Enewald - Imagine that... East versus West, just like the good old days of the 4th century... XD And considering Thomas' disposition, no, I doubt he'd
hand his lands to Alexios... :rofl:
Dimmimar - Which is a scary thought. Should his two brothers die, as well as Enguerrand, Drogo and Louis, Alexios would basically inherit the entirety of the old Roman empire, save northern Italy. Now you can see why his mother, Alienor, will be appearing more in the story as time goes on. With David gone, who will be left to protect this little Imperial bundle?
Lord Valentine - Thomas' fortunes do depend on Mehtar, and Mehtar's good graces. Now, the thing is, does Mehtar realize Thomas needs his "good graces," or is he still sotten to the point he doesn't care? Add to the mix Rodrigo and Sophie... can they do anything about it? Will they, knowing Heraklios' heritage?
Ksim3000 - Someone who
likes Mehtar! Everyone else seems to be calling for his blood! And no, I'm not sure how you thought that... that picture of David I used once tagged to him, I've used several different pictures of Commodus from
Gladiator for Thomas, but not the pic I used for David (a very young Matt Dillon from about 20 years ago).
kalenderee - Drogo indeed has been
very quiet - he's been filling up people's purse strings, but thats it. With Basil's health declining and David dead, we can only imagine the French King is licking his lips at the opportunities... and cringing a bit looking at Alexios as well...
RGB -Long time no see! Viper's nest doesn't even begin to describe this family. Don't fear... more murder, mayhem, disasters and conquests are on the way!
February 21st, 1189
Heraklios Komnenos coughed.
It wasn’t the normal, light coughs he’d had seemingly since he could remember. This cough was so strong, it made him wince - a loud, deep, crouping noise, so loud it made the birds pecking at the seeds he’d tossed in the Imperial Gardens fly away with a squawk of alarm. The Prince sighed, and tossed aside the small plate of seeds in his hand. It was useless – he’d never see a European swallow if this kept up, and he’d never find out the answer to the mathematical riddle his mother had proposed that morning. He looked up at his companion in answering the question, annoyance in his eyes.
“They’ll come back, Heraklios,” she said. Anastasia Bataczes’s bright blue eyes were filled with promise, and despite his sour demeanor, Heraklios could not help but smile. She was good for one thing – she made him smile when he felt down.
Which seemed often. Heraklios knew his father was the most renowned swordsman in the world, the greatest general in history, if his tutors were to be believed – and yet he could not even swing a sword. By sight, he should have been able to – he’d inherited a frame that was thin, but so had Basil. His father had tried all sorts of martial training with him – he’d shown him the Varangian grip, the Italian grip, the Turkish grip, tried to teach him the staff, the mace, the bow – all to no avail. When his sickness took him, which happened far too often, Heraklios could hardly lift a sword, let alone conduct drills.
Basil Komnenos was far too good a man to disparage his son for something he once, long ago, could not do, but that hurt Heraklios even more. He constantly praised Heraklios’ abilities with his mind, his knowledge of Roman law, his ability to memorize names and faces far better than anyone in his family. Yet the ten year old boy wasn’t stupid, and despite all the encouraging noises his father made, he could read the disappointment in the old man’s eyes. Heraklios might become a formidable statesman, but he would always depend on another to wield the sword for him.
“I hope so,” the prince murmured, before coughing lightly this time. He looked over at the closest thing he had to a best friend. Anastasia Batazces was the daughter of Ioannis, head of the Batazces family and prince of Lykia, one of the most powerful of the old
dynatoi. Also ten, she’d been brought to Konstantinopolis to specifically meet the children of the other great families of the Empire. By coincidence, she, like Heraklios, was shy, and by chance the two hit it off. Whereas other children played polo and raced about together after lessons at the prestigious Palace School, Heraklios and Anastasia went off on their own.
“We should find something to do to pass the time till the birds come back,” Anastasia offered. Heraklios nodded.
Anastasia Batazces, Heraklios’ best friend
“Have you heard?” Anastasia hopped up on the stone bench next to Heraklios. “About your brother David?”
“I heard,” Heraklios looked down. One could hardly avoid hearing about it. It was the buzz of the court. Evidently this is what she took to mean ‘passing the time’ while the swallows came back – discussing something utterly morbid.
The Prince knew he should effect
some emotion, but he couldn’t. He was too young to remember David at all. His elder brother had been posted to Italy when he was five – Heraklios remembered a handsome man that smiled some and occasionally played with him. He loved polo, and Heraklios could barely remember watching his brother ride, and watching his grace in the saddle, wishing he could do the same. Part of him was a little sad – he wouldn’t see that riding figure ever again. Beyond that, however, he felt little for a brother he’d hardly met.
“They’re saying your other brother did it,” Anastasia added.
Heraklios merely nodded. He’d heard this as well, and like David, he did not know Thomas well either. The young man had left for Spain four years before, when Heraklios was six. He had vague, fuzzy memories of a tall man with dark hair that scowled at him often, and played swords far too roughly. In the prince’s mind, he wasn’t a murderer, or a brother really, just a hazy acquaintance – someone he was supposed to know, but never
knew.
“I doubt it,” Heraklios spoke up. He’d thought about it a lot in the two months since the news had arrived in Konstantinopolis, not as someone brooding over murder in his family, but as a problem, once that logic and the tools his mother had trained him to use could solve. “Thomas could gain a co-Emperorship through it, but they also say he’s a brute, and dimwitted,” Heraklios said bluntly, “brutes and dimwits aren’t clever enough to assassinate someone. They murder them in public. Besides, they found the snake there!”
“They did,” Anastasia scooted closer, as children are prone to do when they’re discussing the morbid, “but I heard it bit him
seven times. Normal snakes don’t do that! And the snake somehow got into his room, which was up a fifty foot tower!”
“Maybe someone did murder him, but I don’t think it was a brute or a dimwit,” Heraklios was forced to agree. Snakes didn’t climb, at least that far. He didn’t know that little fact – it meant someone must have placed it there. Thomas, though, was in Barcelona, and Heraklios doubted his brother would order a mere courtier to…
“Well, there’s your brother’s friend… that one Lainez fellow…”
“Who has repeatedly produced evidence he was in Barcelona at the time,” Heraklios rolled his eyes. Heraklios had jumped to the same conclusion at first, then dismissed it. Lainez was the easiest to blame – he
wasn’t a dimwit or a brute, had an axe to grind with David, and the skill and means to do such an assassination. Yet, there were no fewer than eighteen different people who verified he was in Barcelona when David was attacked, roughing up malcontent merchants, to be exact. “If he had one or two alibis, I could be persuaded he had bribed them. Eighteen though?” Heraklios shook his head.
Young Heraklios Komnenos
“Maybe he made them afraid? He threatened to kill them and their families if they didn’t say what he wanted?” Anastasia offered, eyes wide. Heraklios rolled his eyes again, and coughed.
“Ma and Da would do far worse to them if they lied,” Heraklios countered. Even an actual dimwit would know
helping the assassin of the Emperor’s son would be as bad as actually committing the deed…
“If your father was healthier, they might fear that,” Anastasia said cautiously. Heraklios looked sharply at her. She had said the words as gently as possible – far more tactful than most children, who would have blurted the thought out without compunction. He looked down, biting his lower lip.
Heraklios knew what his father was supposed to look like – and the specter that returned from the Cuman campaignwas not the Basil he was used to. The Emperor had seemingly lost even more weight, his armor and clothes hung loosely over his shoulders, his eyes were sunken in and dark. He wheezed, something Heraklios had never seen before. As if these weren’t enough signs for the boy, he’d noticed his mother’s behavior had changed. She fretted even more over her husband, even if it was for him to play with the children. And her lessons to Heraklios especially had taken a turn towards affairs of state. All of this pointed to something dark happening – Heraklios might only be ten, but he was no fool.
“He’s sick, Anastasia,” he murmured.
“Yes, but how sick?” she said. She was not a complete gossip-fiend, so Heraklios wasn’t surprised she hadn’t heard some of the more lurid stories of the Emperor’s emaciated appearance. She’d likely overheard her parents or some of the other children talking about it.
“Momma says he will be fine, he just needs his strength after the campaign,” Heraklios said slowly. “I don’t know though…”
“Was he like this when he came back from Spain?” she asked. Heraklios shrugged.
“I don’t remember. I was too little. It’s just, if he is the great soldier they say he is… he shouldn’t…” Heraklios struggled for a moment for the proper words. “Momma said they had to carry him from the ship.”
“Carry?” Anastasia’s eyes went wide. Heraklios was surprised – the other children constantly talked about it.
Heraklios nodded emphatically. “Da was too weak to walk…”
“But he walks into the throne room now!” she protested. Everyone saw that every day. Sure, the Emperor walked slowly, but that was to be expected, after the man had suffered so many wounds in combat…
“But he is behind the purple veil when he holds court,” Heraklios countered. He didn’t say why – when his father had begun to use the veil again, many assumed it was just the Emperor returning to the traditions of his imperial forebearers. Heraklios, though, was clever - it meant his father could hide the pain and misery that long walk to the throne did behind that powerful purple veil.
Anastasia, for her part, didn’t get what Heraklios was hinting at.
“But didn’t those Italians come and bend their knee to him? If anyone noticed something amiss, the Italians would,” Anastasia noted. “My father says their merchants are very wily – they sold my father twenty stallions last year, ten of which refuse to breed…”
Fearful of renewed aggression by Drogo Capet, Genoa and the islands of Sardinia and Corsica formally placed themselves under imperial protection. Legally, their counts and magistrates would hold the rank of comes, even while reporting directly to the Emperor.
“There are fools among the Italians, just like any other people,” Heraklios countered. Momma would not have let his father look weak, like a fool, in front of the nobility. Better to resort to the veil than look weak in front of the “wolves,” as Sophie repeatedly called the
dynatoi.
“Perhaps,” Anastasia granted. “But your father is young, much younger than my papa,” she added. “He’ll get better soon, just like papa did after the fighting in Italy.”
The young prince hoped she was right.
==========*==========
EDIT - And finally, a happy
ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY today to Rome AARisen! Goodness me, this thing has grown and grown and grown... I think only a few of the readers that witnessed the start are still reading the story, and to those die hards, as well as
everyone else who reads, comments and encourages, I do thank you from the bottom of my heart! This thing seriously would not have worked without you all... be it just simply saying "Good job," to offering plot ideas, attempting to figure out intrigues
I hadn't finished in my head (I borrowed a lot of ideas from you all.
), to in depth criticism and help with my writing, you all are great! Hopefully, this thing continues to roll onwards as we approach 1399 and In Nomine!