Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR

October 18th, 1152


Demetrios sighed, scratched out the line he had written, and started again. Evangelos his tutor wouldn’t have been pleased at the uncleanness of the assignment, but Demetrios didn’t care. His foot was hurting fiercely.

Demetrios Komnenos the Youngest (as he was called) had been born with a litany of problems. When he came from Yeva’s womb at first he had refused to cry, and thus breathe. One of his feet was larger than the other, leaving him with a limping gait and unable to fight on foot (he could spar from horseback with a special set of stirrups. When he was three a long and dangerous fever struck him, leaving him deaf and dumb for some months.

Add to this the pronounced lisp he had from his cruelly shaped lip and general grotesqueness, there was no doubt in the minds of his father, the court, even Demetrios himself, that he would never reign as Emperor.

So the eleven year old, outside of his tutoring was left to himself. His physical looks hid from the view of many, even his tutors, a curious mind. In his free time he had taken to reading Pythagoras and other works on mathematics, even works in Arabic. He could already speak three languages, and was teaching himself Persian for fun. He’d much rather been doing that than writing this droll assignment for Evangelos on the history of the Empire.

Distantly, through the window of his study, the Prince heard a strange noise. It repeated itself, sounding like distant words carried by the wind. Looking for an excuse to leave his work, Demetrios heaved himself onto his feet, and limped out into the hallway.

Idle time meant that the Prince knew almost all of the secret passages through the palace, and he slowly clambered up one to reach the palace roof overlooking the Augustan forum. To his surprise, people were already there – the commander of the tagma guarding the Imperial Palace, the citypraetor, among others. No one seemed to notice or care the prince was there, they were all too busy looking towards the entrances to the forum.

From all sides, a huge crowd was advancing, and Demetrios realized the sounds he’d heard on the wind had been their cries, muffled by the blocking bulk of the palace. Now, unobstructed, they assaulted his ears.

“Who are they?” Demetrios asked, his voice rising in concern.

No one paid him any attention. The cries grew louder, and now the Prince could make out the harshness, the anger in their voices. Their words rose like thunder, cascading over him.

“Monohagioekklisia! Monohagioekklisia!”

“Why are they chanting one holy church?” Demetrios asked, oblivious to the fear in the eyes of everyone around. Servants dashed to and fro, and the members of the remaining Nubiatakoi tagma dashed to the front gates of the palace. Finally, the young prince felt a hand grab his, and a sharp, impolite tug.

“Hey!” the boy yelped.

“Pardon me, Majesty,” he heard his chief manservant, a Macedonia named Hippos, “but you are not safe here!”

“Not safe? In the palace?” Demetrios asked confused. With Hippos’ strong grip, however, the prince had no choice but to follow the larger man around. Quickly the two went through the intricate web of halls and corridors. Nubiatakoi dashed the opposite direction. Demetrios thought he could hear shouting behind them, and the clang of metal.

“Hippos! What is happening!?”

Finally the two burst into the sunlight, under the shadow of the palace walls that overlooked the Sea of Marmara. A small skiff, with several guards, oarsmen, and a few servants, lay waiting.

“Go Highness!” Hippos shoved his charge towards the skiff. “Go!”

Demetrios stumbled towards the small boat, the noise of shouting growing louder and louder. Strong hands gripped the weak prince and pulled him into the boat. No sooner had his feet cleared the sides of the boat, it shoved off from the shore, the oarsmen pulling with all their might. Demetrios Komnenos scrambled inside the boat, trying to orient himself. When he finally was upright and peered over the bulkhead, his eyes went wide.

Flames and smoke poured from the Great Palace, as the shouts of a riotous city greeted his young ears.



November 22nd, 1152

Basilieus Manuel Komnenos had been in a rather jubilant mood – something difficult to do in the desolate region of Tmutarakan – or at least he had been, until a messenger arrived with grave news from the capital.

The mobs were loose.

“Great Palace burned,” Manuel hissed, tossing the message aside. “Same with numerous noble villas. Gennadius said that he escaped the city by his bare teeth, and Anathasios did not!”

The Megos Domestikos, Manuel’s brother Demetrios the Younger, winced. Anathasios was the old Patriarch of Alexandria that Manuel had rescued from the clutches of the Normans all those years ago. A search for another Patriarch, especially in the midst of attempting to get the church to reconvene the Synod after violent protest, would be grueling.

Fortunately for Manuel, it wasn’t like he had the time now.

Since the Emperor’s arrival at Tmurtarakan some eight months ago, his opponent had run what would generously be described as a foolish campaign. The great Asalup almost fifty years before knew the key to beating the Romanoi was to draw them into the wide, empty steppes of Cumania, before encircling and cutting off their army. Sircan did no such thing, instead charging towards the coast with his vast forces.

Manuel’s counter to this unexpected, yet welcome development was to fight like a Cuman himself. Most of his infantry went to garrisoning the coastal fortresses, while the Emperor with the lighter cavalry tagma of the Imperial Guard thundered north, towards the Khagan’s summer camp near the Volga. The seizure of the vast camp allowed the Emperor to take a large portion of the Khagan’s family hostage, all of the hoard of booty the Cumans had gathered from raiding for a century, as well most of the Khagan’s younger foals. Laden down with booty, the Emperor turned and rode back towards the Sea of Azov, deftl avoiding the now desperate Sircan’s attempts to intercept his columns.


Once he reached the coast, Manuel reformed his army, sending messengers north to find Sircan and bring to him a proposal – Konstantinopolis would keep all the booty that had been captured, and would take control of the northern coast of the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov in perpetuity. Manuel would return all the summer foals to the Cuman, who without them would be unable to breed new horses. To enforce this agreement, half of the hostages taken would be kept in Konstantinopolis, to be returned as Cuman ‘good behavior’ showed their trustworthiness.

In truth, considering the position the Romanoi had Sircan in, it was a modest proposal – Manuel could have attempted to enforce a Romanoi claim up the Volga, but the Emperor saw no need. The steppes would never be a place the Romanoi belonged – to hard to control, to hard to maintain, and too few settled peoples to tax. The Cumans were welcome to the wasteland. Romanion only needed to control all the ports to control and tax whatever goods the Cumans wished to sell.

Only two days before the solemn news of the destruction in the capital, Sircan had replied in the affirmative. The Black Sea was now a Greek Sea:


The Emperor had been hoping to hold a triumph to celebrate this unprecedented victory over the Cuman, but the Konstantinopolis mob had undone that.

“We can reschedule the triumph, after we deal with the rabble,” Manuel grunted. The flap of the tent opened, and a cupbearer entered, bowed, and offered two goblets of wine to the brothers.

“How do you plan to do that?” Demetrios asked, taking one of the goblets with a nod to the boy.

“Same way Justinian fixed things after the Nika/i] riots,” Manuel said grimly. “Lure the mob into the Hippodrome and let you along with five tagma slaughter them as an example.”

Demetrios made a sour face. “Ugly business.”

“Killing traitors and scoundrels is never an ugly business,” the Emperor said, reaching for a cup of his own. Manuel’s instincts told him to look at the boy, and suddenly the Emperor stopped in mid-reach. There was a twitch in the cupbearers eyes. Manuel frowned, and reached over, taking Demetrios’ cup from his hand. “Don’t drink that.”

“…what?” Demetrios was caught by surprise.

“Boy,” the Emperor said calmly, sniffing the wine and smiling, “who taught you that hellbane belongs inside spiced wine?”

Demetrios’ and the cupbearer’s eyes both went wide. Before the young boy could even open his mouth, the Emperor’s blade flashed out of its scabbard and arced down on the poor man. The boy howled in pain as the flat of the Emperor’s sword cracked across his face, breaking his nose in a bloody spray.

“Who sent you?” Manuel said calmly, setting himself between the cupbearer and the entrance to the tent. He flicked his sword so the point of the blade now hovered only inches from the cupbearer’s neck.

“I…”

“What makes you think he was sent?” Demetrios asked in alarm.

“The Palace burned by a sudden mob? Now this miscreant tries to poison us?” Manuel snapped, before turning his attention to the still stammering boy. “Please don’t claim you did it yourself,” Manuel rolled his eyes. “You are a minor boy, I doubt it never crossed your mind until someone gave you coin.” The point of the blade slowly drifted down the length of the boy’s torso. “Tell me who did it, and I might not have you castrated before you die…”

The boy’s lower lip quivered, his body shaking like a leaf. Manuel slipped the blade forward just a bit – enough to poke, but not break the skin. The boy yelped, and began to talk.

He did not know much. He could only tell the Emperor who paid him, a eunuch in the army named Belisarius. Within the hour Belisarius was on am improvised rack, and more names were spoken. The process continued, all through the night, the Emperor personally supervising the torture and steadily piecing things together. By the time the sun rose in the morning, two things were readily apparent.

A rebellion was afoot, it’s size unknown, and its instigator was one Basiliea Komnenos…

The tagmata would march south to the ships on the morrow. And from there, they would sail south...

...to Konstantinopolis.

The Great Rebellion of 1152. Provinces marked in purple are those still loyal to Manuel and willing to support him with troops. Those in blue are those who are neutral in the conflict, while those in yellow and orange are provinces that in some way, are actively against the Emperor. The new Principality of Georgia, seeking to recreate the Georgian Empire that disappeared in the late 11th century, has joined with the rebels.

=========== ===========​

So the rebellion has started, and even gotten out of hand. Was it Basiliea's intentions to have the riot grow so out of control? How will others react to the death of a Patriarch? Will Manuel be able to restore order, and defeat the rebellious dynatoi in battle? More will be revealed next time!

Enewald - Manuel probably won't be using the hashashin anytime soon - if only because the lessons of Hajnal have sunk into Byzantine politics. At some point in the near future I'm going to do another series of updates on the Byzantine army - the Varangoi are still there, they're just one tagma of about 17 in the Imperial Guard...

AlexanderPrimus - Welcome to the AAR! Yeah... best time to pick a fight with someone like Manuel is when they're distracted. Though picking a fight with someone like Manuel isn't good for one's health if Manuel wins. You know he won't take any prisoners...

Lord Valentine - Keep in mind, there are a lot of provinces that are "neutral." You can be sure that both sides will be trying to recruit them. As someone already noted, the Bulgarian provinces could prove especially crucial...
And a little "R.D." trait developing certainly wouldn't help matters...

Estonianzulu - Indeed. What'll Zeno's reaction be? And what about the other Komnenid princes? Romanos and Ignatios had lands right on the frontier of the rebellious princes in Armenia and Georgia... their reaction could be crucial.

Chief Ragusa - Manuel's quickly getting a reputation as his father's son, if far more devious and "not" deified by the populace. He'll need all of that skill in the coming months and years.

Fulcrumvale - The boy himself didn't know everything... he knew only the local man who had paid him. That man knew people higher up, and so interrogations went until the Emperor pieced things together. Manuel's a natural plotter, so he easily could fill in blanks other people might've overlooked.

Lordling - There's a fine line between being calm and sociopathic. Manuel flirts with it all the time. That said, its doubtful he could fight if all the tagmata were arrayed against him. He obviously has the Imperial Guard, but it only musters perhaps 40-50,000 spread all over the Empire. The thematakoi might not be as disciplined as the Imperial Guard, but they are far more numerous (in game, the Byzantine Empire was capable of marshalling some 600,000 at this point... at ruinous expense of course. To field the entire personal units of the Emperor tended to bleed the treasury utterly dry in a year or so).

canonized - Indeed. Basiliea's organized what Hajanl couldn't dream of... the big question, is a) will it be enough to defeat Manuel, and b) can she keep it from careening out of control?

Cyreidel - Believe me, if he gets his hands on Basiliea at this point, the results won't be pretty. They'll probably also be spread over several provinces as well.

VILenin - Exactly... if those Bulgarian and Wallachian provinces go to the rebels, the game could very well be up for Manuel.

Next update will likely be up Monday or Tuesday, Monday being more likely!

November 8th, 2003

Dr. Gregorii Sviatik groaned as he looked up at all the bodies that clustered into the lecture hall. Attendance had been high for the lectures on Demetrios Megos, and the titillation of Nikolaios and all the rumors and euphemisms in the historical text kept a crowd, but to his surprise, the dark reputation of Emperor Manuel didn’t seem to hold their attention. Attendance was lower than he’d expected – he nodded to his four T.A.’s, there would be pop quizzes this week.

“Good morning class,” Sviatik said, testing his mic. The restless noise of the class died away. “So we’ve gone past the Italian War, and the Cuman campaign. As we said, the fall of 1152 was a momentous event for the Empire. We’ve already discussed the factors that led to the event – the proposed reforms to the church, the general discontent of the dynatoi, and the plotting of the Empress Basiliea and her father.

So, where we left off, Emperor Manuel had just received word of the burning of the Great Palace. Rebels in Konstantinopolis had also razed numerous noble villas, and beaten the Patriarch of Alexandria to death. Emperor Manuel’s response was typical for such a dark Emperor – he immediately sailed for Konstantinopolis at the head of his army.”

“Dr. Sviatik?” one of the students near the front raised his hand. Sviatik ran through several names, before arrving at the right one.

“Yes, Simon?” Simon always had a particular interest in the military minutae of whatever the subjet of lecture was that day.

“Was Manuel march with the same type of army as Demetrios Megos?”

“No,” Sviatik wasn’t surprised. “Manuel’s army at the start of the campaign was mostly Imperial tagmata, but most of them were lighter troops. It is not until later in the campaign when the heavier units, especially the heavier infantry units. Now,” Sviatik went back to his notes, “Manuel fell back on an old tactic when arriving in Konsantinopolis to deal with the local rebels. For several days, the Emperor did not act, instead fortifying his position at the Blacharnae Palace.”

“Five days after his arrival, and only three days before Christmas, 1152, Manuel announced that he would offer a general amnesty to all who had participated in the riots. To receive the amnesty they would have to come to the Hippodrome the day before Christmas to receive absolution from the Patriarch. Duly, some 30,000 residents of Konstantinopolis arrived on the appointed day, to only find an imperial herald mounting the central spine of the Hippodrome. Does anyone know what he said?”

Silence hung in the hall for several minutes, until a girl near the back timidly raised her hand. Sviatik didn’t know her name, so he simply pointed.

“Didn’t he say that rebelling against the Emperor was rebelling against Christ and an unforgivable sin?”

That was a radical oversimplification, but the fist was accurate.

“Yes – that’s roughly what he said,” Sviatik nodded. “After the herald’s announcement, five tagmata surrounded the Hippodrome and proceeded to slaughter everyone inside – even man, woman and child. Manuel then had the heads of the rebels prominently displayed throughout the city, as a constant reminder to the others of the penalty for disobeying the Emperor.”


There was an audible wince in the class. Sviatik wanted to roll his eyes – there was a reason Manuel was known by his oft-used nickname “the Butcher.” It was material they should have read for lecture today.

“As a side note, the Emperor through his ally, Patriarch Gennadius, divorced his wife Basiliea and promptly took the young daughter of the Prince of Hellas, Ermisinde. So the Emperor had secured the capital city, but the rebellion was widespread. The Prince of Damietta and the Prince of Cyrenaica were both in rebellion. Samos and Kappadokia were attempting to marshal all of Anatolia and Bulgaria against the Emperor.”

“Manuel’s position was desperate – if the lords of Bulgaria turned on him as well, he would be faced with the armies of Samos, Kappadokia and Lykia marching towards him from the southeast, and the armies of Dorostorum, Varna, Vidin and Wallachia marching on him from the northwest. Manuel might have had the reputation as a martial emperor, but even he knew such odds would have been daunting for the Megos. So, can anyone tell me what Emperor Manuel did?”

“Yelled Uncle?”

Sviatik looked over his glasses at the wiseass. “Anyone have a serious answer?”

Simon’s hand was up again, “Wasn’t this where the Byzantine Emperors began losing central authority?”

Once again, a simplification, but Sviatik took what he could.

“Yes, in a way. Manuel began offering bribes to many of these dynatoi that refused to side with either party. The one that had the most long-lasting effect was that Manuel offered the Princes of Varna, Vidin and Dorostorum their position in perpetuity.”

“Weren’t many of the princes already hereditary?” another student from the middle rows asked.

“Many of the princely positions were de facto held by certain families, but the Emperor always had the right to appoint or fire the princes of themes as he saw fit. Manuel saw this power was eroding anyways. At the time the Emperor thought it was merely an empty promise. He didn’t realize where this mere offer would lead.”

“The process would continue over the course of his reign, in small, incremental steps – but this marks the beginning of the transition of the monarchy from an imperial, Roman institution to a feudal mess that would culminate with the disasters of the reign of Emperor Anastasios – but that is far in the future.”


“In the short term, however, Manuel’s bribes persuaded the all important Bulgarian and Wallachian dynatoi to side with the Emperor, and they added some 15,000 all important troops to Manuel’s cause – soldiers that would prove vitally important later on. Manuel also secured his European flank – the lone revolting themes in European Romanion were Istria and Butrinto, small themes that couldn’t muster 4,000 between them.”

“This allowed the Emperor to move quickly against the still gathering forces of Kappadokia and Samos with the forces he had - 10,000 of the 20,000 he returned from Cumania with. Any guesses as to why he could only bring half his army?”

“He left the rest to secure the capital?” a girl named Erin said. Sviatik remembered her – she had perpetually scored high on her exams.

“Exactly. Manuel was counting on his rapid advance to break his opponents. Between them, Samos and Kappadokia between them had almost double his number, well equipped and supplied. However, they were not yet united, and so the Emperor launched a sharp campaign later commanders would envy. Manuel rapidly crossed the Dardanelles, and first attacked the Prince of Samos’ forces as they landed near Smyrna. After defeating them in a sharp battle on March 8th, 1153, he then turned and surprised the Prince of Ankyra outside of Dorylaem two weeks later, where a powerful charge by the Hetaratoi cracked his opposition.”


“Yet all didn’t go well for the Emperor. Emperor Manuel was reliant on some dynatoi who aggressively acted ignorantly, or rushed to their own advantage in the perilous situation. Take the cases of his own relatives, the Komnenids. First, take the case of the Emperor’s brothers. Romanos and Ignatios Komnenos also rose to their brother’s defense – Romanos fielding a powerful army of 8,000 to which Metropolitan Ignatios and the Prince of Coloneia added some 10,000 more. Yet for all its impressive size and equipment, it faced the combined armies of who?”

“Georgia, Mesopotamia, Al Jazira,” the students mumbled in a indecipherable drone.

“Yes,” Sviatik resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. “Together they marshaled over 35,000 troops. Romanos arrogantly advanced against this superior force, and assaulted their positions outside of Mount Ararat.” Sviatik looked up towards the large clock at the side of the classroom. Five more minutes – this lecture would have to be continued. “Romanos was routed, and lost nearly half of his army. Quickly, can anyone tell me from your reading what happened further south?”

“Kosmas and Theodoros Komnenos?” Simon piped up.

“Yes! If you’ll remember, Alexios Komnenos had a brother named Isaakios, whose descendants still ruled as Princes of Antioch. Theodoros was prince of Antioch, and Kosmas was his brilliant brother and domestikos. The armies of Antioch marched south and defeated those of Galilee and the rebellious comes of Palestine in a pitched battle outside of Damascus.”

“While Kosmas won the decisive battle, Theodoros made a far-reaching decision. Leading a column down to Jerusalem, Theodoros took the Patriarch captive. Letters then flew to Konstantinopolis, with Theodoros asking the Emperor the price for the Isaakid Komnenids’ loyalty. Guess what that price was?”

“Hereditary rights to the title Prince of Antioch?” Simon said.

“Exactly. And what was the result?”

“More demands for hereditary status?”

“Yes,” Sviatik nodded. “More and more princes demanded hereditary status after the Komnenid princes…”

Sviatik’s voice was cut off by the shrill noise of the bell. The professor looked up in annoyance – yet another lecture that had run over.

“We’ll take this up next week, with the Emperor’s campaign into Egypt that next fall, the entrance of Apulia into the conflict and the infamous tragedy there, and Cardinal Rimini absconding with the Emperor’s eldest son…”


And with that, I’m off to bed. Today’s format was a general homage to the writing style of RGB in YeAAR's Education - A Russian Megacampaign - a wonderful AAR... especially its illustrations. While the CK component is done, I highly recommend everyone take a look at it (and the impending EU3 section as well)!

The characters of Kosmas and Theodoros come from another one of my favorite AARs, which also follows the development of a Komnenid Byzantium - A History of Byzantium. Kosmas and Theodoros are the two sons of Alexios, whose relationship has immense bearing on the future course of the Byzantine Empire. Another excellent read!