Road to Jerusalem. A collaborative AAR.
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Ok, time for feedback and for comments of my own. First, the feedback, at least what little of it is my place to give:
kadvael56: As one of the writers myself, I am glad that this whole endeavour meets with your approval. As one of the deitors, I have to echo your thanks to the writers – they have all been very good in handing in their contributions in time and have made my job very easy for me. Thank you, boys and girl!
canonized: Thanks for you interest and comments. But then who should be interested in this if not you, as this AAR’s ultimate instigator?
Now, on to my own comments on the contributions:
Rex Angliae: Those were well-organized and audacious pirates, to attack a fleet. I wonder wether there is another state drawing the strings of these piates and wether we are going to see more of them in the future. It is feasible that there is either Genoa or Pisa behind that attack, trying to prevent their Venetian rivals from gaining a base in the Levant. I am very intrigued, anxious almost, to see wether you have really planned something like that and wether a European power is working actively against the Crusade.
Saithis: I am glad that you have taken your time to dwell on the hardships the crusaders had to face while crossing Europe – it would have been a shame if this facet of the Crusade had been missing from the AAR. Also, a nice little bit about the Danes carousing in Constantinople. And a nice idea of Alexios to try and suborn the Danish king.
Also, I am not only liking your writing style, but also your choice of images. That picture of the Danish knights is very nice.
phargle: Excellent writing, as usual. Your descripitve opening is rich, and you have both Robert and Stephen come across as very sympathetic men. The friendship between them is very palpable, as is a certain weariness, melancholy sadness even, lying over Robert. I am very much looking forward to seeing more of these two men and young Richard.
crusaderknight: And another downtrodden outcast joins the motley band of brothers in the Welsh contingent! Seeing your unlikely protagonists interact should make for a few very intersting chapters coming up from you.
RGB: Another dispossessed prince joining in the fun, this time an Orthodox Christian, which is a nice alternative twist to real history. There are now a great many lesser and greater lords from all over Europe involved in the Crusade, and most of thm are in it for the land they hope to gain, not for religion. The backstabbing should be monumental, once we reach Anatolia and the Holy Land.
kadvael56: As one of the writers myself, I am glad that this whole endeavour meets with your approval. As one of the deitors, I have to echo your thanks to the writers – they have all been very good in handing in their contributions in time and have made my job very easy for me. Thank you, boys and girl!
canonized: Thanks for you interest and comments. But then who should be interested in this if not you, as this AAR’s ultimate instigator?
Now, on to my own comments on the contributions:
Rex Angliae: Those were well-organized and audacious pirates, to attack a fleet. I wonder wether there is another state drawing the strings of these piates and wether we are going to see more of them in the future. It is feasible that there is either Genoa or Pisa behind that attack, trying to prevent their Venetian rivals from gaining a base in the Levant. I am very intrigued, anxious almost, to see wether you have really planned something like that and wether a European power is working actively against the Crusade.
Saithis: I am glad that you have taken your time to dwell on the hardships the crusaders had to face while crossing Europe – it would have been a shame if this facet of the Crusade had been missing from the AAR. Also, a nice little bit about the Danes carousing in Constantinople.
And a nice idea of Alexios to try and suborn the Danish king.Also, I am not only liking your writing style, but also your choice of images. That picture of the Danish knights is very nice.
phargle: Excellent writing, as usual. Your descripitve opening is rich, and you have both Robert and Stephen come across as very sympathetic men. The friendship between them is very palpable, as is a certain weariness, melancholy sadness even, lying over Robert. I am very much looking forward to seeing more of these two men and young Richard.
crusaderknight: And another downtrodden outcast joins the motley band of brothers in the Welsh contingent! Seeing your unlikely protagonists interact should make for a few very intersting chapters coming up from you.
RGB: Another dispossessed prince joining in the fun, this time an Orthodox Christian, which is a nice alternative twist to real history. There are now a great many lesser and greater lords from all over Europe involved in the Crusade, and most of thm are in it for the land they hope to gain, not for religion. The backstabbing should be monumental, once we reach Anatolia and the Holy Land.
pirates , byzantine byzantine emperors , silly danes , and crazy serbs XD definitely an amazing set of talent here churning out an amazing set of vignettes !
Chapter Fourteen: A Vital Detour
by AlexanderPrimus
When El Cid had first announced that he would be taking the cross, thousands of zealous Spaniards had rallied to his banner. They came from every corner of the land – well-equipped Castillian knights and men-at-arms, Almughavar mountaineers from the Pyrenees with their javelins and cleavers, and swift Jinetes from the borderlands who were used to the light cavalry tactics of the Moors. Many pious womenfolk came also, volunteering to serve as cooks or washerwomen. Harlots were turned away, as the mustering host was to be an army of Christ.
The Spanish Host departs, led by Alfonso and El Cid.
Together this vast Spanish company travelled northward, across the Pyrenees and into southern France. When they arrived at the city of Toulouse, the Spaniards found that the local Count, Raymond of St. Gilles, was gathering a force of his own -- a company consisting mostly of local Occitans and a number of their Provençal neighbors. Seeing the great numbers of the Spaniards, and taking particular note of Don Rodrigo’s leadership, Count Raymond offered to unite his smaller host with the Spanish. The Cid had agreed, provided that the Count would submit to his command.
Several weeks later, upon their arrival at the infamous port of Genoa, the Spaniards found a modest-sized band of Lotharingians and Germans seeking to travel by sea. Their leader, a virtuous nobleman named Godfrey, agreed that joining the Franco-Spanish host would certainly be preferable to paying the exorbitant prices of the Genovese sailors. Thus El Cid’s initial host of Spaniards grew greatly in size and numbers with the addition of their French and German counterparts.
Rather than heading straight for Constantinople as had the other companies before him, El Cid led this large contingent south, into the heart of the Italian peninsula. This had been his plan all along, for he had intended first to pay his respects to the Holy Father before departing for the mysterious east. The Lady Ximena was especially excited, for she had sworn to make a pilgrimage to the Eternal City after the death of her father, and she would now at last be able to fulfill her vow.
The crusaders marveled at the greatness of the city of Rome, and none objected to such a reverential diversion, not even the troublesome Alfonso. Pope Urban II was extremely pleased to see such a vast host of Christian warriors, and gave his blessing to Don Rodrigo and the faithful crusaders without hesitation. He also bestowed them with the papal banner as a symbol of his favor, in honor of their pilgrimage to seek his especial blessing.
The crusaders then spent the next several days purifying themselves and praying at the city’s many shrines before setting forth on the next part of their holy undertaking. As the first rays of dawn fell upon the Eternal City on the appointed day, Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar prepared at last to depart. Their contingent had been in Rome for almost two weeks, and the crusaders yearned to continue their journey to the Holy Land. The great host was marshaled with alacrity, and began to exit the city in an orderly, well-organized fashion, while El Cid observed with a handful of his top commanders.
“My Lord Rodrigo!” called a voice, and the Cid, turning to face its source, beheld the papal banner shimmering in the sunlight, borne by a party of clerics. “Do you not remember me, Lord Rodrigo?” continued the lead clergyman, “It is I, Adhemar of Le Puy, sent by his Holiness to be his Apostolic Legate.”
“But of course,” answered El Cid, “You and your followers are most welcome here. Please join us.”
“I am to be your guide in the affairs of the spirit,” continued Adhemar, “I bring several of my faithful brethren of the cloth with me to serve as my retainers, as well as some men-at-arms to defend us from the infidels. His Holiness has also entrusted us with some relics of no small significance, so the very Saints themselves will be joining us in our travels!”
“Then surely,” said Rodrigo, “Such relics belong at the head of our company, as does his Holiness’ banner. Would your Excellency agree to travel in the front of the expedition, so that our host may be led as the Children of Israel in days of old?”
“Most astute, my Lord,” nodded Adhemar, “Let it be as the Ark of the Covenant, carried by the priests in the days of Joshua, for we are led on the same errand – the liberation of the Holy Land from unbelievers. Suffer it to be so!”
An elated Adhemar of Le Puy.
The legate urged his palfrey onward, and his retainers followed with the relics and banner. As the band of clerics passed by, Rodrigo could not help but notice one very tall friar who rode a powerful destrier, rather than the gentle mares and mules of his peers. Like many of the others, he was mostly shrouded in a hooded black cloak, but his height set him apart from the rest. As the monk cantered past, he returned the Cid’s gaze with a stern glare, which allowed Rodrigo to catch a quick glimpse of his face: a strong jaw covered in a short white beard, and thick black eyebrows which danced pointedly over stern, dark eyes.
“Who is that man?” asked Rodrigo, “The tall, solemn one? Do any of you know him?”
Most of the men shook their heads, before Godfrey the Lotharingian at last responded. “I have heard some of my countrymen call him Bruder Nikolaus, which means he must surely hail from the Empire, but other than that, I have no knowledge of him.”
Don Rodrigo rubbed his beard for a moment in contemplation, but soon dismissed his concern. Many followers of the monastic life were known to wax in solemnity after spending years in such an austere lifestyle, and Brother Nikolaus was obviously no exception. Indeed, bringing along a brother of such unyielding piety would be good for encouraging the crusaders to keep to the right way, and to refrain from vice and sin.
El Cid reproached himself for ever doubting the sincerity of such a God-fearing man before spurring his horse onward, to lead the papal-sanctioned Army of Christ ever east, towards the land of Jerusalem.
AlexanderPrimus is the author of the English AAR Æthellan: A Tale of Kings. If you enjoyed his writing above, you might also want to give it a try as well. Or maybe his Jerusalem-AAR The Chronicles of the Golden Cross.
by AlexanderPrimus
When El Cid had first announced that he would be taking the cross, thousands of zealous Spaniards had rallied to his banner. They came from every corner of the land – well-equipped Castillian knights and men-at-arms, Almughavar mountaineers from the Pyrenees with their javelins and cleavers, and swift Jinetes from the borderlands who were used to the light cavalry tactics of the Moors. Many pious womenfolk came also, volunteering to serve as cooks or washerwomen. Harlots were turned away, as the mustering host was to be an army of Christ.
The Spanish Host departs, led by Alfonso and El Cid.
Together this vast Spanish company travelled northward, across the Pyrenees and into southern France. When they arrived at the city of Toulouse, the Spaniards found that the local Count, Raymond of St. Gilles, was gathering a force of his own -- a company consisting mostly of local Occitans and a number of their Provençal neighbors. Seeing the great numbers of the Spaniards, and taking particular note of Don Rodrigo’s leadership, Count Raymond offered to unite his smaller host with the Spanish. The Cid had agreed, provided that the Count would submit to his command.
Several weeks later, upon their arrival at the infamous port of Genoa, the Spaniards found a modest-sized band of Lotharingians and Germans seeking to travel by sea. Their leader, a virtuous nobleman named Godfrey, agreed that joining the Franco-Spanish host would certainly be preferable to paying the exorbitant prices of the Genovese sailors. Thus El Cid’s initial host of Spaniards grew greatly in size and numbers with the addition of their French and German counterparts.
Rather than heading straight for Constantinople as had the other companies before him, El Cid led this large contingent south, into the heart of the Italian peninsula. This had been his plan all along, for he had intended first to pay his respects to the Holy Father before departing for the mysterious east. The Lady Ximena was especially excited, for she had sworn to make a pilgrimage to the Eternal City after the death of her father, and she would now at last be able to fulfill her vow.
The crusaders marveled at the greatness of the city of Rome, and none objected to such a reverential diversion, not even the troublesome Alfonso. Pope Urban II was extremely pleased to see such a vast host of Christian warriors, and gave his blessing to Don Rodrigo and the faithful crusaders without hesitation. He also bestowed them with the papal banner as a symbol of his favor, in honor of their pilgrimage to seek his especial blessing.
The crusaders then spent the next several days purifying themselves and praying at the city’s many shrines before setting forth on the next part of their holy undertaking. As the first rays of dawn fell upon the Eternal City on the appointed day, Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar prepared at last to depart. Their contingent had been in Rome for almost two weeks, and the crusaders yearned to continue their journey to the Holy Land. The great host was marshaled with alacrity, and began to exit the city in an orderly, well-organized fashion, while El Cid observed with a handful of his top commanders.
“My Lord Rodrigo!” called a voice, and the Cid, turning to face its source, beheld the papal banner shimmering in the sunlight, borne by a party of clerics. “Do you not remember me, Lord Rodrigo?” continued the lead clergyman, “It is I, Adhemar of Le Puy, sent by his Holiness to be his Apostolic Legate.”
“But of course,” answered El Cid, “You and your followers are most welcome here. Please join us.”
“I am to be your guide in the affairs of the spirit,” continued Adhemar, “I bring several of my faithful brethren of the cloth with me to serve as my retainers, as well as some men-at-arms to defend us from the infidels. His Holiness has also entrusted us with some relics of no small significance, so the very Saints themselves will be joining us in our travels!”
“Then surely,” said Rodrigo, “Such relics belong at the head of our company, as does his Holiness’ banner. Would your Excellency agree to travel in the front of the expedition, so that our host may be led as the Children of Israel in days of old?”
“Most astute, my Lord,” nodded Adhemar, “Let it be as the Ark of the Covenant, carried by the priests in the days of Joshua, for we are led on the same errand – the liberation of the Holy Land from unbelievers. Suffer it to be so!”
An elated Adhemar of Le Puy.
The legate urged his palfrey onward, and his retainers followed with the relics and banner. As the band of clerics passed by, Rodrigo could not help but notice one very tall friar who rode a powerful destrier, rather than the gentle mares and mules of his peers. Like many of the others, he was mostly shrouded in a hooded black cloak, but his height set him apart from the rest. As the monk cantered past, he returned the Cid’s gaze with a stern glare, which allowed Rodrigo to catch a quick glimpse of his face: a strong jaw covered in a short white beard, and thick black eyebrows which danced pointedly over stern, dark eyes.
“Who is that man?” asked Rodrigo, “The tall, solemn one? Do any of you know him?”
Most of the men shook their heads, before Godfrey the Lotharingian at last responded. “I have heard some of my countrymen call him Bruder Nikolaus, which means he must surely hail from the Empire, but other than that, I have no knowledge of him.”
Don Rodrigo rubbed his beard for a moment in contemplation, but soon dismissed his concern. Many followers of the monastic life were known to wax in solemnity after spending years in such an austere lifestyle, and Brother Nikolaus was obviously no exception. Indeed, bringing along a brother of such unyielding piety would be good for encouraging the crusaders to keep to the right way, and to refrain from vice and sin.
El Cid reproached himself for ever doubting the sincerity of such a God-fearing man before spurring his horse onward, to lead the papal-sanctioned Army of Christ ever east, towards the land of Jerusalem.
***
AlexanderPrimus is the author of the English AAR Æthellan: A Tale of Kings. If you enjoyed his writing above, you might also want to give it a try as well. Or maybe his Jerusalem-AAR The Chronicles of the Golden Cross.
Interesting. Will the Spanish take the lead over the (it looks like) smaller German and French contingents?
This whole project has been simply amazing - the beautiful writing and excellent stories, as well as the coordination. All the authAArs deserve a round of applause, and I think The_Guiscard should get one as well for editing work!
Chapter Fifteen: The Concerns of Rome
by canonized
His Holiness Pope Urban II viewed the departure of the Spanish host from his balcony at the Apostolic Palace with a sense of relief. Foreign soldiers sitting in Rome worried him as much as it did the old Roman Senators who banned legions from entering the city. Indeed, years of opposing the Holy “Roman” Emperor and his attempts to control the Holy City had always made Urban wary of soldiers filling his streets. He was relieved in a second sense, too. The Cid was, by all accounts given to him, one of the greatest knights in Christendom and—more importantly—one of the most honourable. His wife in particular exuded a kind of chaste vitality that impressed the Pontiff. With such a large host, he looked at them with the hope of a restored East: a liberated Jerusalem.
The Apostolic Palace reverted to a quiet murmur as soon as the march of the soldiery had left the periphery of his hearing. The hushed silent retainers and courtiers waited for him in adjoining rooms, but the ones immediately in the chamber behind him wore the scarlet vestiges of the priests, deacons, and bishops of Rome—the Cardinals. The Popes had always benefited from an entourage of advisors and ministers that helped to run the states of the Church, but Urban had decided to model his advisors in the manner of the temporal monarchs to better administrate the realms under his stewardship—as well as to help him to navigate the often treacherous political arena that pervaded Europe.
As he turned from the sunlight of the balcony into the richly adorned room, he could see his ministers awaiting him. His steps clicked against the marble floor like the passing away of seconds before he laboriously reached for a seat. As he rested as comfortably as he could on the cushioned furniture, the others around him took their seats in two lines down a long table on either side of the Holy Father. “Let us begin then,” Urban sighed as he made himself comfortable on his chair.
“Holiness,” one spoke up, “I bring word from your faithful bishops in Cologne and all along the Rhine. The preaching of the crusade has gone excellently well, however, his excellency Bishop Hermann is concerned that there are local bands who are killing and extorting Jews in the name of Christ.” The Cardinal paused in his report as he noticed the countenance of Urban cringe and sour. The boisterous Pontiff seemed to shrink a little in his chair from the news as if a weight was pushing him down by the shoulders. “We are receiving similar reports from other dioceses in France…” the man finished.
“Reiterate to them,” Urban murmured painfully before repeating himself, “Reiterate to our brothers that full obedience is still required of them in this. They will suppress these violent mobs and do everything in their power to protect their respective Jewish populations.”
“Some are saying that a handful of the bishops have sided with the mobs,” another voice entered the discussion albeit reluctantly.
“Some always will,” Urban quickly added as his eyes moved to the other minister. “Judas was a bishop and he betrayed our Lord. Peter denied Christ three times and yet was still given the Keys. I will not deny Christ’s will on this: any bishop who refuses to obey the Holy See on this matter is to be excommunicated at once. If such events at the infancy of the Church could not destroy her, then how much less our problems in today and tomorrow. No. We will stay the course and trust in the Lord's words from the gospel of Saint Matthew: 'et ego dico tibi quia tu es Petrus et super hanc petram aedificabo ecclesiam meam et portae inferi non praevalebunt adversum eam(1).”
“Do you think then, Holiness,” one at the end of the table asked timidly, “that these armies of Christ will prevail in Jerusalem?”
Urban looked at his subordinate with a calm face more as if he was looking through the man to the eternity behind him. He was calmly taking in the other man's countenance and his question like one letting the waves of the ocean lap against his feet on the beach. “I do not know,” he answered. “If I were also infallible in matters of war, you and I both know we would not be where we are with the Emperor and with the infidels,” he smiled to everyone's sober amusement. “God will decide whether or not these warriors will prevail. Unlike the pagans of old, we do not believe that temporal victory is necessary for salvation or justification. Unlike the followers of Moses in the desert, we have been taught that through the suffering of Christ on the cross, Christianity is a religion of redemptive suffering. If we are defeated, then we must seek to understand why and how we can use that as an opportunity to serve and become closer to Christ. A sharp
sword is only made through purifying fire. The Hope we carry, therefore, is enough. Final Victory is always His. God does not ask us to succeed, but only to try.(2)”
“Your efforts have certainly done much to help the cause, Holiness,” one closer to him spoke up quickly as if hoping to lighten the mood.
Urban accepted the statement with a slow humble nod. The words gave him something to think about as he looked down the table upon his attendants. Two spots near the end of the table were empty. It was another sign of how much investment he had placed to the enterprise. One empty spot had been Adhemar's. The other was... His Holiness nearly forgot the man's name. Then again almost no one knew his name among those in the Curia. Indeed, the chair he reserved for him was never filled: the office the man executed would be convened in private and always in places where one may hide their face. His Holiness did not want to even think of his name: it was hard enough not to expose his identity to the others outside of official channels. Officially, he held some German moniker, but only the Pope knew it was not his original name; it was also only the name attached to his official functions. Unofficially, he carried a different mission and just as Saul and Simon
were changed to Paul and Peter by Christ as a signal of their new tasks, so too did this German Cardinal hold a new name when fulfilling some of the more dangerous missions required by the Holy See: he was known—by the few privileged to know—as Der Gespenstkardinal(3).
Bruder Nikolaus trotted his horse up alongside Adhemar and gave him the appropriate signs of obedience. “You will forgive me for not giving you the same show of respect in front of the others,” Adhemar said under his breath.
The man under the dark hood grinned a little bit and his white whiskers—all finely combed—wrinkled along with his lips. “Are you still mad that His Holiness decided to send me along with you?”
“I don't see the need,” Adhemar cut him off. “This is an army of Christ, not a den or tavern for you to plot your killings.”
“You will need eyes and ears on this expedition, Excellency,” the man replied quietly.
“That is what scouts are for,” Adhemar retorted without bothering to hide his annoyance.
“No, Excellency, not for the Turks. I talk about the princes and counts surrounding you. You will need protection from them and those less chivalrous that we are bound to meet,” the man was speaking through his grin though from outsiders watching the conversation it seemed that the friar was continually keeping his head low to his horse.
“I've settled disputes before without the use of your underhanded means,” Adhemar shook his head. “But enough of these games of yours... how many of you are there that I have to take care of?”
“You know I can't tell you that, Excellency,” the man replied. Adhemar let out a huff of frustration. “Neither do they know each other nor how many of us there are,” the man continued. “They only know me and only I know who each are.”
“You lie even to your own men?” Adhemar let out incredulously.
“No... I never lie, Excellency. I simply omit. And it is for their own protection. If one were ever to be captured, no one can give names or recognise faces. As for myself... well you know what they call me in the Curia. I do not exist--”
“I still don't understand why His Holiness insisted you come along,” Adhemar wasn't in the mood to listen.
“Simple, Excellency. His Holiness is very interested in the success of this endeavor and he will employ all the means at his disposal. If that means disposing of a few bad men here and there—whether they be powerful enemy leaders or treacherous Christian captains—we are here to make sure that Christ and Justice are served...”
(1)“And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.” (Matthew 16:18)
(2)Some may recognise this as a quote by Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta
(3)Loosely translated as “Ghost Cardinal”
Canonized has no AAR going for Crusader Kings, but he is the authour of the critically acclaimed Europa Universalis 3 AAR Timelines: What if Spain Failed to Control the World? If you enjoyed his writing above, you might want to give it a try as well.
by canonized
His Holiness Pope Urban II viewed the departure of the Spanish host from his balcony at the Apostolic Palace with a sense of relief. Foreign soldiers sitting in Rome worried him as much as it did the old Roman Senators who banned legions from entering the city. Indeed, years of opposing the Holy “Roman” Emperor and his attempts to control the Holy City had always made Urban wary of soldiers filling his streets. He was relieved in a second sense, too. The Cid was, by all accounts given to him, one of the greatest knights in Christendom and—more importantly—one of the most honourable. His wife in particular exuded a kind of chaste vitality that impressed the Pontiff. With such a large host, he looked at them with the hope of a restored East: a liberated Jerusalem.
The Apostolic Palace reverted to a quiet murmur as soon as the march of the soldiery had left the periphery of his hearing. The hushed silent retainers and courtiers waited for him in adjoining rooms, but the ones immediately in the chamber behind him wore the scarlet vestiges of the priests, deacons, and bishops of Rome—the Cardinals. The Popes had always benefited from an entourage of advisors and ministers that helped to run the states of the Church, but Urban had decided to model his advisors in the manner of the temporal monarchs to better administrate the realms under his stewardship—as well as to help him to navigate the often treacherous political arena that pervaded Europe.
As he turned from the sunlight of the balcony into the richly adorned room, he could see his ministers awaiting him. His steps clicked against the marble floor like the passing away of seconds before he laboriously reached for a seat. As he rested as comfortably as he could on the cushioned furniture, the others around him took their seats in two lines down a long table on either side of the Holy Father. “Let us begin then,” Urban sighed as he made himself comfortable on his chair.
“Holiness,” one spoke up, “I bring word from your faithful bishops in Cologne and all along the Rhine. The preaching of the crusade has gone excellently well, however, his excellency Bishop Hermann is concerned that there are local bands who are killing and extorting Jews in the name of Christ.” The Cardinal paused in his report as he noticed the countenance of Urban cringe and sour. The boisterous Pontiff seemed to shrink a little in his chair from the news as if a weight was pushing him down by the shoulders. “We are receiving similar reports from other dioceses in France…” the man finished.
“Reiterate to them,” Urban murmured painfully before repeating himself, “Reiterate to our brothers that full obedience is still required of them in this. They will suppress these violent mobs and do everything in their power to protect their respective Jewish populations.”
“Some are saying that a handful of the bishops have sided with the mobs,” another voice entered the discussion albeit reluctantly.
“Some always will,” Urban quickly added as his eyes moved to the other minister. “Judas was a bishop and he betrayed our Lord. Peter denied Christ three times and yet was still given the Keys. I will not deny Christ’s will on this: any bishop who refuses to obey the Holy See on this matter is to be excommunicated at once. If such events at the infancy of the Church could not destroy her, then how much less our problems in today and tomorrow. No. We will stay the course and trust in the Lord's words from the gospel of Saint Matthew: 'et ego dico tibi quia tu es Petrus et super hanc petram aedificabo ecclesiam meam et portae inferi non praevalebunt adversum eam(1).”
“Do you think then, Holiness,” one at the end of the table asked timidly, “that these armies of Christ will prevail in Jerusalem?”
Urban looked at his subordinate with a calm face more as if he was looking through the man to the eternity behind him. He was calmly taking in the other man's countenance and his question like one letting the waves of the ocean lap against his feet on the beach. “I do not know,” he answered. “If I were also infallible in matters of war, you and I both know we would not be where we are with the Emperor and with the infidels,” he smiled to everyone's sober amusement. “God will decide whether or not these warriors will prevail. Unlike the pagans of old, we do not believe that temporal victory is necessary for salvation or justification. Unlike the followers of Moses in the desert, we have been taught that through the suffering of Christ on the cross, Christianity is a religion of redemptive suffering. If we are defeated, then we must seek to understand why and how we can use that as an opportunity to serve and become closer to Christ. A sharp
sword is only made through purifying fire. The Hope we carry, therefore, is enough. Final Victory is always His. God does not ask us to succeed, but only to try.(2)”
“Your efforts have certainly done much to help the cause, Holiness,” one closer to him spoke up quickly as if hoping to lighten the mood.
Urban accepted the statement with a slow humble nod. The words gave him something to think about as he looked down the table upon his attendants. Two spots near the end of the table were empty. It was another sign of how much investment he had placed to the enterprise. One empty spot had been Adhemar's. The other was... His Holiness nearly forgot the man's name. Then again almost no one knew his name among those in the Curia. Indeed, the chair he reserved for him was never filled: the office the man executed would be convened in private and always in places where one may hide their face. His Holiness did not want to even think of his name: it was hard enough not to expose his identity to the others outside of official channels. Officially, he held some German moniker, but only the Pope knew it was not his original name; it was also only the name attached to his official functions. Unofficially, he carried a different mission and just as Saul and Simon
were changed to Paul and Peter by Christ as a signal of their new tasks, so too did this German Cardinal hold a new name when fulfilling some of the more dangerous missions required by the Holy See: he was known—by the few privileged to know—as Der Gespenstkardinal(3).
---
Bruder Nikolaus trotted his horse up alongside Adhemar and gave him the appropriate signs of obedience. “You will forgive me for not giving you the same show of respect in front of the others,” Adhemar said under his breath.
The man under the dark hood grinned a little bit and his white whiskers—all finely combed—wrinkled along with his lips. “Are you still mad that His Holiness decided to send me along with you?”
“I don't see the need,” Adhemar cut him off. “This is an army of Christ, not a den or tavern for you to plot your killings.”
“You will need eyes and ears on this expedition, Excellency,” the man replied quietly.
“That is what scouts are for,” Adhemar retorted without bothering to hide his annoyance.
“No, Excellency, not for the Turks. I talk about the princes and counts surrounding you. You will need protection from them and those less chivalrous that we are bound to meet,” the man was speaking through his grin though from outsiders watching the conversation it seemed that the friar was continually keeping his head low to his horse.
“I've settled disputes before without the use of your underhanded means,” Adhemar shook his head. “But enough of these games of yours... how many of you are there that I have to take care of?”
“You know I can't tell you that, Excellency,” the man replied. Adhemar let out a huff of frustration. “Neither do they know each other nor how many of us there are,” the man continued. “They only know me and only I know who each are.”
“You lie even to your own men?” Adhemar let out incredulously.
“No... I never lie, Excellency. I simply omit. And it is for their own protection. If one were ever to be captured, no one can give names or recognise faces. As for myself... well you know what they call me in the Curia. I do not exist--”
“I still don't understand why His Holiness insisted you come along,” Adhemar wasn't in the mood to listen.
“Simple, Excellency. His Holiness is very interested in the success of this endeavor and he will employ all the means at his disposal. If that means disposing of a few bad men here and there—whether they be powerful enemy leaders or treacherous Christian captains—we are here to make sure that Christ and Justice are served...”
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(1)“And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.” (Matthew 16:18)
(2)Some may recognise this as a quote by Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta
(3)Loosely translated as “Ghost Cardinal”
Canonized has no AAR going for Crusader Kings, but he is the authour of the critically acclaimed Europa Universalis 3 AAR Timelines: What if Spain Failed to Control the World? If you enjoyed his writing above, you might want to give it a try as well.
Chapter Sixteen: The Battle of Lake Ýznik
by Saithis
Nicaea stood tall and defiant against the Crusaders; the Christian armies, despite their best attempts, had not been able to fully stop supplies from reaching the besieged city via the lake. Despite this, the city's fall was only a matter of time, and it seemed the fate of the city did rest upon the shoulders of one determined man. His faith and strength and leadership in this battle might determine the fate of not just Nicaea, but of the whole peninsula and of the Holy Land itself.
…Yet, every Christian upon the field today held cross in hand and prayed from the bottom of their heart for victory against the heathen.
It was from across the hills of Anatolia that these heathen warriors came, their arrival heralded by a great plume of dust that reached up into the sky and betrayed their presence to the Crusaders. This was a long-awaited and long-expected meeting, the first occasion of two huge forces meeting in the Crusading era. Tens of thousands of Christian warriors had little time to assemble near the lakefront as the Turks prepared for war, ready to assault the Crusade in the hope of relieving their besieged capital.
The Danes made up but a small percentage of the contingent, but they stood proudly in the front lines, ready to do their part. Well-trained huskarl and peasant volunteers who would have normally fought in the leidang rubbed shoulders with the elite nobility of the galaxy. Many had repented their sins and begged forgiveness upon official records before their departure. Now King Erik's regiments stood tall and proud before the most hated foes of Christendom.
"They've brought a fair few men to the fight." Niels muttered grimly as the army came into view: it was a vast horde, marching in the distance.
Harald chuckled. "More fun for us, eh? There will be plenty to go around, just don't try and keep them all for yourself, Niels."
The half-German shook his head. "I'd never dream of it, Hersir! Never dream of it…"
Harald's attention was diverted as his eyes caught hold of King Erik riding at the head of a column of knights. Off to meet the other leaders of the force, Harald was sure. Many of Europe's most powerful nobles had come to take part in the Crusade, and the Greeks themselves had sent a healthy taskforce led by Tatikios, an oikogenes of Alexios and one of the Emperor's most trusted generals.
"The Leaders of the Crusade meet to finalise their plans."
"They've brought many men, but I believe we outnumber them." Erik stated grimly, his heart pounding.
Tatikios laughed in return. "Oh but how rare it is that I have gone into a battle with odds in my favour! We have agreed to the battle plan, yes?"
Raymond of Toulouse, the 'leader' as such of the Catholic regiments, nodded to his compatriots. "Yes, for what little time we had to make it. Let us hope that they fall into the trap. I don't like using it, but if you speak truthfully, then we have little choice."
King Erik smirked. "You can rely upon my men. We won't break before cowardly arrows, just do your part and we'll keep the flank from collapsing."
The Crusade leaders split up and returned to their respective contingents, which were assembling into a battle-line. Erik began to issue orders to the various Danish regiment leaders, until he finally reached Harald's Scanian Axes. While the tough mercenaries were no huskarls, they were tough, highly trained heavy infantry and as such held a key role in the Christian battle plan.
"Harald, it is time for the Bragde nobles to earn their glory and return to grace. I want your regiment to be deployed just behind my huskarls and leidang, you need to keep an eye on both sides of our contingent. If you see any sign of weakness in my unit or in the others, you need to move to shore up that unit as soon as possible. Do you understand?"
Harald brought his sword hilt sharply to his chest in salute and bowed. "It will be done your Majesty, we will not let you down."
Erik grumbled and turned his horse around, surveying the rapidly changing battle-lines. The Serbs, Irish, Danes and some Frenchmen were deployed together upon the right flank of the formation; the infantry would form a line of battle and hold the ground while the Serbs would look for opportunities to engage the flank. Their main task was of course to refuse their opponent any opportunities to get around the side or even behind the Crusaders' formations, but whether or not they would be able to accomplish this was another question entirely. Nothing would be at all certain until the Saracen lines closed and they had a better idea of the exact specifications of their deployment.
It did not seem unusual – cavalry on both flanks, with a mass of infantry in the centre. Both forces were roughly equal in strength. That fact, however, was something unusual that Harald had noticed – the Crusade had shrunk since the first news of the Turkish army. Either there had been a sudden mass of cowards deserting, or a force had been re-deployed somewhere.
The thought struck him like a lightning bolt and his gaze shot to their right. The army was assembled near a break in the hills, one that was nearly invisible from the direction the Saracens approached. He could not see around the bend, but he would bet an arm and a leg that there lay many of the missing Knights, waiting to launch a surprise attack. Of course, if Kilij Arslan predicted such a move, it would be relatively easy for him to lay a counter-ambush and wipe out many of the best warriors the Crusaders had brought.
When the regiments had finished assembling, an eerie silence fell across the landscape, and fear had begun to creep into the hearts of those uncertain. They were going into battle against a foe which their priesthood spoke of as the devil incarnate, sporting horns as they charged and spewing fire and brimstone against their enemies. They were truly a demonic force which every righteous and true Christian should fear, that was what had been preached to them.
"Brothers, let us not fear this!" A voice cried out with great volume over the silence. "All pious Christians should not fear! Let all priests spread the word, let all Christians forget their past rivalries and unite beneath this cross!"
Harald's eyes squinted to catch the sight of the figure, which was in the centre of the formations, stood upon a small, hastily assembled platform. It was hard to tell, but he believed that it was the Papal Legate and Archbishop of Rheims, Manasses II. Calling for prayer, nonetheless.
"Manasses II calls for all Christians of all sects to unite and pray together."
"You heard him!" Harald barked at the Scanians' priest. "Lead us in prayer, father!"
The priest was slightly taken aback by the aggressive order, but was used to the Danes' abrasive nature by now. He pulled himself up before the regiment and made his sermon short and sweet – the way the Danish warriors liked it.
"Brothers, fear not what we go into today, for we have cast aside our sin to undertake this most holy of missions, together, as brothers. These Saracens would deny us the right to our holiest of places, and reject the word of our Lord as the one true faith. They would undermine the very fabric of our society with their foul sins; their heathen path would lead us unto destruction if we do not resist!
"Do not fear, I say, for God shall protect you, his chosen followers, from any harm we might face. Those of us who die, we have cleansed our sins and fought for the good of all Christians. So long as we hold true to our faith even until the end, God will forgive any past crimes we may have committed. All those faithful who die today shall be brought into Heaven's embrace, so I say let us not fear what is to come, for alive or dead, your rewards shall be great. At last I say to you in final reminder, a passage from our holy books such that we might regain our heart and know the victory is nigh:
"Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness."
The silence of the regiment was finally broken, and each man spoke in determined unison one word: "Amen."
"The Crusaders finish their prayer and prepare for battle."
The Turks had grown closer, and closer, until finally their lines drew to a halt, short of arrow range. From the front of their lines, a small group of horsemen galloped forth. In response, a part of the central flank of the Crusading Army galloped forth, banners fluttering in the wind behind them, the heraldry of Tatikios and Raymond of Toulouse could be seen even from this far. Three of the greatest leaders of the Crusader army, united under the Cross. This would truly become a great endeavour.
The two groups met in the centre of the field, and Harald felt his very heart pounding. The Saracens who rode forth to meet their leaders doubtlessly included their leader, the Sultan Kilij Arslan, who ruled over all the Turks of Rum. That was what he had heard from the Varangians, though, and he had little personal knowledge of the truth of the matter.
The tension was so thick that he thought it could be cut with a knife, and it seemed every heartbeat was so loud in his ears that it might deafen him. Harald had been to battle many times before, but nothing like this – never like this. Tens of thousands of men on each side, all determined, united by their respective faiths and unwilling to move. They had the blessing of God, and their ranks included not just professional soldiers, but peasants, priests and even burghers who had given up everything to undertake the oath.
Many of the peasants of course had little or no idea of the journey at its inception, and their naïveté had been a source of great amusement to the nobles and Knights. Few commoners could have imagined how great the length of their journey might be, and now that they were finally in the Holy Land, many had asked 'is Jerusalem the next city?' At that thought, Harald let slip a little smile. They would not have to wait much longer after today.
The two sets of leaders in the centre of the field broke off and rode with great haste towards their respective sides. Almost immediately, there was great movement in the Turkish ranks. The lines of infantry thinned and from behind them advanced hundreds, perhaps thousands of horsemen, moving rapidly into the gap between the two forces. Was this what the Varangians had warned him about?
"The Lines of Battle are reached upon the lakefront."
The horses then did something quite unusual to the European eyes – they turned and spread out, moving not to charge them, but towards one flank. At first Harald feared that they were moving towards the gap in the hills and had discovered Crusader forces after all, but then they began to turn instead, moving in circular motion at least a hundred paces from the front lines. Screams from the front line rang out as men were struck by arrows, surprised and caught off guard by the unusual motion. Immediately they condensed into a shield wall as arrows pelted the Crusader ranks, leaving hundreds dead in the opening volleys. They continued this pattern, forming small circles that allowed them to keep a constant pattern of fire.
"Return fire!" Erik cried out from somewhere in the front regiments, and the leidang archers did so eagerly. All across the Crusade's lines, arrows sailed out in return, pelting the ground but often missing the fast-moving horsemen, who seemed to weave through the oncoming volleys as if they were nothing – this was of course an illusion created by the discrepancy in aim. The Saracen bowmen seemed to have unholy aim compared to the Crusaders' levied hunters, who fired in great volleys with little precision.
Harald did notice that this method did not lack merit, despite the gradually increasing casualties amongst their ranks – every moment the Crusaders focused on the fast-moving horsemen, something worse approached. Through the clouds of dust kicked up by their movements, he saw the lines of the Rum Sultanate advancing towards them. Somewhere nearby, one of his own men went down, struck by a stray arrow from the Turks. He could hear the man's screams of pain, and winced, but did not budge. It was his job to watch the lines and ensure nothing went wrong.
Suddenly and without warning, the Saracen skirmishers turned and retreated, leaving behind dozens, perhaps hundreds of fallen, and disorder and damaged morale in the Crusaders ranks. The cloud of dust that had been kicked up started to fade as the hordes of the enemy charged through.
"Stand firm!" a cry echoed from the front ranks as a forest of spears bristled in anticipation of the enemy charge.
Somewhere along the flanks, the Serbian and Frankish horsemen met with a unit of Saracen cavalry in a clatter of hoof and spear. Seventy thousand cries of war echoed throughout the field like a terrible roar as the armies met in one headlong clash. Sword and axe and shield smashed against one another with a terrible furor as the two armies intermixed in the chaos of battle.
The Scanian Axes were impetuous and eager to fight, but Harald's stern discipline kept them in line, unmoving from behind the forward mass of Danes. Volleys of arrow fire continued to hail upon both sides, and here and there a casualty fell amongst the Danish men, who held their shields up to the sky. They felt helpless without any means of reaching the fast-moving horse archers; they had to rely upon their own bowmen to try and counter.
To the Danes' left, the Irish were struggling and beginning to falter, and to the right, things seemed even worse – the Serbians and the Horsemen of Boulogne were pitted against a unit of the Sultan's mounted guards; they had taken significant casualties. It looked like they would break any minute, and if they did, the Danish front lines would be outflanked and outnumbered.
"Sten, take your unit and move to help the Celts!" Harald barked at one of his lieutenants. "Don't let their line break no matter what! The rest of you, form up to our right! Prepare to do battle!"
The Scanian axes split off, some two hundred moving to the faltering Irish lines and pushing in from the right, shouting encouragement and bloody warcries. The rest shifted and quickly re-formed at an angle. The Serbian horsemen, outmatched by the heavy cavalry, finally broke, and the entire light mounted regiment began to withdraw, leaving behind scores of dead horse and riders.
"Don't let them re-organise!" Harald barked as the scattered Saracen cavalry began to reform. "Charge, for God and Denmark!"
With a great battlecry, the Danes rushed forwards, raising spear and axe aloft as they rushed towards the heavily armoured horsemen. Unable to turn in time, the first line of cavalry was quickly brought down in the shock of the Danish impact on their lines. The heavily armoured mercenaries were well trained and not afraid of the cavalry's height advantage. The Danes sported larger shields and heavier mail armour, and most of the Scanian regiment was veteran, like their opponents. The outnumbered mounted guard was faced with a difficult position.
Harald led from the front, bringing his sword quickly up into one of the Turks' belly and turning to swing at another, who deftly blocked his blow. Others struck with spear and sword, and the lightly clad horses quickly began to topple, taking rider to the ground where they were easy to finish off. The Danes did not lack casualties of their own; dozens of the Scanians fell in battle, trampled or skewered on Saracen spear.
Harald offered a glance to the left flank. The Irish were still faltering but with Danish help had managed to hold their ground, pushing the Turks to a stalemate instead of losing it outright. Grinning, he raised his sword aloft and yelled to his men: "We're pushing them back! Show them a taste of Viking steel!"
Something else caught his eye, and his heart leapt for joy. Their faith had been rewarded – bright banners flew high in the not-so-distant break in the hills. Six thousand French and Norman knights and Greek heavy cavalrymen (or kataphraktoi) rode forth from behind the cover of the hills, moving at a quick pace. They had caught the Turks by surprise, and for once, the Christians might use the deception and tactics of the enemy to unleash a destructive onslaught upon their foes.
"The Reinforcements arrive to flank the enemy while the routed cavalry gather to return to the fight."
A scant force of the Saracen spearmen turned to face the threat, barely one fifth the knightly number. The cavalry advanced at the same steady pace, thinning out into a long line of battle. The Saracens were outmanoeuvred. Spotting their plight, many of the horse archers quickly turned and began to flee, unwilling to be caught in the path of the Christian charge.
The Norman lances lowered, and the chilling silence fell over their ranks as they lined up to charge. They advanced slowly but surely towards their foes, until within a hundred paces, then fifty, and then, all at once, they exploded into a furious charge, the cry of 'Deus Vult!' upon their lips. Thousands bloodthirsty warriors rumbled towards the Turkish lines.
Faced with such a mass of deadly muscle, sinew and steel, the Saracen morale broke almost instantly, and dozens of spearmen turned and sought to flee. The French and Normans ploughed through the minimal opposition as if it was nothing more than a nuisance and rumbled onwards, striking the Turkish lines from an angle and sending a shock of panic all the way up the battlefront.
Beset upon from two sides and with no escape, the Saracen heavy cavalry fought bitterly until the end, unwilling to surrender and unable to flee, they had no choice but to fight to the death. Elsewhere, the Irish began to push back the demoralised Muslims, heartened by the courageous charge of the Normans. The Danes pushed equally hard, slowly squeezing the mounted guard into non-existence.
It was then that a great cry went up: "The King is dead!"
Harald froze; his blood ran cold.
"King Erik is slain! Fight, fight to the last! Make these dogs pay!"
The Danish captain roared in anger, and charged back into the fray with a shout of his own. "Death to them! Show no Saracen dog mercy, even if he should ask for it!"
Elsewhere, the newly arrived Christian cavalry were starting to face a problem. Though they were easily defeating the Saracen infantry in battle, they were constantly harassed by volley after volley of arrows from the skirmishing mounted archers, which had returned upon their own flanks. Every time they moved to attempt to engage, the unarmoured horsemen would quickly dart away out of reach, easily outpacing the heavily garbed knights and kataphraktoi. This would continue until the Christian horsemen gave up to return to the fight against the infantry; at this point, they would turn and begin firing again, slaying many men for none lost.
Despite this setback, the enemy line was collapsing – the Italian Normans on the left flank were rapidly pushing the Saracens away and the Crusade's heroic leadership was dominating the Saracens in the centre, who only held by the leadership of Kilij Arslan himself. It seemed that there would be no victory for the heathens today, and the Sultan's lines were being squeezed to the breaking point. A great cry went up from their ranks, and one by one, Muslim regiments began to break off and retreat, unable to continue the fight any longer.
The sound of rapid hoof beats behind the Danish formation caught Harald's ear, and he turned quickly. Fear turned to delight as he saw the reformed Serbian and Frankish horsemen returning to the fight, slipping around the contested melee and making for the Turkish horse archers. Faced with light cavalry, who would be difficult to outrun, the skirmishers finally broke, and the Saracens were on the run for good. The entire remaining force began to pull away with great haste, making for the east horizon at full speed. The tired men of the front lines were too exhausted to offer much of a chase, but happily made way for those behind who had not yet reached the fight. The fresh Christian troops hastily pursued both on foot and on horse, catching hundreds, nay, thousands of Saracens.
The battle was at last won.
The Crusaders showed no mercy to any that they captured save the Sultan's cousin, who was trapped and captured alive for ransom upon the lakeside. Despite their best efforts at pursuit, many Turks still escaped, enough to form a significant army if they regrouped. It was clear that the war was not yet over, but the victory was clear – the Crusade had defeated the Saracens at the Battle of Lake Ýznik (as it would be called) and sent a clear message to the heathens of Asia Minor, Anatolia and the Levant. They would not be stopped, no matter the cost.
Documents of the time suggest that the reason for the Muslim retreat was that Kilij Arslan had been wounded in the battle and thought the situation to be hopeless. Though he escaped from the war alive, illness from the injury would eventually consume him, and without a strong, healthy leader, the Rum Sultanate would be hard-pressed to stop the Byzantine Emperor Alexios I from reclaiming his lost land. Contemporary thinkers wonder what the outcome of the war might have been if Kilij Arslan had not been struck down, and this has become a hotly contested point amongst historians.
The nature of the Sultan's injury was also in question – most accounts claim that Roger Borsa was the one to do the deed. Others claim that Arslan had fought Raymond of Toulouse to a stalemate in personal combat, and that Tatikios, seeing the opportunity to take advantage, skewered the Saracen with a lance. Another claimed that it was a squire who had taken up his fallen master's sword, and that the boy was knighted in honour of his blow. One priest's extremely dubious account claims that he saw the clouded sky open up and that the hand of god himself reached down and smote the Sultan into the dirt.
Nonetheless, all accounts agree that he was badly wounded, and it was known that the Sultan was not the only notable casualty of that battle. King Erik I of Denmark was slain by a spear which pierced the mail protecting his heart, and Robert of Normandy was badly wounded during the initial charge by an arrow. Mesud, the Beylik of Konya, was also slain along with all of his men fighting against the Serbs and Danes.
The ambiguity of the Danish situation was addressed in an emergency ting (assembly) held by the Danes on the lakeside the next morning. There it was decided that Harald Bragde would take over command of the Danes as the most capable and veteran commander present. It is said that his oratory was great and influential, and that in the wake of their King's loss they showed no fear. All men on the Crusade voted, and only thirteen did not vote for Harald, instead supporting the Duke of Hvide's brother, Jens, who led the men from Sjælland.
Word was sent back to Denmark of the loss of the King; the country went into mourning upon hearing of the loss of one of the greatest, most popular rulers in history. The throne would remain empty for nearly a year before his brother Niels was elected as King. The line of Svend Estridsen would continue to rule the strongest Scandinavian State, although it would become distinctly weakened from this point on, as Niels, for all his great
The Crusaders returned to the siege of Nicaea, but at Kilij Arslan's advice, the city surrendered in secret to Tatikios just 5 days after the Battle of Lake Ýznik. In return, the Greeks refused the Crusader Army itself access on the grounds that they would not permit looting of one of their oldest cities. This strained relations between the two sides and it seemed that the Crusaders might have to continue on the march to Jerusalem alone…
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, or maybe her Georgian AAR written for Europa Universalis 3, Sakartvelo – Rose Jewel of the Caucasus.
by Saithis
Nicaea stood tall and defiant against the Crusaders; the Christian armies, despite their best attempts, had not been able to fully stop supplies from reaching the besieged city via the lake. Despite this, the city's fall was only a matter of time, and it seemed the fate of the city did rest upon the shoulders of one determined man. His faith and strength and leadership in this battle might determine the fate of not just Nicaea, but of the whole peninsula and of the Holy Land itself.
…Yet, every Christian upon the field today held cross in hand and prayed from the bottom of their heart for victory against the heathen.
It was from across the hills of Anatolia that these heathen warriors came, their arrival heralded by a great plume of dust that reached up into the sky and betrayed their presence to the Crusaders. This was a long-awaited and long-expected meeting, the first occasion of two huge forces meeting in the Crusading era. Tens of thousands of Christian warriors had little time to assemble near the lakefront as the Turks prepared for war, ready to assault the Crusade in the hope of relieving their besieged capital.
The Danes made up but a small percentage of the contingent, but they stood proudly in the front lines, ready to do their part. Well-trained huskarl and peasant volunteers who would have normally fought in the leidang rubbed shoulders with the elite nobility of the galaxy. Many had repented their sins and begged forgiveness upon official records before their departure. Now King Erik's regiments stood tall and proud before the most hated foes of Christendom.
"They've brought a fair few men to the fight." Niels muttered grimly as the army came into view: it was a vast horde, marching in the distance.
Harald chuckled. "More fun for us, eh? There will be plenty to go around, just don't try and keep them all for yourself, Niels."
The half-German shook his head. "I'd never dream of it, Hersir! Never dream of it…"
Harald's attention was diverted as his eyes caught hold of King Erik riding at the head of a column of knights. Off to meet the other leaders of the force, Harald was sure. Many of Europe's most powerful nobles had come to take part in the Crusade, and the Greeks themselves had sent a healthy taskforce led by Tatikios, an oikogenes of Alexios and one of the Emperor's most trusted generals.
"The Leaders of the Crusade meet to finalise their plans."
"They've brought many men, but I believe we outnumber them." Erik stated grimly, his heart pounding.
Tatikios laughed in return. "Oh but how rare it is that I have gone into a battle with odds in my favour! We have agreed to the battle plan, yes?"
Raymond of Toulouse, the 'leader' as such of the Catholic regiments, nodded to his compatriots. "Yes, for what little time we had to make it. Let us hope that they fall into the trap. I don't like using it, but if you speak truthfully, then we have little choice."
King Erik smirked. "You can rely upon my men. We won't break before cowardly arrows, just do your part and we'll keep the flank from collapsing."
The Crusade leaders split up and returned to their respective contingents, which were assembling into a battle-line. Erik began to issue orders to the various Danish regiment leaders, until he finally reached Harald's Scanian Axes. While the tough mercenaries were no huskarls, they were tough, highly trained heavy infantry and as such held a key role in the Christian battle plan.
"Harald, it is time for the Bragde nobles to earn their glory and return to grace. I want your regiment to be deployed just behind my huskarls and leidang, you need to keep an eye on both sides of our contingent. If you see any sign of weakness in my unit or in the others, you need to move to shore up that unit as soon as possible. Do you understand?"
Harald brought his sword hilt sharply to his chest in salute and bowed. "It will be done your Majesty, we will not let you down."
Erik grumbled and turned his horse around, surveying the rapidly changing battle-lines. The Serbs, Irish, Danes and some Frenchmen were deployed together upon the right flank of the formation; the infantry would form a line of battle and hold the ground while the Serbs would look for opportunities to engage the flank. Their main task was of course to refuse their opponent any opportunities to get around the side or even behind the Crusaders' formations, but whether or not they would be able to accomplish this was another question entirely. Nothing would be at all certain until the Saracen lines closed and they had a better idea of the exact specifications of their deployment.
It did not seem unusual – cavalry on both flanks, with a mass of infantry in the centre. Both forces were roughly equal in strength. That fact, however, was something unusual that Harald had noticed – the Crusade had shrunk since the first news of the Turkish army. Either there had been a sudden mass of cowards deserting, or a force had been re-deployed somewhere.
The thought struck him like a lightning bolt and his gaze shot to their right. The army was assembled near a break in the hills, one that was nearly invisible from the direction the Saracens approached. He could not see around the bend, but he would bet an arm and a leg that there lay many of the missing Knights, waiting to launch a surprise attack. Of course, if Kilij Arslan predicted such a move, it would be relatively easy for him to lay a counter-ambush and wipe out many of the best warriors the Crusaders had brought.
When the regiments had finished assembling, an eerie silence fell across the landscape, and fear had begun to creep into the hearts of those uncertain. They were going into battle against a foe which their priesthood spoke of as the devil incarnate, sporting horns as they charged and spewing fire and brimstone against their enemies. They were truly a demonic force which every righteous and true Christian should fear, that was what had been preached to them.
"Brothers, let us not fear this!" A voice cried out with great volume over the silence. "All pious Christians should not fear! Let all priests spread the word, let all Christians forget their past rivalries and unite beneath this cross!"
Harald's eyes squinted to catch the sight of the figure, which was in the centre of the formations, stood upon a small, hastily assembled platform. It was hard to tell, but he believed that it was the Papal Legate and Archbishop of Rheims, Manasses II. Calling for prayer, nonetheless.
"Manasses II calls for all Christians of all sects to unite and pray together."
"You heard him!" Harald barked at the Scanians' priest. "Lead us in prayer, father!"
The priest was slightly taken aback by the aggressive order, but was used to the Danes' abrasive nature by now. He pulled himself up before the regiment and made his sermon short and sweet – the way the Danish warriors liked it.
"Brothers, fear not what we go into today, for we have cast aside our sin to undertake this most holy of missions, together, as brothers. These Saracens would deny us the right to our holiest of places, and reject the word of our Lord as the one true faith. They would undermine the very fabric of our society with their foul sins; their heathen path would lead us unto destruction if we do not resist!
"Do not fear, I say, for God shall protect you, his chosen followers, from any harm we might face. Those of us who die, we have cleansed our sins and fought for the good of all Christians. So long as we hold true to our faith even until the end, God will forgive any past crimes we may have committed. All those faithful who die today shall be brought into Heaven's embrace, so I say let us not fear what is to come, for alive or dead, your rewards shall be great. At last I say to you in final reminder, a passage from our holy books such that we might regain our heart and know the victory is nigh:
"Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness."
The silence of the regiment was finally broken, and each man spoke in determined unison one word: "Amen."
"The Crusaders finish their prayer and prepare for battle."
The Turks had grown closer, and closer, until finally their lines drew to a halt, short of arrow range. From the front of their lines, a small group of horsemen galloped forth. In response, a part of the central flank of the Crusading Army galloped forth, banners fluttering in the wind behind them, the heraldry of Tatikios and Raymond of Toulouse could be seen even from this far. Three of the greatest leaders of the Crusader army, united under the Cross. This would truly become a great endeavour.
The two groups met in the centre of the field, and Harald felt his very heart pounding. The Saracens who rode forth to meet their leaders doubtlessly included their leader, the Sultan Kilij Arslan, who ruled over all the Turks of Rum. That was what he had heard from the Varangians, though, and he had little personal knowledge of the truth of the matter.
The tension was so thick that he thought it could be cut with a knife, and it seemed every heartbeat was so loud in his ears that it might deafen him. Harald had been to battle many times before, but nothing like this – never like this. Tens of thousands of men on each side, all determined, united by their respective faiths and unwilling to move. They had the blessing of God, and their ranks included not just professional soldiers, but peasants, priests and even burghers who had given up everything to undertake the oath.
Many of the peasants of course had little or no idea of the journey at its inception, and their naïveté had been a source of great amusement to the nobles and Knights. Few commoners could have imagined how great the length of their journey might be, and now that they were finally in the Holy Land, many had asked 'is Jerusalem the next city?' At that thought, Harald let slip a little smile. They would not have to wait much longer after today.
The two sets of leaders in the centre of the field broke off and rode with great haste towards their respective sides. Almost immediately, there was great movement in the Turkish ranks. The lines of infantry thinned and from behind them advanced hundreds, perhaps thousands of horsemen, moving rapidly into the gap between the two forces. Was this what the Varangians had warned him about?
"The Lines of Battle are reached upon the lakefront."
The horses then did something quite unusual to the European eyes – they turned and spread out, moving not to charge them, but towards one flank. At first Harald feared that they were moving towards the gap in the hills and had discovered Crusader forces after all, but then they began to turn instead, moving in circular motion at least a hundred paces from the front lines. Screams from the front line rang out as men were struck by arrows, surprised and caught off guard by the unusual motion. Immediately they condensed into a shield wall as arrows pelted the Crusader ranks, leaving hundreds dead in the opening volleys. They continued this pattern, forming small circles that allowed them to keep a constant pattern of fire.
"Return fire!" Erik cried out from somewhere in the front regiments, and the leidang archers did so eagerly. All across the Crusade's lines, arrows sailed out in return, pelting the ground but often missing the fast-moving horsemen, who seemed to weave through the oncoming volleys as if they were nothing – this was of course an illusion created by the discrepancy in aim. The Saracen bowmen seemed to have unholy aim compared to the Crusaders' levied hunters, who fired in great volleys with little precision.
Harald did notice that this method did not lack merit, despite the gradually increasing casualties amongst their ranks – every moment the Crusaders focused on the fast-moving horsemen, something worse approached. Through the clouds of dust kicked up by their movements, he saw the lines of the Rum Sultanate advancing towards them. Somewhere nearby, one of his own men went down, struck by a stray arrow from the Turks. He could hear the man's screams of pain, and winced, but did not budge. It was his job to watch the lines and ensure nothing went wrong.
Suddenly and without warning, the Saracen skirmishers turned and retreated, leaving behind dozens, perhaps hundreds of fallen, and disorder and damaged morale in the Crusaders ranks. The cloud of dust that had been kicked up started to fade as the hordes of the enemy charged through.
"Stand firm!" a cry echoed from the front ranks as a forest of spears bristled in anticipation of the enemy charge.
Somewhere along the flanks, the Serbian and Frankish horsemen met with a unit of Saracen cavalry in a clatter of hoof and spear. Seventy thousand cries of war echoed throughout the field like a terrible roar as the armies met in one headlong clash. Sword and axe and shield smashed against one another with a terrible furor as the two armies intermixed in the chaos of battle.
The Scanian Axes were impetuous and eager to fight, but Harald's stern discipline kept them in line, unmoving from behind the forward mass of Danes. Volleys of arrow fire continued to hail upon both sides, and here and there a casualty fell amongst the Danish men, who held their shields up to the sky. They felt helpless without any means of reaching the fast-moving horse archers; they had to rely upon their own bowmen to try and counter.
To the Danes' left, the Irish were struggling and beginning to falter, and to the right, things seemed even worse – the Serbians and the Horsemen of Boulogne were pitted against a unit of the Sultan's mounted guards; they had taken significant casualties. It looked like they would break any minute, and if they did, the Danish front lines would be outflanked and outnumbered.
"Sten, take your unit and move to help the Celts!" Harald barked at one of his lieutenants. "Don't let their line break no matter what! The rest of you, form up to our right! Prepare to do battle!"
The Scanian axes split off, some two hundred moving to the faltering Irish lines and pushing in from the right, shouting encouragement and bloody warcries. The rest shifted and quickly re-formed at an angle. The Serbian horsemen, outmatched by the heavy cavalry, finally broke, and the entire light mounted regiment began to withdraw, leaving behind scores of dead horse and riders.
"Don't let them re-organise!" Harald barked as the scattered Saracen cavalry began to reform. "Charge, for God and Denmark!"
With a great battlecry, the Danes rushed forwards, raising spear and axe aloft as they rushed towards the heavily armoured horsemen. Unable to turn in time, the first line of cavalry was quickly brought down in the shock of the Danish impact on their lines. The heavily armoured mercenaries were well trained and not afraid of the cavalry's height advantage. The Danes sported larger shields and heavier mail armour, and most of the Scanian regiment was veteran, like their opponents. The outnumbered mounted guard was faced with a difficult position.
Harald led from the front, bringing his sword quickly up into one of the Turks' belly and turning to swing at another, who deftly blocked his blow. Others struck with spear and sword, and the lightly clad horses quickly began to topple, taking rider to the ground where they were easy to finish off. The Danes did not lack casualties of their own; dozens of the Scanians fell in battle, trampled or skewered on Saracen spear.
Harald offered a glance to the left flank. The Irish were still faltering but with Danish help had managed to hold their ground, pushing the Turks to a stalemate instead of losing it outright. Grinning, he raised his sword aloft and yelled to his men: "We're pushing them back! Show them a taste of Viking steel!"
Something else caught his eye, and his heart leapt for joy. Their faith had been rewarded – bright banners flew high in the not-so-distant break in the hills. Six thousand French and Norman knights and Greek heavy cavalrymen (or kataphraktoi) rode forth from behind the cover of the hills, moving at a quick pace. They had caught the Turks by surprise, and for once, the Christians might use the deception and tactics of the enemy to unleash a destructive onslaught upon their foes.
"The Reinforcements arrive to flank the enemy while the routed cavalry gather to return to the fight."
A scant force of the Saracen spearmen turned to face the threat, barely one fifth the knightly number. The cavalry advanced at the same steady pace, thinning out into a long line of battle. The Saracens were outmanoeuvred. Spotting their plight, many of the horse archers quickly turned and began to flee, unwilling to be caught in the path of the Christian charge.
The Norman lances lowered, and the chilling silence fell over their ranks as they lined up to charge. They advanced slowly but surely towards their foes, until within a hundred paces, then fifty, and then, all at once, they exploded into a furious charge, the cry of 'Deus Vult!' upon their lips. Thousands bloodthirsty warriors rumbled towards the Turkish lines.
Faced with such a mass of deadly muscle, sinew and steel, the Saracen morale broke almost instantly, and dozens of spearmen turned and sought to flee. The French and Normans ploughed through the minimal opposition as if it was nothing more than a nuisance and rumbled onwards, striking the Turkish lines from an angle and sending a shock of panic all the way up the battlefront.
Beset upon from two sides and with no escape, the Saracen heavy cavalry fought bitterly until the end, unwilling to surrender and unable to flee, they had no choice but to fight to the death. Elsewhere, the Irish began to push back the demoralised Muslims, heartened by the courageous charge of the Normans. The Danes pushed equally hard, slowly squeezing the mounted guard into non-existence.
It was then that a great cry went up: "The King is dead!"
Harald froze; his blood ran cold.
"King Erik is slain! Fight, fight to the last! Make these dogs pay!"
The Danish captain roared in anger, and charged back into the fray with a shout of his own. "Death to them! Show no Saracen dog mercy, even if he should ask for it!"
Elsewhere, the newly arrived Christian cavalry were starting to face a problem. Though they were easily defeating the Saracen infantry in battle, they were constantly harassed by volley after volley of arrows from the skirmishing mounted archers, which had returned upon their own flanks. Every time they moved to attempt to engage, the unarmoured horsemen would quickly dart away out of reach, easily outpacing the heavily garbed knights and kataphraktoi. This would continue until the Christian horsemen gave up to return to the fight against the infantry; at this point, they would turn and begin firing again, slaying many men for none lost.
Despite this setback, the enemy line was collapsing – the Italian Normans on the left flank were rapidly pushing the Saracens away and the Crusade's heroic leadership was dominating the Saracens in the centre, who only held by the leadership of Kilij Arslan himself. It seemed that there would be no victory for the heathens today, and the Sultan's lines were being squeezed to the breaking point. A great cry went up from their ranks, and one by one, Muslim regiments began to break off and retreat, unable to continue the fight any longer.
The sound of rapid hoof beats behind the Danish formation caught Harald's ear, and he turned quickly. Fear turned to delight as he saw the reformed Serbian and Frankish horsemen returning to the fight, slipping around the contested melee and making for the Turkish horse archers. Faced with light cavalry, who would be difficult to outrun, the skirmishers finally broke, and the Saracens were on the run for good. The entire remaining force began to pull away with great haste, making for the east horizon at full speed. The tired men of the front lines were too exhausted to offer much of a chase, but happily made way for those behind who had not yet reached the fight. The fresh Christian troops hastily pursued both on foot and on horse, catching hundreds, nay, thousands of Saracens.
The battle was at last won.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
"A late 14th century depiction of the Battle of Lake Ýznik; notice the inaccurate portrayal of the Knights as wearing plate."
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
"A late 14th century depiction of the Battle of Lake Ýznik; notice the inaccurate portrayal of the Knights as wearing plate."
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
The Crusaders showed no mercy to any that they captured save the Sultan's cousin, who was trapped and captured alive for ransom upon the lakeside. Despite their best efforts at pursuit, many Turks still escaped, enough to form a significant army if they regrouped. It was clear that the war was not yet over, but the victory was clear – the Crusade had defeated the Saracens at the Battle of Lake Ýznik (as it would be called) and sent a clear message to the heathens of Asia Minor, Anatolia and the Levant. They would not be stopped, no matter the cost.
Documents of the time suggest that the reason for the Muslim retreat was that Kilij Arslan had been wounded in the battle and thought the situation to be hopeless. Though he escaped from the war alive, illness from the injury would eventually consume him, and without a strong, healthy leader, the Rum Sultanate would be hard-pressed to stop the Byzantine Emperor Alexios I from reclaiming his lost land. Contemporary thinkers wonder what the outcome of the war might have been if Kilij Arslan had not been struck down, and this has become a hotly contested point amongst historians.
The nature of the Sultan's injury was also in question – most accounts claim that Roger Borsa was the one to do the deed. Others claim that Arslan had fought Raymond of Toulouse to a stalemate in personal combat, and that Tatikios, seeing the opportunity to take advantage, skewered the Saracen with a lance. Another claimed that it was a squire who had taken up his fallen master's sword, and that the boy was knighted in honour of his blow. One priest's extremely dubious account claims that he saw the clouded sky open up and that the hand of god himself reached down and smote the Sultan into the dirt.
Nonetheless, all accounts agree that he was badly wounded, and it was known that the Sultan was not the only notable casualty of that battle. King Erik I of Denmark was slain by a spear which pierced the mail protecting his heart, and Robert of Normandy was badly wounded during the initial charge by an arrow. Mesud, the Beylik of Konya, was also slain along with all of his men fighting against the Serbs and Danes.
The ambiguity of the Danish situation was addressed in an emergency ting (assembly) held by the Danes on the lakeside the next morning. There it was decided that Harald Bragde would take over command of the Danes as the most capable and veteran commander present. It is said that his oratory was great and influential, and that in the wake of their King's loss they showed no fear. All men on the Crusade voted, and only thirteen did not vote for Harald, instead supporting the Duke of Hvide's brother, Jens, who led the men from Sjælland.
Word was sent back to Denmark of the loss of the King; the country went into mourning upon hearing of the loss of one of the greatest, most popular rulers in history. The throne would remain empty for nearly a year before his brother Niels was elected as King. The line of Svend Estridsen would continue to rule the strongest Scandinavian State, although it would become distinctly weakened from this point on, as Niels, for all his great
The Crusaders returned to the siege of Nicaea, but at Kilij Arslan's advice, the city surrendered in secret to Tatikios just 5 days after the Battle of Lake Ýznik. In return, the Greeks refused the Crusader Army itself access on the grounds that they would not permit looting of one of their oldest cities. This strained relations between the two sides and it seemed that the Crusaders might have to continue on the march to Jerusalem alone…
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, or maybe her Georgian AAR written for Europa Universalis 3, Sakartvelo – Rose Jewel of the Caucasus.
The long awaited clash! And things worked out a little better for the Crusaders than at Dorylaeum... I wonder how this will affect how the Muslim world will react to their arrival at Antioch?
And a shadow cardinal? Ah, papal intrigue...
And a shadow cardinal? Ah, papal intrigue...
Well, that was costly.
But the Turks paid more.
Very detailed and believable tactical description and a great read.
But the Turks paid more.
Very detailed and believable tactical description
and a great read.
A Byzantine Interim
by General_BT
“It’s about bloody time.”
Alexios Komnenos, Basilieus i Autokrator ton Romanion folded his arms across his chest and sighed. He might not have used quiet the vulgar words one of his commanders had used, but then again Ioannis Vataczes always had a knack for stating what was on everyone else’s mind. Minus a little tact.
“I think that sums up the sentiments of half the city and all of the state,” the Emperor sighed.
The Emperor of the Romans and the commander of the Opsikion Theme were both tall men, slightly over six foot. While the Emperor was rather average in weight, with a well trimmed greying mane of a beard and thunderously regal eyes, his most loyal subordinate was a positive barrel of a man, beefy with muscle and tiny beady eyes. Where Alexios was still clad in brilliant gilt parade armor, complete with tyrian purple boots and cape, Vataczes in contrast wore a simple coat of mail, the bright red of his cape the only color in his kit.
The Emperor, for the first time in several years, was in the field, at the head of his armies. Underneath a tent of tyrian purple with threaded gold, the Emperor and his principal commanders had gathered to plan their next move. Some 40,000 Rhomanoi now were arrayed in vast camps surrounding the newly fallen city. Alexios often knelt and gave thanks to God for his legions – and that Robert Guiscard had showed no inclination to do anything more than saying he would one day attack Greece. The Emperor would never admit it, but he dreaded the idea of facing the Normans and their late leader.
“They weren’t all that bad,” said another voice. Alexios’ young nephew Basil, twenty-one and newly gifted with the strategos’ red cape, was uneasily shifting back and forth in the afternoon heat. His rail thin form didn’t look like it belonged in mail, but his ferocity only two weeks before among the kataphraktoi at Lake Yznik. “The Normans were as beastly as ever, and the Germans… gah, the less said about them, the better! But that contingent from Ireland was quiet and introspective, and the Danes were interesting fellows…”
“…oh God, not again,” complained the fourth and final person present. “Basil, you prattle on and on like some… prattling thing!” the balding Manuel, brother to the Emperor and commander of the Optimaton theme, snarled as he threw his hands skyward. “The Latins are pigs! Filthy pigs!”
Alexios winced at Manuel’s damning statement, one that was all too reflective of the stance of most of the dynatoi and other Roman aristocracy. A part of Alexios’ mind reminded him that he wasn’t much better – after all, he’d been the one to raise a sword against Emperor Nikephoros, and then promptly installed his friends and allies in positions of power to consolidate his rule. They said Nikephoros squealed when he was castrated. Brutishness was a trait common to man in general, not just the Latins.
“You’re just angry because of the German incident!” Basil retorted. “Not all of the Latins were brutes! Most were incredibly well behaved! Except the Varangians, and the Germans,” the young Komnenos shook his head. “Both the northern ones and our own! Beastly lot. I cannot believe Rentakenos defected as well!”
Alexios nodded, even though the matter meant little to him. His nephew had always taken a keen interest in the Varangoi tagma, with hopes that his uncle would one day elevate him to its command. Thus, when almost a hundred Varangians led by some junior officer named Gregorios Rentakenos had slipped out alongside a contingent of Saxons, Basil had been livid. Alexios could care little – there were still five thousand Varangians in the guard, and from what Tatikios told him, many of the deserters were only spoiling for a good fight. Now that one had taken place…
Emperor Alexios Komnenos
“Just goes to show what will happen if you rely on Latins,” Manuel disdainfully tossed his own red cloak over his shoulder. “It was a miracle that they didn’t try to plunder the Imperial City too much. Cousin Basil, you too would be fuming if it was your villa that was ransacked!” Manuel snarled back.
“The Varangian leader was most apologetic,” Alexios sighed as an old, dead horse was dragged out for yet another beating. “He offered compensation, and those five men were broken on the wheel for their crimes. You want me to punish the Latins more? You find me the army we lost at Manzikert, and double the size of your thematakoi. Then,” the Emperor muttered grimly, “we can talk about punishing the Latins.”
“And retake all of effin’ southern Italy while we’re at it!” Vataczes grumbled.
“Why? How many of the curs are out there?” Manuel pointed at the receding dust cloud.
“Fifty thousand, some say,” Alexios murmured, gazing at the slowly receding pall of dust and soot raised into the air.
“Altogether?” Basil raised an eyebrow. “It never seemed that much, the way they straggled into the city and straggled out.”
“Basil, do you think I would have let all the Latins into the city at once?” Alexios laughed. “Am I a fool?”
“Keeping them separate meant he could keep them under control… some,” Manuel sighed. “Though, if the little birds than sing in my ear are correct, dear brother, not one of the Latin lords knelt before you in fealty?”
“Fealty,” Alexius let the word roll around in his mouth like a rotten grape. He hadn’t expected much from the Latins at all. “A few minor ones did, caught in the shining light of Roman coin or titles. Most of these men were from the Balkans or Italy, places that still had glowing memories of Imperial glory, tales of the Bulgarontocus or Ioannes Tzmizikes in the minds of grandfathers. Sometimes the coin was small – the Zhupan of some small place called Dioclea had pledged himself and five hundred men to Imperial service for a bag of gold nommi.
“Fools, all of them,” Manuel hissed in contempt.
Alexios nodded. Who would not want to submit to the Vice Regent of Christ on Earth, the One True Emperor of the Romans? Yes, they followed the schismatic Pope in Rome, but they were descendants of the Romans, though not as pure. Why wouldn’t they be attracted to the shining light if Konstantinopolis, as a fly buzzed around a lit candle at night? Alexios had merely thought if he’d learned to ‘speak their language,’ that they would kneel just as the Bulgarians, the Vlachs, the Isaurians and countless other tribes had…
“No matter, after we retake Anatolia we’ll deal with them,” Basil said simply. “They might be in Jerusalem by that point, but still…”
“They won’t get that effin’ far,” Vataczes grumbled. “They’re all hellbent on glory or death. They’ll find the latter in wagonloads. But glory?” The Thracian let loose a laugh that reminded Alexios of a baying wolf. “They’ll find Christ’s glory, sure enough, when they take an abbreviated trip to heaven thanks to a Turkish lance!”
“Vataczes!” Basil snapped, his face aghast at the blasphemy.
“My Thracian friend speaks the truth,” Manuel smiled.
“They did thrash the Turk at Lake Yznik,” Alexios reminded everyone. At the Emperor’s speech, a moment’s pause fell across the tent.
“Even a mangy cur can defeat a great lion when its distracted,” Manuel finally hissed in disdain. “Clearly, the Sultan was busy worried about us, and the Latins caught him on the privy!”
“It was blind luck, Majesty!” Vataczes fired back. “The stupid Latins didn’t even wait for all their forces before plunging headlong into battle! Damn fools!” Everyone gathered around the table could appreciate that damning offense. Basil was the only one of the four that had not lived through the Manzikert catastrophe, but that day was burned into the memories of every Rhomanoi.
“Even for their impetuousness, their brutishness,” Basil dragged the conversation back out of an uneasy silence, “they still beat the Turk. I was there, amongst the kataphraktoi. Handsomely, as Majesty said. I was there,” the young Komnenos reminded everyone, “amongst the kataphraktoi! I was like you, I didn’t expect the Latins to stand their ground. But they did, Vataczes! Some of the contingents did well – the Irish and Welsh held their ground in the face of the worst the Sultan could throw at them, one of the Franks closed on Kilijc Arslan so close he felled him, and the Varangians launched that charge that saved the center! God rest the soul of Erik…” Basil’s voice drifted off in a tone of admiration.
Alexios looked at Basil, and recognized the distant look on the young man’s face. The young man’s eyes were staring off into the distance, staring two weeks back in time, to sights and sounds of battle, slaughter, glory won and lost. The Emperor’s eyes then flicked over to Vataczes and Manuel. Both had their mouths open, but no disparaging words came out. A slight smirk came on the Emperor’s lips. The Rhomanoi had tasted the bitterness of defeat, but they also knew bravery when they saw it. Somewhere, Alexios knew that Varangian king was laughing. Yet again, he and his kind had left the best in Konstantinopolis tongue-tied.
“Some of the bastards were cowardly though,” Vataczes finally got out the sharp remark he couldn’t say earlier about the Danes. “The Serbian horse broke and fled, putting their whole army in jeopardy. If Tatikios hadn’t been there…”
“There’s a true hero for you,” Manuel chimed in. “Tatikios! How are you going to reward the greatest champion of the Latins at court?” Alexios glared as his brother’s voice changed from congratulatory to ironic. “Surely he’ll get a laurel, and more capes to wear than just the red of a strategos?”
“I will reward him with command of an Anatolian theme,” Alexios replied. It was only befitting for Alexios’ close friend, the man who’d first insisted there were uses for the Latin horde bearing down on Konstantinopolis. Alexios watched as Manuel’s look of mockery changed to a dark, glowering stormcloud. The Emperor cared not – Manuel could hate Tatikios all he liked. Alexios would not discard a useful man.
“After Nikaea, where do we go?” the Emperor said, purposefully changing the subject to the map that lay between them.
“Secure the coast of Asia Minor,” Basil immediately blurted out. All eyes turned to the youngest Komnenos present. Basil looked around, then looked down, for a second looked like the eighteen year old he was, and not one of the more feared commanders in the imperial tagmata. “It’ll allow us multiple opportunities to penetrate into the Anatolian heartland later on!”
“Why?” Vataczes mumbled. His meaty fingers didn’t trace the coast like Basil’s – they dashed about the map in a blast of frenzied pointing. “We’ve got the armies of all the Greek, Macedonian, Balkan and Thracian themes,” he rumbled, “why take the coast piecemeal. If the Latins have smacked the Turks as hard as they claim, most of Asia Minor is open! Strike now, Majesty, strike hard, and we can recover everything Michael Doukas lost in those years after Manzikert!”
“Especially before those greedy barbarians start trying to carve it all up for themselves,” Manuel added.
“They won’t carve up Asia Minor,” Alexios said quietly. No, they were too focused for that. He’d seen their eyes, from the great Duke of Campania to the lowliest Welshman and Scot. They would make directly for the Holy Land, whether the Sultan was injured or dead or his armies were lost on the Moon. “They might snap up Antioch,” the Emperor thought aloud, “but not Asia Minor. We will spend the rest of this year securing the coasts with the fleet, setting up supply depots, and securing the nearer portions of Asia Minor,” Alexios slowly traced the coast, “Meanwhile, let us march directly on Ikonion – take the war to Kilijc’s capital, and make Ikonion a holy Christian city once more.”
Ikonion had long been considered the cornerstone of Turkish power on Anatolia. If it fell to the Rhomanoi, the Turk’s dominion over Greek Anatolia, just like the Muslim Caliphate’s and the Persian’s, would quickly recede into simply an unpleasant memory.
“Ikonion,” Basil said excitedly, his eyes shining bright with youthful exuberance. Alexios wondered if his eyes shined the same way just before Lake Yznik.
“Won’t that have us follow in the wake of the Latins?” Vataczes raised an eyebrow. “So we are letting them go in front, and fight the Turk? The won once, yes, but that was with our help! We’re cutting them loose? Letting them go alone?”
“No… no, let them!” Manuel blurted out excitedly and smiled. All eyes turned in surprise to the Strategos of Optimation. Manuel looked at their incredulous stares, and laughed. “Let the Latins be our shields, let their blood run, while we conserve our own, and strike against the weakened Turk of Rum! Then, when the Latins are weak and the Turk beaten down…”
“Manuel,” Alexios sighed, “we are planning the reconquest of Asia Minor, not the conquest of Jerusalem. One objective at a time – it is how we Komnenids secured our throne. It’s how we will maintain it. Now, after Ikonion falls, Basil, you’ll take several tagmata and march hard on Cilicia, so brush up on your Armenian. Vataczes, you and I will turn east to penetrate as far as Kaiseria – I want no mercy, no quarter given to the Turks…”
The Byzantine plan for retaking Anatolia. Emperor Alexios and his three subordinates will march directly on Ikonion, the seat of Seljuk power in Anatolia. After securing Ikonion, Alexios and Vataczes will march on the weakened Danishmenid Turks at Kaiseria, Basil will move to reinforce the princes of Armenia, while Manuel will turn back and secure cut off sections of Western Anatolia. Meanwhile, the Byzantine fleet will raid and harass the coast, securing ports where it can.
General_BT is the author of Rome AARisen – a Byzantine AAR. If you enjoyed his writing above, you might want to give it a try as well. Or maybe his other Crusader Kings AAR Vikan Vojislavljevic is a Fool, and Other Tales of Imperial Serbia for something of a lighter tone.
by General_BT
“It’s about bloody time.”
Alexios Komnenos, Basilieus i Autokrator ton Romanion folded his arms across his chest and sighed. He might not have used quiet the vulgar words one of his commanders had used, but then again Ioannis Vataczes always had a knack for stating what was on everyone else’s mind. Minus a little tact.
“I think that sums up the sentiments of half the city and all of the state,” the Emperor sighed.
The Emperor of the Romans and the commander of the Opsikion Theme were both tall men, slightly over six foot. While the Emperor was rather average in weight, with a well trimmed greying mane of a beard and thunderously regal eyes, his most loyal subordinate was a positive barrel of a man, beefy with muscle and tiny beady eyes. Where Alexios was still clad in brilliant gilt parade armor, complete with tyrian purple boots and cape, Vataczes in contrast wore a simple coat of mail, the bright red of his cape the only color in his kit.
The Emperor, for the first time in several years, was in the field, at the head of his armies. Underneath a tent of tyrian purple with threaded gold, the Emperor and his principal commanders had gathered to plan their next move. Some 40,000 Rhomanoi now were arrayed in vast camps surrounding the newly fallen city. Alexios often knelt and gave thanks to God for his legions – and that Robert Guiscard had showed no inclination to do anything more than saying he would one day attack Greece. The Emperor would never admit it, but he dreaded the idea of facing the Normans and their late leader.
“They weren’t all that bad,” said another voice. Alexios’ young nephew Basil, twenty-one and newly gifted with the strategos’ red cape, was uneasily shifting back and forth in the afternoon heat. His rail thin form didn’t look like it belonged in mail, but his ferocity only two weeks before among the kataphraktoi at Lake Yznik. “The Normans were as beastly as ever, and the Germans… gah, the less said about them, the better! But that contingent from Ireland was quiet and introspective, and the Danes were interesting fellows…”
“…oh God, not again,” complained the fourth and final person present. “Basil, you prattle on and on like some… prattling thing!” the balding Manuel, brother to the Emperor and commander of the Optimaton theme, snarled as he threw his hands skyward. “The Latins are pigs! Filthy pigs!”
Alexios winced at Manuel’s damning statement, one that was all too reflective of the stance of most of the dynatoi and other Roman aristocracy. A part of Alexios’ mind reminded him that he wasn’t much better – after all, he’d been the one to raise a sword against Emperor Nikephoros, and then promptly installed his friends and allies in positions of power to consolidate his rule. They said Nikephoros squealed when he was castrated. Brutishness was a trait common to man in general, not just the Latins.
“You’re just angry because of the German incident!” Basil retorted. “Not all of the Latins were brutes! Most were incredibly well behaved! Except the Varangians, and the Germans,” the young Komnenos shook his head. “Both the northern ones and our own! Beastly lot. I cannot believe Rentakenos defected as well!”
Alexios nodded, even though the matter meant little to him. His nephew had always taken a keen interest in the Varangoi tagma, with hopes that his uncle would one day elevate him to its command. Thus, when almost a hundred Varangians led by some junior officer named Gregorios Rentakenos had slipped out alongside a contingent of Saxons, Basil had been livid. Alexios could care little – there were still five thousand Varangians in the guard, and from what Tatikios told him, many of the deserters were only spoiling for a good fight. Now that one had taken place…
Emperor Alexios Komnenos
“Just goes to show what will happen if you rely on Latins,” Manuel disdainfully tossed his own red cloak over his shoulder. “It was a miracle that they didn’t try to plunder the Imperial City too much. Cousin Basil, you too would be fuming if it was your villa that was ransacked!” Manuel snarled back.
“The Varangian leader was most apologetic,” Alexios sighed as an old, dead horse was dragged out for yet another beating. “He offered compensation, and those five men were broken on the wheel for their crimes. You want me to punish the Latins more? You find me the army we lost at Manzikert, and double the size of your thematakoi. Then,” the Emperor muttered grimly, “we can talk about punishing the Latins.”
“And retake all of effin’ southern Italy while we’re at it!” Vataczes grumbled.
“Why? How many of the curs are out there?” Manuel pointed at the receding dust cloud.
“Fifty thousand, some say,” Alexios murmured, gazing at the slowly receding pall of dust and soot raised into the air.
“Altogether?” Basil raised an eyebrow. “It never seemed that much, the way they straggled into the city and straggled out.”
“Basil, do you think I would have let all the Latins into the city at once?” Alexios laughed. “Am I a fool?”
“Keeping them separate meant he could keep them under control… some,” Manuel sighed. “Though, if the little birds than sing in my ear are correct, dear brother, not one of the Latin lords knelt before you in fealty?”
“Fealty,” Alexius let the word roll around in his mouth like a rotten grape. He hadn’t expected much from the Latins at all. “A few minor ones did, caught in the shining light of Roman coin or titles. Most of these men were from the Balkans or Italy, places that still had glowing memories of Imperial glory, tales of the Bulgarontocus or Ioannes Tzmizikes in the minds of grandfathers. Sometimes the coin was small – the Zhupan of some small place called Dioclea had pledged himself and five hundred men to Imperial service for a bag of gold nommi.
“Fools, all of them,” Manuel hissed in contempt.
Alexios nodded. Who would not want to submit to the Vice Regent of Christ on Earth, the One True Emperor of the Romans? Yes, they followed the schismatic Pope in Rome, but they were descendants of the Romans, though not as pure. Why wouldn’t they be attracted to the shining light if Konstantinopolis, as a fly buzzed around a lit candle at night? Alexios had merely thought if he’d learned to ‘speak their language,’ that they would kneel just as the Bulgarians, the Vlachs, the Isaurians and countless other tribes had…
“No matter, after we retake Anatolia we’ll deal with them,” Basil said simply. “They might be in Jerusalem by that point, but still…”
“They won’t get that effin’ far,” Vataczes grumbled. “They’re all hellbent on glory or death. They’ll find the latter in wagonloads. But glory?” The Thracian let loose a laugh that reminded Alexios of a baying wolf. “They’ll find Christ’s glory, sure enough, when they take an abbreviated trip to heaven thanks to a Turkish lance!”
“Vataczes!” Basil snapped, his face aghast at the blasphemy.
“My Thracian friend speaks the truth,” Manuel smiled.
“They did thrash the Turk at Lake Yznik,” Alexios reminded everyone. At the Emperor’s speech, a moment’s pause fell across the tent.
“Even a mangy cur can defeat a great lion when its distracted,” Manuel finally hissed in disdain. “Clearly, the Sultan was busy worried about us, and the Latins caught him on the privy!”
“It was blind luck, Majesty!” Vataczes fired back. “The stupid Latins didn’t even wait for all their forces before plunging headlong into battle! Damn fools!” Everyone gathered around the table could appreciate that damning offense. Basil was the only one of the four that had not lived through the Manzikert catastrophe, but that day was burned into the memories of every Rhomanoi.
“Even for their impetuousness, their brutishness,” Basil dragged the conversation back out of an uneasy silence, “they still beat the Turk. I was there, amongst the kataphraktoi. Handsomely, as Majesty said. I was there,” the young Komnenos reminded everyone, “amongst the kataphraktoi! I was like you, I didn’t expect the Latins to stand their ground. But they did, Vataczes! Some of the contingents did well – the Irish and Welsh held their ground in the face of the worst the Sultan could throw at them, one of the Franks closed on Kilijc Arslan so close he felled him, and the Varangians launched that charge that saved the center! God rest the soul of Erik…” Basil’s voice drifted off in a tone of admiration.
Alexios looked at Basil, and recognized the distant look on the young man’s face. The young man’s eyes were staring off into the distance, staring two weeks back in time, to sights and sounds of battle, slaughter, glory won and lost. The Emperor’s eyes then flicked over to Vataczes and Manuel. Both had their mouths open, but no disparaging words came out. A slight smirk came on the Emperor’s lips. The Rhomanoi had tasted the bitterness of defeat, but they also knew bravery when they saw it. Somewhere, Alexios knew that Varangian king was laughing. Yet again, he and his kind had left the best in Konstantinopolis tongue-tied.
“Some of the bastards were cowardly though,” Vataczes finally got out the sharp remark he couldn’t say earlier about the Danes. “The Serbian horse broke and fled, putting their whole army in jeopardy. If Tatikios hadn’t been there…”
“There’s a true hero for you,” Manuel chimed in. “Tatikios! How are you going to reward the greatest champion of the Latins at court?” Alexios glared as his brother’s voice changed from congratulatory to ironic. “Surely he’ll get a laurel, and more capes to wear than just the red of a strategos?”
“I will reward him with command of an Anatolian theme,” Alexios replied. It was only befitting for Alexios’ close friend, the man who’d first insisted there were uses for the Latin horde bearing down on Konstantinopolis. Alexios watched as Manuel’s look of mockery changed to a dark, glowering stormcloud. The Emperor cared not – Manuel could hate Tatikios all he liked. Alexios would not discard a useful man.
“After Nikaea, where do we go?” the Emperor said, purposefully changing the subject to the map that lay between them.
“Secure the coast of Asia Minor,” Basil immediately blurted out. All eyes turned to the youngest Komnenos present. Basil looked around, then looked down, for a second looked like the eighteen year old he was, and not one of the more feared commanders in the imperial tagmata. “It’ll allow us multiple opportunities to penetrate into the Anatolian heartland later on!”
“Why?” Vataczes mumbled. His meaty fingers didn’t trace the coast like Basil’s – they dashed about the map in a blast of frenzied pointing. “We’ve got the armies of all the Greek, Macedonian, Balkan and Thracian themes,” he rumbled, “why take the coast piecemeal. If the Latins have smacked the Turks as hard as they claim, most of Asia Minor is open! Strike now, Majesty, strike hard, and we can recover everything Michael Doukas lost in those years after Manzikert!”
“Especially before those greedy barbarians start trying to carve it all up for themselves,” Manuel added.
“They won’t carve up Asia Minor,” Alexios said quietly. No, they were too focused for that. He’d seen their eyes, from the great Duke of Campania to the lowliest Welshman and Scot. They would make directly for the Holy Land, whether the Sultan was injured or dead or his armies were lost on the Moon. “They might snap up Antioch,” the Emperor thought aloud, “but not Asia Minor. We will spend the rest of this year securing the coasts with the fleet, setting up supply depots, and securing the nearer portions of Asia Minor,” Alexios slowly traced the coast, “Meanwhile, let us march directly on Ikonion – take the war to Kilijc’s capital, and make Ikonion a holy Christian city once more.”
Ikonion had long been considered the cornerstone of Turkish power on Anatolia. If it fell to the Rhomanoi, the Turk’s dominion over Greek Anatolia, just like the Muslim Caliphate’s and the Persian’s, would quickly recede into simply an unpleasant memory.
“Ikonion,” Basil said excitedly, his eyes shining bright with youthful exuberance. Alexios wondered if his eyes shined the same way just before Lake Yznik.
“Won’t that have us follow in the wake of the Latins?” Vataczes raised an eyebrow. “So we are letting them go in front, and fight the Turk? The won once, yes, but that was with our help! We’re cutting them loose? Letting them go alone?”
“No… no, let them!” Manuel blurted out excitedly and smiled. All eyes turned in surprise to the Strategos of Optimation. Manuel looked at their incredulous stares, and laughed. “Let the Latins be our shields, let their blood run, while we conserve our own, and strike against the weakened Turk of Rum! Then, when the Latins are weak and the Turk beaten down…”
“Manuel,” Alexios sighed, “we are planning the reconquest of Asia Minor, not the conquest of Jerusalem. One objective at a time – it is how we Komnenids secured our throne. It’s how we will maintain it. Now, after Ikonion falls, Basil, you’ll take several tagmata and march hard on Cilicia, so brush up on your Armenian. Vataczes, you and I will turn east to penetrate as far as Kaiseria – I want no mercy, no quarter given to the Turks…”
The Byzantine plan for retaking Anatolia. Emperor Alexios and his three subordinates will march directly on Ikonion, the seat of Seljuk power in Anatolia. After securing Ikonion, Alexios and Vataczes will march on the weakened Danishmenid Turks at Kaiseria, Basil will move to reinforce the princes of Armenia, while Manuel will turn back and secure cut off sections of Western Anatolia. Meanwhile, the Byzantine fleet will raid and harass the coast, securing ports where it can.
General_BT is the author of Rome AARisen – a Byzantine AAR. If you enjoyed his writing above, you might want to give it a try as well. Or maybe his other Crusader Kings AAR Vikan Vojislavljevic is a Fool, and Other Tales of Imperial Serbia for something of a lighter tone.