Colors of Dusk

Chapter 0 - Of Days Gone By

** In the year of our Lord, MCDXIX **

Michael Argyrus carefully picked his way along the littered dockside. He moved very slowly, for he was in no hurry, and was no longer young enough to nimbly dance across the debris that blanketed the area. Although he was ostensibly there to inspect the seawalls for repairs that were desperately needed but which could not be afforded, he found it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

Instead he watched the small fishing boats bob about the harbor. At one time, not that long ago, this entire stretch would have been packed with the great trading ships of merchants here in Constantinople, in the Empire's second city of Thessalonica, as well as from Venice, Genoa, Pisa, and Aragon. Now he could still see the Venetian and Genoese ships sailing towards their commercial colonies, but the only Romans at sea were looking for fish that had fled these dangerous waters; whatever they caught they would attempt to sell in the markets which catered to a long-departed urban population.

He stopped to catch his breath, and gazed at the waters of the Golden Horn. As the sun set, it was clear where the harbor had obtained its name. The sea shimmered with the reflection of the reds and oranges of the darkening sky. Suddenly, Michael heard a noise behind him. He froze, caught between turning and running. After all, he had only held the post of hypersebastocrator for a few months, and did not feel at all secure, despite his longstanding friendship with the Emperor.

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Michael remembered seeing Manuel for the first time when the latter had just become governor of Thessalonica, in 1369. That fall, when the leaves on the trees were the same color as the sky was that night 50 years later, Manuel's father had made a personal submission to the Pope in Rome. He was only 8 at the time, and his father had joined the rest of the landowners in assailing the new governor for John V's perfidy. Manuel deflected their attacks with a quiet dignity that refused to give in to provocation, even while supporting his father's decision. Michael was being raised at Manuel's court two years later, when Manuel had to ransom his father from the Venetians for debts that John's first son, Andronicus, had blocked the payment of. He was learning to bear arms at the age of 12 when he fought with Manuel's forces alongside those of John and the Turkish Sultan, Murad I, in a civil war against their own sons.

Michael watched in horror, in 1376, as Andronicus, now one-eyed for his past treason, managed to imprison his father and brother in Constantinople and seize the throne, buying Turkish support by ceding the important city of Callipolis. He immediately reentered Manuel's service as a young knight when Manuel returned to Thessalonica as governor following the peace of 1381. He was only 22 when he met a beautiful refugee from the city of Philadelphia, across the Aegean in the middle of Turkish western Anatolia, named Maria. She was impressed by his bursts of valor during the long Turkish siege that began that same year; they had been married for two years when Manuel led the few survivors in flight out of Thessalonica, in 1387.

Such events, Michael had long believed, brought men tightly together, even as they impressed upon them a belief that it was hopeless to stand in the face of a remorseless and awful fate. What strength does the respect of a son for a father have against the temptation of the throne? What value does love between two people have in the face of the awful power of the Turk?

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Michael could now see that it was a page from the palace of the Blachernae, to which the court had moved after the old Magnaura palace had grown too large, too unwieldy, and too expensive to maintain, and towards which he now made his way, panting up the hill. The area was littered with the remnants of a great imperial past, now mostly stripped of their glory by the Franks, the Venetians, the people of Constantinople themselves, or simply the weather. He stopped suddenly as he saw something glinting in the fading light.

Bending over carefully, he saw it was the remains of one of the mechanical wonders from the great age of the Macedonian dynasty, many centuries gone now. It was a crystal dove, suspended on a thin wire, below which hung a metal flower, whose petals were black on one side and white on the other. As he raised it, the flower began to turn, creakily issuing a haunting tune. The light streamed through the crystal bird, splitting into a broad array of colors. Then the bird turned towards him, and the light refocused into a beam of dazzling brightness of surprising strength.

At the same moment, the page finally caught up with him, crying out, "M'lord! The council gathers, and your presence will be sorely missed before long!" Michael started at the sudden sound of his voice, grating against the bird's song, and before he knew it the thin wire had slipped from his grasp. The crystal bird shattered on the ground in a shower of pieces.

The page just stared at him as if he were daft. His message had been given as if a rebuke to a wayward child, not the Emperor's first minister. Michael had simply never been an imposing figure outside of official settings, without formal dress. He turned towards the page, who suddenly seemed to regret his forceful arrival. "I, that is, most noble patrician ... " he stammered.

Michael silenced him with a wave. "I will accompany you back now," he said gently. Though their efforts only seemed to end in tragic loss, he and his liege could not stop trying to salvage the situation, and he had been wasteful in his musings this afternoon. He turned to go, but before he left, he stooped and examined the bird. There were others near by, but in need of repair. It was possible they could be fixed, with enough time and delicate care. This was not a job that could be rushed.

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First Manuel's great advances in Thessaly had been destroyed by the Turkish siege of Thessalonica. Manuel spent as much time putting down the revolts of his older brother, Andronicus, and bailing out his younger brother, Theodore, governor of the Morea, as trying to improve the condition of the Empire. After Andronicus died, the new Sultan, Bayezid, supported Manuel's nephew, John, in taking Constantinople and imprisoning Manuel's father yet again. When Manuel forced out the usurper John VII and restored John V, things only became worse.

Now John VII fled to Bayezid in Bursa, and Manuel pursued him to the Sultan's court. The Sultan was in the mood to drive home his utter dominance of the Empire, and found the perfect way to do so in 1390. Manuel and his retinue, including Michael, were forced to take part in the Turkish assault on Philadelphia, last bastion of Rome in Asia. Maria died of heartache a fortnight later, leaving Michael to raise their young son, Gallienus.

Not satisfied even with this, Bayezid threatened to blind Manuel unless his father demolished the fortress by the Golden Gate of Constantinople. John, never strong in spirit, complied. John V passed onto a better place less than a year later. No matter which way they turned, death confronted them precisely where it hurt the most.

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Michael strode down the corridor of the palace of Blachernae alongside the Emperor.

"This may be our last chance to try and save ourselves and the empire," he said somberly. Then, with a pained smile, he added, "Ah, but how many times have we said that before?"

Michael shook his head, though he understood. "We can survive by the skin of our teeth only so often, Basileus. It would be foolish to assume otherwise, and I can see no hope in simply trying to preserve what we have."

Manuel nodded again. "True, but we have tried everything, only to find that God has favored none of our enterprises. Perhaps He is angry with us for the submission of our father to the patriarch of Rome. Or perhaps He is angry with us for not forcing our subjects to follow our lead." He stopped speaking for a moment, and Michael could tell he was considering what to say next.

"I have nothing left to give." He had dropped the royal plural, and spoke now as a tired, old man. "You must look to my sons now. John is good and loyal, but he is not the Achilles or Hector we need now. Constantine is overly bold, but that is what we need now, and perhaps he has just enough skill to back up his audacity. Counsel them wisely, for the day may soon be here when one of them is placed in the same unenviable seat which I reluctantly occupy."

They stopped, and Michael realized they had reached the council chamber. "You will not join us?" he asked, already knowing the answer. "No," replied the Emperor. "I think I will go to the balcony. I always enjoy the colors in the sky at this time of evening."

Michael bowed, and then entered the council chamber without hesitation.

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When John V had died, Manuel had quietly slipped away from Bursa with his followers before Bayezid could come up with some other humiliation. He was crowned Basileus at the age of 40. The Sultan seemed content to force Manuel into vassalage, and to summon him on annual military campaigns. The other peoples who had traditionally looked to Constantinople for guidance took note; in 1392, Russia dropped all mention of the emperor from its liturgy.

Manuel II refused to go on campaign in 1394, and quickly found Constantinople beseiged. Constrained on all sides, he turned to the rest of Europe for help, as had his father. And the Europeans responded! Led by Sigismund, King of Hungary, Franks and Italians streamed towards the Balkans. They converged in a massive army on Nicopolis in 1396. But when Bayezid finally decided to give battle, the foolish Franks charged right ahead. Despite causing great losses, they were finally exhausted and slaughtered; the remaining Crusader army could not hope to stand against Bayezid's larger and victorious force, and had to retreat.

In 1399, with the siege continuing, Manuel desperately accepted an invitation from King Charles VI of France to visit and seek aid. Though desperately humiliating to go to the court of the Frankish king (who was apparently different from the Frankish emperor), Michael accompanied Manuel on this trip, as on all others. From then until 1403, Manuel charmed the courts of the western Europeans, but with no material results. However, Providence had not abandoned him completely.

In 1402, Bayezid was routed and captured by Timur the Lame, sometimes called Tamerlane. The Ottoman Empire fell into disarray, with the pretender to the Sultanate in the Balkans offering to give up some coastal territory around Thessalonica to the Empire in exchange for piece. Manuel's formerly rebellious nephew, John VII, had been left in charge of Constantinople, and eagerly accepted the offer. And so passed, with Manuel a continent away, the Empire's best chance to break the Ottoman yoke.

It was all Manuel could do to survive the Ottoman civil wars which culminated in the victory of Mehmed in 1413, whom he had luckily supported. Manuel sent his second son, Theodore, to rule the Morea in 1407 and his third son, Andronicus, to rule Thessalonica in 1408. His first son, John, remained heir. In 1414, he sailed with his fourth and most talented son, Constantine, to the Morea, along with his rising official, Michael Argyrus. There, the three of them hatched a plan to fortify the Isthmus of Corinth with a six-mile wall of fortifications, called the Hexamilium. It was the first positive action Manuel had taken since the trip to Europe, but it had been the fire in young Constantine and the wise counsel of Michael which had allowed it to happen.

Another Turkish revolt, in 1416, placed the pretender, Mustafa, in John's hands in Constantinople. Mehmed was willing to pay the Empire a reasonable subsidy to keep him imprisoned on Lesbos, and so it was agreed. Since that time, there had been nothing but squabbles over what to do with the money, and which course to take next.

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It was Constantine who had grown increasingly impatient with the situation. When he complained to Michael, the latter hit upon the idea of a council of the leaders of the Empire to try and devise a way out of the Empire's dire situation. Now Michael saw him sitting, squirming was more like it, in the council chamber next to his own son, Gallienus. Michael walked to the head of the table, where he put down the small box he was carrying next to the stylus and papers already on the table.

He did not immediately speak, and the loud hubbub of conversation continued to swirl about. He saw soldiers and scholars, patricians and priests. They were not jovially joking with each other; instead they were already arguing fiercely about the path they planned to set out for the minister and the Emperor. Perhaps it had been a mistake to convene this meeting.

There was a loud knock at the door, which surprised everyone into shutting up. The door swung open to reveal the Venetian and Genoese ambassadors, plus their staffs, all fighting to be first through the door. The flushed Venetian ambassador loudly proclaimed, "The Republic of Venice has legally established interests in this city, and we will not be shut out of debates over its future!"

As one of the Genoese (or was that a Pisan?) opened his mouth, a George Scholarius stood up. He was the sole representative from the universities of the Empire, reputed to be their greatest scholar. Michael wondered why the others had felt he could be spared away from his teaching. He had his answer when George began speaking in perfect Attic Greek, which even he had some difficulty deciphering.

Alexius Lascaris, the general, creased his bald pate and shouted, "Speak so the rest of us can understand you, dammit!" He was probably trying to be polite in his tone of voice, but civility did not come naturally to Alexius. George looked taken aback, then sniffed with an upturned nose, and began again. "This EMPIRE shall determine its own policy; we certainly do not need the clerks of a rebellious dux in Italy telling us what to do!"

John of Thessalonica, representing the commercial interests of the Empire, now stood just as quickly and threw an apprehensive glance at the infuriated Italians. It was well-known that he had been investing heavily in Venetian trading companies, and was widely seen as the Italians' tool in Constantinople, although he regularly switched which city he worked for. "Now, now, we can only survive if we expand our wealth, and we can only do that if ... "

Michael leaned back in his chair, a pleased look of cunning in his eye as he listened to the various factions argue the pros and cons of different stategies. After he had heard enough, he pounded his staff on the floor twice, and spoke in a voice that brooked no dissent, "Enough. Now we must get down to the serious business of offering some good advice for the Emperor to consider when he alone decides the course of the Empire."

[OOC: Just wanted to say that I'm currently collecting a large number of revisions to EEP Byzantium events, so I don't want to actually begin playing until that is done. And we've only had one post on the RPG strategy debate, so I guess there aren't too many people anxious to see it start. ]

John of Thessalonica glanced at the Venetian again, and then stood as the northern general continued to drone on.

"NO! Survival will come to us if we a strong, and then wealth will follow." It was one of the generals who has interposed himself in the argument, some northern barbarian who had come to Constantinople on a pilgrimage and now had ended up in service of the emperor through a rapid ascent in the army. "We have to make our wills known by the sword, and we need more land that will pay taxes. Your precious trade can be stopped by your fickle allies at any time"

Click to expand...

"Ah, my friend, you may understand how to drink beer and rape women, but you do not understand the intricacies of the Empire. You came because of the gold ducats the Emperor earns by favoring trade with the Venetians and Genoese; without them, we can do nothing.

"Therefore, I propose that we immediately pass legislation to emancipate this state's merchants. The aristocrats have monopolized power for too long, and to no good effect. Then I suggest we build a navy. Perhaps we can use it to persuade the wealthy people of Cyprus to seek our protection from pirates."

John smiled, pleased with his speech. He had rehearsed it in front of his most prized possession, a small, dark mirror, for hours the night before. Then he noticed the other Romans glaring at him, and sat down with a flush.

The monk Gregory Mysticus stood and boomed, "The pursuit of wealth is unworthy of Roman hands. It is in direct contradiction of the teachings of our Lord. Furthermore, the nobles of this land have proven their natural aptitude to honor and exaltation through service to the Emperor for many centuries now. It is a disgrace to hear an attack on them.

"Instead we must stamp out heresy in the realm by clamping down on these dangerous foreign ideas that are coming from the Turk and," here he paused to glare at the Italians, "elsewhere. At the same time, a crusade to recover the great monasteries of Hellas and Macedonia would fire the people with enthusiasm."

Although this idea is not greeted with a wave of approval, several heads around the room nod in agreement.

driftwood

"To succeed in a crusade we would need a larger and better army." He truly had the tact and grace of a bull making mosaics, this general, aptly named Nikolaios Barbarikos. "I can make the army better if I get some help, and the Thessalonician has gracefully suggested that we make the fat Cypriotic traders pay some indemnities long forgotten."

Click to expand...

The small man next to Michael who was frantically scribbling down the discussion on a scrap of parchment put down his pen. He cleared his throat loudly, while self-consciously wiping his ink-stained hand on his robe.

"A larger army? More ships? What is this?" His voice was so incredulous that it would have sounded hysterical if the few frizzled hairs on his head hadn't looked so comical. As he tried to overcome his disbelief enough to continue, Michael waved a placating hand.

"Everyone," he said, "this is my chief logothete, Methodius. He has an intimate knowledge of the state of our finances ... or lack thereof. He has also graciously agreed to record our conversations for the Emperor's later review, in addition to his many other duties, so forgive him if he appears to have many weighty matters on his mind."

Methodius the Logothete did not look like he had heard his patron speak. "We cannot afford the army and navy we have now, shrivelled as they may be. I have urged this council for many years to either raise more funds, or do without one of them. We simply cannot afford to support both at their current levels, especially with our infrastructure in such a sad shape.

"I would instead recommend," he continued, before looking confused and falling silent. "Uh ... I w-would --- oh, yes! I suggest we instead spend our money on centralizing tax collection in the city of Constantinople, as well as in the area of the Morea. We could do this by dismissing the local grandee currently doing it for free," he said more quickly, in a rising voice, "and -- and-- hiring an official tax collector and while the cost might use up most of our existing funds I'm sure we could more than earn back the money in just a few months or years or decades at the outside but it would certainly be better for us in the long run surely you must all see that!!!"

Realizing he had stood up and started waving his ink-soaked pen around, he suddenly flushed and sat down with a thunk. "T-That is, if this august, um, council so concurs."

[OOC: Nikolai, in case you weren't aware, Byzantium starts with about 20k troops and a fleet large enough to transport them. So no need to build any more ships, although you could build more troops.

Methodius the Logothete votes for +1 centralization, and promote bailiffs to tax collectors in both provinces, with offensive action to take place at some unknown future date.

I've also been very busy with work, and accepting a new job to replace my current holdover one, so I apologize for not posting more or getting things rolling.

Thanks to everyone who's read through my rambles.]

driftwood

*** 2 January MCDXIX ***

Michael Argyrus had dark circles under his eyes. The council meeting had dragged long into the night. Then he had spent the morning holed up with Methodius the Logothete, Manuel's youngest son Constantine, and his own son Gallienus, newly appointed protonotarius to the retinue of Constantine, trying to figure out how to write up the council's decisions, or lack thereof.

Methodius had been happy to be there, glad to have another chance to fight for his defeated ideas. Constantine and Gallienus were so overcome with excitement at the upcoming naval expedition that they could hardly sit still. But Michael had found it hard to concentrate on the present. His mind had kept on slipping into dream or memory - as if he could tell the difference at this point.

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Michael had never seen anything as impressive as the Roman fleet when it sailed up to Thessalonica's harbor in 1381. At the time, he could not fathom how so many people could make so many oars, each so very long, move precisely in sync - and two levels of them no less!

In one sweaty palm he gripped the finely wrought silver scabbard, a gift from the city's nobility, while in the other sweaty hand he held onto the golden icon of the Virgin, a gift from the monks. Although near the back of the small delegation of officials waiting to greet the once and future governor of the city, he had positioned himself with a good view of the harbor, all the while reminding himself not to drop anything, not to trip, and not to accidentally say something to the great prince.

Maybe it was just the sun beating down on him, or the stress of the moment, but the next thing he remembered was standing in front of Manuel, awkwardly thrusting out the gifts, and saying, "Please accept these tokens of our happiness at your return, your grace." Surprisingly, he was still capable of feeling a flash of heat when he realized he had preempted the ethnarch in command of the city's small mercenary guard.

Without missing a step, and seemingly unfazed by the glaring sun, Manuel swept the scabbard up and stared at it for a moment, then grabbed the icon and held it so that it reflected the sunlight back and forth.

"Why thank you, young sir!" he announced with a grin. "I was not aware that a lad just past his first full beard had risen to such prominence in my city during my absence." There was a strained laugh from the crowd of nobles. "Perhaps you could contribute your wisdom to a question I have been pondering:"

Michael wondered, in the eternity when only the birds spoke, whether this would be the ignoble end of the Argyrus family. He was sure there would be a line of disappointed ancestors glaring at him down in hell from their comfortable seats in heaven.

"Do you see that immaculate fleet behind me? Do you see the young men in this city, such as yourself, eager to serve the Empire? With such strengths, is there any chance we can fail to redeem the Empire after the long travails we have suffered?"

Michael swallowed in an attempt to force words out of his parched throat. "Yes --- I mean, no, we can't fail --- that is, with the grace of God anything is possible." He almost winced visibly at his confused jumble of words, and he could feel the other great families mentally crossing Argyrus off the list of forces to be reckoned with.

"A careful answer, young master. Yes, we may accomplish much through drive and ingenuity, but ultimately we cannot thwart God's will. Nor would we want to." He inclined his head slightly, and added, "Thank you for reminding me of that. I look forward to hearing your counsel in the long days to come."

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Manuel read the formal constitution proposing an increase in the army, followed by an expedition to attack Cyprus, taking it if possible, exacting tribute if not. He glanced at the accompanying sheet recommending immediate reforms to improve the organization, quality, or offensive power of the army.

"Michael, how many grand fleets have I equipped with even grander hopes? Can you remind me why I continue to place such hopes in them?" he asked.

Michael shrugged, feeling at ease now that the long hours of work were finally done. "Why? Because sooner or later we will set sail and find ourselves actually tracing the path God has laid down for us."

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[OOC: There can be further discussion on whether Cyprus should be annexed or vassalized. Obviously the former is better, but Venice (and other Catholic nations) aren't going to like that very much. Same goes for DP sliders - I would push for either offensive (to get the shock and morale bonuses) or quality (for the fire and morale bonuses) over land.

In the EEP events, I wanted to reduce the starting army, but the desertion command doesn't work. So all the troops are still there. I can post a screenshot or two showing the normal map (with troop dispositions) and the political map (showing the reduced core provinces). Oh, that reminds me - I don't think Cyprus is a core province at the start anymore. But I need to doublecheck.

No, it's been removed. It could be added back in, though - it's been argued in the forums.]

driftwood

The Cypriot War

*** Still 2 January 1419 ***

Gallienus had finally found a moment to grab a bite of food, his first in 7 hours. He had simply been to busy running errands for his father, the hypersebastocrator, and his friend, the porphyrogenitus. First his father, Michael Argyrus, had sent him to the Venetian legate on a very delicate mission. Although it was humiliating, he had been instructed to request an alliance with Venice.

When he had announced his business, the legate's secretary, Umberto, had looked surprised.

"What," Umberto cried, "you wish to join our war against Ragusa? How did you know we had declared war already? You must have a spy!"

Gallienus waved his hands in what he hoped was a placating manner. "No, no, my friend, you misunderstand me! What's this about Ragusa? It doesn't matter. That's a matter between you, the Magyars, and the poor Ragusans" - Gallienus winced as this badly chosen word made the Venetian flush even more - "no, I mean a Union of Arms between ourselves, our cousins in Trebizond, and yourselves. As you know, we intend to war against Cyprus for their past insolence and would appreciate your public support."

Umberto squinted at the perfumed Greek, and then nodded his head. The youth was telling the truth, since he was obviously too inept to lie. War with Cyprus? It might be easier to gain control of the island from a weak Byzantium than from an independent state. "I'll pass along your request for such a boon; I'm such the legate will agree."

Sure enough, word came later that very afternoon that the offer, clearly anticipated, had been accepted. But there was a condition: we must direct our trade towards Venice, rather than Alexandria or any other center of trade. Not having any choice, Michael quickly agreed to the concession. To seal the agreement, a niece of the Doge was married to a nephew of the monk Gregory Mysticus. [OOC: Venice enters our alliance with Trebizond; in June, RM with Venice]

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Meanwhile, Michael completed a review of state policy with the Emperor.

"Michael, we cannot afford to alienate the Catholic states any longer. They do not seem satisfied with the personal submission of my family to the Pope, yet I cannot see a way to bring the entire Eastern Church with me into Union. So, for present, it must suffice to give greater Imperial patronage to Catholics."

Michael nodded, understanding. "My liege, something must give. If we give greater support to Catholics, with our limited resources, good Orthodox subjects will feel slighted." He paused and chewed on the end of his stylus. "There is a limited number of official positions we have traditionally given to Muslim Turks. Perhaps they would not notice during these troubled times if the positions were ... reallocated?"

Manuel frowned, but then shrugged. He would have to make an enemy somewhere, and right now he would rather it be with Muslims than Catholics. [OOC: Muslim tolerance put to zero, Catholic tolerance up to halfway]

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Finally, after saying farewell to his son, Michael walked alongside Nikolaios Barbaros down to the docks where the fleet had assembled. Gallienus and Constantine were to join the invasion army as minor commanders, where they might learn from the northern barbarian. Although it would take over a fortnight for the full army and supplies to be loaded, this would be the last time Michael would be able to talk with Nikolaios.

"You understand, Nikolaios, that you must protect the prince, that his life is just as important as the success of the expedition." If Constantine were safe, Michael mused, Gallienus would be as well.

"Of course," Nikolaios huffed. "Like I say, though, the best protection for commanders is a well-trained army. Which is what we don't have! There is still time for me to do drills during the sail to Morea and Cyprus - if you will just let me!"

Michael didn't see what good drills would do. "How much would that cost?" he asked.

"Nothing! They're drills!" Nikolaios was trying very hard to keep his tone respectful.

"Very well," Michael said with an amused smile. "Feel free to go ahead."
[OOC: DP slider +1 quality, now at 5]

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The decision was not as well received at court. [OOC: stability -1, down to -1] Methodius the Logothete, in particular, wanted to know why the general had gotten his way with his policy of army reform.

"I tell you, this is the first step in reforming our finances! We must make a short-term sacrifice to improve our longterm prospects!" he whined.

Michael, whose strength was flagging, raised a hand in limp protest. "What would the appointment of a minister for taxation cost?"

Methodius gulped, wondering how truthful he would be. With the Emperor's piercing gaze on him, though, he suddenly blurted out the truth, "50,000 ducats."

In the strained silence, Michael finally said, "And what is the current size of the imperial treasury?"

"75,000 ducats," Methodius mumbled.

Michael started to issue a sharp rebuke, but instead looked to Manuel. The Basileus nodded. "Very well, Methodius, institute the reforms. And hope that the people of Constantinople do not demand your head in repayment." [OOC: began promotion of bailiff to tax collector in Thrace]

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War seemd to be the general rule in Europa. Castile renewed its crusade against the infidels of Granada. In the lands of the Rus, war broke out between Muscovy and Novgorod, and then Suzdal jumped on Novgorod from behind. In Ragusa, Naples and Albania suddenly took advantage of Venice's presence to join that war as well. In Francia, a full 10 states were involved in a massive war of alliances. And then on 1 July, Rome declared war on Cyprus.

"How can we lose, Gallienus? Look at the pathetic Cypriots - they hardly have 1000 men, while we have twenty times that amount!" Constantine argued as the landing ships were readied, on 27 July. "Not to mention the allied armies of Venice and Trebizond, already on their way!"

Gallienus frowned. He had a bad feeling about this assault. The Cypriots did not seemed surprised, and it seemed to be in many states' interests that Rome shatter its armies in this expedition. But supplies were running low in the fleet, and the admiral had insisted on disembarking the troops so he could return to Mistra.

"I don't know, Constantine. I'd say there are at least 6000 men down there, and they're well-entrenched. They're fighting for their homes, and these seas are too rough for us to stay together. Seperated, we won't be able to bring our superior numbers to bear." But Constatine was in no mood to listen, and Nikolaios shared his opinion.

"For the Emperor!" he roared as the landing boats were launched, and the army responded with a loud cheer.

A volley of arrows and larger projectiles quickly shattered that mood. As the Romans swarmed in confusion on the beach, Cypriot cavalry started to roll up the Roman line. Luckily, the newly disciplined troops held together well enough to fall back without suffering major casualties. Eventually defensive positions were made, and the fighting diminished into skirmishes and inconclusive manuevering. But the Roman position was fundamentally weak, and nothing they could do improved it.

On 8 August, Constantine gathered the best cavalry and attempted a full-frontal charge, without Nikolaios' knowledge, claiming it was his chivalric duty to try and turn the tide. Gallienus refused to join such a suicidal gesture, and had to stand there in shame watching his friend and liege ride towards certain death. Then inspiration struck him.

Constantine was hard-pressed with his few remaining knights as he considered how unrelated chivalry was to military success. He vowed to place common sense above common wisdom should he survive his folly, unlikely though that seemed. As he tried to fend off 3 soldiers armed with pikes while at the same time protecting the backs of his unhorsed comrades, he suddenly heard a great noise, as if the entire Roman army had rallied to his defence. He and his soldiers gave a responding cry, and launched into a flurry of attacks. The Cypriots, stunned at the sudden change in odds, quickly retreated.

They had just disappeared from sight when two groups of Romans, one headed by Gallienus, rode up from opposite directions, clapping their swords on their shields and yelling as if each were three men. Constantine grinned in surprise and relief. "I think, my friend, that your tactics will win more victories than mine. Perhaps it's time I changed my thinking."

Gallienus just smiled. "Perhaps it's time we got back to the camp. No need to press our luck any further today."

The Roman army reboarded the fleet the next day. [OOC: we lose the battle on 9 August]

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Nikolaios was sitting in council with Constantine and Gallienus. "That just might work," he mused. "Very devilish of you, Constantine. We may make a general out of you yet."

Just then Admiral Andros barged in. "This fleet cannot take another storm like we had last week. I have been negotiating with the Venetian fleet anchored with us for permission to reprovision at Crete or elsewhere, but they have refused! We must take action soon or we will all be lost at sea!"

"You what?!" shouted Nikolaios. "How dare you go behind my back to talk to the Venetians! They will think us weak, unable to take a tiny island!"

"You have no authority while on this fleet, Barbarikos!" sneered Andros. "You barbarians are all ---"

"Enough!" yelled Constantine. "If you act again without Nikolaios' or my approval, I'll have your actions examined for insufficient loyalty upon our return to Constantinople." Before Nikolaois could respond, he hurriedly added, "But we are setting sail today to finish this matter. Well, most of us are," he finished with a smile. [OOC: Venice refuses to grant military access; Ottoman Empire cancelled military access back in July]

***************************

The plan worked perfectly. On 12 November, Constantine, a small detachment, and alot of empty suits of armor began slowly deploying on the same beaches as before. Meanwhile the rest of the fleet sailed to the other side of the island and disembarked the army. Nikolaios led the main army quickly down the island and launched them without hesitation into the rear of the remaining Cypriots. The 2nd Battle of Cyprus was won a month later, and that same day the fleet set sail for Morea for the winter.

The news of the beginning of the siege reached Constantinople with the new year. Michael had been keeping busy solidifying the empire's diplomatic situation. While he didn't expect a vassalization of Cyprus to upset very many, Hungary for one had already been upset by the declaration of war on a Catholic nation. So at the same time the siege was beginning, he had for his late wife's sister, older but with a substantial estate, to marry a Hungarian baron. He was just as happy to have a reminder of his former happiness gone from Constantinople.

Although a small trade presence had been established at Venice during the previous summer, in the heady days before the 1st Battle of Cyprus, it was during 1420 that Michael really began to focus on trade. In March, the Venetian legate's secretary, Umberto, arrived bearing news about the Ragusan war.

"M'lord," he said with a deep bow, "we are now in a position to fully integrate the city-state of Ragusa into our Republic. In exchange for your public support, we are prepared to accept whatever settlement you conclude in Cyprus." He smiled smoothly.

"I am sure, Umberto, that your Doge does not need our permission to annex a defeated enemy, just as we do not need yours to do the same. However, in the interest of strengthening our ties as allies, I propose a commercial treaty. We have given over all of our trade in Constantinople to you; the least you can do is show some preference for our few merchants in Venice."

Umberto, without missing a beat, drew a paper from his sleeve. Odd that he was so well-prepared. "A most reasonable request, m'lord. Let us settle the terms right now."

The trade agreement paid off well, as the very next month trade was expanded in Venice, to the remarkable sum of 12,000 ducats a year. The next year, as Michael arranged marriages with Serbia and Georgia, trade grew by another 50% in Venice. But by then, more important matters had occurred.

******************************

On 1 December 1420, Nikolaios led the victorious Roman and Venetian armies, weakened by privation but flush with success, into the last stronghold on Cyprus. The Cypriot army was gone, the people were exhausted from siege and pillage, and had no quarrel with Roman rule in any event.

"You will now pay us tribute, each and every year!" Nikolaios announced to the remaining nobles. Alexander the Lame, so named for his club foot stood. "Please, m'lord," he said to Constantine, "the flower of our knighthood is gone, and we cannot stand another war like this. We beseech you, in the name of the Basileus, to accept us into the Empire, to benefit from your enlightened rule and the protection of your strong sword."

"So be it," said Constantine. "Cyprus is now a part of the Empire."

*******************************

Hungary, among others, was most unhappy with the Empire for its actions in Cyprus. Michael tried to maintain his diplomatic fence by a royal marriage with Moldavia, but he had growing sense of apprehension, and he did not know why. Perhaps he was just getting old. To the West, the small states of Mantua, Mainz, and Baden had all lost their independence, while Savoy had lost half its territory to Provence. All the great powers were in major alliances, and they might not view the Empire as being too big to be swallowed.

He was reassured when Nikolaios, Constantine, and Gallienus led the remaining 13,000 troops back to Constantinople in triumph in April 1421. But a month later a new Mehmed died and Murad II became Sultan of the Turks. Michael urged Manuel to send a gift, to reassure the new Sultan, but Constantine had other ideas.

"We must protect our resources and be prepared to strike as soon as the opportunity may arise," he argued. "This could be our last chance to strike the Ottomans in a weak state!"

To his dismay, Michael found his son, Gallienus, supporting Constantine, and even hashing out ideas with him. They had been inspired by their tactics on Cyprus, and wished to repeat their success. While Michael negotiated a marital alliance with Trebizond, to strengthen their military one, Constantine and Gallienus schemed late into the night.

Finally, as summer bled into autumn, they requested an audience with Michael and the Emperor. "We have an idea," Constantine announced. "Do you remember old Mustafa, the pretender we are holding in prison? What do you think would happen if we released him?"

Michael was aghast. "Murad would know we were responsible! It would mean war! In fact, we should execute him, just to prove to Murad that we harbor no hostile intentions!"

Gallienus shook his head, "Father, now is the time for bold action. If we release him, it is certain to spark revolts. While the Turks are facing their own people, we can strike! Or, at least remind Murad that we hold a dangerous weapon against him - certainly don't kill him!"

"Releasing him is not enough," Constantine pressed, with a gleam in his eye, "we should provide him with a warchest. With 100,000 ducats, he could raise an army truly worthy of the name!"

Manuel frowned. "This is not a decision to be made lightly, during the thick of night. Take this to the full council," he ordered.

[OOC: Pretender to the Throne event - A) Release Mustafa (stab -1, war with Turkey, effects for Venice and Turkey); B) Hold onto Mustafa (relations with Turkey +25, stab +1); C) Execute Mustafa (relations with Turkey +100, stab +1, +125 ducats); D) Release Mustafa with Funds (stab -1, war with Turkey, -100 relations with Turkey, -100 ducats, Venetian and Turkish effects)

I would have posted last night, but I couldn't get the page to load within 30 minutes ... I don't know if it was my connection or the site.]

driftwood

Bold First Steps (1421-1423)

[OOC: Sorry anyone reading this, I didn't realize the history file didn't record building improvements or new armies being raised. So I've tried to guess when they occurred. I also played quite a ways into the game; this is the first part of that effort. I'm trying to speed things up a little bit, so I won't be able to take any feedback into account until, oh, roughly 1475. ]

23 July, 1421

The fight in the council chamber had been short but very raucous. Although Constantine still pushed the hardline option of freeing Mustafa, pretender to the Ottoman throne, with a subsidy of 100,000 ducats, that option was ruled out fairly quickly. Strangely, it was the bureaucracy, led by Methodius the Logothete, who favored the military option of releasing Mustafa and preparing for immediate war.

"But we can't win! Not now - you didn't see us on Cyprus, flailing about, soldiers sitting on the beaches crying for their mamas," Nikolaios boomed. He had been dragged to the meeting against his free will, and was now hoping to limit the damage the wrong decision would cause. Not that he had any clue which was the correct decision. "Why can't we just hold on to him, see if a better opportunity comes up?"

Gallienus now spoke for the first time. "I suggest something as radical, in its way, as what Constantine has suggested. This Murad is an unknown quantity, but so must we appear to him. That's why we should act boldly to win the Turks favor while we continue to strengthen our position." He raised his hands against the angry murmur that was already being voiced. "Hear me out: Cyprus is a wealthy island, and will greatly enhance our revenues. The officials have ideas for improving the tax collection in the provinces, the Megadux Nikolaios has begun a training reform for the army and fleet ... in a few years time, we will be much abler to strike at the Turk and hope to win."

The Venetian ambassador, who was present although his Genoese rival was mysteriously absent, interrupted with, "But you do not have decades, or years, or even months. Murad will probably decide to just crush you --- "

"--- unless we prove to him that he can focus on other concerns first," Gallienus in turn interrupted. "The situation in Asia Minor is uncertain for them, with Teke, Karamon, and other emirates still present. I'm sure they would prefer to reassert their control over those regions before they try to crack the Constantinopolitan nut, as it were." This comment drew some uncomfortable chuckles. "So we should execute Mustafa."

If Gallienus had planned to make any more arguments, they were quickly drowned out by the uproar. Eventually Michael, Gallienus' father, stepped in to call a halt. "There are no good choices here. For now, we will simply hold on to Mustafa, and wait to see which course of action may be the most useful as events develop. Thank you all for your counsel."

Constantine grabbed Gallienus' arm as they left the room with everyone else. "You've changed, since Cyprus." It wasn't really a question.

Gallienus shrugged. "So have you. Your mouth just hasn't realized it yet," he said with a slight smile.

Constantine made no move to disagree. "Don't you realize how weak it makes us look to curry favor like that? I'll admit our position is not good, but your idea is just ... "

"Our position is that weak. Our fathers fought to take the last Roman city in Asia, my mother's birthplace. And things have not improved much since. We must be ruthless in making our fortune, but that does not mean always choosing the direct approach. Remember Cyprus: the frontal assault failed, while a small army in the front and a large one in the back succeeded. Did retreating and then landing just a small force make us look weak? Certainly. But who rules Cyprus now?"

"I see your point," Constantine nodded. And Gallienus could tell he did. "Maybe we should take extra efforts to see that your policy is the one that is ... implemented."

One week later, Mustafa was found to have peacefully passed away during the night. While the imperial doctors could not find any concrete evidence of foul play, they also noted that he had been in very good health just a month before. There was quite a bit of trepidation among the courtiers as word was sent to the Sultan Murad II of his uncle's demise. But the reply was as good as anyone could have hoped.

**************************************

On October 15, word came that the Ottoman Empire had declared war against its sometime vassal Candar. At the same time, the messenger announced that Mustafa's former estates in Thessaly, which had provided the income for his upkeep, would revert in full to the emperor, in thanks for his steadfast support to his suzerain, the Sultan. The sum came to 125,000 ducats.

That winter there were more debates about the future policy of the Empire. However, the team of Constantine and Gallienus were clearly coming to dominate the discussions. Manuel was ailing much of the time now, and Michael Argyrus seemed to rely on his monarch for the strength to maintain his control of the fractious court. It was also clear that Gallienus would, in all likelihood, succeed his father as hypersebastocrator, meaning that another Argyrus would set imperial policy. Constantine's status for the present was settled when his father gave him the city of Mistra, in the Morea, to rule.

It was a good choice, for any opportunities to expand would be found in the south. To the northwest of the Morea was Albania, a Catholic state ruling an Orthodox people. Likewise to the north was the fragile Duchy of Athens, a Crusader holdover subjegating the Greeks of Hellas. The Cyprus expedition had been so wildly successful that no one was surprised when Constantine took the bulk of his army with him to the Morea. While Athens was a vassal of Tuscany, and Tuscany part of an Italian alliance, Albania had only an alliance with Naples.

"The problem was Epirus," as Nikolaois and many other Byzantine officials called it, "is that we have no land route to it, except through Hellas. And the Duke of Athens is not so stupid as to grant us free passage, to pillage his farms and plunder his livestock. So, it would be back into the boats for us! And we would be attacking into the mountains. Then the Neapolitans could attack us in the back. Mmmm, not easy, m'lord, not easy at all ..." he opined.

Constantine waved a hand. "I have the utmost faith in our troops, Megadux. You have trained them well, and their numbers are larger than ever. We'll make arrangements to remove the cavalry after the initial battle, though. No need to lose good mounts on the mountain paths. And I suppose we could then send them to invade Apuleia ..."

"I have a suggestion," Gallienus put in. "The Venetians rule Ragusa, just north of Albania. They have a great fleet, and would certainly welcome another hold on the Italian mainland. But I do not know if they would honor our alliance." He drew out a constitution submitted to his father back in Constantinople. "They have been pressing for some improved quarters for their merchants, docks for their trading vessels, and accomodations for their ambassadors. The expense, while not insignficant, is not that great either. Perhaps we could send them word of our generous gift of improved quarters before the declaration of war?"

Constantine clapped his hands. "Perfect! I have a very good feeling about this! It will be a personal gift from Constantine of Mistra to the illustrious Dux of Venetia."

The gift would have worked perfectly, except that on April 5th, less than a month after its arrival, the Grand Comnenus of Trebizond declared war on Dulkadir, since the latter was involved in a war in the Caucusus and Armenia. Venice may have been willing to side with Byzantium, but was not going to do so for Trebizond, and dishonored the alliance.

Constantine was fit to be restrained. "How could my cousin just go ahead and do something like that! Destroying the alliance just as we were ready to declare war!" He stormed back and forth on the balcony of the palace. Nikolaois was just as upset. "Now we have to move the entire army to the Black Sea? Very long trip, that. Half of them won't survive the winter in Trebizond." He spat on the balcony, then nervously covered it with his boot before anyone noticed.

Gallienus had a different view. "Venice will not rejoin our alliance while we are engaged in an Eastern War. Trebizond has made this mess, and now must clean it up. We should dishonor the alliance as well; then our diplomats can cajole the Venetians back, and the Grand Comnenus will have nowhere to turn but back to us."

Nikolaois was shocked. "That --- that --- it's pure treachery!"

"The rules of civility are written by the idle rich, at times of peace. We are not rich, idle, or at leisure to live in peace. So the rules of civility must be put aside for the moment," Gallienus said in a deliberate tone. He carried the day.

*********************************

1422-1423

On April 21st, the military accord between Rome and Venice was signed. On May 15th, the armies loaded the fleet off the western coast of the Morea. On June 2nd, a humbled Trebizond entered the alliance. And by July 8th, Nikolaois had led the Roman armies to a smashing defeat of the Albanians in the heart of their homeland. While the Venetians pillaged southern Italy, all of the Roman cavalry and a few hundred infantry reboarded the fleet to return to the Morea. Although the Albanians made another attempt to break the siege, this too failed, and the siege continued uneventfully through the winter and into 1423.

Exactly a year after the war began, Albania was in Roman hands. However the Venetian expeditionary force in southern Italy had dissolved after initial victories, and it was now time for final dispositions. Umberto Largo, formerly the Venetian legate's secretary in Constantinople, had been sent as ambassador-at-large to the peace parlee at Mistra. Petros represented the Grand Comnenus of Trebizond, who had managed to buy his way out of his ill-conceived war after a series of defeats. Gallienus represented Constantine (as the war had been considered Constantine's business as Despot of Morea, rather than Manuel's as Basileus), Niccolo represented Naples, and George represented Albania.

"We are ready to freely acknowledge Constantine of Morea as our overlord and suzerain," announced George with a flourish.

"That's all well and good," said Umberto in a tone that indicated he found it neither well nor good, "but the Republic of Venice has seens its best sons and the pride of its shipyards lost in this tragic affair."

Niccolo snorted. "If those were the best Venice had to offer, it's a wonder the city's survived this long!"

"The Grand Comnenus does not feel he should be left out of any settlement either," piped Petros. He was not surprised when everyone ignored him.

Gallienus smiled. "Gentlemen, though we have warred, let us no longer be enemies. The Neapolitans have shown themselves true allies to the Albanians, but that cause is now lost." George paled slightly at this. "Though you fought off one Venetian army, you are in no position to continue the war. Let us end things now, and return them to the way they were." Niccolo nodded; a white peace had been his goal.

As Umberto gathered in breath for a tirade, Gallienus hurried on. "And of course we are even more mindful of the brilliant faithfulness of our Venetian friends! The Emperor has personally instructed me to compensate you for the cost of refitting your ships, plus giving donatives to your new soldiers. I am empowered to offer you the sum of 50,000 ducats." Umberto exhaled, and nodded to himself. "An acceptable sum. Where will you find the money?"

"Why, it will be drawn from the former royal treasury of Albania, when we send our governor to our new province." George hung his head.

The year 1424 saw efforts at reform in Byzantium begin to take hold. Constantine was given general command of the military, although in practice he continued to delegate authority to Nikolaois, while Gallienus gradually assumed control of the various departments in Constantinople. Methodius the Logothete's ideas survived, although he did not after a cold developed into pneumonia, as tax collectors were appointed to the remaining provinces. It was good that there were dedicated officials on hand to oversee revenue collection, because it seemed like everyone else was converging on Constantinople like vultures, waiting for Manuel II to pass on.

1425

Michael Argyrus tried to focus the writing on the pages in front of him. Although he had ceded most of his duties to his son, Gallienus, over the past four years, he still handled some diplomatic and commercial affairs. Every year he saw the departure of a trading mission to Venice, or sometimes up the rivers to the friendly Russian states surrounding Novgorod. Each year there would be some initial success, which would then be completely wiped out over the next few months. They were lucky to break even every year.

He also continued to try and arrange marital alliances with the great (and not-so-great) powers of Europe. They had grudgingly agreed to marry their sons and daughters to schismatic Greeks a decade earlier; now, after the conquest of Cyprus and Albania, they were mostly unwilling to even consider the matter. His last success had been arranging his son's marriage to the third daughter of the Duke of Muscovy the previous year. What was her name? He couldn't remember now.

He sighed. The fact was that he had not accomplished much of anything since Manuel had passed away in July, around the 2nd anniversary of the Albanian victory. He suspected they were humoring him by allowing him to stay at court. They being his son and the new emperor's, John VIII, brother-heir Constantine. It was well-known that he did not approve of his son's methods, but he could not argue with their success, especially when he had no alternatives to offer.

He opened the small wood box he kept with him at all times. Reaching in, he gently pushed some of the objects out of the way until his trembling fingers grabbed ahold of the thin string. He had only been able to get one of the devices repaired, and now held up the delicate crystal bird to the window. As it began to move in the fading light, he decided that he no longer wanted to be here. He would return to his native city of Thessalonica, and live out his days at the monastery there, where he would be unaware of the intrigues at court and could simply watch the soothing colors of dusk.

1428-1429

It was Gallienus' Russian wife, re-baptized Theophano, who had told him of his father's death. His estate, beyond the properties which he had controlled since Michael had entered the monastery, consisted only of a wooden box than jingled when it moved. He resolved to open it as soon as he had a chance. She entered his study now, looking as if she wanted to say something. Finally she moved in front of him.

"Was that Ambassador Razos from Trebizond I saw?" she asked in her fascinating accent. He had quickly grown to love his wife once he had discovered that the rumors about Russian women and moustaches weren't true. Gallienus found himself depending quite often on her good sense and ability to let him talk through problems out loud.

"Yes," he finally said. "They have gotten themselves into a war with Georgia and Modena. Venice has made it clear on several occasions that they will absolutely not get involved in a war over there right now, and for some reason do not want to start a fight with Modena either."

"Plus," she added, "you have been trying to coax Georgia into your alliance as well." He nodded. "I think the Venetians know something that we do not. But I suppose there is nothing to be done except what we did six years ago. The Venetian alliance is too important to lose over our cousins in Trebizond."

He shook his head in frustration. "I hate not knowing what is going on." He did not see Theophano open and shut her mouth again.

His concerns were answered in October, two months later, when Austria, Hungary, Siebenburgen, Croatia, Bohemia, and Luxembourgh all declared war on Venice and Byzantium. Trebizond returned the favor to Venice by dishonoring the alliance, and Gallienus had to begin efforts to coax them back in. But he didn't put his finger on what was bothering him until he noticed his wife looking a bit rotund around her lithe waist.

He didn't even have to say anything. Following his gaze, Theophano cried, "I've been trying to tell you! But you always seemed so busy, and I-- I---" Gallienus just stared at her in befuddlement. "I'm pregnant!"

It was then that Gallienus began to feel overwhelmed.

Constantine and Nikolaois took the army to Albania, since the only land connection to the belligerent Europeans was through Venice's Dalmatian territories. That January, the two of them hashed out some new cavalry tactics that promised to make the army better at offensive operations, and the troops showed a slight improvement in their morale becaues of this.

In May, Gallienus received two pieces of good news. First Trebizond rejoined their alliance; then Theophano gave birth to a baby boy. They christened him Aurelian.

1430-1434

Gallienus for his part set himself to nurturing both his state and his child. He watched in horror as massive alliances of European states went to war with each other in 1430 and 1431. Small states were being annexed left and right, while groups of three, five, and even seven states declared war on each other. Worst of all, the Golden Horde swept into Trebizond, executed the entire Comnenus family, and annexed the state. After Venice made peace with Hungary, a shaken Gallienus went to visit Constantine in Mistra to bring him the news of the Papacy's annexation of Modena, which left Georgia without an alliance.

He was surprised to find the province in a state of unrest. "Can you believe this?" exclaimed Constantine. "They say that times are dangerous, and they want me to repair the Hexamilium." He snorted. "I still don't see how a 6-mile wall across the Isthmus of Corinth is going to do any good. Any enemy can simply sail around it. But to repair it would take 75,000 ducats, and divert so many resources from the army that our offensive capabilities would be diminished for years!"

"True, it seems a waste," Gallienus agreed. "But what will the cost be if Morea is torn by unrest? Besides, maybe the Turks will think twice about invading."

Constantine snorted. "I somehow doubt that." He grew serious. "I am beginning to worry about that though. I trust Murad, for he has shown himself to always be honorable and a friend, but most of his court is different. How much longer can he safely ignore them? Fortifications in Morea are fine, but we need to consolidate our position before the Turks can take advantage of it. I don't want to end up like our cousins in Trebizond."

Gallienus stopped walking. "What do you have in mind?" He had been unable to shake a nagging feeling of guilt about the poor Comneni.

"The land route from Albania to Morea is blocked by the Duchy of Athens. Not only that, but Athens is hostile to us, but in a weak position. I suspect we could safely take the Duchy, even while repairing the Hexamilium."

Constantine began walking again. "Tell the emperor that we will be ready to war this May. And inform him that I will need a shipment of masons to do some fortification work."

"And Trebizond?" Gallienus asked, even though he would have reprimanded an underling for such a useless question. He knew the answer as well as Constantine.

"There is nothing we can do, except pledge to liberate it one day. They are too far away, and our own problems are too pressing."

5 months later, in April 1432, Poland and Lithuania split Moldavia between them. A week later, on May 6th, Roman armies streamed through the Hexamilium into Hellas. The Papacy, Genoa, and Bavaria all leapt to the Duchy's defense, but Megadux Nikolaois, by now used to invading small nations, crushed the Athenian army. Gallienus, meanwhile, negotiated a white peace with Austria and the rest of its alliance, which continued to war with Venice despite Hungary's exit from that war.

The Duke of Athens led the remnants of his army to the Morea, neatly bypassing the Hexamilium as Constantine had predicted. There he ambushed a large Roman army, led by Constantine himself, which had been attempting to corner him. Although Constantine was able to withdraw with few losses, the Duke promptly circled around to attack Nikolaois in the rear. Constantine chased him to the gates of Athens, where the Duke was defeated by the combined armies. A few stragglers made a break for the mountains of Albania, hoping to spark a revolt among the people, but they met their final fate at loyal Roman hands.

On November 9th, Nikolaois rode into Athens, the third capital city he had taken. Once again he received the submission of an Orthodox people just as happy to be rid of their Catholic overlords. He wondered if now would be an auspicious time to retire; he was definitely afraid of pressing his luck. But the Duke and his old allies were not ready to give up the fight yet. In December, Bavaria backed out of the war and a Genoese assault on Albania was defeated, and then in January the underfunded Roman fleet lost naval engagements against a Papal and Genoese fleet off of the coast of Albania. Their pride salvaged, those two states also agreed to a white peace. Finally, the Duke of Athens himself acknowledged his defeat, and Hellas was made a province of the Empire.

More fateful than the Athenian war, though, was an event occurring across the Aegean. On July 2, Murad II declared war on Candar, and led his armies in person. Although his armies would eventually annex Candar a year later, he would not live to see the day. A lucky arrow from the ramparts killed that noble soul, and a hawkish faction secured control of the court. Even before the war with Candar ended, the new Sultan began casting his eyes towards Constantinople.

The signs were mounting. On February 28th, an unidentified man recently arrived from Bursa launched himself at the Megadux Nikolaois. Although he was stabbed by three swords before both feet had hit the ground, it was still enough time for the Turk to slice Nikolaois' neck. A grief-stricken Constantine prevailed upon the emperor John to arrange a state funeral.

In July 1433, Georgia refused to enter a military alliance, having seen Turkey just annex Candar. Venice, nervously eyeing the Turks, agreed to pay the staggering sum of 200,000 ducats to Austria to end its long-running and destructive war the next April. And on June 17, 1434, the Ottoman Empire declared war.

[OOC: That was the Rebuild the Hexamilium event. -75 ducats, +1 fortification in Morea, -1 offensive. The other choice is +1 offensive, -1 stab, revolt in Morea.

Nikolaois lost his life to an Assassination of a Noble event. Stay tuned for the epic 1st Turkish War, next! I'll try to keep it interesting, since I don't know the exact numbers of the armies ]

driftwood