Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR
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Great update; but the Emperor survived. I wonder if, when he is healthy, he wont try to cut his son out of the succession. Demetrios is smart, but I can only imagine his vengeance will be brutal.
Estonianzulu - Alot depends on what Demetrios comes to... if he ever does. If its a wiser and humbler Demetrios, things could be alright. If its a caged tiger Demetrios...
Subcomandante - Yes, in game Michael died (for different reasons - I felt this story was more fun). He'd had the illness trait for a very long time, and literally about ten days after he had the "bastard accepted as legitimate" event happen to him (I accepted), the sickness turned to pneumonia, and he died five days after that. His stats weren't that bad, but since I had semisalic cosanguinity going, he was my backup in case something cruddy happened to Nikolaios' stellar childhood stats.
VILenin - I was shocked to see Germany grow that large - needless to say, there's no doubt who the Pope has made Western Emperor!
One minute, Germany was a mess, I got involved with the minor Seljuk mess, look back, and that behemoth has formed, with the Hungarian royal family at the head. Needless to say, fear of that thing started influencing my foreign policy.
Alfred Packer - Well, Nik's been raised in the Roman political world, and his mother raised him to basically be a walking, talking political weapon. Against all others, perhaps even his father, he'd fare fine. Against her though... we'll have to see.
Lord Valentine - I'm one of the group that occasionally wonders if Shakespeare wrote that play - though its filled with everything an audience wants... blood, blood, and oh wait, some more blood! Needless to say, Demetrios likely will not be pleased if he awakes, how he enacts that displeasure remains to be seen.
RGB - Looks and actual strength are two different things. Keep in mind, at this point I'd just gotten out of a two year war with the Turks that had eviscerated my Anatolian and Levant manpower. There would need to be some time for recovery, and the prolonged war and my continued use of "royal prerogative" meant some of the nobles were always restless.
canonized - Once again, thank you for your kind praise! I'm trying really hard to make the Roman politics here truly... well... Byzantine, and worth their name!
Subcomandante - Yes, in game Michael died (for different reasons - I felt this story was more fun). He'd had the illness trait for a very long time, and literally about ten days after he had the "bastard accepted as legitimate" event happen to him (I accepted), the sickness turned to pneumonia, and he died five days after that. His stats weren't that bad, but since I had semisalic cosanguinity going, he was my backup in case something cruddy happened to Nikolaios' stellar childhood stats.
VILenin - I was shocked to see Germany grow that large - needless to say, there's no doubt who the Pope has made Western Emperor!
One minute, Germany was a mess, I got involved with the minor Seljuk mess, look back, and that behemoth has formed, with the Hungarian royal family at the head. Needless to say, fear of that thing started influencing my foreign policy. Alfred Packer - Well, Nik's been raised in the Roman political world, and his mother raised him to basically be a walking, talking political weapon. Against all others, perhaps even his father, he'd fare fine. Against her though... we'll have to see.
Lord Valentine - I'm one of the group that occasionally wonders if Shakespeare wrote that play - though its filled with everything an audience wants... blood, blood, and oh wait, some more blood!
Needless to say, Demetrios likely will not be pleased if he awakes, how he enacts that displeasure remains to be seen.RGB - Looks and actual strength are two different things. Keep in mind, at this point I'd just gotten out of a two year war with the Turks that had eviscerated my Anatolian and Levant manpower. There would need to be some time for recovery, and the prolonged war and my continued use of "royal prerogative" meant some of the nobles were always restless.
canonized - Once again, thank you for your kind praise! I'm trying really hard to make the Roman politics here truly... well... Byzantine, and worth their name!
Nik’s post assassination mindset was easily reminiscent of Octavian post Cesar’s death.
General_BT said:
Aha. Thought you were using Royal Prerogative based on your troop description.
Hungarian Emperors? Surely terrible things happen when hungary and Germany unite. At least to their neighbours.
Yeah, gamewise Royal Perogative is a pain in the arse but, especially playing as the Byzantines, I can't bring myself to change it. I mean c'mon, the Equal of the Apostles accepting the inherent rights of the nobility? I don't think so. My Emperors wield absolute power and if any stupid nobles don't like it than they can bloody well get out.* Guess I would've been one of those stubborn power-mad kings who just couldn't take a hint, eh?
*Incidentally, the penalty for trying to leave my empire is death. As you can imagine, the relationship with my vassels is an unhappy one.
It seems the Hungarian dynasty of Holy Roman Emperors has realized the Habsburgs great ambition centuries before they've risen to prominence; authority stretching over all of Germany and Hungary. It remains to be seen how stable this amalgamation will be, however. By biding your time and judiciously dispensing gold from your coffers (say by financing a few rebellions) I think your emperors have a good chance of curtailing Hungaro-German power. That is, of course, provided that YOUR empire doesn't suffer some sort of disaster first.
*Incidentally, the penalty for trying to leave my empire is death. As you can imagine, the relationship with my vassels is an unhappy one.
It seems the Hungarian dynasty of Holy Roman Emperors has realized the Habsburgs great ambition centuries before they've risen to prominence; authority stretching over all of Germany and Hungary. It remains to be seen how stable this amalgamation will be, however. By biding your time and judiciously dispensing gold from your coffers (say by financing a few rebellions) I think your emperors have a good chance of curtailing Hungaro-German power. That is, of course, provided that YOUR empire doesn't suffer some sort of disaster first.
Your right VILenin. I usually also can't bring myself to change the ruling laws. It just would seem inappropriate. I had a hard time convincing myself to due it in my Byzantine AAR but their was really no other choice considering Romanos Diogenes close to non-existent diplomatic abilities.
Anyway I am eagerly awaiting the tale to continue. It doesn't even have to be "Titus Andronikus-style". Actually I hate that play and very much prefer the more classic histories and tragedies like "Richard III" (my all time favorite),Henry V, Henry VI, Julius Caesar and Hamlet. I guess it says a lot about how frustrated and shocked at the death of Michael I was that I chose that play to illustrate my hopes for the future development of the plot.
Anyway I am eagerly awaiting the tale to continue. It doesn't even have to be "Titus Andronikus-style". Actually I hate that play and very much prefer the more classic histories and tragedies like "Richard III" (my all time favorite),Henry V, Henry VI, Julius Caesar and Hamlet. I guess it says a lot about how frustrated and shocked at the death of Michael I was that I chose that play to illustrate my hopes for the future development of the plot.
The succeeding three weeks were rocky. The Emperor breathed, he moved and gave all indications he was, indeed, alive, but he had not awoken from his deep slumber. Hajnal had begged her son to put her as a regent, and reinstate her into her position in charge of the Imperial network of spies, but the Regency had declined. Finally, the day where Hajnal was to turn the keys to her secrets over to Thrakesios arrived, and a fire broke out in the section of the palace housing the logothetes tou oiekaikon. Thrakesios and several guardsmen found the doors to the offices barred, and on breaking them down, discovered the Empress, throwing papers into the flames.
They pulled her from the flames, and Thrakesios saved as many of the priceless records as he could, but some quarter of all the Empire's information ever collected on her various opponents and allies went up in smoke before the flames could be put out. Immediately the Regency accused the Empress of sabotaging her office in spite, while the Empress retreated to her son, asking for his protection as acting Kaisar. Nikolaios was a loyal son, but he was also a Roman, and as his mother trained him, he thought and acted for himself - she was left to the wolves. It wasn't for another week that the truly damning information came out.
Thrakesios had managed to save the letter in Hajnal's hand when they burst into the room - scorched but still readable. It spoke of an unholy alliance between a vengeful Empress intent to put her son on the throne, and the hashashin intent on exacting blood for Imperial duplicity. Hajnal had handed them Nikolaios' grandmother, his half-brother, and had come nigh to delivering the life of the Basilieus himself to their clutches. It was damning, and it was irrefutable.
A dispute then arose between the two Regents. Theophano felt that until Nikolaios' guilt or innocence in the whole affair could be established, the Crown Prince should be cut off from government decisions. Thrakesios felt that if the Crown Prince had known, he would not have insisted that the Imperial spy networks and all of its documentation be removed from his mother's control. The mood between the two chilled, until finally a new development changed everything.
The Emperor awoke.
Demetrios Megos Komnenos was still weak - the first day he could barely move his head, and his progress was slow. The Chirugeons promised a full recovery, so long as the Emperor did not overexert himself, and thus the proud man was to remain bedridden, hidden from public view. His strength slowly began to flow back into his limbs, however, and soon he was well enough to at least recieve guests.
While the rest of the court rejoiced, Nikolaios found himself backed into a corner - the mounting evidence against his mother made it plainly apparent she was guilty of the horrific crimes she was charged with, and her guilt, coupled with her statement advising Nikolaios to stay back from his father implicated the young Prince as well. Isaakios Thrakesios and Theophano both indicated they knew the Prince's innocence - but would that be enough to persuade the wounded lion?
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It was with trepidation that Nikolaios came to his father's chambers on June 18th, 1105. The Megos Komnenos was now awake, now stirring, and Nikolaios was completely unsure how he would react to learning the news of who tried to kill him, and why. The greeting between the two had been stilted - Thrakesios had been in the midst of telling the Emperor the news when Nikolaios arrived.
Nikolaios looked at his stricken father as Thrakesios read off the list of evidence he'd rescued from Hajnal's flames, as well as what he presumed she had left to the fire before Thrakesios could break down the door. The Basilieus' face grew darker and darker, until Nikolaios thought, despite Demetrios' weakened condition, the Emperor was going to rise from his bed and slaughter Hajnal with his own bare hands.
"...is all of it, Majesty," Thrakesios finished with a bow. Demetrios motioned weakly with his hand for Nikolaios to come closer, and gingerly, frightened, the Crown Prince drew next to his father's bed.
"Nikolaios..." the Emperor whispered, "you had no part in this?"
"No father!" Nikolaios once again felt the hot sting of tears coming to his face. Shock and anger still made his soul shiver like a leaf in a storm. "I had no idea my mother would do such a horrible thing!" A tear came down, and Nikolaios fought to keep any others from coming out - he was in front of his father, the warrior, and even when bedridden Demetrios gave off an aura of gravity and power than scoffed at sobbing.
"I...believe...you..." Demetrios smiled gently, showing the blackened teeth the poison had left in his mouth. "You could have taken power but you gave it to others..."
Nikolaios could only nod as the tears came out for real. He laid his head on his father's chest, and felt one of Demetrios' large hands on the back of his head. The scene lasted for a moment, but it felt like a welcome eternity to Nikolaios, before he heard the Emperor gently call for Thrakesios to come forward as well. Nikolaios knew what was coming, and part of him still wanted that warm embrace, to avoid hearing what was inevitable.
"You wish my advice on this?" Demetrios said softly, looking at both his son and one of the two Regents of the Empire.
Nikolaios paused for a second, before nodding slowly. "She is very popular with the people for what she did while you were away, Majesty," Nikolaios was careful to use the proper imperial title - he wanted his father's position as an Emperor, not as a husband - "and her death could cause them to get restless."
For several minutes Demetrios looked up at the ceiling in thought, before turning back to his son.
"Tell her that on your order, she is to be sent to a monastery on the island of Tenedos, where she will take the name Eirene. She is to do this on pain of death by drawing and quartering," Demetrios stopped and coughed, before going on, "You will tell the people she went to the monastery to grieve. She need not be killed, only rendered impotent." Demetrios sighed, then looked at the ceiling again. "I should have seen this..."
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Isaakios Thrakesios watched his friend the Emperor put on a full show of contrition, humility and reconciliation with his son. These were the moments when he was immensely impressed and deeply horrified of Demetrios - when the Emperor's instinct for guile and intrigue showed through his normally rough and boorish exterior. Even when laid flat on his back, awake for a day after a horrendous event, the Emperor was already putting on an act, reassuring his son that all would be alright.
When the bronze doors leading to the Emperor's chambers closed, and the footfalls of the Crown Prince faded into the distance, Thrakesios turned to his friend, unable to resist the urge to scowl.
"Demetrios, you did not have to lead him on like that," the Strategos grumbled. "He's a good child. I have no doubt of his innocence in the whole matter - if he was guilty, why would he have put me in his mother's place?"
Demetrios turned his head, and weakly formed a scowl of his own.
"He is part mine, but he is also partly that woman's," Demetrios growled. Ever since Thrakesios had informed him of Hajnal's complicity, the Emperor had refused to even address her by name. She was always "the woman," or "that woman."
"True, but the years of campaigning have changed him," Thrakesios even now could sense the iron coming back to the Emperor's voice. He knew how the old Demetrios would have acted - kill the Empress and her son in vengeance. He hoped this new Demetrios could at least be persuaded. "He handed the reins of power to Theophano and myself, instead of keeping them or handing them to his mother. That alone shows he wasn't..."
"Do not let his youth or his friendship with his son fool you, Isaakios," Demetrios warned. "That boy is, and will always be, a spider like his mother." Demetrios looked away from his friend, a look of disgust on his face. "He is dangerous."
"Majesty, perhaps we should consider how useful he could be to the Empire as a whole," Thrakesios offered, knowing if a solution wasn't found soon Demetrios might talk himself into instituting an orgy of bloodshed and familiacide. "If you truly doubt his loyalty, give him a chance to show it to you - name him to an administrative post in the provinces, where he may show his worth."
To his relief, Thrakesios saw his friend's face change - indeed, the pale Emperor smiled, showing his blackened teeth once more. "A good idea, Isaakios," Demetrios smiled. "Make him a comes in one of the poorer provinces under direct Imperial control - let us see how he does. If he is truly dangerous, he can hardly cause harm out of the capital. If he is truly useful, we should see a dusty hovel change to a prosperous region."
Thrakesios, relieved, nodded in agreement. "What of the position of Kaisar, Majesty?"
"For the time being, Isaakios, you will be Kaisar," Demetrios sighed. "I do not trust a young child enough, and you are dependable and loyal. You'll make me proud," the Emperor smiled.
Thrakesios for his part swallow hard, before nodding slowly. Someone had to fill the role. Yet, there was still one more, darker piece of business.
"And what of the Empress?"
There was no hesitation in Demetrios voice.
"Send your son in disguise. Fix that problem permanently."
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Hajnal Arpad Komnenos gave a slight sigh as the mists of the Bosphorus drifted around the small slip of a ship she was on.
Her son, who she had spent all her time, effort and resources educating for this one moment had failed. He hadn't seized the reins of power like a good Roman should have. He hadn't consolidated everything into the hands of his trusted mother, who would have shepherded him through the last few years of his minority until letting him rise free as a Basilieus in his own right. Instead he'd handed everything over to the plodding Theophano and the thick-witted Thrakesios, and the two had backed her into a corner.
Burning the papers was the last resort she could think of, yet even that backfired. The fire grew large, smoke billowed and heat caught other papers alight, consuming large sections of her study and calling attention to herself. And the damned Thrakesios had been able to salvage enough evidence to make charges against her.
The last four weeks of sitting in a gilded cage, bound within her own room, Varangoi not loyal to her stationed outside her doors and on her balcony, had been living hell. She was close enough to watch everything she'd worked for unravel - even to the point her damned husband had stirred from what she hoped would be a fatal slumber.
Now, the small vessel carrying her bobbed on the sea, headed towards the final destination of a small monastery on the island of Tenedos where she would suffer the same fate of many an inconvenient Empress - shunted aside as a nun, forgotten and cut off from the political world. For a political animal like Hajnal, it was a fate far more torturous than simple death.
Her reverie was broken by the noise of metal sliding along leather, and Hajnal turned to find her erstwhile companion facing her, sword in hand.
"So this is how it is to be, then?" she said quietly. Her agile mind realized what was happening. She was too dangerous to have alive. In the city, the word would be spread that she had drowned in a boating accident, tragedy upon tragedy. Woe unto the Imperial family. The young man's cloak blew slightly in the wind, and for the first time she saw his face.
"Ioannis Thrakesios," she muttered to herself. He removed his cowl and nodded.
"You must know, I did this all for Nikolaios," she started to say, only to see the sad, blank look on his face not change. She sighed, and looked over his shoulder towards the distant coast of the Dardanelles, shrouded in a deep fog.
"I am not proud of this, Highness," the young man said, taking a step towards her. She laughed, the harsh, bitter laugh of someone that was utterly defeated and no longer cared. This was a far better end that reciting liturgies and living in a cloister for twenty years or more, however long remained in her allotted life.
"And you think I am!" she sneered. She'd worked so hard, and she'd come so close to her goal, only to be stopped short by the very instrument she had created to take the reins of state. Such an ending.
Fit for a Greek tragedy, she thought to herself. She knelt, laying her neck on the edge of the boat. She could feel Thrakesios' presence behind her, the hairs on her neck standing on end at the slight tongue of the cold steel blade.
"Make it quick and clean, boy," she muttered, saying a last prayer.
Thrakesios kept her wish.
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And so the great threat to Demetrios comes to an end, I wonder if his cruelty wont come back to bite him. When Nik gets removed from his position and shunned, and then finds out his mother was murdered, he may unleash some revenge of his own.
Shrewd ending there. You had me with the reconciliation and the mere 'exile' of her, but in the end I should've seen that there was more guile required and a permanent solution was in the offing. Great post, General!
and Ioannis was the one tasked to kill her...oh wow, that is going to be a problem for Nik in the future. Did Demetrios send Ioannis in order to damage his and Nik's friendship?
Demetrios has a recurring problem when it comes to turning people who love him against him. From his perspective I'm sure he could hardly do otherwise but I fear that just as his bitterness and scorn turned Hajnal into a spiteful and dangerous enemy so too will he make Nikolaios an instrument of vengeance. Truly a bitter cycle.
Hajnal's life is indeed fit for a tragic play.
Hajnal's life is indeed fit for a tragic play.
1. Making Trakesios Kaisar? Hm.
2. Hajnal's life it truly a Greek Tragedy; your writing only improves with time.
3. Nik will chafe in a small princedom, and when he finds out, he will not be happy. Demetrios' twilight years will not be quiet.
2. Hajnal's life it truly a Greek Tragedy; your writing only improves with time.
3. Nik will chafe in a small princedom, and when he finds out, he will not be happy. Demetrios' twilight years will not be quiet.
Hanjal was a great character. I’m sorry to see her passing…
That was a great scene.
That was a great scene.
nothing short of what hajnal deserved.
the emperor will ahve to watch his son closely, he doesn't want his son gaining power the way he did, by making his own large demnse
the emperor will ahve to watch his son closely, he doesn't want his son gaining power the way he did, by making his own large demnse
Thank you everyone for all the positive feedback!
And so the story goes on... this is yet another monstrous update, and it was a difficult one to write - I was trying to juggle many different events, fast-forward in time a few years, showing Nikolaios' continued development as well as his flaws, and showing the beginnings of yet another war. Needless to say it was a lot for one plate, and I hope I did a decent job. Any comments or criticisms would be MUCH appreciated!
That all said... enjoy!
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The succeeding four years were filled with both triumph and tragedy for the Empire.
The Emperor’s health slowly returned, and by November of 1105, he was one again up and about, fully in charge of the nation’s affairs. With his additional responsibilities as Kaisar, Thrakesios resigned his position as logothetes for spies and intelligence, and the Emperor appointed the 23 year old cousin of the Megos Domestikos, Siddiqa Mazin, to fill the position.
Siddiqa Mazin, named Spymaster at the age of 23 in January of 1106, would come to dominate Imperial politics for some time to come.
Like her cousin, she was a baptized Christian, despite her Saracen roots, and unlike the rather brutish looking Kamal Qasim, Siddiqa was petite and lithe, with dark almond eyes and a physique that made most of the men in Konstantinopolis stare. To add to this, she was reputed to have the most devious political mind in Christendom. Combined with her looks, it proved a deadly combination. It was only a matter of time before the Emperor ended up in her arms, both in the Council and in the bedchamber.
Kamal Qasim retired early in 1106 to estates newly granted to him in the Levant (he was elevated to Prince of Ascalon in recognition of his efforts) and yet another Saracen took a position in the court – Taqqib Abdul-Fattah, one of Qasim’s chief subordinates, became Megos Domestikos. The Roman aristocracy, tolerating Qasim and Mazin due to their conversion to orthodoxy, went into revolt over the appointment of a Muslim to the highest military position in the Empire.
On March 4th, 1106, the new Patriarch of Konstantinopolis, Arestinios of Nikaea, gave a thundering and damning sermon from the pulpit of the Hagia Sophia, decrying the decadence and plethora of non-believers in the government. Similar sermons echoed in all the churches, great and small, throughout the city, and soon crowds began to gather in the great plaza between the Hagia Sophia and the Great Palace. Backed into a corner, and at the advice of Siddiqa, Abdul-Fattah was sacrificed to the wolves.
The new Patriarch proved himself no lackey of the Imperial family, and wasted no time in letting his imprint on Imperial politics be known.
Yet event his gesture wasn’t enough for some – the Prince of Lykia, for example, began to instigate rebellious nobles against the Emperor, hoping to emulate Demetrios’ own rise to power. Yet he planned foolishly – when he began his revolt, no other nobles rose with him, and the realm of Prince Andronikos Bourtzes felt the full wrath of an Emperor eager to prove he was ready to take the saddle yet again. Lykia came under attack from the refurbished troops of the Byzantion tagmata, and the result of the battle was hardly in doubt.
Prince Bourtzes tried to start a noble rebellion against the Basilieus - he didn't count on himself being the only foolish noble that summer.
Bourtzes was stripped of his princely title and estates, which were kept in by the state. The Prince himself hid in Tarsos for some time, before taking ship and disappearing in the lands further west, his calls to topple the “unseemly Emperor” in the East going unheeded.
Yet the most notable event of the period did not take place in the Roman Empire - it was the decline of the Seljuk threat. Malik Shah finally passed in the summer of 1106, leaving the Empire to his Grand Vizier, Sulieman al-Jabbari, who took the title of Sulieman Seljuk. Yet the emirs and sheikhs of that great and sprawling empire saw this as a time to break free, and for the time being, civil war was the order of the day.
As all of this was occurring, Nikolaios Komnenos was settling into his new, rather lowly position – as comes (Count) of the tiny province of Hebron, south of Jerusalem on the edge of Roman territory, even as the Empire grew prosperous again and Demetrios began to cast his eyes abroad once more…
Nikolaios Komnenos, Comes of Hebron
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Small and cramped, this keep served as Nikolaios' capital during his tenure as Comes of Hebron
February 2nd, 1109
“Bah!”
Nikolaios Komnenos, son of Basilieus Demetrios Megos, looked down at the rough-hew water trough and grunted his disappointment. Before him, several of his soldiers stood, bent and weary, clutching their knees, their shirts and leggings stained with dirt and sweat.
“Milord,” his Domestikos Goryun Ai wheezed, “we can’t carry this trunk in one piece. It’s too large. We should cut it in half.” The man was a big Alan, who had served in the Imperial army for years. He’d served the previous comes of Hebron, and stayed on when Nikolaios arrived some three and a half years before.
“I should have listened,” Nikolaios gasped himself, his hands burning from the last attempt. His formerly soft hangs now were covered with callouses, and his tall, boyish frame had finally filled out. No one would have ever said that Nikolaios Komnenos was a handsome man – the desert sun for the previous three years had made his dark skin even darker, his nose was too flat, and his black hair was often unkempt. All would agree, however, that his brown eyes were anything but placid.
His current attire, sweat stained tunic and jerkins, were hardly that befitting a comes of the Roman Empire, let alone the only legitimate son of the greatest Emperor since Konstantinos himself. Then again, the County of Hebron was not exactly the richest land in the Empire – in fact, it was nigh unto desert in some places. While other lords might have been able to hire gangs of slaves or builders, Nikolaios found himself with his bare hands and those of his soldiers. A county of some 5000 souls spread over hundreds of square miles did not have the resources to build a great acqueduct, but that hadn’t stopped Nikolaios from trying to jury rig a system from hollowed out trees to bring in water, at least to the small array of shrines and inns clustered around the Cave of the Patriarchs, where Abraham and his family reputedly laid in eternal rest.
Half of the shrines had been commissioned or assisted by the comes himself – yet when the astonished local priests and even the bishop asked the young man about his pious gifts and personal labor, the distant Prince would remark it was because of “sinful thoughts,” in his head, with no elaboration. As in any city of size within Romanion, the local elites were gifted in the art of gossip, and there was no end of twitter on the subject of which young lady was causing the young Prince such spiritual heartache.
“It’s late,” Nikolaios grunted, looking at the setting sun. Soon, the day’s heat would fade into momentary pleasantness before the cold desert night swept in. “I doubt anyone would have reason to steal this, with the comes seal carved into its side,” the prince reasoned aloud. “Come, let’s rest.”
Together, the Prince, his domestikos and six of the forty soldiers in all of Hebron trekked back to the small keep that passed for a royal palace in this backwater – a keep that was a far sight better than the small brick and wooden fort Nikolaios had found on his arrival some three and a half years before, with 50,000 silver solidii and the sour taste of treachery in his mouth. His father had claimed to have forgiven him, and the territory of Hebron had been offered as a “reward for service,” but Nikolaios had been taught well.
He was in exile.
Demetrios was understandably paranoid after the events involving the late Empress – yet another cover-up that did not miss Nikolaios’ attention. Knowing what he knew, it was obvious there hadn’t been a tragic boating accident – yet again, the Emperor had struck. All that remained were the gruesome details, which for the moment the prince wanted to do without. Deep in the recesses of Nikolaios’ mind, he knew his father would never trust him enough to hand him the title of Kaisar – and that if he wanted his birthright, he would have to take it.
Hebron was a start, and from small beginnings did great things arise.
As they neared the walls of Hebron keep, its stones blood red in the rays of the setting sun, Nikolaios spied on the battlements the reason for his spiritual torment – Ioannis was on the southwest tower, the tallest of the four and yet uncompleted, helping other servants set stones and mortar in place. He was bare-chested, and yet again Nikolaios fought down the flutter that was in his stomach. The tiny bell of the chapel inside the keep sounded the end of the work day, and soon all were coming down from their places – some returning to their homes in the city, a few to their quarters in the keep.
Nikolaios returned to his quarters like the others – it was spartan and bare. What little money left in the county after the construction of the keep Nikolaios spent on amassing a small collection of books and scrolls. It was nothing like the great collections in the palaces of Konstantinopolis, but here he gathered more practical knowledge – scrolls from the Saracens on building water supplies, even some Saracen designs for a more efficient blacksmithy.
Ioannis arrived shortly thereafter, and the two went through the daily ritual of preparing for dinner – the only formal meal in the keep during the day – with the same unspoken conversation. Nikolaios knew that Ioannis knew there was an attraction, and the Prince suspected, but was afraid to ask, if it was reciprocated. It was obvious, however, that in the boredom of this distant, meaningless outpost, Ioannis took great pleasure in teasing his friend. This afternoon was no different, and Nikolaios found himself awkwardly changing so his friend couldn’t see his reddened face.
That night they all dined on salted pork, bitter Cyprus wine, rough bread from the local bakers that was dipped in honey, and local grapes, which if the locals would permit, Nikolaios eventually wished to send to a winery he was planning on building. The meal in the keep was open to all of the residents of Hebron, yet as pork was often on the menu – it was easily salted and preserved, meaning it was in ample supply compared to other meats – as well as wine, that few of the Muslim natives accepted the invitation, thus leaving the keep’s meager meals a little larger for Nikolaios and the soldiers and servants of the castle.
There was laughter and merriment despite the dull circumstances – the first year Nikolaios had been filled with gloom, the resulting years he’d learned to make do with his new circumstances, and now he sought to thrive. Hebron was far from Konstantinopolis, far from his father, and opened all new vistas for him.
As Ai and several guardsmen performed a badly off-key rendition of a popular song from Konstantinopolis, Nikolaios laughed, and planned. The lands all around Hebron were spoken for – the Emperor’s legates personally governed Jerusalem and Acre, while the rest of the coast bordering his territory was governed by the newly created Principality of Ascalon, the old Megos Domestikos now ruling there. The rest of the borders belonged to the Prince of Slavonia, his lands engorged from the Seljuk War and completely loyal to the Emperor.
Growth would have to come from elsewhere, yet every time he started to think about where, Ioannis would do something to catch his eye, and instantly the thought was gone. The man was driving him mad – smiling, catching his attention, disrupting his thoughts. Nikolaios decided it had to be intentional – there was no other way around it. No matter how many shrines he commissioned, it seemed the gnawing feeling wouldn’t go away.
Or is it that I cling to it, despite everything? he wondered, his mind entering the same spiritual abyss that had bothered him even as a youth. The inherent questioning, inherent doubt that came from a life raised and trained in the ancient art of Greek logic, the logos overcoming all, even his faith.
A fact that scared him to no end.
Still dogged by doubt, after the dinner he retired to his quarters, to seek solace in his studies and plans. Yet he couldn’t concentrate, the problem in his mind and his heart gnawing at him. Was he to suffer this damnation forever? Did his mother leave his mind perpetually filled with doubt?
Finally the hour grew late, and Nikolaios still had no solace. Ioannis finally arrived, drunk on the Corsican wine, and started to set up his cot next to the door, in a position to rise and strike should an assassin come into the door. Such had been Ioannis’ sleeping arrangements since their arrival at this distant outpost. The candles were blown out, but the tangled emotions and fears in Nikolaios’ mind continued to burn bright.
“Ioannis… why did you follow me here?” Nikolaios asked into the darkness. He couldn’t see his friend, but he could sense his presence, on the cot laid out next to the door.
“I am your bodyguard and friend,” came a slow, distracted reply, followed by a cough.
Nikolaios could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest. A whim entered his mind, and before his cold, political mind could shout it down, the word slipped to his mouth.
“You care for me then?” Nikolaios’ old political mind managed to snag and change the sentence slightly yet significantly before he damned himself too quickly. He could see the shape of Ioannis sitting up from the cot, and he could feel his eyes burning him.
“Yes,” came another rather halting reply. Nikolaios hoped this was code for something, double talk, an acknowledgment of what both of them knew neither could say aloud. Yet again, words came from his mouth before his mind could corral them – and this time, they came out raw, unaltered.
“You shouldn’t lie on a cot then. You’ve lain on a cot for years,” Nikolaios heard himself say, part of his mind disbelieving. “You should take the bed, we shall share.”
“Nik, there’s only room for one there,” Ioannis was up, and moving towards him.
“I know,” the Prince replied, smiling in relief and terror as he knew Ioannis felt the same that he did.
The next few hours were life-changing for Nikolaios. It had been awkward, fumbling, and glorious, all that Nikolaios’ three years of frustration had hoped for, yet afterwards, the Crown Prince lay awake, not in blissful satisfaction, but in a cold, deadly sweat even as Ioannis slept happily next to him.
How would things work now?
When the feels had been unspoken, inactive, there had been tension. Nikolaios countless times had been forced to adapt to sudden, embarrassing situations, but never, ever, had the truth been known to anyone.
And now, one person knew.
True, Ioannis long before this had been Nikolaios’ best friend, his confidante, his bodyguard, but now he knew something about the Prince that could shatter the whole political landscape of Romanion. Hajnal’s fate had taught the Crown Prince a fateful lesson – he must always be in control of his emotions, and what others knew of him – and that night, he let baser urges strip him of that control.
And now, after the deed was done, he was in a panic.
What would he and Ioannis do now? In the privacy and anonymity of a frontier castle at Hebron, they could continue this, they could satisfy their urges. There weren’t many people in this dusty provincial backwater who would actively attempt to find such a liaison out.
In Antioch, Aleppo, Palmyra, let alone Konstantinopolis, there would be thousands.
If word of this ever got out, it wouldn’t just mean the end of whatever dream Nikolaios had of becoming Basilieus, it would likely mean his death, and the death of Ioannis. It would mean the throne would be weakened – Demetrios would no longer be know as the Megos, the hero of war, but the father of a catamite. The new Patriarch had already shown himself to be completely and utterly willing to strike out at the Imperial family if he felt they were in sin – a Patriarchal sermon damning the Komnenids for lasciviousness and sodomy could prove devastating.
Nikolaios looked at the warm body laying next to him, and as if on cue to cause the most confusion, Ioannis turned around, sleepily putting an arm around the Prince and snuggling close. Nikolaios absently ran his hands through Ioannis’ hair, as his troubled thoughts continued to tumble from his brain.
What do I do now?
Build more shrines outside the Cave of the Patriarchs?
No – they did not help this time. I lost my faith, I lost my will…
Nikolaios finally drifted to sleep in a sea of worry and doubt eating away at the very core of his soul…
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The next morning…
Nikolaios’ turbulent sleep was short lived, as the first rays of the rising sun woke him to a new day. Ioannis still slept next to him, and it was only with some coaxing, pushing and shoving that Nikolaios got his sleepy friend (or lover?) back to his own cot.
As he dressed himself and went about his morning business, the young prince listened carefully. Trained in the art of listening and eliciting gossip amongst the practiced parishioners of Konstantinopolis, reading and understanding the rumor mill of Hebron keep was child’s play to him. He heard nothing about the previous night – no one had overheard, or even suspected.
So far so good. Later in the day, when Ioannis was awake, Nikolaios would try to figure out how much his friend remembered.
Friend… Nikolaios kept reminding himself, bringing down as best he could an iron discipline on his mind. He couldn’t let a slip up like that happen. Never again.
Around midday, one of the soldiers on his retainer reported that a legate with escort had arrived at the keep, wanting to see the local comes. Nikolaios hastily donned his best robes of state, and went to greet what turned out to be his Uncle, Manuel Komnenos, now Metropolitan of Baalbek and Tyre. As usual, Manuel was brusque and to the point.
“Nikolaios,” Manuel snapped curtly, “your father is preparing for war.”
“War?” Nikolaios asked, raising an eyebrow. We’re only three years removed from fighting the Seljuks, and already he wants to march again? To where?
“In the opinion of the Basilieus, the Cuman Empire for too long has threatened our Orthodox brethren, the tribes of the Rus,” Manuel continued dryly, as if reciting from a set speech.
“Should not the Rus unify then, instead of bicker amongst themselves?” Nikolaios said, before catching himself. His Uncle nodded, but continued onwards.
“Your father also made a promise, some twenty years ago almost, to free our Orthodox brethren living under Saracen or pagan yoke. This is the first step in that direction,” Manuel’s painfully canned speech continued. It seemed others had asked the same question as Nikolaios. “Under the directions of Megos Domestikos Christophoros Komnenos…”
“What?” Nikolaios dropped his goblet and it clattered on the floor. Christophoros? My younger, bastard brother? How? If he’s Megos Domestikos…
“Your father proclaimed him a legitimate son,” Manuel sighed, a hand reaching up to scratch his head. Nikolaios was too shocked to brace himself, as scratching his head was one of the signs Manuel gave before he exploded in a rage. As unexpected as a tidal wave, it erupted.
Christophoros Komnenos, now 16, first demanded that his father recognize him as a legitimate son, something the equally warlike Demetrios was keen to do. Shortly thereafter, Demetrios made Christophoros the replacement of the doomed Abdul-Fattah as Megos Domestikos, despite the young Prince's inexperience in command.
“That idiot!” Manuel finally snapped. “Christophoros knows one thing – how to break someone’s skull with a sword! He blasphemes freely in church, he insults the nobility, and your father makes him Megos Domestikos! The fool!” All in the room backed away slightly, save Nikolaios.
If only you knew of me and my failings… the Prince thought quietly.
As quickly as Manuel’s outburst came, it left with a depressed sigh of finality.
“The Megos Domestikos,” Manuel began again, “wants me to inform you that the Basilieus expects you to take the field with 400 soldiers, some 40 of which much be equipped as kataphraktoi…”
The list of directions continued – Nikolaios was to lead his contingent in person, they would sail with other contingents from the Levant towards the region of Abkhazia and the northern reaches of Georgia, to free those Orthodox Christians captured when the Cuman’s backstabbed Georgia-Armenia some thirty years before. Nikolaios cared not, for he saw two things – a new rival emerging to his claim on the throne, and the perfect chance to silence Christophoros and his father…
The lands of the Cuman Khaganate. Long thorns in the side of Romanion and her allies, the Cumans of late have grown to alarming size, ruling an empire that stretches from the forests of the Rus all the way down to the Caucausus. The region of Abkhazia consists of the Cuman lands east of the Crimea that border the Black Sea.
And so the story goes on... this is yet another monstrous update, and it was a difficult one to write - I was trying to juggle many different events, fast-forward in time a few years, showing Nikolaios' continued development as well as his flaws, and showing the beginnings of yet another war. Needless to say it was a lot for one plate, and I hope I did a decent job. Any comments or criticisms would be MUCH appreciated!
That all said... enjoy!
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The succeeding four years were filled with both triumph and tragedy for the Empire.
The Emperor’s health slowly returned, and by November of 1105, he was one again up and about, fully in charge of the nation’s affairs. With his additional responsibilities as Kaisar, Thrakesios resigned his position as logothetes for spies and intelligence, and the Emperor appointed the 23 year old cousin of the Megos Domestikos, Siddiqa Mazin, to fill the position.
Siddiqa Mazin, named Spymaster at the age of 23 in January of 1106, would come to dominate Imperial politics for some time to come.
Like her cousin, she was a baptized Christian, despite her Saracen roots, and unlike the rather brutish looking Kamal Qasim, Siddiqa was petite and lithe, with dark almond eyes and a physique that made most of the men in Konstantinopolis stare. To add to this, she was reputed to have the most devious political mind in Christendom. Combined with her looks, it proved a deadly combination. It was only a matter of time before the Emperor ended up in her arms, both in the Council and in the bedchamber.
Kamal Qasim retired early in 1106 to estates newly granted to him in the Levant (he was elevated to Prince of Ascalon in recognition of his efforts) and yet another Saracen took a position in the court – Taqqib Abdul-Fattah, one of Qasim’s chief subordinates, became Megos Domestikos. The Roman aristocracy, tolerating Qasim and Mazin due to their conversion to orthodoxy, went into revolt over the appointment of a Muslim to the highest military position in the Empire.
On March 4th, 1106, the new Patriarch of Konstantinopolis, Arestinios of Nikaea, gave a thundering and damning sermon from the pulpit of the Hagia Sophia, decrying the decadence and plethora of non-believers in the government. Similar sermons echoed in all the churches, great and small, throughout the city, and soon crowds began to gather in the great plaza between the Hagia Sophia and the Great Palace. Backed into a corner, and at the advice of Siddiqa, Abdul-Fattah was sacrificed to the wolves.
The new Patriarch proved himself no lackey of the Imperial family, and wasted no time in letting his imprint on Imperial politics be known.
Yet event his gesture wasn’t enough for some – the Prince of Lykia, for example, began to instigate rebellious nobles against the Emperor, hoping to emulate Demetrios’ own rise to power. Yet he planned foolishly – when he began his revolt, no other nobles rose with him, and the realm of Prince Andronikos Bourtzes felt the full wrath of an Emperor eager to prove he was ready to take the saddle yet again. Lykia came under attack from the refurbished troops of the Byzantion tagmata, and the result of the battle was hardly in doubt.
Prince Bourtzes tried to start a noble rebellion against the Basilieus - he didn't count on himself being the only foolish noble that summer.
Bourtzes was stripped of his princely title and estates, which were kept in by the state. The Prince himself hid in Tarsos for some time, before taking ship and disappearing in the lands further west, his calls to topple the “unseemly Emperor” in the East going unheeded.
Yet the most notable event of the period did not take place in the Roman Empire - it was the decline of the Seljuk threat. Malik Shah finally passed in the summer of 1106, leaving the Empire to his Grand Vizier, Sulieman al-Jabbari, who took the title of Sulieman Seljuk. Yet the emirs and sheikhs of that great and sprawling empire saw this as a time to break free, and for the time being, civil war was the order of the day.
As all of this was occurring, Nikolaios Komnenos was settling into his new, rather lowly position – as comes (Count) of the tiny province of Hebron, south of Jerusalem on the edge of Roman territory, even as the Empire grew prosperous again and Demetrios began to cast his eyes abroad once more…
Nikolaios Komnenos, Comes of Hebron
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Small and cramped, this keep served as Nikolaios' capital during his tenure as Comes of Hebron
February 2nd, 1109
“Bah!”
Nikolaios Komnenos, son of Basilieus Demetrios Megos, looked down at the rough-hew water trough and grunted his disappointment. Before him, several of his soldiers stood, bent and weary, clutching their knees, their shirts and leggings stained with dirt and sweat.
“Milord,” his Domestikos Goryun Ai wheezed, “we can’t carry this trunk in one piece. It’s too large. We should cut it in half.” The man was a big Alan, who had served in the Imperial army for years. He’d served the previous comes of Hebron, and stayed on when Nikolaios arrived some three and a half years before.
“I should have listened,” Nikolaios gasped himself, his hands burning from the last attempt. His formerly soft hangs now were covered with callouses, and his tall, boyish frame had finally filled out. No one would have ever said that Nikolaios Komnenos was a handsome man – the desert sun for the previous three years had made his dark skin even darker, his nose was too flat, and his black hair was often unkempt. All would agree, however, that his brown eyes were anything but placid.
His current attire, sweat stained tunic and jerkins, were hardly that befitting a comes of the Roman Empire, let alone the only legitimate son of the greatest Emperor since Konstantinos himself. Then again, the County of Hebron was not exactly the richest land in the Empire – in fact, it was nigh unto desert in some places. While other lords might have been able to hire gangs of slaves or builders, Nikolaios found himself with his bare hands and those of his soldiers. A county of some 5000 souls spread over hundreds of square miles did not have the resources to build a great acqueduct, but that hadn’t stopped Nikolaios from trying to jury rig a system from hollowed out trees to bring in water, at least to the small array of shrines and inns clustered around the Cave of the Patriarchs, where Abraham and his family reputedly laid in eternal rest.
Half of the shrines had been commissioned or assisted by the comes himself – yet when the astonished local priests and even the bishop asked the young man about his pious gifts and personal labor, the distant Prince would remark it was because of “sinful thoughts,” in his head, with no elaboration. As in any city of size within Romanion, the local elites were gifted in the art of gossip, and there was no end of twitter on the subject of which young lady was causing the young Prince such spiritual heartache.
“It’s late,” Nikolaios grunted, looking at the setting sun. Soon, the day’s heat would fade into momentary pleasantness before the cold desert night swept in. “I doubt anyone would have reason to steal this, with the comes seal carved into its side,” the prince reasoned aloud. “Come, let’s rest.”
Together, the Prince, his domestikos and six of the forty soldiers in all of Hebron trekked back to the small keep that passed for a royal palace in this backwater – a keep that was a far sight better than the small brick and wooden fort Nikolaios had found on his arrival some three and a half years before, with 50,000 silver solidii and the sour taste of treachery in his mouth. His father had claimed to have forgiven him, and the territory of Hebron had been offered as a “reward for service,” but Nikolaios had been taught well.
He was in exile.
Demetrios was understandably paranoid after the events involving the late Empress – yet another cover-up that did not miss Nikolaios’ attention. Knowing what he knew, it was obvious there hadn’t been a tragic boating accident – yet again, the Emperor had struck. All that remained were the gruesome details, which for the moment the prince wanted to do without. Deep in the recesses of Nikolaios’ mind, he knew his father would never trust him enough to hand him the title of Kaisar – and that if he wanted his birthright, he would have to take it.
Hebron was a start, and from small beginnings did great things arise.
As they neared the walls of Hebron keep, its stones blood red in the rays of the setting sun, Nikolaios spied on the battlements the reason for his spiritual torment – Ioannis was on the southwest tower, the tallest of the four and yet uncompleted, helping other servants set stones and mortar in place. He was bare-chested, and yet again Nikolaios fought down the flutter that was in his stomach. The tiny bell of the chapel inside the keep sounded the end of the work day, and soon all were coming down from their places – some returning to their homes in the city, a few to their quarters in the keep.
Nikolaios returned to his quarters like the others – it was spartan and bare. What little money left in the county after the construction of the keep Nikolaios spent on amassing a small collection of books and scrolls. It was nothing like the great collections in the palaces of Konstantinopolis, but here he gathered more practical knowledge – scrolls from the Saracens on building water supplies, even some Saracen designs for a more efficient blacksmithy.
Ioannis arrived shortly thereafter, and the two went through the daily ritual of preparing for dinner – the only formal meal in the keep during the day – with the same unspoken conversation. Nikolaios knew that Ioannis knew there was an attraction, and the Prince suspected, but was afraid to ask, if it was reciprocated. It was obvious, however, that in the boredom of this distant, meaningless outpost, Ioannis took great pleasure in teasing his friend. This afternoon was no different, and Nikolaios found himself awkwardly changing so his friend couldn’t see his reddened face.
That night they all dined on salted pork, bitter Cyprus wine, rough bread from the local bakers that was dipped in honey, and local grapes, which if the locals would permit, Nikolaios eventually wished to send to a winery he was planning on building. The meal in the keep was open to all of the residents of Hebron, yet as pork was often on the menu – it was easily salted and preserved, meaning it was in ample supply compared to other meats – as well as wine, that few of the Muslim natives accepted the invitation, thus leaving the keep’s meager meals a little larger for Nikolaios and the soldiers and servants of the castle.
There was laughter and merriment despite the dull circumstances – the first year Nikolaios had been filled with gloom, the resulting years he’d learned to make do with his new circumstances, and now he sought to thrive. Hebron was far from Konstantinopolis, far from his father, and opened all new vistas for him.
As Ai and several guardsmen performed a badly off-key rendition of a popular song from Konstantinopolis, Nikolaios laughed, and planned. The lands all around Hebron were spoken for – the Emperor’s legates personally governed Jerusalem and Acre, while the rest of the coast bordering his territory was governed by the newly created Principality of Ascalon, the old Megos Domestikos now ruling there. The rest of the borders belonged to the Prince of Slavonia, his lands engorged from the Seljuk War and completely loyal to the Emperor.
Growth would have to come from elsewhere, yet every time he started to think about where, Ioannis would do something to catch his eye, and instantly the thought was gone. The man was driving him mad – smiling, catching his attention, disrupting his thoughts. Nikolaios decided it had to be intentional – there was no other way around it. No matter how many shrines he commissioned, it seemed the gnawing feeling wouldn’t go away.
Or is it that I cling to it, despite everything? he wondered, his mind entering the same spiritual abyss that had bothered him even as a youth. The inherent questioning, inherent doubt that came from a life raised and trained in the ancient art of Greek logic, the logos overcoming all, even his faith.
A fact that scared him to no end.
Still dogged by doubt, after the dinner he retired to his quarters, to seek solace in his studies and plans. Yet he couldn’t concentrate, the problem in his mind and his heart gnawing at him. Was he to suffer this damnation forever? Did his mother leave his mind perpetually filled with doubt?
Finally the hour grew late, and Nikolaios still had no solace. Ioannis finally arrived, drunk on the Corsican wine, and started to set up his cot next to the door, in a position to rise and strike should an assassin come into the door. Such had been Ioannis’ sleeping arrangements since their arrival at this distant outpost. The candles were blown out, but the tangled emotions and fears in Nikolaios’ mind continued to burn bright.
“Ioannis… why did you follow me here?” Nikolaios asked into the darkness. He couldn’t see his friend, but he could sense his presence, on the cot laid out next to the door.
“I am your bodyguard and friend,” came a slow, distracted reply, followed by a cough.
Nikolaios could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest. A whim entered his mind, and before his cold, political mind could shout it down, the word slipped to his mouth.
“You care for me then?” Nikolaios’ old political mind managed to snag and change the sentence slightly yet significantly before he damned himself too quickly. He could see the shape of Ioannis sitting up from the cot, and he could feel his eyes burning him.
“Yes,” came another rather halting reply. Nikolaios hoped this was code for something, double talk, an acknowledgment of what both of them knew neither could say aloud. Yet again, words came from his mouth before his mind could corral them – and this time, they came out raw, unaltered.
“You shouldn’t lie on a cot then. You’ve lain on a cot for years,” Nikolaios heard himself say, part of his mind disbelieving. “You should take the bed, we shall share.”
“Nik, there’s only room for one there,” Ioannis was up, and moving towards him.
“I know,” the Prince replied, smiling in relief and terror as he knew Ioannis felt the same that he did.
The next few hours were life-changing for Nikolaios. It had been awkward, fumbling, and glorious, all that Nikolaios’ three years of frustration had hoped for, yet afterwards, the Crown Prince lay awake, not in blissful satisfaction, but in a cold, deadly sweat even as Ioannis slept happily next to him.
How would things work now?
When the feels had been unspoken, inactive, there had been tension. Nikolaios countless times had been forced to adapt to sudden, embarrassing situations, but never, ever, had the truth been known to anyone.
And now, one person knew.
True, Ioannis long before this had been Nikolaios’ best friend, his confidante, his bodyguard, but now he knew something about the Prince that could shatter the whole political landscape of Romanion. Hajnal’s fate had taught the Crown Prince a fateful lesson – he must always be in control of his emotions, and what others knew of him – and that night, he let baser urges strip him of that control.
And now, after the deed was done, he was in a panic.
What would he and Ioannis do now? In the privacy and anonymity of a frontier castle at Hebron, they could continue this, they could satisfy their urges. There weren’t many people in this dusty provincial backwater who would actively attempt to find such a liaison out.
In Antioch, Aleppo, Palmyra, let alone Konstantinopolis, there would be thousands.
If word of this ever got out, it wouldn’t just mean the end of whatever dream Nikolaios had of becoming Basilieus, it would likely mean his death, and the death of Ioannis. It would mean the throne would be weakened – Demetrios would no longer be know as the Megos, the hero of war, but the father of a catamite. The new Patriarch had already shown himself to be completely and utterly willing to strike out at the Imperial family if he felt they were in sin – a Patriarchal sermon damning the Komnenids for lasciviousness and sodomy could prove devastating.
Nikolaios looked at the warm body laying next to him, and as if on cue to cause the most confusion, Ioannis turned around, sleepily putting an arm around the Prince and snuggling close. Nikolaios absently ran his hands through Ioannis’ hair, as his troubled thoughts continued to tumble from his brain.
What do I do now?
Build more shrines outside the Cave of the Patriarchs?
No – they did not help this time. I lost my faith, I lost my will…
Nikolaios finally drifted to sleep in a sea of worry and doubt eating away at the very core of his soul…
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The next morning…
Nikolaios’ turbulent sleep was short lived, as the first rays of the rising sun woke him to a new day. Ioannis still slept next to him, and it was only with some coaxing, pushing and shoving that Nikolaios got his sleepy friend (or lover?) back to his own cot.
As he dressed himself and went about his morning business, the young prince listened carefully. Trained in the art of listening and eliciting gossip amongst the practiced parishioners of Konstantinopolis, reading and understanding the rumor mill of Hebron keep was child’s play to him. He heard nothing about the previous night – no one had overheard, or even suspected.
So far so good. Later in the day, when Ioannis was awake, Nikolaios would try to figure out how much his friend remembered.
Friend… Nikolaios kept reminding himself, bringing down as best he could an iron discipline on his mind. He couldn’t let a slip up like that happen. Never again.
Around midday, one of the soldiers on his retainer reported that a legate with escort had arrived at the keep, wanting to see the local comes. Nikolaios hastily donned his best robes of state, and went to greet what turned out to be his Uncle, Manuel Komnenos, now Metropolitan of Baalbek and Tyre. As usual, Manuel was brusque and to the point.
“Nikolaios,” Manuel snapped curtly, “your father is preparing for war.”
“War?” Nikolaios asked, raising an eyebrow. We’re only three years removed from fighting the Seljuks, and already he wants to march again? To where?
“In the opinion of the Basilieus, the Cuman Empire for too long has threatened our Orthodox brethren, the tribes of the Rus,” Manuel continued dryly, as if reciting from a set speech.
“Should not the Rus unify then, instead of bicker amongst themselves?” Nikolaios said, before catching himself. His Uncle nodded, but continued onwards.
“Your father also made a promise, some twenty years ago almost, to free our Orthodox brethren living under Saracen or pagan yoke. This is the first step in that direction,” Manuel’s painfully canned speech continued. It seemed others had asked the same question as Nikolaios. “Under the directions of Megos Domestikos Christophoros Komnenos…”
“What?” Nikolaios dropped his goblet and it clattered on the floor. Christophoros? My younger, bastard brother? How? If he’s Megos Domestikos…
“Your father proclaimed him a legitimate son,” Manuel sighed, a hand reaching up to scratch his head. Nikolaios was too shocked to brace himself, as scratching his head was one of the signs Manuel gave before he exploded in a rage. As unexpected as a tidal wave, it erupted.
Christophoros Komnenos, now 16, first demanded that his father recognize him as a legitimate son, something the equally warlike Demetrios was keen to do. Shortly thereafter, Demetrios made Christophoros the replacement of the doomed Abdul-Fattah as Megos Domestikos, despite the young Prince's inexperience in command.
“That idiot!” Manuel finally snapped. “Christophoros knows one thing – how to break someone’s skull with a sword! He blasphemes freely in church, he insults the nobility, and your father makes him Megos Domestikos! The fool!” All in the room backed away slightly, save Nikolaios.
If only you knew of me and my failings… the Prince thought quietly.
As quickly as Manuel’s outburst came, it left with a depressed sigh of finality.
“The Megos Domestikos,” Manuel began again, “wants me to inform you that the Basilieus expects you to take the field with 400 soldiers, some 40 of which much be equipped as kataphraktoi…”
The list of directions continued – Nikolaios was to lead his contingent in person, they would sail with other contingents from the Levant towards the region of Abkhazia and the northern reaches of Georgia, to free those Orthodox Christians captured when the Cuman’s backstabbed Georgia-Armenia some thirty years before. Nikolaios cared not, for he saw two things – a new rival emerging to his claim on the throne, and the perfect chance to silence Christophoros and his father…
The lands of the Cuman Khaganate. Long thorns in the side of Romanion and her allies, the Cumans of late have grown to alarming size, ruling an empire that stretches from the forests of the Rus all the way down to the Caucausus. The region of Abkhazia consists of the Cuman lands east of the Crimea that border the Black Sea.
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Having exiled his own son with an intrigue rating of 16, I’m going to go out on a limb and agree with the emperor’s characterization as a fool.
Demetrios is not thinking with the long-term prosperity of the Empire in mind, clearly.
Neither with his choice of successors nor his choice of enemies.
Also, perhaps Nikolaios should angst a little less; there's many things an Emperor could do others couldn't in his situation. I think concentrating on becoming Emperor should be the next priority.
Neither with his choice of successors nor his choice of enemies.
Also, perhaps Nikolaios should angst a little less; there's many things an Emperor could do others couldn't in his situation. I think concentrating on becoming Emperor should be the next priority.
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There was so much good stuff packed into that update, it's hard to know where to begin. I love how you seamlessly integrate in-game events with story-intrigue, particularly the rise of Christopher and his legitimacy and appointment as Marshal. Interesting twist with the Spy Master there...I wonder how cunning she'll prove to be in the long run? And the 'encounter' with Nikolaios and Ioannis had the right amout of angst and discretion, though it just smacks of tragedy. I can see this blowing up at the wrong moment.
I love how you seamlessly integrate in-game events with story-intrigue, particularly the rise of Christopher and his legitimacy and appointment as Marshal. Interesting twist with the Spy Master there...I wonder how cunning she'll prove to be in the long run? And the 'encounter' with Nikolaios and Ioannis had the right amout of angst and discretion, though it just smacks of tragedy. I can see this blowing up at the wrong moment.
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Demetrios is sewing the seeds of his own doom. He has now passed over his legitimate heir for two bastards. If something were to happen to Christopher, I imagine the nobility may grow tired of the bastard heirs.