Milites - I'm sure there are quite a few people that would love to be Leo in that picture!
Leviathan07 - Update is here! I've been tempted (down the line, of course) to possibly switch the narration to be from the perspective of one of the other future factions. Originally I was hoping to tell a grand narrative that told the story of all of them, but I'm not sure yet how that will work. I haven't come to a decision on that yet... and there probably won't be one until the time comes.
DarthJF - Yes, those splinter factions will be
newly independent around that time. Before this, they will have increasing amounts of autonomy as the feudalization of the Empire continues. It'll be a long and torturous road, but we're making headway! Glad to hear you're back... you need to update your own Byzantine EU3 AAR!
RGB - I was aware of its title as the head of a naval theme, but apparently it was used in Italy as well. Did the Byzantines consider Italy a naval theme?
Enewald - Leo is likely not going to settle for Catapan. The leaders of the rump Byzantine holdings in the 12th century were Catapans... he holds much much more...
VladAntlerkov - Those are all possibilities as well. I'll drop this much information - Saul's father has been mentioned before. I won't say in what capacity - he could have been a major character, he could have been mentioned only in passing, but his name has appeared previously in the AAR and/or the interims...
Without further ado, the next update!
April 10th, 1199
Thomas Komnenos closed his eyes tightly, as the wind rustled the curtains, creating long, dark shadows across the wall. The seven year old Prince of the Empire shuddered, clutching tightly to his thick woolen blankets. He didn’t like being alone in the dark like this. The fact that the villa of Gregor Lainez the younger was perched on a Thracian hilltop only encouraged the wind to play with the figments of Thomas’ imagination. Normally the young prince was enthralled to spend a week outside of the city with his brother Anteminos and the nephews of the
Megoskyriamachos – Sancho and Antonio Lainez were perhaps the closest things the two young princes had to friends, and the villa was surrounded by fields and orchards, beautiful land for a day of hunting, play or the chase.
It was just the nights that troubled the prince.
When Thomas was even younger, he had defenses against this. Since Thomas had been a babe, both Thomas and his brother Anteminos had slept in the same nursery. Whenever Thomas had been frightened by the darkness, by voices, by shadows in the night, Anteminos had been there to comfort him, console him. Most nights then Anteminos had ended up sleeping next to his sibling, holding him tight, shielding him from whatever monsters lay in the murk. Thomas was able to sleep, and in return was his brother’s keeper – even though he was a year younger than his brother, Thomas had already grown taller and broader. When Sancho Lainez grew too rough in his play, Thomas was able to step in, and forcibly shove the older boy off of Anteminos. When Carlo Giannini, son of the Venetian Ambassador, began shouting at the young prince royal, it was Thomas who loomed behind his brother and ‘encouraged’ the Italian boy to stop.
This had seemed perfect. Thomas’ father had clearly encouraged the young boys to be close, to be friends, and Thomas always did what his father said. In the boys young mind, the man was stern, sharp, with a tendency to bellow as much as he hugged. Thomas had always desperately wanted to please his father – he begged Anteminos to teach him to ride, to fight, all so that once his father returned he could see the Emperor smile, and pat him on the head like he did Anteminos. So he could hear his father praise his skill with sword and bow, or his grace on horseback. He heard too little of such high words, and more curses.
Yet things changed, and for Thomas, that change came when his father left to for war in Germany some three years before. When the Emperor left, Thomas was left in the care of his mother, who clearly favored his elder brother Anteminos. She spent hours working with him, leaving little Thomas to his own devices. She sharply forbade Anteminos from sleeping in Thomas’ room, saying that the little prince would have to grow to face his fears alone. Thomas thought about that first night, and fear shot up his spine. He wasn’t able to sleep for days – every owl, every rustle, every whisper of wind had made his skin crawl.
It was then, three years before, that Acheron spoke to Thomas for the first time.
Acheron was the name Thomas had given to his invisible friend. Acheron would come when he was alone, or when he was scared, and whisper with a cool, calm voice. He’d tell Thomas to do things when he was frightened – crush a vase, slam a door, burn parchment. They were things Thomas knew were wrong, but Acheron always talked him into doing them. And they worked. If Thomas lit several of his parchments in the fireplace, the tiny flames chased away the deepest of the dark. If he knocked over a table, servants would come, and stay in the room with him until the morning.
Thomas slowly opened one eye. The curtains swished, and a shadowy form rose on the far wall. Thomas’ room was unfortunately decorated with marble sculptures, one of which disappeared into the shadows, only to reappear in the shifting moonlight as a menacing figure, looming over the bed.
Thomas retreated back into the covers, just as he’d done countless times before.
Retreating had long been the prince’s option since his world had turned against him. Things had not changed on the Emperor’s return – indeed, Thomas saw very little of his father. The Emperor was too busy trumpeting the final union of the “One, Holy Apostolic Church,” after his conquest of Rome, and downplaying ugly rumors that Thomas’ mother wouldn’t let him hear. The Prince wasn’t sure what his father had done, it had something to do with the Pope and southern Germany. Whatever ill others attributed to him, the Emperor was too busy dealing with his critics to take much interest in the boy’s affairs, leaving Thomas’ mother in charge.
Thomas found the tutor he’d once shared with Anteminos, the jovial and friendly Father Kosmas, replaced by a cranky, sharp septuagenarian named Father Simeon Kupravic. Father Kosmas, Thomas’ mother said, needed to focus on teaching the future heir of the Empire. Father Simeon stopped much of Thomas’ work in the classics, and the young boy found himself shoved into studying the Bible and the works of St. Augustine and the Frank Peter Abelard. When Thomas gave a wrong answer, the old priest had no problems boxing his ears, or worse. The prince still bore a scar on his hand from when he’d misspoken the Lord’s Prayer, and was forced to touch a red hot poker as a reminder of what the fires of Hell would feel like.
Thomas the Younger led a very lonely young life…
So, when three weeks before, the
Megaskyriamachos had offered up his family’s villa for a respite for the boys, Thomas had hoped with all his heart his parents accepted. He’d get away from Father Simeon, and would get to spend time with his brother Anteminos once more. Thomas’ wide awake mind shifted towards the joys of that day – Twelve year old Sancho leading them on a long chase through the forest after a stag, and Thomas successfully shooting a fox with his bow. Mehtar Lainez had already promised the boy he’d commission someone to skin the animal and turn it into a pelt he could wear back in Konstantinopolis. Thomas knew his father would be proud, and if father wanted him to keep it, there was no way Mother or Father Simeon could…
There was a noise.
The Prince sat bolt upright in bed, clutching the bedsheets tightly. The noise was a whisper, no more, the sounds of distant voices echoing off of the walls. Thomas’ heart beat quickly – it was late into the night, there would be no one awake. All the servants would know better than to walk around, making noise while their master’s slept. Which meant the Lainez’s or some member of the Prince’s retinue was awake.
For a moment, Thomas tried to listen, but as quickly as he heard the noise, it drifted off, disappearing. Thomas started to wonder – maybe he was making it up. Maybe it was nothing.
”Maybe it was a ghost…”
Thomas closed his eyes hard.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” the prince whispered quietly. “It was nothing.”
“Those were voices, Thomas!”
“No, they weren’t, Acheron!” Thomas hissed. “It was nothing! Nothing at all!” Thomas repeated. Was he repeating the truth? Was he only reassuring himself? Acheron was here, and Thomas could feel his heart beating faster and faster as fearful images of what
could have made the sounds danced in his head. Assassins? Enemies? Deadly beasts from hell, the ones Father Simeon constantly warned him about?
As Thomas continued to fret, suddenly, he heard it again– hushed whispers, harsh hisses, as if men were quieting each other. There were footfalls, fast and rushed, then a shout. Then another. Thomas slipped deeper under his covers, as the noises increased. The sounds of something like clay being broken, the bellows of guardsmen ordering someone to stop growing louder as the footfalls faded away.
”Men are coming to get you…”
Acheron, as he first appeared to young Thomas...
Thomas didn’t respond this time, instead burrowing deeper into his blankets. He knew the history of Roman politics, of how even young boys could be murdered if they stood in someone’s way. He knew his father had enemies – and they were now coming for his blood.
If he laid flat and still, maybe they wouldn’t see him…
Suddenly, the noises outside grew loud and close, before fading as the creak of Thomas’ door grated his ears. His heart kicked in his chest, there was a ringing in his ears. So they were here.
“They’re going to kill you…”
Thomas prayed for Acheron to shut up! They’d hear his voice! The door finally closed with a dull
thud, and Thomas heard the soft scrap of someone’s feet on the wooden floor.
“Prepare yourself, Thomas! They’re coming to kill you! Prepare to fight!”
Thomas held his breath, before realizing in horror that his whole body was shaking fiercely. He screamed at his limbs to stop, to not make any more movement, but the fear was too great. Outside, the noise of shouting was growing yet again – Thomas could not hear the words, but he heard a dull rush, a roar of something monstrous in the halls beyond his door. He tried to burrow deeper, then there was a wash of cold air over his legs.
They were pulling up the blankets! They’d seen him!
“Now Thomas! Hit them and run!”
Whoever it was, he’d hit them. He’d hit them good. Acheron said to do it, it’d work! The Prince was cornered, and like a snake, he spun around, a fat fist flailing wildly out as he swung with his eyes closed, too scared to look the assassin in the face. To his surprise, he hit nothing but thin air, and hands grabbed his shoulder, shaking him.
“Thomas! Thomas it’s me!”
The Prince opened his eyes, and saw the worried orbs of Anteminos staring at him.
“Anteminos?” Thomas asked, confused. Anteminos slept down the hall, as per their mother’s instructions. Why was he here? What was going on? Thomas started to open his mouth, but his brother was already talking.
“Armed men broke into the villa, and broke several jars of
naptha in the halls! We need to get out!” Anteminos blurted out.
“Armed men?” Thomas asked, shaking. The roaring noise was not so distant now. It was louder, like some beast had finally reached the hall and was noisily ambling about. There was the crash of a window shattering somewhere. Above the cacophony, the noise of horses screaming echoed from Thomas’ window.
“Thomas! Come!” Anteminos roughly shoved his larger brother towards the window. Thomas stumbled over the bedcovers. Armed men tossing
naptha about? Why didn’t they run through the hall? Why the window?
Anteminos apparently read his brother’s confused look. “They tossed several jars into the hall beyond your door. At the noise, I ran here as fast as I could!”
“Why?” Thomas asked. Why didn’t Anteminos save himself? The rumbling, roaring noise had now devolved into a series of loud crackles coupled with a dull roar. The room was starting to grow warm, and Thomas could see in the moonlight wisps of smoke coming from under his door.
“I knew you’d be afraid,” Anteminos shot back. “I wanted you to get out! Here, Thomas, climb onto the windowsill!”
“Anteminos, you want me to…” Thomas started to complain, before his brother cut him off.
“Thomas, you...” Anteminos started to snap, before stopping. The elder prince looked down for a moment, before hurriedly pleading, “Just don’t look down. Whatever you do Thomas, just don’t look down. Look at the Lainez lake. Look how pretty it is in the moonlight!”
Thomas looked out the window, focusing on the private lake owned by the Lainez estate. He started to look down, but forced his eyes to look up. His heart was racing, threatening to burst from his chest.
“Now, Thomas,” he heard Anteminos say quietly but urgently, “you need to jump!”
Thomas sat rigidly still. He wouldn’t look down, but he knew it was far. He knew it would hurt.
“Thomas, jump!” Anteminos shouted.
Thomas looked back, as dust and papers flashed under the door, disappearing into the hot, reddish dark that lay beyond. The wisps of smoke rushing into the room were thicker now, covering Thomas’ seeing in a haze of inky blackness. He turned, looking back out of the window. Moonlight shone brilliantly on the Lainez private lake, illuminating the path that started at the edge of those shimmering waters. Thomas followed the path, trying to calm himself, and he watched as it lead directly to…
…underneath Thomas’ window.
Instantly, Thomas was dizzy, his heart was racing. It was too far! He couldn’t jump that far! And the ground below was hardened dirt! He’d hurt himself on landing! He couldn’t jump! Thomas started to clamber down from the windowsill.
“Thomas!” Anteminos roughly grabbed him, and for a moment there was a scuffle. Despite Thomas’ panic, somehow his smaller brother managed to shove him back into the sill. “Thomas!” Anteminos bellowed, an eerie echo of the noise Thomas’ father made when he wanted the boys to do something
immediately. “You have to jump! We can’t go out in the hall!”
“I can’t! It’s too far!” Thomas screamed.
“You have to! Be brave!” Anteminos shouted back.
Thomas was suddenly feeling hot – the glow underneath the door was brighter, more motes of dust and thin wisps of smoke were disappearing beneath the door, as if some giant was sucking in its breath. The darkness that had engulfed the ceiling was now lower, and wisps of smoke were now curling under the sill above his head. The heat was becoming unbearable. The young boy looked at that lurid glow, now so bright it was casting shadows across the floor, then back down, towards the hard ground below. He turned back to Anteminos, intending to tell him that he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t be brave, he couldn’t jump. His eyes met those of his brother – Anteminos’ fiery and sharp, Thomas’ deep and fearful. Thomas spotted a quick movement, before Anteminos’s shoulder slammed into his back.
Then the prince was falling.
It was over before he could even scream, like he imagined he would. There was a dull thump, and Thomas felt his left leg land first, then crack under the weight. He crumpled to the ground, dust from the path covering his eyes, getting into his nose. Instantly, there was pain. Incredible, horrific pain.
Thomas screamed in agony.
He couldn’t hear himself. There was noise out here. Shouts, screams, men running around. Thomas felt hands grabbing him, pulling him aside. He heard Mehtar and Gregor Lainez’s voices, demanding to know if he was okay. He heard people shouting Anteminos’ name, screams of panic and horror. The windowsill he’d hung from was now engulfed in huge, orange flames, licking the woodwork and rising along the stones to the roof of the villa. Papers, glowing orange with heat in the night, fluttered lazily above the mess.
Thomas screamed again as the men set him down. His leg burned and stabbed, as if thousands of men were slicing it to shreds. He tried to look down to see what was wrong, but he couldn’t. Voices told him to lie still. He caught sight of a body laying on the ground, its head at an odd angle. In the last moments before he passed out, his mind wondered why the dead figure was clad in Anteminos’ nightshift.
So Anteminos has been killed by assassins. Was he the real target? Who sent them, and more importantly, who will get blame? The reaction of the Imperial court, and the die is cast, when we have our next update to Rome AARisen!
