Road to Jerusalem. A collaborative AAR.
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Chapter Eight: Dreams of Empire
by The_Guiscard
“Just look at them”, Duke Roger Borsa de Hauteville said to his marshal, inclining his head towards the Imperial guardsmen arrayed in the outermost courtyard of the great palace of Blachernae. “Fops”, he commented. “Not one decent fighting man among the lot of them.”
Duke Roger and his host of Normans and Lombards had been among the first contingents to arrive at Constantinople. Most other crusaders, as the warriors had come to call themselves, were only now making their way across Greece or the lands of the Bulgars, and Roger would have to wait for them to arrive before he could cross over into Asia Minor in force and engage the Turks of Ikonion. The Campanian host had been assigned a prime spot to make camp, right on the shores of the Golden Horn and not half a mile from the Blachernae Gate. Being a powerful duke and the son of a famous king and the brother of an even more famous king – a curse on Bohemond’s black soul! – Roger had very soon been invited to the palace of Blachernae to confer with the Basileus Alexios, the first of the house of Komnenos. Alexios, it was said, was a dangerous man, both on the field of battle and in the arena of politics, and the long lines of guardsmen arrayed in the courtyard could only be another part of the Basileus’ dual strategem of dazzling his visitor with the palace’s sophisticated luxuries whilst letting him glimpse the steel at Alexios’ command.
Well, Roger refused to be impressed. He was not a savage like those tribesmen who were said to be making their way from their miserable islands at the end of the world to join the Crusade; he was a son of the south, well acquainted with both Greek culture and Greek duplicity. He even knew to speak decent Greek, something his father had seen to.
“Fops, certainly”, agreed Bruto da Sanseverino, a seasoned old Lombard and Roger’s Marshal. Together with a dozen of other noblemen e had accompanied his liege to the audience with Emperor Alexios. “But I wouldn’t be so sure wether they are really good for nothing underneath all their gilded finery. Alexios has after all fought the Turk to a standstill.”
“Pfah”, sneered Roger. “Fought them to a standstill! Sure, after loosing half the Empire to the heathens. The Turk is right there, there, just across the Bosporus! I heard it said that one can on a clear day see their their lands by just climbing Constantinople’s sea walls. The Greeks have made a huge mess of it, and now, with the Turk knocking on their gates, they are calling for our help to defend Christendom – and their worthless hides. Nincompoops, total nincompoops!”
The Byzantine Empire, Asia Minor and the Levant before the First Crusade.
The Lombard veteran gave one of his noncomittal grunts, but Roger did already seize upon the topic. “If my brother wouldn’t hav been such an idiot as to charge into the desert, we could by now be masters of Constantinople! Alexios staged his coup soon after father died. The Empire was reeling then, beset by the Turk and divided. I have beseeched Bohemond to push into Byzantium then – even a child with a pointed stick could have driven the Greeks out of Constantinople. But would he listen? Of course not!”
Roger and his party left the palace grounds, but not by the Blachernae Gate leading out of the city and to their camp, but into the city itself, to take a look at its legendary marvels. Roger was not now in the mood for sightseeing anymore. Father had dreamed of him wearing the imperial purple one day and had prepared him for it, and if the Guiscard’s mind hadn’t become enfeebled in old age, it would now be Roger Borsa and not Bohemond sitting on the Norman throne – and not on the Norman throne alone, by God. If Roger would have had his way, he would have long since conquered Greece and ripped the Kamelaukion crown from Alexios’ head. He knew he could have done it, and how; he had thought it through a thousand times.
Roger and his party passed by the monastery of Chora and reached the foot of the great aqueduct leading deep into the heart of the city. They were well within the immense triple wall protecting Constantinople, but the area was still rather rural, given to orchards and scattered private residences of substance. The city proper, protected by yet another, though slightly dilapidated wall, was still a quarter mile ahead of them. The Italian knights followed the aqueduct and entered the city through an entirely unguarded gate.
“I told you”, Roger said to his companions, “fops and slobs without the slightest discipline, leaving the gate unguarded like that. Taking Greece would have been a stroll, a stroll.”
Bruto, who was walking alongside Roger, cleared his throat. “Yes, probably”, he said. “But I’m not sure wether we should make too much of this unguarded gate, my lord Duke. The outer wall proper seemed guarded well enough.”
“Yes, yes, maybe”, Roger replied, only half listening to his Marshal. He had a taste for a little refreshment and he had spied a street vendor selling wine from two small barrels. Roger handed his purse to his young squire Jordan. “Run along and fetch us some red”, he said, and then, turning, joking to his companions: “Let’s hope it’s the famed Samian. Alexios has at least managed not to have lost Samos to the Turk – yet.”
Clipped, barking laughter from a dozen throats acknowledged the jest. Thus, a clay cup of wine in his right, Duke Roger Borsa de Hauteville swaggered through the streets of a city he had been robbed of by what he considered lesser men.
Bruto da Sanseverino looked upon the two bound men. Their backs were erect and their heads high as they stood their ground, defying both the Marshal and the men who had gathered all around. “Take them and string them up”, he said.
“You have no right to do this, Sanseverino”, shouted Hugo d’Eboli. The burly Norman knight was one of the more important barons of Duke Roger, and the culprits were both fighting men in his employ. D’Eboli had taken up their cause, and there were quite a few men in the audience who were on his side. “Fine them, if you must, and leave it at that. ‘twas only Greeks, and these men have Noman blood!”
Some of the knights and mercenaries whom Bruto had called upon to witness the trial in the middle of the camp’s main thoroughfare nodded in grim agreement with d’Eboli. The baron had brought up his retainers’ Norman descent, something that never failed to impress these sons of conquerors from the north. They had won their lands with sword and spear, and most of them still thought that entitled them to predate on whom they liked. Bruto da Sanseverino, on the other hand, was not Norman but Lombard, a descendant of one of the oldest families in what once used to be the Principality of Salerno, now no more than a county in a Norman realm. Many times had he proven his mettle in combat and his sagacity in ordering a battle, and he had won the trust of Duke Roger who had made him his marshal, but still he was found wanting – he was no Norman.
Bruto da Sanseverino, Marshal to Duke Roger de Hauteville.
“I have every right to do this, d’Eboli”, Bruto stood by his initial verdict. “They have been seen braining the man, and they have confessed to the rape.”
“No man denies it”, exclaimed Hugo d’Eboli. “But they are good men, and Normans, and they do not deserve to die for such a little thing. Drogo here has fought with the King himself at Capua, and Roger has proven his worth many times over. Fine them, I say! Fine them and be done with it.”
Bruto did dearly wish that he could. The men had only done what they had done dozens of times before while on campaign, raped some inconsequential young sheperd girl and brained her father when he had come running to his daughter’s help. It was nothing, really, not even worth mentioning had the circumstances been any different – but they weren’t. They were not in enemy territory but guests of the Emperor, and even though he had been veiled and circumspect in his words Alexios had made it abundantly clear that he would not tolerate any attack on his people, no matter how minor. If only the other contingents would be here already, then they needed not be as careful, that Greek would not then be able to enforce his will upon the crusaders, but as of now they were still too weak to defy Alexios openly.
“The men knew it”, Bruto insisted. “They knew that any man who trangresses against the subjects of the Greek Emperor will be made an example of. These people are our hosts, and we depend on the goodwill of Alexios.”
Coarse laughter and derisive chuckles rose from the assembled crowd at these words. The Normans had easily defeated the Greeks and driven them from Italy much like a boy drives geese to the market; for them, “Greek” was synonymous with “craven”. Little did they know that there was steel to be found underneath the polished manners of the Greeks, something the Lombards had come to realize in the past five centuries.
“If you’d like to pander to the Greeks’ tender sentiments, you can go and ask Alexios’ forgiveness. You know how to cater to the Byzzies, I guess”, Hugo said, a snidy comment on the many centuries of coexistence of the Lombards and Greeks. “But leave good Normans out of your dirty politicking, we want nothing of it!”
“Enough”, Bruto bellowed at his adversary. If this was to go on, it would soon come to the point where he would have to fight and kill Hugo. He was not afraid of the Norman, he knew that he could take him, but it wouldn’t do for two of the Duke’s captains to fight and slay each other while on campaign. “I am Marshal of Campania, and while at war have every right to try and sentence a common man-at-arms to whatever I want. I act with the authority of the Duke, and in accordance with his wishes, and by both these two men will be strung up, as a warning to others. Now take them away and do it!”
A few squires made to drag away the two convicted men. Roger, the older, was silently defiant, but Drogo, the younger of the two, started to yell and curse at Bruto. There was some commotion among the assembled knights and mercenaries, who were clearly unhappy with the outcome. Bruto sympathized with them and the two sentenced fighting men who were about to loose their lives for practically nothing, but he had to see this through.
One more time, the men’s master tried to intervene: “You are overstepping yourself, Sanseverino! I tell you…”
“Hold your teeth, d’Eboli”, Bruto shouted back. “You waste your breath – these men are already dead, they were dead the moment they defied the Duke’s orders. If you don’t like it, take it up with the Duke!”
With that, Bruto da Sanseverino stalked away to oversee the hanging. He heard the angry murmuring behind him and felt the scornful eyes in his back, but he knew he had done right – even though this feeling did nothing to alleviate his wish that he shouldn’t have had to do so. His gaze roved over Duke Roger’s tent. It should be him who should have seen to this delicate business, but when Bruto had brought it before his liege, he had been ordered to do as he saw fit. Roger had been drunk, like he was most of the time. Well, at least the Duke knew that Bruto was a valuable officer of his and was sure to support and uphold his Marshal’s decision in the matter of the rape and slaying. Bruto would go on to direct the campaign, and Roger would be free to swill himself with wine and lose himself in the reveries of the crowns and thrones that should be his by right.
by The_Guiscard
“Just look at them”, Duke Roger Borsa de Hauteville said to his marshal, inclining his head towards the Imperial guardsmen arrayed in the outermost courtyard of the great palace of Blachernae. “Fops”, he commented. “Not one decent fighting man among the lot of them.”
Duke Roger and his host of Normans and Lombards had been among the first contingents to arrive at Constantinople. Most other crusaders, as the warriors had come to call themselves, were only now making their way across Greece or the lands of the Bulgars, and Roger would have to wait for them to arrive before he could cross over into Asia Minor in force and engage the Turks of Ikonion. The Campanian host had been assigned a prime spot to make camp, right on the shores of the Golden Horn and not half a mile from the Blachernae Gate. Being a powerful duke and the son of a famous king and the brother of an even more famous king – a curse on Bohemond’s black soul! – Roger had very soon been invited to the palace of Blachernae to confer with the Basileus Alexios, the first of the house of Komnenos. Alexios, it was said, was a dangerous man, both on the field of battle and in the arena of politics, and the long lines of guardsmen arrayed in the courtyard could only be another part of the Basileus’ dual strategem of dazzling his visitor with the palace’s sophisticated luxuries whilst letting him glimpse the steel at Alexios’ command.
Well, Roger refused to be impressed. He was not a savage like those tribesmen who were said to be making their way from their miserable islands at the end of the world to join the Crusade; he was a son of the south, well acquainted with both Greek culture and Greek duplicity. He even knew to speak decent Greek, something his father had seen to.
“Fops, certainly”, agreed Bruto da Sanseverino, a seasoned old Lombard and Roger’s Marshal. Together with a dozen of other noblemen e had accompanied his liege to the audience with Emperor Alexios. “But I wouldn’t be so sure wether they are really good for nothing underneath all their gilded finery. Alexios has after all fought the Turk to a standstill.”
“Pfah”, sneered Roger. “Fought them to a standstill! Sure, after loosing half the Empire to the heathens. The Turk is right there, there, just across the Bosporus! I heard it said that one can on a clear day see their their lands by just climbing Constantinople’s sea walls. The Greeks have made a huge mess of it, and now, with the Turk knocking on their gates, they are calling for our help to defend Christendom – and their worthless hides. Nincompoops, total nincompoops!”
The Byzantine Empire, Asia Minor and the Levant before the First Crusade.
The Lombard veteran gave one of his noncomittal grunts, but Roger did already seize upon the topic. “If my brother wouldn’t hav been such an idiot as to charge into the desert, we could by now be masters of Constantinople! Alexios staged his coup soon after father died. The Empire was reeling then, beset by the Turk and divided. I have beseeched Bohemond to push into Byzantium then – even a child with a pointed stick could have driven the Greeks out of Constantinople. But would he listen? Of course not!”
Roger and his party left the palace grounds, but not by the Blachernae Gate leading out of the city and to their camp, but into the city itself, to take a look at its legendary marvels. Roger was not now in the mood for sightseeing anymore. Father had dreamed of him wearing the imperial purple one day and had prepared him for it, and if the Guiscard’s mind hadn’t become enfeebled in old age, it would now be Roger Borsa and not Bohemond sitting on the Norman throne – and not on the Norman throne alone, by God. If Roger would have had his way, he would have long since conquered Greece and ripped the Kamelaukion crown from Alexios’ head. He knew he could have done it, and how; he had thought it through a thousand times.
Roger and his party passed by the monastery of Chora and reached the foot of the great aqueduct leading deep into the heart of the city. They were well within the immense triple wall protecting Constantinople, but the area was still rather rural, given to orchards and scattered private residences of substance. The city proper, protected by yet another, though slightly dilapidated wall, was still a quarter mile ahead of them. The Italian knights followed the aqueduct and entered the city through an entirely unguarded gate.
“I told you”, Roger said to his companions, “fops and slobs without the slightest discipline, leaving the gate unguarded like that. Taking Greece would have been a stroll, a stroll.”
Bruto, who was walking alongside Roger, cleared his throat. “Yes, probably”, he said. “But I’m not sure wether we should make too much of this unguarded gate, my lord Duke. The outer wall proper seemed guarded well enough.”
“Yes, yes, maybe”, Roger replied, only half listening to his Marshal. He had a taste for a little refreshment and he had spied a street vendor selling wine from two small barrels. Roger handed his purse to his young squire Jordan. “Run along and fetch us some red”, he said, and then, turning, joking to his companions: “Let’s hope it’s the famed Samian. Alexios has at least managed not to have lost Samos to the Turk – yet.”
Clipped, barking laughter from a dozen throats acknowledged the jest. Thus, a clay cup of wine in his right, Duke Roger Borsa de Hauteville swaggered through the streets of a city he had been robbed of by what he considered lesser men.
* * *
Bruto da Sanseverino looked upon the two bound men. Their backs were erect and their heads high as they stood their ground, defying both the Marshal and the men who had gathered all around. “Take them and string them up”, he said.
“You have no right to do this, Sanseverino”, shouted Hugo d’Eboli. The burly Norman knight was one of the more important barons of Duke Roger, and the culprits were both fighting men in his employ. D’Eboli had taken up their cause, and there were quite a few men in the audience who were on his side. “Fine them, if you must, and leave it at that. ‘twas only Greeks, and these men have Noman blood!”
Some of the knights and mercenaries whom Bruto had called upon to witness the trial in the middle of the camp’s main thoroughfare nodded in grim agreement with d’Eboli. The baron had brought up his retainers’ Norman descent, something that never failed to impress these sons of conquerors from the north. They had won their lands with sword and spear, and most of them still thought that entitled them to predate on whom they liked. Bruto da Sanseverino, on the other hand, was not Norman but Lombard, a descendant of one of the oldest families in what once used to be the Principality of Salerno, now no more than a county in a Norman realm. Many times had he proven his mettle in combat and his sagacity in ordering a battle, and he had won the trust of Duke Roger who had made him his marshal, but still he was found wanting – he was no Norman.
Bruto da Sanseverino, Marshal to Duke Roger de Hauteville.
“I have every right to do this, d’Eboli”, Bruto stood by his initial verdict. “They have been seen braining the man, and they have confessed to the rape.”
“No man denies it”, exclaimed Hugo d’Eboli. “But they are good men, and Normans, and they do not deserve to die for such a little thing. Drogo here has fought with the King himself at Capua, and Roger has proven his worth many times over. Fine them, I say! Fine them and be done with it.”
Bruto did dearly wish that he could. The men had only done what they had done dozens of times before while on campaign, raped some inconsequential young sheperd girl and brained her father when he had come running to his daughter’s help. It was nothing, really, not even worth mentioning had the circumstances been any different – but they weren’t. They were not in enemy territory but guests of the Emperor, and even though he had been veiled and circumspect in his words Alexios had made it abundantly clear that he would not tolerate any attack on his people, no matter how minor. If only the other contingents would be here already, then they needed not be as careful, that Greek would not then be able to enforce his will upon the crusaders, but as of now they were still too weak to defy Alexios openly.
“The men knew it”, Bruto insisted. “They knew that any man who trangresses against the subjects of the Greek Emperor will be made an example of. These people are our hosts, and we depend on the goodwill of Alexios.”
Coarse laughter and derisive chuckles rose from the assembled crowd at these words. The Normans had easily defeated the Greeks and driven them from Italy much like a boy drives geese to the market; for them, “Greek” was synonymous with “craven”. Little did they know that there was steel to be found underneath the polished manners of the Greeks, something the Lombards had come to realize in the past five centuries.
“If you’d like to pander to the Greeks’ tender sentiments, you can go and ask Alexios’ forgiveness. You know how to cater to the Byzzies, I guess”, Hugo said, a snidy comment on the many centuries of coexistence of the Lombards and Greeks. “But leave good Normans out of your dirty politicking, we want nothing of it!”
“Enough”, Bruto bellowed at his adversary. If this was to go on, it would soon come to the point where he would have to fight and kill Hugo. He was not afraid of the Norman, he knew that he could take him, but it wouldn’t do for two of the Duke’s captains to fight and slay each other while on campaign. “I am Marshal of Campania, and while at war have every right to try and sentence a common man-at-arms to whatever I want. I act with the authority of the Duke, and in accordance with his wishes, and by both these two men will be strung up, as a warning to others. Now take them away and do it!”
A few squires made to drag away the two convicted men. Roger, the older, was silently defiant, but Drogo, the younger of the two, started to yell and curse at Bruto. There was some commotion among the assembled knights and mercenaries, who were clearly unhappy with the outcome. Bruto sympathized with them and the two sentenced fighting men who were about to loose their lives for practically nothing, but he had to see this through.
One more time, the men’s master tried to intervene: “You are overstepping yourself, Sanseverino! I tell you…”
“Hold your teeth, d’Eboli”, Bruto shouted back. “You waste your breath – these men are already dead, they were dead the moment they defied the Duke’s orders. If you don’t like it, take it up with the Duke!”
With that, Bruto da Sanseverino stalked away to oversee the hanging. He heard the angry murmuring behind him and felt the scornful eyes in his back, but he knew he had done right – even though this feeling did nothing to alleviate his wish that he shouldn’t have had to do so. His gaze roved over Duke Roger’s tent. It should be him who should have seen to this delicate business, but when Bruto had brought it before his liege, he had been ordered to do as he saw fit. Roger had been drunk, like he was most of the time. Well, at least the Duke knew that Bruto was a valuable officer of his and was sure to support and uphold his Marshal’s decision in the matter of the rape and slaying. Bruto would go on to direct the campaign, and Roger would be free to swill himself with wine and lose himself in the reveries of the crowns and thrones that should be his by right.
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I am more impressed by this AAR every update...you've got some of AARLand's best all working together on one story and the output has been fantastic!
Wow, Alexios has not yet conqured anything back? 
Conquering that back shall be fun!
Conquering that back shall be fun!
Ah, Normans...
I was wondering when this sort of thing was going to happen...
Great job, btw!
I was wondering when this sort of thing was going to happen...
Great job, btw!
Hello dear and kind readers! It’s high time to feedback your feedback and to myself comment on the works of my talented contributors, but as usual, I shall leave it to individual authors to address comments directed more at their writings then this AAR at large.
crusaderknight: I’m loving your diverse band of brothers joining the crusade. RGB has said it, it’s really a set of very unlikely lads. I’m looking forward to their exploits!
Enewald: Thank you for your praise and encouragement, on behalf of all of us. As you see, the Crusade is now fully formed, or does at least look so to all intents. It’s Constantinople now, and then on to Asia! And the map, btw, is by and large accurate for 1096/7; apart from a few coastal holdings, Alexios managed to push the Turks out of western Asia Minor only in the wake of the Crusade.
democratickid: Thanks! And about that lighter note of AlexanderPrimus’ – I am very glad that we are having not only different views of the Crusade, but also different approaches to it. We would also have had some comedy, but unfortunately it didn’t work out.
AlexanderPrimus: I’ve been looking forward to seeing the Cid in action since you told me about your idea. I’m liking very much what you have done. The experienced El Cid, and the king’s brother – and Ximena. I fully expect her and hope for her to make trouble. It’s also very good from a historical viewpoint, as some crusader lords did indeed take their wifes along on the campaign.
And what shall I say to your comment on my own Normans? But this: They are dear darlings. You just gotta love them.
Afred Packer: Thank you very much, Alfred. Hadn’t I known that you were busy and basically internet-absent during the planning stage, I would have approached you to contribute. Maybe Jerusalem might have been another stopping point for Mariano Torchtorio on his way to Russia?
crusaderknight: I’m loving your diverse band of brothers joining the crusade. RGB has said it, it’s really a set of very unlikely lads. I’m looking forward to their exploits!
Enewald: Thank you for your praise and encouragement, on behalf of all of us. As you see, the Crusade is now fully formed, or does at least look so to all intents. It’s Constantinople now, and then on to Asia! And the map, btw, is by and large accurate for 1096/7; apart from a few coastal holdings, Alexios managed to push the Turks out of western Asia Minor only in the wake of the Crusade.
democratickid: Thanks! And about that lighter note of AlexanderPrimus’ – I am very glad that we are having not only different views of the Crusade, but also different approaches to it. We would also have had some comedy, but unfortunately it didn’t work out.
AlexanderPrimus: I’ve been looking forward to seeing the Cid in action since you told me about your idea. I’m liking very much what you have done. The experienced El Cid, and the king’s brother – and Ximena. I fully expect her and hope for her to make trouble. It’s also very good from a historical viewpoint, as some crusader lords did indeed take their wifes along on the campaign.
And what shall I say to your comment on my own Normans? But this: They are dear darlings. You just gotta love them.
Afred Packer: Thank you very much, Alfred. Hadn’t I known that you were busy and basically internet-absent during the planning stage, I would have approached you to contribute. Maybe Jerusalem might have been another stopping point for Mariano Torchtorio on his way to Russia?
Chapter Nine: Disaster!
by Rex Angliae
It was the third day out of Venice when the pirates struck. The fleet had spent the first two uneventful nights at Trieste and then Zara as they hugged the eastern coastline of the Adriatic. They made good progress and by taking on fresh water at each stopover, the oarsmen were able to operate at maximum efficiency. The fleet had left Zara on a bright sunny morning and had made excellent progress aided by a favourable wind from the north west that blew steadily all day. Their destination that night was Durazzo in Dalmatia and they were but a few hours out when a squadron of the feared Dalmatian pirates appeared on the horizon.
The Venetians were tired having rowed all day, whereas the pirates were fresh. The Venetians upped the tempo and tried to outrun the pirates, but it soon became apparent that this was an impossible task. Duke Henri realised this and passed the word for the fleet to form up with the wind and the setting sun behind them and for the oarsmen to take extra fresh water rations and to take what little rest they could as the pirate fleet approached.
The fifteen Venetian vessels were drawn up in a crescent with the advantage of wind and sun in their favour. The pirates were used to tackling smaller merchant fleets and sailing ships not a more disciplined fleet led by an able commander. For although Duke Henri had no naval experience he was an able general and adapted land based tactics admirably. The pirates were unable to deploy their normal tactics of surrounding their victims and instead as they rowed towards the Venetians, the trap was sprung and the pirates found themselves surrounded by the fearsome galleys. They tried in vain to withdraw but the manoeuvrability of the Venetians was critical and they rammed several of the pirates and inflicted terminal damage to their opponents. Two vessels sank within minutes of being rammed. Three more were boarded and fierce hand to hand fighting ensued.
At first the pirates seemed to have the upper hand, but the Venetians were able to get more men to the fight as they completed the encirclement of the boarded vessels. No quarter was given on either side, and the decks were soon awash with blood and gore and littered with a growing number or corpses. After about 30 minutes, the pirates yielded and Duke Henri, being a chivalrous knight, accepted their surrender.
About 40 pirates were captured and quickly chained to oars in two galleys under the watchful eye of a warder chosen more for his brawn than his brain. The dead bodies, Venetians and pirates alike were dumped unceremoniously into the sea, including that of the Doge’s nephew who had died in the thick of the fray fighting valiantly.
The remnant of the pirate fleet managed to extricate itself without any further losses and aided by the fading daylight made good their escape and headed back to their lair. Meanwhile the Venetians having secured their captives made good their passage to Durazzo to lick their wounds and take a well earned rest.
The fleet then had an uneventful passage down to Corfu where they reprovisioned before setting off across the Aegean towards Rhodes and thence to Constantinople.
Duke Henri stood on the fighting platform of La Dragonara behind a priest who was saying daily mass, for religious observance was of course paramount to the crusading warriors. The fleet was at anchor in the wide harbour of Rhodes Town. Behind him the ancient Colossus of Rhodes rose majestically dominating the entire harbour, nay island. Two days out of Rhodes they had come through an intense storm which had cost them one galley and the lives of nearly 150 men including 20 of the captured pirates. The duke looked down into the well of the boat and surveyed the men now carefree and easy-going. He conjured a mental image of the same men retching over the side of the vessel and holding on for dear life as the vessel pitched and heaved in the mountainous swell of the torrid Aegean.
The priest was saying prayers for the souls of those who had perished in the storm, and for a safe passage up the coast towards the Bosphorus and ultimately Constantinople. Surely no further mishaps could befall them? One thing worried Duke Henri however. They were part of a Christian army fighting under a papal banner, so why had they suffered so badly on the voyage? Henri hoped it was not a sign of things to come as the Crusader army came together.
Whether it was the efficacy of the prayers, or good luck but on leaving Rhodes, no further misfortune befell the Venetian fleet and two weeks later they pulled under the lee of Constantinople’s mighty ramparts and into the safe haven of its heavily guarded harbour.
Rex Angliae is the author of the Burgundian AAR A Nice Case Of Burgundy. If you enjoyed his writing above, you might want to give it a try as well. Or else his slightly older Crusader King AARs In Flandern Fields or Arthur’s Tale.
by Rex Angliae
It was the third day out of Venice when the pirates struck. The fleet had spent the first two uneventful nights at Trieste and then Zara as they hugged the eastern coastline of the Adriatic. They made good progress and by taking on fresh water at each stopover, the oarsmen were able to operate at maximum efficiency. The fleet had left Zara on a bright sunny morning and had made excellent progress aided by a favourable wind from the north west that blew steadily all day. Their destination that night was Durazzo in Dalmatia and they were but a few hours out when a squadron of the feared Dalmatian pirates appeared on the horizon.
The Venetians were tired having rowed all day, whereas the pirates were fresh. The Venetians upped the tempo and tried to outrun the pirates, but it soon became apparent that this was an impossible task. Duke Henri realised this and passed the word for the fleet to form up with the wind and the setting sun behind them and for the oarsmen to take extra fresh water rations and to take what little rest they could as the pirate fleet approached.
The fifteen Venetian vessels were drawn up in a crescent with the advantage of wind and sun in their favour. The pirates were used to tackling smaller merchant fleets and sailing ships not a more disciplined fleet led by an able commander. For although Duke Henri had no naval experience he was an able general and adapted land based tactics admirably. The pirates were unable to deploy their normal tactics of surrounding their victims and instead as they rowed towards the Venetians, the trap was sprung and the pirates found themselves surrounded by the fearsome galleys. They tried in vain to withdraw but the manoeuvrability of the Venetians was critical and they rammed several of the pirates and inflicted terminal damage to their opponents. Two vessels sank within minutes of being rammed. Three more were boarded and fierce hand to hand fighting ensued.
At first the pirates seemed to have the upper hand, but the Venetians were able to get more men to the fight as they completed the encirclement of the boarded vessels. No quarter was given on either side, and the decks were soon awash with blood and gore and littered with a growing number or corpses. After about 30 minutes, the pirates yielded and Duke Henri, being a chivalrous knight, accepted their surrender.
About 40 pirates were captured and quickly chained to oars in two galleys under the watchful eye of a warder chosen more for his brawn than his brain. The dead bodies, Venetians and pirates alike were dumped unceremoniously into the sea, including that of the Doge’s nephew who had died in the thick of the fray fighting valiantly.
The remnant of the pirate fleet managed to extricate itself without any further losses and aided by the fading daylight made good their escape and headed back to their lair. Meanwhile the Venetians having secured their captives made good their passage to Durazzo to lick their wounds and take a well earned rest.
The fleet then had an uneventful passage down to Corfu where they reprovisioned before setting off across the Aegean towards Rhodes and thence to Constantinople.
------------------------------------------------
Duke Henri stood on the fighting platform of La Dragonara behind a priest who was saying daily mass, for religious observance was of course paramount to the crusading warriors. The fleet was at anchor in the wide harbour of Rhodes Town. Behind him the ancient Colossus of Rhodes rose majestically dominating the entire harbour, nay island. Two days out of Rhodes they had come through an intense storm which had cost them one galley and the lives of nearly 150 men including 20 of the captured pirates. The duke looked down into the well of the boat and surveyed the men now carefree and easy-going. He conjured a mental image of the same men retching over the side of the vessel and holding on for dear life as the vessel pitched and heaved in the mountainous swell of the torrid Aegean.
The priest was saying prayers for the souls of those who had perished in the storm, and for a safe passage up the coast towards the Bosphorus and ultimately Constantinople. Surely no further mishaps could befall them? One thing worried Duke Henri however. They were part of a Christian army fighting under a papal banner, so why had they suffered so badly on the voyage? Henri hoped it was not a sign of things to come as the Crusader army came together.
Whether it was the efficacy of the prayers, or good luck but on leaving Rhodes, no further misfortune befell the Venetian fleet and two weeks later they pulled under the lee of Constantinople’s mighty ramparts and into the safe haven of its heavily guarded harbour.
Rex Angliae is the author of the Burgundian AAR A Nice Case Of Burgundy. If you enjoyed his writing above, you might want to give it a try as well. Or else his slightly older Crusader King AARs In Flandern Fields or Arthur’s Tale.
Just wanted to say to my fellow collaborators how very much I am enjoying your writing. And to all those who have commented, thank you so much for your support. It really means a lot to read your comments and support.
I echo Rex's sentiments. This is proving to be a most enjoyable experience.
Chapter Ten: The Land of Opportunities
by Saithis
Nightfall had reached the lands of the east, and the sky had become a blanket of darkness, twinkling with points of starlight. The journey had been long and arduous, draining for all of the Danes involved. Their path had taken them through the German lands of Brandenburg and Bohemia, through Austria and into the lands of the Magyars. The journey had not been easy, nor had the Danish contingent arrived in Greece at full strength. By the time they had crossed the border into the Empire's lands, some 2,000 of the Danes had died or disappeared, most retreating back home. According to Harald's reports, 312 of these men were from the Scanian axes.
Morale was poor – news had trickled back to them of a 'People's Crusade' that had moved through the region. They found that the city of Belgrade was in a poor state, for these peasants, desperate for supplies and undisciplined to an extreme, had sacked the town not once but twice, before moving on to the Greek Empire. Upon sighting the Danish crusaders, attacks had come almost immediately, but King Erik had narrowly managed to avert the catastrophe. Upon explaining the situation, he persuaded the Hungarians to assist, and the city was spared trouble in exchange for a tribute of food to God's warriors.
There was more news, as well, for as they journeyed through Hungary they had met returning fragments of disgraced men – crusaders from Bohemia and Saxony had crumbled and dissolved into dissident groups, and the tattered remnants limped home. Erik, with all his charisma and good spirit, had successfully convinced some of these groups to join his contingent, but they had barely strengthened the Danish force – perhaps 150 extra men. The lack of faith of these men had shaken the resolve of some of Harald's men, and he feared for their morale in the coming days.
The final, and perhaps most disturbing news, was that which had reached them upon the arrival of the Danes to Constantinople – they had been one of the first due to their relatively early departure. As Erik had already been planning an expedition to Vendland, it had been rather easy to change the purpose of the group and raise a few more regiments of determined Christians. This had given them a much-needed head-start over the lands of the west, which had needed more time to raise a proper army.
King Erik I of Denmark was no longer at the camp, for he had been summoned by the Emperor of the Greeks himself, Alexios I Komnenos. Harald was on edge – and with good reason. This was a strange land, where people spoke a completely foreign tongue that none of his soldiers had any understanding of. Harald himself shared some Latin with the nobles of the Empire, as did his regiment's priestly companions (some of whom held far greater fluency than himself), but this was not enough to communicate as meaningfully as he liked.
"The Danes arrive in the lands of the Greek Emperor Alexios I Komnenus."
The Danes were in a strange land, full of strange people with strange customs. It was plainly obvious upon the faces of all those they met that they were outsiders – the northern garb and mannerisms must have seemed alien to them, for sometimes crowds would gather to point and stare at small groups of the Danish soldiers. It had taken some time before the Danes had truly found people they could relate to: the Varangians.
The Danes had been greatly surprised to encounter people who held the tall, broad-shouldered countenance of the vikings. Some were armed, others were not, and it had not taken long for cordial relations to be reached with members of this community. Most spoke a dialect of Swedish which was slightly unfamiliar, but far easier to communicate with than, say, Latin, which had faded a great deal from his mind. They also seemed perfectly fluent in the local tongue and were more than happy to help the Danes communicate.
Some discussion revealed many things – the Varangians in Konstantinopolis were mostly mercenaries, hired by the Greek Emperors as elite bodyguards and capable soldiers. Others were simply merchants from the Rus' who had come to sell furs and amber imported from the Baltic, which could fetch a high price in the Greek capital. Harald was secretly pleased – if the reputation of the Danes as capable warriors had preceded them via the Varangians, then they might receive more favour than one would expect from first glance.
"Hersir!"
Harald looked up from the map before him. It was Niels again, the silly buffoon of a man. He had become the life of a celebratory party of sorts, the Danes' way of rewarding themselves for a long, arduous march finally finished. With nothing to do but wait for the rest of the Crusaders to arrive and enough money and supplies, Erik had ordered the men to make a good night of it, and to wash down the harsh memories with alcohol. Their presence had certainly attracted a few of the braver merchants, and soon the Danes were paying a fair bit of money to the locals who had the courage to approach them and offer their goods. The greeks had not been prepared for the extreme rowdiness of the Danish army.
"Hersir, sir! We got ya a little gift!"
Harald's eyebrow raised as he saw Niels stumble forward drunkenly, his arms wrapped around two significantly smaller figures. As they came into the light of his fire, there was some whistling from the other men near him. The two smaller figures were petite, yet quite attractive looking greek women, giggling and a little dishevelled, their faces clearly betraying the effects of alcohol upon them as well. Harald was a polite man, but even he could not bring his eyes away from the low neckline of their clothing.
"Niels, surely you don't mean…you know that I am married happily, and that my wife waits for me back home…"
The half-blood scoffed and pushed the girls towards Harald, who had to reach out quickly to stop one from falling. The two women immediately clung to him and he looked up at Niels with a torn look.
"Ahh don't be like that! It's a time-honoured tradition, remember? Ain't none of us goin' to tell your missus, and the best part? They don't speak…" he hiccuped slightly, and then laughed. "Not a word of Danish! They just stare dumbly! No more wakin' up to the loudest shrew in the village, eh? Eh?"
The whole area burst out into raucous laughter, and Harald himself chuckled. Niels's own wife, Helga, was also from Bremen, and had a foul temper and shrieking voice which could send even the bravest of men running with their tails tucked betwixt their legs.
"C'mon Hersir, enjoy yerself a bit, will ya? I had to fight off 'alf the regiment to get 'em for ya. 'Sides, they're waitin' to meet the biggest man in the camp, and every'un knows it's you! We'll leave ya to it, c'mon lads, let's go find some lasses for ourselves!"
The entire group of drunken men gathered themselves up and started to depart, laughing heartily the whole way, leaving a confused Harald barely able to fight back. The two women looked up at him expectantly, and he finally surrendered and sighed.
"Very well…you win."
Turning, he helped the stumbling girls to his tent to retire for the evening.
"Your deal intrigues me, your majesty…you are certainly offering me a great deal of potential gain. But I question whether or not I can accept it…Denmark is not only my home, but my responsibility. I was chosen as King, my people will rely upon me to return, not to rule a land that only my most educated of courtiers know of. In the far north, this mighty Empire is nothing more than a word by which news from sometimes trickles through the Kaiser's empire. While I am eternally honoured by your generous proposal, I am not sure I can agree to the offer as it currently stands."
Erik I was trying his best to choose his words carefully, for he sat before one of the mightiest of Christian rulers, the direct heir of the Emperors of Rome, and the ruler of all the lands in which his depleted contingent rested. They rested on Greek food and did so in the shadow of the Greek walls, and his men would be at the Emperor's mercy if he were to accidentally offend this powerful man.
Alexios furrowed his brow. "Just like the Várangoi, you Danes are direct and honest, albeit respectful. I like that. What I offer, however, will not require your continued presence – I am sure there are those who you could trust to administer in your stead while you rule from the northern lands. Surely you can imagine the power and prestige you would wield over the rest of the Baltic sea if you could claim servitude to the Roman Emperor. You could use this opportunity to strengthen your lands greatly."
The Danish King sighed slightly. While Alexios was no fool, Erik feared he overestimated the reach of his realm's influence if he believed that many people in the far north would be swayed by such words. Most people who knew of the Roman Empire would have presumed it long since destroyed – was Rome not after all the realm of the Papacy now? Erik was also quite certain that to be given one of these…themes…would have hardly any advantage to the Danes. To rule it from Denmark would be impractical at best, and its lip service servitude to him would rapidly fade.
"While I have some people in mind for this endeavour, I would need some time to think about it. You understand that such decisions are difficult to make overnight, I am sure, and we have time aplenty before us before the rest of the contingents promised arrive. If your majesty is willing, I humbly request three days to speak to my advisors and weigh our options."
The Emperor seemed to think for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, I will summon you in three days' time to continue this discussion. >From what the latest messengers have sent, it will be come three weeks before the rest of the armies have arrived, so we should have time enough to discuss this affair. Keep your men out of trouble in the meantime – I know how rowdy the Várangoi can become with nothing to do, and I would not wish for a fight to break out before the Saracens can even be reached."
Erik smiled and bowed in return. "As you wish, your majesty. Thank you."
Saithis is the author of the Danish AAR Piety of the North Star. If you enjoyed her writing above, I recommend you give it a try as well.
by Saithis
Nightfall had reached the lands of the east, and the sky had become a blanket of darkness, twinkling with points of starlight. The journey had been long and arduous, draining for all of the Danes involved. Their path had taken them through the German lands of Brandenburg and Bohemia, through Austria and into the lands of the Magyars. The journey had not been easy, nor had the Danish contingent arrived in Greece at full strength. By the time they had crossed the border into the Empire's lands, some 2,000 of the Danes had died or disappeared, most retreating back home. According to Harald's reports, 312 of these men were from the Scanian axes.
Morale was poor – news had trickled back to them of a 'People's Crusade' that had moved through the region. They found that the city of Belgrade was in a poor state, for these peasants, desperate for supplies and undisciplined to an extreme, had sacked the town not once but twice, before moving on to the Greek Empire. Upon sighting the Danish crusaders, attacks had come almost immediately, but King Erik had narrowly managed to avert the catastrophe. Upon explaining the situation, he persuaded the Hungarians to assist, and the city was spared trouble in exchange for a tribute of food to God's warriors.
There was more news, as well, for as they journeyed through Hungary they had met returning fragments of disgraced men – crusaders from Bohemia and Saxony had crumbled and dissolved into dissident groups, and the tattered remnants limped home. Erik, with all his charisma and good spirit, had successfully convinced some of these groups to join his contingent, but they had barely strengthened the Danish force – perhaps 150 extra men. The lack of faith of these men had shaken the resolve of some of Harald's men, and he feared for their morale in the coming days.
The final, and perhaps most disturbing news, was that which had reached them upon the arrival of the Danes to Constantinople – they had been one of the first due to their relatively early departure. As Erik had already been planning an expedition to Vendland, it had been rather easy to change the purpose of the group and raise a few more regiments of determined Christians. This had given them a much-needed head-start over the lands of the west, which had needed more time to raise a proper army.
King Erik I of Denmark was no longer at the camp, for he had been summoned by the Emperor of the Greeks himself, Alexios I Komnenos. Harald was on edge – and with good reason. This was a strange land, where people spoke a completely foreign tongue that none of his soldiers had any understanding of. Harald himself shared some Latin with the nobles of the Empire, as did his regiment's priestly companions (some of whom held far greater fluency than himself), but this was not enough to communicate as meaningfully as he liked.
"The Danes arrive in the lands of the Greek Emperor Alexios I Komnenus."
The Danes were in a strange land, full of strange people with strange customs. It was plainly obvious upon the faces of all those they met that they were outsiders – the northern garb and mannerisms must have seemed alien to them, for sometimes crowds would gather to point and stare at small groups of the Danish soldiers. It had taken some time before the Danes had truly found people they could relate to: the Varangians.
The Danes had been greatly surprised to encounter people who held the tall, broad-shouldered countenance of the vikings. Some were armed, others were not, and it had not taken long for cordial relations to be reached with members of this community. Most spoke a dialect of Swedish which was slightly unfamiliar, but far easier to communicate with than, say, Latin, which had faded a great deal from his mind. They also seemed perfectly fluent in the local tongue and were more than happy to help the Danes communicate.
Some discussion revealed many things – the Varangians in Konstantinopolis were mostly mercenaries, hired by the Greek Emperors as elite bodyguards and capable soldiers. Others were simply merchants from the Rus' who had come to sell furs and amber imported from the Baltic, which could fetch a high price in the Greek capital. Harald was secretly pleased – if the reputation of the Danes as capable warriors had preceded them via the Varangians, then they might receive more favour than one would expect from first glance.
"Hersir!"
Harald looked up from the map before him. It was Niels again, the silly buffoon of a man. He had become the life of a celebratory party of sorts, the Danes' way of rewarding themselves for a long, arduous march finally finished. With nothing to do but wait for the rest of the Crusaders to arrive and enough money and supplies, Erik had ordered the men to make a good night of it, and to wash down the harsh memories with alcohol. Their presence had certainly attracted a few of the braver merchants, and soon the Danes were paying a fair bit of money to the locals who had the courage to approach them and offer their goods. The greeks had not been prepared for the extreme rowdiness of the Danish army.
"Hersir, sir! We got ya a little gift!"
Harald's eyebrow raised as he saw Niels stumble forward drunkenly, his arms wrapped around two significantly smaller figures. As they came into the light of his fire, there was some whistling from the other men near him. The two smaller figures were petite, yet quite attractive looking greek women, giggling and a little dishevelled, their faces clearly betraying the effects of alcohol upon them as well. Harald was a polite man, but even he could not bring his eyes away from the low neckline of their clothing.
"Niels, surely you don't mean…you know that I am married happily, and that my wife waits for me back home…"
The half-blood scoffed and pushed the girls towards Harald, who had to reach out quickly to stop one from falling. The two women immediately clung to him and he looked up at Niels with a torn look.
"Ahh don't be like that! It's a time-honoured tradition, remember? Ain't none of us goin' to tell your missus, and the best part? They don't speak…" he hiccuped slightly, and then laughed. "Not a word of Danish! They just stare dumbly! No more wakin' up to the loudest shrew in the village, eh? Eh?"
The whole area burst out into raucous laughter, and Harald himself chuckled. Niels's own wife, Helga, was also from Bremen, and had a foul temper and shrieking voice which could send even the bravest of men running with their tails tucked betwixt their legs.
"C'mon Hersir, enjoy yerself a bit, will ya? I had to fight off 'alf the regiment to get 'em for ya. 'Sides, they're waitin' to meet the biggest man in the camp, and every'un knows it's you! We'll leave ya to it, c'mon lads, let's go find some lasses for ourselves!"
The entire group of drunken men gathered themselves up and started to depart, laughing heartily the whole way, leaving a confused Harald barely able to fight back. The two women looked up at him expectantly, and he finally surrendered and sighed.
"Very well…you win."
Turning, he helped the stumbling girls to his tent to retire for the evening.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
"The greatest city in the known world, Konstantinopolis was the heart of Romanion and the largest settlement the Danes had ever seen."
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
"The greatest city in the known world, Konstantinopolis was the heart of Romanion and the largest settlement the Danes had ever seen."
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
"Your deal intrigues me, your majesty…you are certainly offering me a great deal of potential gain. But I question whether or not I can accept it…Denmark is not only my home, but my responsibility. I was chosen as King, my people will rely upon me to return, not to rule a land that only my most educated of courtiers know of. In the far north, this mighty Empire is nothing more than a word by which news from sometimes trickles through the Kaiser's empire. While I am eternally honoured by your generous proposal, I am not sure I can agree to the offer as it currently stands."
Erik I was trying his best to choose his words carefully, for he sat before one of the mightiest of Christian rulers, the direct heir of the Emperors of Rome, and the ruler of all the lands in which his depleted contingent rested. They rested on Greek food and did so in the shadow of the Greek walls, and his men would be at the Emperor's mercy if he were to accidentally offend this powerful man.
Alexios furrowed his brow. "Just like the Várangoi, you Danes are direct and honest, albeit respectful. I like that. What I offer, however, will not require your continued presence – I am sure there are those who you could trust to administer in your stead while you rule from the northern lands. Surely you can imagine the power and prestige you would wield over the rest of the Baltic sea if you could claim servitude to the Roman Emperor. You could use this opportunity to strengthen your lands greatly."
The Danish King sighed slightly. While Alexios was no fool, Erik feared he overestimated the reach of his realm's influence if he believed that many people in the far north would be swayed by such words. Most people who knew of the Roman Empire would have presumed it long since destroyed – was Rome not after all the realm of the Papacy now? Erik was also quite certain that to be given one of these…themes…would have hardly any advantage to the Danes. To rule it from Denmark would be impractical at best, and its lip service servitude to him would rapidly fade.
"While I have some people in mind for this endeavour, I would need some time to think about it. You understand that such decisions are difficult to make overnight, I am sure, and we have time aplenty before us before the rest of the contingents promised arrive. If your majesty is willing, I humbly request three days to speak to my advisors and weigh our options."
The Emperor seemed to think for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, I will summon you in three days' time to continue this discussion. >From what the latest messengers have sent, it will be come three weeks before the rest of the armies have arrived, so we should have time enough to discuss this affair. Keep your men out of trouble in the meantime – I know how rowdy the Várangoi can become with nothing to do, and I would not wish for a fight to break out before the Saracens can even be reached."
Erik smiled and bowed in return. "As you wish, your majesty. Thank you."
Saithis is the author of the Danish AAR Piety of the North Star. If you enjoyed her writing above, I recommend you give it a try as well.