Children of the Fatherland: MP conversion game
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The Fatimid Caliphate: Factions
In a continent straddling empire there are many factions vying for attention and power. These range from local interests and sheiks quarreling for the rights to a well to mighty fortress cities demanding special rights for its burghers. Oftentime they contradict or overlap, intrinsically linked or diametrically opposed most men of import ally themselves with one or two and tie their own fates to the success of others. But to be Calipha is not to be one of those. No, it is to stand above all such squabbling and guide the Dar al-Islam as one whole.
Of the many greater factions the first are the Banners. Armed hosts of varying size and purpose led by the Emirs they are the force that reknit the faltering Caliphate at the turn of the millenia.
Most numerous are the standing city banners created by Muhammad al-Awwal Fatimid, compromising well equipped citizenry of various profession who serve in exchange for exemption from taxation they are the backbone of Fatimid military power. The economic loss from fielding them is however substantial. Second are the two competing schools of military thought, the war academy of Alexandria and the Engineers guild of Baalbek. The academy is the home of the pureblood Sayeedi Guard, firstborn of noble families who can trace their linage to the Prophet himself. Blessings and peace be upon his name.
The Guard represents the premiere heavy cavalry force of the known world, and have been clamoring for some time for a chance at glory. The engineers by contrast concern themselves only with the noble art of building and breeching of fortification, field battles being only an irritatingly brutish interlude to the real art of war. Lastly come the Bedouin, the clans and tribes of the desert sworn by blood to heed the call for war from their Calipha. They represent an often ignored source of power for the Caliphate, as many areas that must be passed through by a hostile army are simply unconquerable with a hostile native populous and no permanent towns or forts to capture. Emboldened by massive conquest and bloody victories as well as their inherent physical power many Emirs and commanders insist on the righteousness of Jihad against the infidels and apostates, especially the old arch rivals the Greeks. The brutal and gleeful crushing of the Croatian crusade against Sicily has only temporarily cooled sentiments, and there are many unauthorized raids against Anatolia and south Italy by young hotheads yearning for glory.
But in authority the undisputed power belongs to the Clergy. While in theory the Calipha is the undisputed and highest religious authority the reality of lax and decentralized dogma is that especially the grand ayatollahs, muftis and mullahs, but aslo the Copt and Syriac patriarchs have great sway over the local populous. Representing not simply the religious authority but being also scientists and philosophers there exist few learned men who are not found in the mosque. The fact that any bureaucrat or magistrate would also have received his education there means any fatwa will carry significant weight and power, and any overturned rulings significant unrest. In addition the control of Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem means their teachings reach far and wide, as the apostate Abbasid "Calipha" in Baghdad found out during the religious unrest after he declared himself infallible in the Shia sense of the word. Moving fast and with conviction the High Mullah of Tigris and Mosul was convinced after long hours of debate with the Grand Mullah of Medina that the Fatimid line was a straight line from the Prophet, whilst the Abbasid line was crooked, and surrendered himself before the light of the true Caliphate. Simultaneously the Supreme Ayatollah in Qom was convinced to throw of the yoke of Baghdad and rallied much of Persia in revolt. Many voices are raised that the Calipha must move to protect the Shi'ite holy places and oust the apostates from the holy seat of the Rashidun Caliphas.
While others scream for the pleasure of getting their head caved in for the glory of Allah more level heads have prevailed since the conquest of al-Andalus. The mighty Merchant Guilds of the Caliphate command trade fleets that dwarf islands, command armed forces that rival Emirs and control entirely the flow of goods and currency between east and west, north and south. When the duke of Sardinia refused to release a man wanted for piracy the moneylenders of Tunis and Palermo alone in a brazen show of power demonstrated resources equal to within a season equipping a force strong enough to occupy the island in full and a purse deep enough for the western emperor not to care. With an iron grip on the harbors and naval supplies of what they now jokingly refer to as the new Arabian Sea there is no naval or trading power to challenge their hegemony. From Timbuktu to far away Cathay its merchants trade for exotic goods without fear of piracy or theft, indeed the guilds that dabble in fur trade have become so powerful they more or less control large swats of Finn-land.
The brother of the Emir of Antioch had so successfully monopolized large parts of the northern market he had essentially become a lord in his own right,
While many of the more militaristic Emirs dream of war reality is that any protracted military action will mean a loss of income, and the risk the merchant guilds looking up to realize the power they could wield should they take an interest of politics deeper than tariffs and the hunting of Greek pirates. But with Calipha Afzal as their benefactor peace and prosperity has been the norm for decades, low taxes and many state sponsored projects have meant a substantial gain for both storied and newer guilds. With many new roads, border forts and expanded docks there is little the guilds could wish for other than the status quo.
But there is one last power men have a tendency to forget, or perhaps wish they could forget. A shady cabal of fanatics devoted to the destined path of the Caliphate, few have been able to extract information sufficient to understand the extent and intricacy of the web that the Hassassins Guild spin. Many prefer not to remember how the elder Fatimid line lost the throne, how Damascus fell when the banners had failed to breach her walls, or the fate of the House of Dongola. Their power and reach is privy to but one person, the exile lord of the fortress city of Beirut.
The Citadel Mosque of Beirut served as the seat of the guild, and was best known for not having any doors or entryways
Formerly the Master of Intelligence the lord Fatimid had after being exiled for causes unknown swiftly amassed power far beyond his station.
Most Caliphas preferred not knowing how certain enemies disappeared, or why some noble suddenly supported his every plan. It was sufficient he knew there were people of unpleasant demeanor who took care of troublesome dilemmas in manners that did could not be blamed on him. The power of the Greeks had been broken by much ill fortune, disasters and oddly ethnically limited diseases. Its Patriarchs had died in freak accidents, Copts and Syrians taking their places. Fire, spontaneous riots and scandals had rocked Greek society in every part of the Caliphate. Surprising amounts of poor Moslem men had been able to financially support second and third Greek wives while Greeks working in the same professions had found themselves unable to feed even themselves in the unprofitable market. No man could be blamed for such troubles, and slowly Constantinople's once iron grip upon the levant slipped.
Men like the Patriarch of Constantinople attempted to strike back in a doomed attempt against a superior foe. Varangians sent to eliminate the Guilds man in Cyprus ended in an all to predictable death-by-courtesan. The Patriarchs grandson was found nailed to his door with a double headed axe two weeks later.
No man admits to ordering such things, most men think themselves above such means, but no man ever complained about the results. And while the other factions bluster and flaunt their power, in Beirut plans hatched long ago are slowly coming together.
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My kataphracts object very strongly to this characterisation. They are hefting their maces and swords in a menacing fashion and muttering about insults to the Eagles. It's actually rather worrying, seeing all these enormous men in their heavy armour so clearly angry at not being allowed to avenge an insult to their honour. My officers are of course smoothing these waters by pointing out that we've got nothing to prove and need pay no attention to the boasts of lesser breeds without the Law, and that'll likely work; these things blow over eventually. But for future convenience, could you avoid making this sort of statement? Just say "one of the finest heavy cavalries in the world", or something.
Diluting the truth is not far from lying, why do you ask me to lie?
Your kataphracts have grown lazy and prideful from battling old grannies and relying on Italian mercenaries, but there are of course ways of settling such disputes and matters of honour...
I would have them lay of the greasy foods...
What then shall we say of the Guards, who have not fought anyone whatsoever in more than thirty years? (The invasion of Sicily by the Croatians was of course dealt with by the local militia. All five of them. With their brooms.)
Indeed so; we have no need for futile wrangling when we can turn to the power of... STATISTICS! I made myself a script to calculate the average fighting power of the heavy cavalry of each sovereign (ignoring one-province counties), defined as the sum of their attack and defense weights multiplied by their shock and morale combat multipliers. (And incidentally, that's three hours of coding time in which I was not working on the converter. Now look what you've done.) The results are un-ambiguous! Rome, indeed, commands the finest heavy cavalry in the world:
BULG : 40.3011
POLA : 38.8726
PERS : 37.8605
FATI : 36.4277
RUSS : 36.1749
CROA : 35.8383
ARAG : 32.5602
GERM : 32.3991
BOHE : 29.2518
DENM : 28.5111
MAML : 26.9955
A surprise runner-up in the Polarian Empire, although of course the savage dash and fiery spirit of Polish lancers is well known. Third place to Persia, who invented modern heavy cavalry but have had difficulty since that time; and a narrow fourth to the so-boastful men of the Guard.
I am second! I am second! [video=youtube;2u49Uxsijjc]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2u49Uxsijjc[/video]
The revolt and division of the emirate of Alexandria-Diamettia saw clashes with 30.000 men a side, but i'm writing that of as especially bloody wargames
Ha! It would indeed be a byzantine bureaucrat to delude himself into thinking the worth of heavy cavalry can be measured by calculating speed times mass. What was your heavy armor worth during your crossing of the Sinai? How much did the weight of your maces count for when you were outmaneuvered at Aleppo? No the worth of cavarly is measured by the resolve and competence of its men and officers, and where the greeks are hamstrung by dogma and strict line of command the Caliphate teaches its men freedom of thought and personal initiative. Where the kataphrakts wait for orders and stick to rigid battleplans the guard need not be told like sheep when and where to move. If the Greek commander is hit by a stray arrow that is the end of their tactical capabilities, or do you expect men trained not to think for themselves to outwit anything more than the horse they sit on?
As for the Polarians we fully expect them to have dismembered their neighbors within the decade
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One day all this Egypt-Byzantine Antagonism will end up with mere friendly banter, then freindship.
Then even MORDOR might be afraid. Might. Probably not actually...
Also, Roma Victoria est!
or in the true language "`οι `Ρωμαιοι 'εσονται τους νικησαμενους!"
(literally, the Romans will be the ones who conquered. "`" is a rough breathing signifying an "h", while " ' " is a smooth breathing, meaning no "h". Also, this is Attic, rather than Byzantine Greek, so expect some differences from what the true phrase would be.)
Then even MORDOR might be afraid. Might. Probably not actually...
Also, Roma Victoria est!
or in the true language "`οι `Ρωμαιοι 'εσονται τους νικησαμενους!"
(literally, the Romans will be the ones who conquered. "`" is a rough breathing signifying an "h", while " ' " is a smooth breathing, meaning no "h". Also, this is Attic, rather than Byzantine Greek, so expect some differences from what the true phrase would be.)
Actually with the latest inheritance a child king sits on the throne of skulls! Vassal loyalty is low! Its demense wracked by a prohibitive -100% tax modifier! Russia fields a mere 260.000 men! Now is the time for Polaria to strike!
Spoken like a piping man of peace, who has never actually tried to outwit a cavalry horse. If you had, you would not be so dismissive of discipline and unit cohesion. I remind you that Rome is an empire that has lasted two thousand years; while the Caliphate is a cobbled-together, spatchcocked successor state whose dynasty is in its third generation of rule, and showing every sign of passing from barbarism to decadence without any intervening stage of civilisation. As for Aleppo, anyone can outmaneouvre local militia using their best troops under the eye of a conqueror king. We should both hope we won't be seeing how it goes when the elite of both sides is present.
Actually my grandfather breeds horses and I served in the Royal Mounted High Guard, and I can tell you horses have not much wit. Only sinister and fiendish motives
But back to our game related taunting
The Fatimid lineage stretches from the Calipha in a direct line to the Prophet Himself, and from there through Father Abraham to the beginnings of time. From what hole come the Komnenid usurpers? From what serf does their oh so ancient line stem?
Where are the great Universities of the world found? Hint: Halal-adjacent. Do the words Islamic Golden Age ring any bells? Whos numerals are people using? Thats right. While we where perfecting spherical trigonometry you were perfecting browning of the nose.
Your time has passed old man, the genius of your forefathers now only evident in ancient manuscripts within the Alexandrian libraries, your exploits merely the thrashing spasms of a bleeding lion. There is still power within him, and he can still manage one last roar, as if in the days of his youth. But this is his end, and what was once his domain will now pass on to a younger contender.
It is funny how your 'best men' and 'commanders' have been so conspicuously absent during our many battles....
Decadence? Moi? Play him of Historians!
Its [Byzantium's] general aspect presents a disgusting picture of imbecility: wretched, nay, insane passions, stifles the growth of all that is noble in thoughts, deeds, and persons. Rebellion on the part of generals, depositions of the Emperors by means or through the intrigues of the courtiers, assassinations or poisoning of the Emperors by their own wives and sons, women surrendering themselves to lusts and abominations of all kinds.
—Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Lectures on the Philosophy of History
At its summit was despotism, infinitely strengthened by the union of churchly and secular dominion; in the place of morality it imposed orthodoxy; in the place of unbridled and demoralized expression of the natural instincts, hypocrisy and pretense; in the face of despotism there was developed greed masquerading as poverty, and deep cunning; in religious art and literature there was an incredible stubbornness in the constant repetition of obsolete motifs.
—Jacob Burckhardt, The age of Constantine the Great
Ever since our rough crusading forefathers first saw Constantinople and met, to their contemptuous disgust, a society where everyone read and wrote, ate food with forks and preferred diplomacy to war, it has been fashionable to pass the Byzantines by with scorn and to use their name as synonymous with decadence".
—Steven Runciman, The Emperor Romanus Lecapenus and His Reign: A Study of Tenth-Century Byzantium, 1988
Of that Byzantine empire, the universal verdict of history is that it constitutes, without a single exception, the most thoroughly base and despicable form that civilization has yet assumed. There has been no other enduring civilization so absolutely destitute of all forms and elements of greatness, and none to which the epithet "mean" may be so emphatically applied...The history of the empire is a monotonous story of the intrigues of priests, eunuchs, and women, of poisonings, of conspiracies, of uniform ingratitude.
—William Lecky, A history of European Morals from Augustus to Charlemagne 2 vols. (London 1869) II, 13f.
One of those quotes is not like the others; one of those quotes does not belong. In other words, one of your historians is quite correct in dismissing the bigoted haverings of the other three.
I said "third generation of rule". Obviously we are all descended from Adam and Eve; there is no distinction in that. The Komnenoi were warriors and leaders when the heretic 'Prophet' (brimstone be upon him!) was a merchant struggling to make a profit on spoilt camel milk.
Yes: Nobody recognises a Golden Age until it is ended.
Roman numerals, what else? If you are referring to some sort of hypothetical anachronistic future development which might theoretically come into widespread use in the next couple of centuries, I feel confident that such a thing would be invented by the heathen Hindu, who are good at that sort of thing, and be transmitted to Europe by way of Persia. Thus, they would certainly come to be called 'Persian numerals'.
I said "third generation of rule". Obviously we are all descended from Adam and Eve; there is no distinction in that. The Komnenoi were warriors and leaders when the heretic 'Prophet' (brimstone be upon him!) was a merchant struggling to make a profit on spoilt camel milk.
Yes: Nobody recognises a Golden Age until it is ended.
Roman numerals, what else? If you are referring to some sort of hypothetical anachronistic future development which might theoretically come into widespread use in the next couple of centuries, I feel confident that such a thing would be invented by the heathen Hindu, who are good at that sort of thing, and be transmitted to Europe by way of Persia. Thus, they would certainly come to be called 'Persian numerals'.
One of those quotes is not like the others; one of those quotes does not belong. In other words, one of your historians is quite correct in dismissing the bigoted haverings of the other three.
When the highest praise of your nation is a historian concluding that men "pass the Byzantines by with scorn and to use their name as synonymous with decadence" perhaps it is time to review your standards for praise. But if you prefer to pretend youre popular...
Ever since Ali and Fatima the decendants of the Prophet have always been the true rulers of the Caliphate! The sons of sons of sons in one straight, unbroken line! As opposed to the Komnenoi, usurpers of usurpers of usurpers that they are. They seem to have no greater pleasure than abandoning their masters. Even to Isa, who they claim to be divine, they turn their backs to pray to icons of the dead! And such men question the legitimacy of the pureblood Fatimids? Perhaps the greeks have been to happy in their applying of hot pokers to the eye, since they are blind even to the hypocrisy and perverted logic of their accusations.
I put it then to you that someone contemporary might have noticed all the universities in the Caliphate in contrast to the relative lack of comparable Greek institutions...
This would roughly be the time they started gaining ground in Europe as a far superior system necessary for advanced mathematics, a friendly Western Empire certainly is no obstacle. The main reason for calling the numerals 'arabic' is not the invention of their shapes but their use. An area in which Caliphate mathematicians have proven themselves without peer. And the Caliphate rightfully encompasses all moslem lands, Persia just happen to be in temporary revolt against its rightful Calipha at the current time...
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Having several largish buildings on which someone has daubed the word "Yoonivarsity" is not a substitute for teaching correct doctrine and good reasoning, as your empty rhetoric so amply demonstrates.
You should read your quote again: He says that it has been fashionable to do so. Usually this is not taken as an endorsement of the opinion, although thinking about it I realise that disputes between infidel schools of thought are indeed settled by popularity and fashion, as they rarely have any merits. I assure you that trained historians, as opposed to reciters of memorised tribal chants, do not consider 'fashionable' to be a measure of accuracy.
You should read your quote again: He says that it has been fashionable to do so. Usually this is not taken as an endorsement of the opinion, although thinking about it I realise that disputes between infidel schools of thought are indeed settled by popularity and fashion, as they rarely have any merits. I assure you that trained historians, as opposed to reciters of memorised tribal chants, do not consider 'fashionable' to be a measure of accuracy.
Us peanuts agree; Rome wins this debate. Sorry, Caliphate. Your arguments are merely the incoherent mumblings of senile imams, probably under the influence of hashish. But do not fear! I have no doubt that sensible and righteous government will soon be returned to your lands, probably on the tip of a cataphract's lance.
Michael: Basileus Romaion, thrice-anointed Imperator and Autocrator by acclaim of the Senate and the People of Rome, Perpetuus Augustus, Paterfamilias of the Komnenos gens, Citizen of Rome. If happiness were measured in titles, surely he would be the most blessed man on the Earth.
He commands the legions and the kataphracts, the finest heavy cavalry on the face of the Earth; his titles are no empty show, there is real power and authority in his order and his signature. On his word a quarter-million men will arm for battle; at his peremptory gesture heads will roll. His father broke the power of the nobles; his grandfather disciplined the court; his great-grandfather trained the army to obedience. If power is what men seek, there can be few men more satisfied.
There is no city greater or wealthier than Constantinople, the Sublime Porte, through which half the trade of the world flows; and yet the City of Men's Desire is only the jewel in the great crown of productive provinces and lucrative trade routes that pay tribute to Rome. Gold, silk, spices, jewels; clever toys, beautiful tapestries, strange beasts, lovely birds; gorgeous foods, wise scholars, rare books, delightful perfumes: There is no luxury that may not be had in Constantinople, and none that its Emperor may not command. If swimming in gold is the apex of delight, Michael is one of the few men who may achieve it.
What of women? We tread on more difficult ground. The heart is not to be commanded, not by Emperors or armies or gold. Not all women are impressed by such trappings; indeed many honest women, loving their husbands however humble, might actively fear the attention of so powerful a suitor. An Emperor who desired such a one might have cause for sorrow, whatever his power; and even a luckier man might, in the inmost recesses of his mind, wonder whether he was loved for himself, or for his position. Yet Michael is not much given to sentiment and emotion. And if we disregard the heart, there is surely no man less hampered in obtaining whatever his body may desire. If soft thighs and curved hips can satisfy, if sweet caresses and wild passion can sate, then the Emperor of Rome has more cause for joy than any man.
Not every man is delighted by the pleasures of this world, and the gentle Christ, it is said, cares only for a man's soul. But in the consolations of religion, too, an Emperor has opportunities denied lesser men. If he retreats with his priests and scholars, hearing Mass three times a day, and leaves the daily business of the Empire to his court - why then such piety is surely a good omen for the realm. If he uses his vast wealth to commission good works, feeding the poor or founding monasteries, that too is pleasing to the Lord. If he prays and purifies himself, asking for guidance on what he should do to ensure his ascent to Heaven - he may well find answers, and at least his sons will not go hungry for his neglect of worldly affairs. And if he pays theologians and scholars to delve into the gospels, to pry out the real truth of what God desires of men and have the results widely published, there is certainly no city in the world better suited for that endeavour than Constantinople, where bath attendants debate the merits of the filioque clause and bakers hold opinions on the nature of the Trinity. If piety is the way to happiness, no man has a smoother path than the Imperator of Rome.
Yet Michael of the Komnenoi is troubled in his soul.
In a dynasty of brilliant strategists, elder statemen, victorious conquerors, and ruthless intriguers, what shall a man do who, for all his ambition, is merely... average?
Michael of the Komnenoi. A man of surpassing... averageness.
As a young man, Michael thought (as young men are wont to do) highly of his own abilities, and balked at the thought of waiting years or decades before taking over the purple and showing the world what he could do. So he raised his banners, thinking that the nobles would join him against his tyrant father; but, to a man, they preferred living under the old lion to the risks of battle in the service of the new. Thomas did not so much as stir from the capital; instead he sent Michael's nurse bearing a letter. The letter carefully explained, in short words, that Michael had perhaps 25000 men in his entire theme, that Thomas had 30000 much better ones within hearing range of his voice, that Thessalonika was indefensible against a Croatian army, much less a Roman one; and that Thomas was giving Michael a single chance to repent of his utter stupidity by submitting once more to punishment by his nurse, as though he were a child. The Roman code allows only one penalty for an adult's rebellion, and Thomas had no wish to impose it. Michael still winces at the memory of his complete humiliation; sometimes he thinks he would have preferred to die crucified, rather than bend over his nurse's knee, in full view of his court, for a spanking.
The event is well known; in later years his father sometimes referred to it, jokingly, as "The Incident with the Rebellion", as one might speak of a child's unfortunate accident the first time he is allowed to sit at dinner with the adults. Michael would smile thinly, but he could never find it funny. Sometimes he sees a smile on the face of a courtier, or a mocking glint in a submissively downturned eye, and whatever jest has just been spoken, he feels certain he is being laughed at. After all, why should a servant not smile at the thought of the Basileus Romaion, a grown man eighteen years of age, with his bum upturned and reddened from blows of a paddle? Thus are the highborn made humble in the sight of God! At such times he writhes in shame and humiliation, and glares at the offender. He is wise enough not to punish for what is, after all, his own thought, or perhaps his own imagination; but his court is little given to merriment and jest.
He has, now, a surer estimate of his own ability: To make such a monumental mistake, he admits, is not the mark of a brilliant man. Yet he is Emperor, and must daily make decisions that will affect the lives of thousands and tens of thousands. At such times, the gnawing pain in his gut, which never entirely goes away, flares. Often he turns to his advisers, the men who served his father, and merely accepts their suggestions. Yet they are his father's men, and he has never had the brilliant insights that would enable him to stamp their policies as his own; in this as in so many things, he cannot stand up to the memory of Thomas the Conqueror. Worse yet, he dreads the day when even this bitter remedy is no longer available; for he has not (of course not! He is only Michael, he is only human) his father's gift of attracting the finest minds in the land as friends and advisors.
His son, perhaps, could be a consolation to him, for the younger Michael shows, even at a young age, all the gifts of the Komnenoi. And indeed he loves him with a father's helpless love and joyous pride. But even that pride is tinged with bitterness; for he knows that his son has the talents that he himself was denied, and so his love is poisoned with sharp-edged envy. Michael the Golden, he sometimes whispers to himself; Michael the Blessed; and while he does not grudge his son the names, his heart aches with the wish that he could himself take his place with Arkadios the Ruthless and Thomas the Conqueror.
The younger Michael. A true scion of the dynasty!
Longing for great deeds, fearing his own inadequacy to achieve them, Michael twists between the poles of his fate, seeking a path forward. He cannot bear the thought of being only a caretaker Emperor, a gap between two brilliant generations of the illustrious Komnenoi; yet he is desperately afraid that whatever measures he takes will only make things worse. Better a caretaker than a disaster.
He is the Autokrator of Rome, charged with the fate of millions; and he is Michael, son of a father whose talents he cannot match.
Such men are dangerous.
He commands the legions and the kataphracts, the finest heavy cavalry on the face of the Earth; his titles are no empty show, there is real power and authority in his order and his signature. On his word a quarter-million men will arm for battle; at his peremptory gesture heads will roll. His father broke the power of the nobles; his grandfather disciplined the court; his great-grandfather trained the army to obedience. If power is what men seek, there can be few men more satisfied.
There is no city greater or wealthier than Constantinople, the Sublime Porte, through which half the trade of the world flows; and yet the City of Men's Desire is only the jewel in the great crown of productive provinces and lucrative trade routes that pay tribute to Rome. Gold, silk, spices, jewels; clever toys, beautiful tapestries, strange beasts, lovely birds; gorgeous foods, wise scholars, rare books, delightful perfumes: There is no luxury that may not be had in Constantinople, and none that its Emperor may not command. If swimming in gold is the apex of delight, Michael is one of the few men who may achieve it.
What of women? We tread on more difficult ground. The heart is not to be commanded, not by Emperors or armies or gold. Not all women are impressed by such trappings; indeed many honest women, loving their husbands however humble, might actively fear the attention of so powerful a suitor. An Emperor who desired such a one might have cause for sorrow, whatever his power; and even a luckier man might, in the inmost recesses of his mind, wonder whether he was loved for himself, or for his position. Yet Michael is not much given to sentiment and emotion. And if we disregard the heart, there is surely no man less hampered in obtaining whatever his body may desire. If soft thighs and curved hips can satisfy, if sweet caresses and wild passion can sate, then the Emperor of Rome has more cause for joy than any man.
Not every man is delighted by the pleasures of this world, and the gentle Christ, it is said, cares only for a man's soul. But in the consolations of religion, too, an Emperor has opportunities denied lesser men. If he retreats with his priests and scholars, hearing Mass three times a day, and leaves the daily business of the Empire to his court - why then such piety is surely a good omen for the realm. If he uses his vast wealth to commission good works, feeding the poor or founding monasteries, that too is pleasing to the Lord. If he prays and purifies himself, asking for guidance on what he should do to ensure his ascent to Heaven - he may well find answers, and at least his sons will not go hungry for his neglect of worldly affairs. And if he pays theologians and scholars to delve into the gospels, to pry out the real truth of what God desires of men and have the results widely published, there is certainly no city in the world better suited for that endeavour than Constantinople, where bath attendants debate the merits of the filioque clause and bakers hold opinions on the nature of the Trinity. If piety is the way to happiness, no man has a smoother path than the Imperator of Rome.
Yet Michael of the Komnenoi is troubled in his soul.
In a dynasty of brilliant strategists, elder statemen, victorious conquerors, and ruthless intriguers, what shall a man do who, for all his ambition, is merely... average?
Michael of the Komnenoi. A man of surpassing... averageness.
As a young man, Michael thought (as young men are wont to do) highly of his own abilities, and balked at the thought of waiting years or decades before taking over the purple and showing the world what he could do. So he raised his banners, thinking that the nobles would join him against his tyrant father; but, to a man, they preferred living under the old lion to the risks of battle in the service of the new. Thomas did not so much as stir from the capital; instead he sent Michael's nurse bearing a letter. The letter carefully explained, in short words, that Michael had perhaps 25000 men in his entire theme, that Thomas had 30000 much better ones within hearing range of his voice, that Thessalonika was indefensible against a Croatian army, much less a Roman one; and that Thomas was giving Michael a single chance to repent of his utter stupidity by submitting once more to punishment by his nurse, as though he were a child. The Roman code allows only one penalty for an adult's rebellion, and Thomas had no wish to impose it. Michael still winces at the memory of his complete humiliation; sometimes he thinks he would have preferred to die crucified, rather than bend over his nurse's knee, in full view of his court, for a spanking.
The event is well known; in later years his father sometimes referred to it, jokingly, as "The Incident with the Rebellion", as one might speak of a child's unfortunate accident the first time he is allowed to sit at dinner with the adults. Michael would smile thinly, but he could never find it funny. Sometimes he sees a smile on the face of a courtier, or a mocking glint in a submissively downturned eye, and whatever jest has just been spoken, he feels certain he is being laughed at. After all, why should a servant not smile at the thought of the Basileus Romaion, a grown man eighteen years of age, with his bum upturned and reddened from blows of a paddle? Thus are the highborn made humble in the sight of God! At such times he writhes in shame and humiliation, and glares at the offender. He is wise enough not to punish for what is, after all, his own thought, or perhaps his own imagination; but his court is little given to merriment and jest.
He has, now, a surer estimate of his own ability: To make such a monumental mistake, he admits, is not the mark of a brilliant man. Yet he is Emperor, and must daily make decisions that will affect the lives of thousands and tens of thousands. At such times, the gnawing pain in his gut, which never entirely goes away, flares. Often he turns to his advisers, the men who served his father, and merely accepts their suggestions. Yet they are his father's men, and he has never had the brilliant insights that would enable him to stamp their policies as his own; in this as in so many things, he cannot stand up to the memory of Thomas the Conqueror. Worse yet, he dreads the day when even this bitter remedy is no longer available; for he has not (of course not! He is only Michael, he is only human) his father's gift of attracting the finest minds in the land as friends and advisors.
His son, perhaps, could be a consolation to him, for the younger Michael shows, even at a young age, all the gifts of the Komnenoi. And indeed he loves him with a father's helpless love and joyous pride. But even that pride is tinged with bitterness; for he knows that his son has the talents that he himself was denied, and so his love is poisoned with sharp-edged envy. Michael the Golden, he sometimes whispers to himself; Michael the Blessed; and while he does not grudge his son the names, his heart aches with the wish that he could himself take his place with Arkadios the Ruthless and Thomas the Conqueror.
The younger Michael. A true scion of the dynasty!
Longing for great deeds, fearing his own inadequacy to achieve them, Michael twists between the poles of his fate, seeking a path forward. He cannot bear the thought of being only a caretaker Emperor, a gap between two brilliant generations of the illustrious Komnenoi; yet he is desperately afraid that whatever measures he takes will only make things worse. Better a caretaker than a disaster.
He is the Autokrator of Rome, charged with the fate of millions; and he is Michael, son of a father whose talents he cannot match.
Such men are dangerous.
Because nobody has ever accused the pdox crowd of being biased Byzantophiles..
Worry not children, if current speeds are held the Greek cultural stain will have been removed by the time we get to EU III, with the med split between the Caliphate and the true western Rome, (and their respective dependencies.)
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Because nobody has ever accused the pdox crowd of being biased Byzantophiles..
The "True Western Rome?" I'm not sure what you're talking about, and I've been following this thread since it's inception. Surely you can't be referring to the Southern French Sausage Manufacturing Guild, which briefly rebranded itself "Western Rome" in an effort to sell more delicious stuffed pig-intestine? Because I think a state which doesn't hold Rome, isn't an empire, and which consists entirely of badly misplaced Germans can't really claim the title "Rome." Perhaps a better moniker would be "Half France?"
Emperor of HRE currently holds more titles and has way more kinsmen than treacherous Byzantine. Even so borders are fluid and a country which has held Rome for a few years may find itself in a need to change its name if it follows the same principles it wishes to bestow upon its neighbours.
Not that a simple peasnut speaks in the name of Byzantine, if so it is quite regrettable that Greek standards have fallen so low.
Not that a simple peasnut speaks in the name of Byzantine, if so it is quite regrettable that Greek standards have fallen so low.