beard. To a Greek from Konstantinopolis he might have seemed to be the thing of youthful beauty, but in the eyes of other Normans he was a beardless boy. His constant jousting, merrymaking, and general debauchery didn't help his reputation at all amongst his fellow Normans, and kept him isolated from his Greek speaking subjects. Which was all fine with Zeno, who smiled as Robert ambled onto the battlements. The young man never walked, he ambled. He gave off an air of casualness that went completely against what a noble would need - another point the older, more experienced Greek used against him. As Logothetes of Apulia, Zeno's concentration of power was absolute. So long as Robert was able to feast, joust, and wench as he wanted, he was absolutely content to let the Greek rule.

"What's all of this hullabaloo about?" the Norman snapped in an arrogant tone.


"News has gotten out that His Majesty is raising taxes to allegedly prosecute a war against the Cuman," Zeno said simply. "Obviously, some of the people are displeased."

In 1147, Sircan had unexpectedly assumed the title of Khagan of the Cumans after the assassination of Pulad. For the first three years, Sircan had been a pliant and fearful toy of the Basilieus, but like all men who were used, he had become resentful. The Romanoi had intercepted letters from the Khagan to the Pope, the German Emperor, the Poles, and even the Rus asking for aid in launching a surprise attack on Romanion. Zeno knew that much - as the true ruler of Apulia and Calabria, his cousin had kept him informed on that scale.

Zeno could guess the rest.

Emissaries were likely already in places as diverse as Krakow, Novgorod and Aachen, cajoling and reminding said rulers of their Christian loyalty, and doubtlessly dropping subtle hints that what befell Pulad could easily happen in any of those cities, should the Emperor feel threatened. The military buildup was only the second part of the plan - if Zeno was in Manuel's place, he'd launch a pre-emptive strike against the Cuman, hitting them hard when they didn't expect it.

A war, however, meant many things for Zeno himself - chiefly that his cousin would likely not be in Konstantinopolis but in Cumania, managing the Imperial war effort. And an absent Emperor always meant plotting - especially when the absent Emperor's wife was as skilled, and upset, as Basiliea Komnenos, nee de Hauteville.

From what Zeno had been able to piece together, the Empress had thought her husband was marching to Italy to set her father on the Norman throne, not claim it himself. The formerly blissful marriage had descended into snarling brawls. Zeno had no doubt Basiliea's days were numbered, but the woman was clearly too bullheaded to realize her impending fate. That could be the only reason the Empress was coming shortly to Bari. On paper, it was an official state visit - the Duke of Campania would be arriving as well, and it would be the first chance for father and daughter to see each other since Basiliea's departure for Konstantinopolis.

And, Zeno assumed, a place where they would plot their way out of their current predicament - Manuel as King of the Normans, Godfrey as a vassal of the Pope for his own protection, and Basiliea betrayed by her husband. Disloyalty such as this could be easily harnessed by those in the know...

"So it is true then? A war? Splendid!" the Norman practically giggled, interrupting Zeno's thoughts. The closest Robert had come to battle had been as a page to his uncle Tancred at Cannae. He'd been captured along with then King Bohemond and the rest of the baggage train - the perfect kind of person who cheered and rejoiced at the onset of conflict.

Zeno watched disinterestedly as the local city militia broke apart he rioters with ease. Godfrey and Basiliea's visit meant an opportunity to intrigue - and the time was perfect to make several moves now that she had clearly fallen out of favor with her husband. Manuel had sent both of her sons with her - 7 year of Basilieos and 5 year old Niketas. The two were the likely heirs to Manuel's crown - the only true impediment to Zeno and the position of Kaisar. Demetrios had long made it clear he did not want the position, Ignatios was ineligible, and Romanos was clearly unqualified. Manuel's own son Demetrios was also clearly not the proper material for the throne - his lisp and stutter made men laugh behind his back, not tremble in fear before him.

"When do we embark for Konstantinopolis?" Robert pressed, annoying his Logothetes.

"You will embark for Konstantinopolis, when deployment orders arrive," Zeno said quietly. "Rest assured, Highness, I will manage your estates well when you leave for Cumania." Robert wouldn't care if Zeno pilfered the provincial treasury, plotted, or schemed. The young man was too caught up in his romantic images of chivalric battle. Numbers were already running through Zeno's head, and the Komnenos prince smiled at his puppet - with the province treasury as his playground, and Basiliea and the young boys in the city, he could make a play for power in earnest.

"Things will be well in hand," Zeno smiled.


"Is that Italy?" Niketas Komnenos, already styled the Prince of Abydos pointed towards the distant shore as the Imperial dromon carrying the two heirs and their mother slowly plied its way through the Mediterranean waves. Niketas was short and pudgy, as all five year olds were prone to be. He spoke with the slightest of lisps, something that his tutors and mother worked constantly to suppress during his lessons. Bright blue eyes looked expectantly at the boy next to him.

"I think so," a taller boy next to him lied. Unlike his brother, seven year old Basilieios, Prince of Thrace, was thin for his age, almost rangy. His brown eyes seemed perennially serene, despite the constant cough that had troubled him for well over a year. He squinted into the distance, but he couldn't make out what his brother had seen. Niketas always had better eyesight than his elder brother. That wasn't saying much - Basilieos always had to squint when he was looking at anything. "It's been what - a month's sail from Konstantinopolis?"


"It was longer I think," Niketas grumbled. Like all children, he was impatient. When he turned five, his father had given him a wooden practice blade to start training. The sword was broken before nightfall after Niketas had engaged in a duel with imaginary 'Turks' that were really the columns leading to his bedchambers.

"I bet it is Italy," Basilieos said, before looking up towards the sun. Basilieos had no such impatience. His perennial sickness meant he couldn't train with blades, and he'd shown a general disdain for books, or reading in general. He acted as if such activity was beneath him, when it fact reading, even Greek, was horrifically difficult. He wasn't stupid - far from it. In only a month at sea he'd picked up on how sailors told time, and by the sun's angle, he guessed it was near noon. A deep, ragged cough came from his throat. "I think we'll see for sure by nightfall."

"Do you think grandpapa will be nice?" Niketas asked. "Will he have presents? Is he a monster like Papa says other Normans are?"

"I don't think Grandpapa will be a monster," Basilieos scoffed. "Who told you that?"

"My tutor said that Normans were monsters who took things from..."

"Your tutor is a fool," Basilieos pronounced harshly. "Mama says we should be more afraid of papa's cousin Zeno than any Normans..."