Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR
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Contrasting Manuel, Nik and Christophoros with Blackadder just makes me fell sorry for the so-called Kingdom of Egypt.
I wonder, with a war against the Normans, will the age old enemies of the de Hautevilles return to cause the Emperor problems?
Next update is on the way... right now I'm working on the next update for my other AAR - Greece in the Age of Conflict . It should be quite a lengthy one, but good news - most of the updates up through the end of Nikolaios' reign have already been outlined, and some parts have even been finished, so updates should proceed fairly quickly!
Carach - Really?! Way cool! I've only been to one actual castle myself - Mir castle in Belarus. It was an awesome experience. How'd you get to see the Harbor Castle?
Estonianzulu - Oh, the de Hautevilles are going to make a comeback. I won't tell you when though, as it'd ruin the surprise.
Fulcrumvale - It is sadly rather one sided. Black Adder just doesn't seem to get a break - save the Empire ignoring him for three decades when they could have crushed him outright.
Lordling - My favorite BBC comedy, even beats out Monty Python in my eyes (which says quite a lot :rofl: )
Mettermck - I know! Alot of the CK coats of arms for would be Crusader Kingdoms are absolutely gorgeous! In my ongoing modding of EU3 (which you'll see once this AAR is done *crosses fingers*) I've kept alot of the old CK coats of arms for some of the new country flags, simply because they're too beautiful to be left to rot. Egypt is my favorite too - it just screams noble chivalry, for some reason.
Carach - Really?! Way cool! I've only been to one actual castle myself - Mir castle in Belarus. It was an awesome experience. How'd you get to see the Harbor Castle?
Estonianzulu - Oh, the de Hautevilles are going to make a comeback. I won't tell you when though, as it'd ruin the surprise.
Fulcrumvale - It is sadly rather one sided. Black Adder just doesn't seem to get a break - save the Empire ignoring him for three decades when they could have crushed him outright.
Lordling - My favorite BBC comedy, even beats out Monty Python in my eyes (which says quite a lot :rofl: )
Mettermck - I know! Alot of the CK coats of arms for would be Crusader Kingdoms are absolutely gorgeous! In my ongoing modding of EU3 (which you'll see once this AAR is done *crosses fingers*) I've kept alot of the old CK coats of arms for some of the new country flags, simply because they're too beautiful to be left to rot.
Egypt is my favorite too - it just screams noble chivalry, for some reason.well i went to egypt last summer, stayed in cairo for 4 days i think, did a drive up to alexandria for the day and saw it (it isnt really an island off the coast anymore), stayed in a hotel pretty much right by the pyramids was an old King's palace originally; could see the pyramids from the swimmingpool heh.
went down to luxor for a few days too and saw the temple there, valley of the kings and princes and all that too. Pretty epic buildings and often the paintings on the roof and pillars, walls etc are still there (original paint too)
apart from that though i found cairo to be basically just one big shanty town :/ the most filthy place ive ever been to in my life and the overwhelming heat doesnt help that either heh. But then u have to remember this is still a third world country.
all in all though it was a great holiday. Just make sure u always drink bottled water and not other water they may give u, and dont eat any sea food/stuff they get from the nile because your almost certain to be ill for the next day or two heh.
anyway more on topic: loving the AAR, cant wait for the next update
was an old King's palace originally; could see the pyramids from the swimmingpool heh.went down to luxor for a few days too and saw the temple there, valley of the kings and princes and all that too. Pretty epic buildings and often the paintings on the roof and pillars, walls etc are still there (original paint too)
apart from that though i found cairo to be basically just one big shanty town :/ the most filthy place ive ever been to in my life and the overwhelming heat doesnt help that either heh. But then u have to remember this is still a third world country.
all in all though it was a great holiday. Just make sure u always drink bottled water and not other water they may give u, and dont eat any sea food/stuff they get from the nile because your almost certain to be ill for the next day or two heh.
anyway more on topic: loving the AAR, cant wait for the next update
Okay, I lied - the update is here. I finished watching earlier today one of my favorite medieval movies (bonus points if you can guess which) and I got an immense urge to write this scene. Long update, delayed my working on the other AAR, but it was well worth it!
And if anyone knows any films I can easily get my hands on that would help with writing a scene regarding 1930s political intrigue, by all means, let me know! That could speed up the other update as well!
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September 1st, 1139
The theme palace at Thebes was a structure steadily growing by the day. In the year since Prince Manuel had arrived the temporary wooden huts and structures that had clustered around the ancient stone villa had given way to a series of new stone buildings, as well as a proper keep. From here the Prince of Aswan ruled Upper Egypt from the Pyramids at Giza down to the First Cataract of the Nile.
Manuel’s court was a wealthy one, despite its distance, and the décor this day reflected that – banners brought from other Komnenoi, tapestries of the lions and crocodiles that populated the area hung along the walls. And at the center of the far wall, on a raised dais, sat the Prince’s throne, a fine piece of furniture cut from cypress and ebony. On its stately form sat Manuel, now a young man of seventeen, clad in the full raiments of his position. In form and grace he looked a young man, only sporting the barest of hints of a beard, yet in his eyes one could seen the experience of someone far older, far wiser, and far more dangerous.
Before the prince stood the nervous form of a herald, dressed in the new dark blue and gold of the newly proclaimed King of Egypt, lately Edmund, Duke of Alexandria and Hampshire. As the man bowed, he held for a parchment that a servant took and handed to Manuel.
The herald that came before Manuel would have looked similar to this – save he would have worn the colors of his liege lord, dark blue and gold.
“My lord, I come from Alexandria bearing you a message from the hand of my liege,” the herald said. He looked nervous – rumors had already gone about that Prince Manuel did not like receiving bad news, ever.
“What does the good Duke of Alexandria say?” Manuel leaned back on his throne and gave a wry smile. “Did he appreciate my gifts?”
The messenger shuffled his feet for a moment, then cleared his throat. Clearly he was stalling for time. Manuel returned all his efforts with a blank, empty smile. Finally, the young man spoke.
“Edmund de Normandie has been proclaimed by the Patriarch of Alexandria and the Grace of God to be Edmund, First of that Name, King of Upper and Lower Egypt,” the herald said in his best voice. “He demands that as a good Christian lord, you must owe him your loyalty and fealty.”
A gasp went through the throne room, followed by a rapidly growing murmur. Manuel’s smile disappeared, and he held up his hand for silence.
“That is a very serious claim, sir. Are you sure that is what he said?”
“Yes, he was explicit in his instructions,” the messenger said.
“Well, he must surely know that this invalidates the treaty he signed with my father long ago,” Manuel leaned back in his throne. A slight smile came on his lips, something he knew frightened the messenger. “We shall have to discuss this, and form a suitable reply. In the meantime,” Manuel was suddenly on his feet, walking towards the messenger, “come. You have undoubtedly traveled far, and are probably weary. You deserve rest and our hospitality.”
Some minutes later the Manuel had brought the messenger to his personal study, where all the lords of Aswan had gathered. There was Manuel’s slew of logothetes, carrying papers covering everything from granary stocks to personal details on lords within the Crusader state. There was the Bishop of Aswan, to provide spiritual counseling, and finally there was Thomas Skleros, the domestikos of Aswan, a short, stout man with a loud voice and a strong swordarm.
The herald settled into the back of the room, clearly uncertain of why he was present. Manuel told him to come and sit at the table, and freely help himself to the wine. He was free to the entire jug – everyone else at the table would do without.
“I am not sure I should drink, Your Highess,” the herald said, confused. “I do not know if it fits within protocol.”
“Are you thirsty?” the Prince asked, and the young herald nodded in reply. “You are famished from your long trip,” Manuel smiled distantly to the courier as he filled a goblet from a nearby jug of wine. “Here,” he offered it to the messenger, “I insist. You would dishonor me and my own house if you refused."
The herald took the goblet, and betrayed his thirst by downing it in a single gulp. When he looked at the jug of wine, then at Manuel, the Prince nodded that he should drink more.
“Highness, I still do not see the wisdom of having him here,” Skleros complained pointing an accusing finger at the messenger. “He will undoubtedly tell Prince Edmund everything he hears us say in this room!”
“Really?” Manuel looked at the herald. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“No, Highness,” the herald shook his head, another goblet-full in hand. His face was starting to turn red.
“See? There you have it. He wouldn’t tell anyone,” Manuel smiled cherubicly, “So we may plan in peace.”
“Highness, I really don’t…” Skleros started to speak, until a slight gasp came from the herald. All eyes turned to the young man, who was clawing at his throat, his face twisted into an agonizing expression.
“I know he won’t tell anyone of our plans, Domestikos,” Manuel’s smile became slightly demonic. “As far as Prince Edmund is concerned, our plans will be revealed when our armies enter his territory. Speed is of the essence. We must march quickly, make the Prince react foolishly, and lure him…”
There was a dull thump as the herald’s head fell to the table. The choking noises subsided, then died altogether.
“…to his doom,” Manuel finished. He motioned for a nearby servant, and pointed towards the dead body. “Clean that up, if you please.”
“Highness!” Skleros was on his feet, looking at the body in horror.
“Let that be a warning to all of you,” Manuel said icily. “This plan must be kept in the utmost secrecy. I do not want any loose words or loose talk about its details – Edmund is a moron, but even morons have spies.”
Several servants came and hefted the hapless herald’s body from the table. Manuel stopped until they had removed the body, then he motioned for all the servants to leave the room. The door made an echoing boom as it shut them all inside.
“Speed and surprise,” Manuel repeated, leaning back in his chair. “Now, domestikos, to begin…”
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Heavy Norman knights – these would form the core of any armed response from Prince Edmund and his forces
On the night of September 5th, 1139, the army of the Principality of Aswan marched north into Giza, effectively invading the lands of Prince Edmund of Alexandria. Manuel’s light and rapid horse quickly enveloped the many settlements along the Nile River, effectively cutting them off by land, while a fleet of barges denied them succor by river. Giza, Luxor, and Memphis all surrendered quickly.
The King of Egypt had no sooner donned his crown in a lavish ceremony before he was off to the south, at the head of his newly named “Royal Army.” Edmund wanted to repel the invasion, and to do so quickly. He did not know if the Prince of Aswan was acting alone, or merely a vanguard of other invasions from the other Roman themes surrounding him. The force numbered over 12,000, including 3,000 heavily armored knights.
Edmund, however, was no Bohemond, and the Norman cavalry commander, Bohemond’s son Tancred, was far more rash than his father. Tancred saw the title Duke of Aswan in his future, if he could only persuade the Norman King to launch a counter attack, which meant speed. Tancred persuaded Edmund he should attack at once, and the King complied, leading his host directly down the Nile at Manuel’s forces.
But the Prince of Aswan was wily. Manuel was outnumbered, true, but he took into account his terrain. Quickly the Aswan army turned to the northeast, and headed into the marshy Nile Delta. Edmund felt compelled to follow – if the Greeks were able to cross the delta, they could strike almost any of Edmund’s chief cities – Damietta, Tanis, perhaps even Alexandria itself, while he was far away.
Edmund’s forces, heavy cavalry and heavy infantry, proved to be unsuited for the marshy conditions. Roads were often paths through the bogs and reeds obscured the view on all sides. Manuel’s forces, much lighter in arms and armor, were able to maneuver better in the conditions. On the 3rd of October, Manuel’s scouts tracked down the slow, clumsy Norman column, and the Roman forces turned on their pursuers.
Prince Manuel’s attacking force was only some 8,000 strong, with only 500 heavy cavalry, yet the Prince felt confident of his chances. At dawn, Roman horse archers moved forward, and began harassing the Norman lines. Three times, the Norman heavy cavalry attempted to charge, only to get caught and bogged down in the mud. Manuel mercilessly ordered his archers and infantry forward, with orders to strike down the Norman horses. Thousands of Norman knights fell into the mud and became trapped or drowned. By midday, seeing the demise of most of his cavalry, King Edmund attempted to pull away from the enemy. Yet once again the terrain worked against him – Manuel had posted troops on the roads out, forcing many of the Normans into the marshes themselves. The Norman army disintegrated, breaking up into pockets of men slogging through a fly infested hell.
Over the course of the next three days, Manuel’s army rounded up and slaughtered every small pocket of Norman troops they could find. On October 9th a small contingent of knights was overrun by some of Manuel’s Nubian troops. The men had no idea who they had killed until one came across a signet ring.
Edmund de Normandie had lasted as King of Egypt for less than two months.
The destruction of the Norman army in the Nile Delta was a devastating defeat for the Normans, and put all of Egypt within the grasp of Romanion
Yet the plan was only unfolding. The de Normandie field army had been crushed, but Manuel wanted all the cities on the Delta coast. As soon as word of the disaster reached Alexandria and Damietta, Manuel’s agents, planted over the preceding two years, went to work.
In Alexandria, agents instigated a riot against the Latin Patriarch. Other agents poisoned the water supply of the City Guard, ensuring that few soldiers arrived to stop the chaos. Emboldened, the crowds broke into the offices of the Latin Patriarch and dragged him through the streets. The remaining Norman nobility quickly fled by ship, leaving the city to its own devices. When Manuel, at the head of 6,000 troops, arrived two weeks later, the gates were thrown open. Most of the remaining Norman nobility in Damietta were killed in an ambush as they sallied from the city to try to delay what they knew to be an inevitable Roman advance from the Delta. The majority of the surviving Norman commanders, including all the children of Tancred de Hauteville, were slaughtered.
It was thus that by December of 1139, Manuel had conquered all of Egypt. Flush with victory, the Prince sailed for Konstantinopolis, towards an expected reception…
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January 1st, 1140
Prince Manuel on his return to Konstantinopolis.
A cold, wet draft blew into the private chambers of the Basilieus, a winter wind that was no match for the chill between the two men in the room.
Prince Manuel of Aswan, hair hanging long and flaxen, sat at one side of the enormous ebony and oak desk that was the personal workplace of the Emperor. His face bore that same, frustratingly blank look that it had borne for years. On the other side sat his older brother, Basilieus Nikolaios, face taut from years of worry that his sibling’s latest stunt had only added to. Off to one side, unnoticed, unneeded, sat a jug of wine. Intrusively laying between them were stacks upon stacks of letters and correspondence.
Letters from Rome. Letters from Germany. Letters from Denmark, France, England – the entire Christian world that followed the Patriarch of Rome. Some of the letteres were long, some were succinct. Some were polemic rants, some couched them venom in the politest terms. Yet all were united in one fact – they condemned the Roman occupation of the Nile Delta, in no uncertain terms.
Nikolaios quietly drummed his fingers on top of the parchments, as the noise of servants preparing for the celebrations of a new year wafted through the windows. Later that day the Prince and the Emperor were to appear at a great service in the Hagia Sophia, then attend a long series of banquets, dances, galas and balls thrown by all the dynatoi of the city, each striving to outdo the next.
None of that, however, was on either of their minds at that moment.
“The King of England writes to me that unless lands are returned, and an apology delivered, he will set sail with a fleet of a thousand ships and make me return Egypt by the sword,” Nikolaios said distantly, matching his brother’s mask.
“He does? His bed will surely be cold if he does that,” Manuel let a lascivious smile come through. “I doubt our dear sister Helene would allow her husband to go to war against us – even if his brother lies dead on the banks of the Nile. Besides, Nikolaios,” Manuel pushed his chair back and stood, “The whole Kingdom of England might have a hundred ships, two hundred if they impressed merchants by the dozen. But not a thousand.”
“That may be,” Nikolaios lost his cool exterior and growled at his brother’s smugness, “but you have raised a diplomatic storm the likes we have not seen in a while! The Pope has called for three days of mourning, the Kings of the Germans and the French have both lodged formal protests, and the de Hautevilles are calling for blood!”
“Let them come,” Manuel smirked as he reached the opposite wall. The Prince crossed his arms and leaned against it in a relaxed pose. “How will they get their men to Egypt? I do not think the King of the Franks can fly, and we have the most powerful navy in the world.” Manuel laughed darkly. “You know, Nikolaios, as well as I, that for all the barking these dogs do, they cannot bite us that hard.”
“You are so sure?” Nikolaios rumbled. He picked up a ream of the letters and thrust them out. “Read these!”
“I can imagine what they say,” Manuel’s smirk remained. “They call you a tyrant, me a warmongering boy, and have all sorts of rubbish and threats that really do not concern you. Brother, you are putting on a fine act, but it is an act nonetheless,” Manuel started to clap. “An act worthy of mention from an actor, but one that is unneeded. You wanted Egypt, and I have delivered it to you. Yet you must do something to make it seem you are shocked and appalled. Am I correct?”
Nikolaios ground his teeth together slightly. Of course Manuel was right, but he wasn’t about to let his brother have the satisfaction of knowing that fact.
“Leave aside the diplomatic mess. Why did you do that, Manuel?” Nikolaios fumed, slowly crumpling the letters in hand. “Why Egypt? Did you want to make a name for yourself? Secure more lands? Why?”
Manuel looked past his brother, directly at a banner commemorating their father’s victory over the Fatimids so many years before.
“For the glory of Rome and to restore the rightful Patriarch to his Alexandrian throne,” Manuel said blankly, before his eyes flitted directly towards Nikolaios. “Nikolaios, why do you think I did it? I’m not coy – I did it for power.”
“Power, Manuel?” Nikolaios’ voice began to rise.
“Alexandria is still the greatest African port in the Mediterranean. Through her warehouses come goods from Ethiopia, Nubia, Arabia and even far away India. The grain for Konstantinopolis lies in the holds of the thousands of ships that visit her harbor. He who holds Alexandria holds an immense amount of power – it was unfortunate that imbecile Edmund never realized it,” Manuel smiled wryly. “I do.”
“So you are in the business of usurping me as well then!?” Nikolaios shouted. Manuel did have a great deal of power now – he controlled not just Aswan, but all the Nile Delta and most of Egypt – as well as Konstantinopolis’ grain supply. “You haven’t counted on one thing – that I can take Alexandria away from you.”
“Take it away from me?” Manuel chuckled.
“I am Emperor of the Romans, by rights Alexandria is mine,” Nikolaios said sharply.
“Simple, but academic, dear brother,” Manuel’s chuckle became darker, “for Alexandria is mine.”
“By what authority?” Nikolaios sputtered. The Emperor by now was so furious he could hardly see.
“It’s got my troops all over it, that makes it mine,” Manuel’s chuckle ended as his voice went cold.
Emperor Nikolaios was growing steadily more upset with the behavior of his impudent brother
Nikolaios clenched and unclenched his fist, and for a moment he felt the urge to strike his brother across the face for such insolence. Yet his colder, political mind realized that was exactly not the thing to do – if his suspicions before were not enough, Manuel’s strike on Alexandria confirmed Nikolaios’ opinion.
His younger brother was dangerously capable.
The Megos Domestikos was away, stuck in a long, drawn out war that seemed to be without end, and here, a boy of 17, had crushed a larger army in the field and recaptured one of the oldest churches in Christendom. Few would care that he’d attacked a man best described as a fool – the results were all that the people, the dynatoi, and the clergy would see.
Nikolaios felt the anger ebb, as his political mind took over.
“You came here for a reason, Manuel,” the Emperor let the crumpled papers drop to the floor as he turned towards the table. “I do not think thumbing your nose at me was the chief one.” Nikolaios started pouring two goblets of wine. “Wine, brother?”
“No thank you,” Manuel held up a hand.
“Very well,” Nikolaios set the other goblet down and drank deeply. “What is it you came for?”
“The position of Kaisar,” Manuel said confidently.
It was Nikolaios’ turn to laugh – the noise came out as more of a harsh bark than anything born of mirth.
“Is that all?” the Emperor asked. “Something so… simple? A request for the position another holds?”
“A position that someone will likely hold only a short while longer,” Manuel smiled, coming away from the wall. “You, as well as I, know that when Christophoros returns one of two things will happen.”
“And what would those be?” the Emperor asked, taking another drink.
“Either he will return in triumph, and use his position and the loyalty of the army to try to usurp the throne, or,” Manuel was now only a foot or so from his brother, “he will return in disgrace, and you will strip him of all his titles, relieved that the gravest threat to your throne is finished. Either way, you would need someone to be Kaisar. Your son cannot fill the position. Romanos is an indolent git, Demetrios…”
“And how should I know you wouldn’t stab me in the back?” Nikolaios interrupted darkly. “I shan’t like it if that happened.”
“Why would I back Christophoros?” Manuel laughed, his face looking horrificly like that of a happy cherub. “He has sons, he’d name them Kaisar as soon as it was convenient and toss me aside. He’s rash, he’s arrogant, and he’s foolish – there would soon only be half an Empire to rule by the time he was done.”
“And why should you be loyal to me?” Nikolaios asked, finishing his wine. “You are young, clearly capable – why do you not sit on the sides of this contest, wait for Chistophoros and myself to weaken our respective forces, then strike?”
“Because,” Manuel smiled coldly, “I have time on my side if I pick you, a precious ally indeed. Christophoros has a brood of sons. You have none that could truly rule. I need only to wait for your time to pass through the hour glass to have my crown.” Manuel laughed slightly. “You have seen 46 winters already, there aren’t many left.”
“You are so kind and loving,” Nikolaios made a sour face.
“If I waited for the both of you to finish your squabble, once again I would inherit the rump of an Empire,” Manuel continued. “Call me greedy, dear brother, but I would prefer to gain the whole intact.”
Nikolaios started to chuckle, then the chuckle turned to a full fledged laugh.
“Did I say a joke?” Manuel asked, his voice sounding dangerous.
“No,” Nikolaios continued to giggle a bit, “but I’ve won!”
“How?” Manuel backed away, confusion on his face.
“You’ve shown me your true age,” Nikolaios grinned. “You’ve given me a full measure of how your mind works, what you consider when acting, what you ignore. To these aged eyes, Manuel, that is what victory looks like!” Nikolaios sputtered another laugh.
“I did no such thing,” Manuel fumed.
“You shall have the Kaisar-ship, dear brother,” Nikolaios said finally, “If two things happen.”
“What would those be?” Manuel said, not as angry. Now was the time for negotiation, and Nikolaios was pleased to see his younger brother suddenly reinterested.
“You will make Alexandria a property of the Imperial Crown, and you will return Damietta and the Delta to Edmund’s nearest successor,” Nikolaios grinned, preparing for the inevitable explosion that would come from his younger brother.
“What?!”
“If I let you keep Alexandria, Christophoros is likely to get suspicious.” It was the Emperor’s turn to be slightly smug. “And you have created a diplomatic storm, so to speak, and returning those Crusader lands would alleviate that while keeping Alexandria firmly in the Imperial grasp. Alexandria is what is important – the other lands can rot in Norman hands for a few more years for all I care.”
The Norman King of England threatened war if parts of Egypt were not returned to Norman hands. Fortunately for Romanion, his wife was a renowned beauty and the sister of the Emperor, and she could do some negotiating of her own…
Manuel looked down in thought.
“I’ll agree if I receive an army command when Christophoros comes after you,” Manuel said after a moment. “And I also must receive credit as the Conqueror of Alexandria, or some other gibberish title of that ilk. I want the people to know that I did it, and remember I did it.”
“As long as I can conduct ruses to make Christophoros think you I stripped the province from you, rather than talked it away from you,” Nikolaios countered.
“You did not talk it away from me!” Manuel complained, before a slight smile snuck through onto his lips, “I freely gave it up!”
“As freely as a miser surrendering his fortune,” Nikolaios smirked. “A public falling out of some sort is in order. It will be made known that I stripped Alexandria from you.”
“Make it seem you did it to have full control of the Alexandria Patriarchate,” Manuel advised. “That will be sure to rouse the passions of any traitors within the Church, so that when they stick their heads out of their rabbit holes we are ready with an axe to cut those heads from their bodies.”
Nikolaios crossed his arms. “My, you are a vicious boy. And what traitors would those be?”
“I heard the Patriarch doesn’t like you for things you did with some of your friends.”
Nikolaios’s face went completely dark. “How did you hear of those things?”
Manuel shrugged his shoulders. “Old rumors die hard. Peace, brother, Patriarch Anathasios has no love for this family, and I have no doubt that the rumors were spread by agents who wish to see Christophoros made Emperor.”
“No doubt,” Nikolaios’ bristling came to an end.
“You don’t trust me, do you?” Manuel smiled. “A wise man. And I don’t trust you. But you know I don’t trust you, I know that you don’t trust me, and we both know that we both know those things. Altogether, we are a very knowledgeable pair.”
“Indeed,” Nikolaios sighed, before looking out the palace window. It was getting late in the day. “Well then, to the falling out, before it gets late in the day and interrupts supper.”
“That would be a travesty, would it not?” Manuel smiled.
“Servants should hear us shouting at each other first. Shall we begin this, you rash, war-mongering boy?” Nikolaios grinned.
“At your leisure, you old, indolent lizard,” Manuel smiled as well.
The Emperor didn’t realize Manuel’s smile was one of triumph.
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Why is Manuel smiling in triumph? Will Christophoros return victorious or defeated? The answers to these questions will be in the next update!
And if anyone knows any films I can easily get my hands on that would help with writing a scene regarding 1930s political intrigue, by all means, let me know! That could speed up the other update as well!
==============================================
September 1st, 1139
The theme palace at Thebes was a structure steadily growing by the day. In the year since Prince Manuel had arrived the temporary wooden huts and structures that had clustered around the ancient stone villa had given way to a series of new stone buildings, as well as a proper keep. From here the Prince of Aswan ruled Upper Egypt from the Pyramids at Giza down to the First Cataract of the Nile.
Manuel’s court was a wealthy one, despite its distance, and the décor this day reflected that – banners brought from other Komnenoi, tapestries of the lions and crocodiles that populated the area hung along the walls. And at the center of the far wall, on a raised dais, sat the Prince’s throne, a fine piece of furniture cut from cypress and ebony. On its stately form sat Manuel, now a young man of seventeen, clad in the full raiments of his position. In form and grace he looked a young man, only sporting the barest of hints of a beard, yet in his eyes one could seen the experience of someone far older, far wiser, and far more dangerous.
Before the prince stood the nervous form of a herald, dressed in the new dark blue and gold of the newly proclaimed King of Egypt, lately Edmund, Duke of Alexandria and Hampshire. As the man bowed, he held for a parchment that a servant took and handed to Manuel.
The herald that came before Manuel would have looked similar to this – save he would have worn the colors of his liege lord, dark blue and gold.
“My lord, I come from Alexandria bearing you a message from the hand of my liege,” the herald said. He looked nervous – rumors had already gone about that Prince Manuel did not like receiving bad news, ever.
“What does the good Duke of Alexandria say?” Manuel leaned back on his throne and gave a wry smile. “Did he appreciate my gifts?”
The messenger shuffled his feet for a moment, then cleared his throat. Clearly he was stalling for time. Manuel returned all his efforts with a blank, empty smile. Finally, the young man spoke.
“Edmund de Normandie has been proclaimed by the Patriarch of Alexandria and the Grace of God to be Edmund, First of that Name, King of Upper and Lower Egypt,” the herald said in his best voice. “He demands that as a good Christian lord, you must owe him your loyalty and fealty.”
A gasp went through the throne room, followed by a rapidly growing murmur. Manuel’s smile disappeared, and he held up his hand for silence.
“That is a very serious claim, sir. Are you sure that is what he said?”
“Yes, he was explicit in his instructions,” the messenger said.
“Well, he must surely know that this invalidates the treaty he signed with my father long ago,” Manuel leaned back in his throne. A slight smile came on his lips, something he knew frightened the messenger. “We shall have to discuss this, and form a suitable reply. In the meantime,” Manuel was suddenly on his feet, walking towards the messenger, “come. You have undoubtedly traveled far, and are probably weary. You deserve rest and our hospitality.”
Some minutes later the Manuel had brought the messenger to his personal study, where all the lords of Aswan had gathered. There was Manuel’s slew of logothetes, carrying papers covering everything from granary stocks to personal details on lords within the Crusader state. There was the Bishop of Aswan, to provide spiritual counseling, and finally there was Thomas Skleros, the domestikos of Aswan, a short, stout man with a loud voice and a strong swordarm.
The herald settled into the back of the room, clearly uncertain of why he was present. Manuel told him to come and sit at the table, and freely help himself to the wine. He was free to the entire jug – everyone else at the table would do without.
“I am not sure I should drink, Your Highess,” the herald said, confused. “I do not know if it fits within protocol.”
“Are you thirsty?” the Prince asked, and the young herald nodded in reply. “You are famished from your long trip,” Manuel smiled distantly to the courier as he filled a goblet from a nearby jug of wine. “Here,” he offered it to the messenger, “I insist. You would dishonor me and my own house if you refused."
The herald took the goblet, and betrayed his thirst by downing it in a single gulp. When he looked at the jug of wine, then at Manuel, the Prince nodded that he should drink more.
“Highness, I still do not see the wisdom of having him here,” Skleros complained pointing an accusing finger at the messenger. “He will undoubtedly tell Prince Edmund everything he hears us say in this room!”
“Really?” Manuel looked at the herald. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“No, Highness,” the herald shook his head, another goblet-full in hand. His face was starting to turn red.
“See? There you have it. He wouldn’t tell anyone,” Manuel smiled cherubicly, “So we may plan in peace.”
“Highness, I really don’t…” Skleros started to speak, until a slight gasp came from the herald. All eyes turned to the young man, who was clawing at his throat, his face twisted into an agonizing expression.
“I know he won’t tell anyone of our plans, Domestikos,” Manuel’s smile became slightly demonic. “As far as Prince Edmund is concerned, our plans will be revealed when our armies enter his territory. Speed is of the essence. We must march quickly, make the Prince react foolishly, and lure him…”
There was a dull thump as the herald’s head fell to the table. The choking noises subsided, then died altogether.
“…to his doom,” Manuel finished. He motioned for a nearby servant, and pointed towards the dead body. “Clean that up, if you please.”
“Highness!” Skleros was on his feet, looking at the body in horror.
“Let that be a warning to all of you,” Manuel said icily. “This plan must be kept in the utmost secrecy. I do not want any loose words or loose talk about its details – Edmund is a moron, but even morons have spies.”
Several servants came and hefted the hapless herald’s body from the table. Manuel stopped until they had removed the body, then he motioned for all the servants to leave the room. The door made an echoing boom as it shut them all inside.
“Speed and surprise,” Manuel repeated, leaning back in his chair. “Now, domestikos, to begin…”
============================ ==============================
Heavy Norman knights – these would form the core of any armed response from Prince Edmund and his forces
On the night of September 5th, 1139, the army of the Principality of Aswan marched north into Giza, effectively invading the lands of Prince Edmund of Alexandria. Manuel’s light and rapid horse quickly enveloped the many settlements along the Nile River, effectively cutting them off by land, while a fleet of barges denied them succor by river. Giza, Luxor, and Memphis all surrendered quickly.
The King of Egypt had no sooner donned his crown in a lavish ceremony before he was off to the south, at the head of his newly named “Royal Army.” Edmund wanted to repel the invasion, and to do so quickly. He did not know if the Prince of Aswan was acting alone, or merely a vanguard of other invasions from the other Roman themes surrounding him. The force numbered over 12,000, including 3,000 heavily armored knights.
Edmund, however, was no Bohemond, and the Norman cavalry commander, Bohemond’s son Tancred, was far more rash than his father. Tancred saw the title Duke of Aswan in his future, if he could only persuade the Norman King to launch a counter attack, which meant speed. Tancred persuaded Edmund he should attack at once, and the King complied, leading his host directly down the Nile at Manuel’s forces.
But the Prince of Aswan was wily. Manuel was outnumbered, true, but he took into account his terrain. Quickly the Aswan army turned to the northeast, and headed into the marshy Nile Delta. Edmund felt compelled to follow – if the Greeks were able to cross the delta, they could strike almost any of Edmund’s chief cities – Damietta, Tanis, perhaps even Alexandria itself, while he was far away.
Edmund’s forces, heavy cavalry and heavy infantry, proved to be unsuited for the marshy conditions. Roads were often paths through the bogs and reeds obscured the view on all sides. Manuel’s forces, much lighter in arms and armor, were able to maneuver better in the conditions. On the 3rd of October, Manuel’s scouts tracked down the slow, clumsy Norman column, and the Roman forces turned on their pursuers.
Prince Manuel’s attacking force was only some 8,000 strong, with only 500 heavy cavalry, yet the Prince felt confident of his chances. At dawn, Roman horse archers moved forward, and began harassing the Norman lines. Three times, the Norman heavy cavalry attempted to charge, only to get caught and bogged down in the mud. Manuel mercilessly ordered his archers and infantry forward, with orders to strike down the Norman horses. Thousands of Norman knights fell into the mud and became trapped or drowned. By midday, seeing the demise of most of his cavalry, King Edmund attempted to pull away from the enemy. Yet once again the terrain worked against him – Manuel had posted troops on the roads out, forcing many of the Normans into the marshes themselves. The Norman army disintegrated, breaking up into pockets of men slogging through a fly infested hell.
Over the course of the next three days, Manuel’s army rounded up and slaughtered every small pocket of Norman troops they could find. On October 9th a small contingent of knights was overrun by some of Manuel’s Nubian troops. The men had no idea who they had killed until one came across a signet ring.
Edmund de Normandie had lasted as King of Egypt for less than two months.
The destruction of the Norman army in the Nile Delta was a devastating defeat for the Normans, and put all of Egypt within the grasp of Romanion
Yet the plan was only unfolding. The de Normandie field army had been crushed, but Manuel wanted all the cities on the Delta coast. As soon as word of the disaster reached Alexandria and Damietta, Manuel’s agents, planted over the preceding two years, went to work.
In Alexandria, agents instigated a riot against the Latin Patriarch. Other agents poisoned the water supply of the City Guard, ensuring that few soldiers arrived to stop the chaos. Emboldened, the crowds broke into the offices of the Latin Patriarch and dragged him through the streets. The remaining Norman nobility quickly fled by ship, leaving the city to its own devices. When Manuel, at the head of 6,000 troops, arrived two weeks later, the gates were thrown open. Most of the remaining Norman nobility in Damietta were killed in an ambush as they sallied from the city to try to delay what they knew to be an inevitable Roman advance from the Delta. The majority of the surviving Norman commanders, including all the children of Tancred de Hauteville, were slaughtered.
It was thus that by December of 1139, Manuel had conquered all of Egypt. Flush with victory, the Prince sailed for Konstantinopolis, towards an expected reception…
============================= ==================================
January 1st, 1140
Prince Manuel on his return to Konstantinopolis.
A cold, wet draft blew into the private chambers of the Basilieus, a winter wind that was no match for the chill between the two men in the room.
Prince Manuel of Aswan, hair hanging long and flaxen, sat at one side of the enormous ebony and oak desk that was the personal workplace of the Emperor. His face bore that same, frustratingly blank look that it had borne for years. On the other side sat his older brother, Basilieus Nikolaios, face taut from years of worry that his sibling’s latest stunt had only added to. Off to one side, unnoticed, unneeded, sat a jug of wine. Intrusively laying between them were stacks upon stacks of letters and correspondence.
Letters from Rome. Letters from Germany. Letters from Denmark, France, England – the entire Christian world that followed the Patriarch of Rome. Some of the letteres were long, some were succinct. Some were polemic rants, some couched them venom in the politest terms. Yet all were united in one fact – they condemned the Roman occupation of the Nile Delta, in no uncertain terms.
Nikolaios quietly drummed his fingers on top of the parchments, as the noise of servants preparing for the celebrations of a new year wafted through the windows. Later that day the Prince and the Emperor were to appear at a great service in the Hagia Sophia, then attend a long series of banquets, dances, galas and balls thrown by all the dynatoi of the city, each striving to outdo the next.
None of that, however, was on either of their minds at that moment.
“The King of England writes to me that unless lands are returned, and an apology delivered, he will set sail with a fleet of a thousand ships and make me return Egypt by the sword,” Nikolaios said distantly, matching his brother’s mask.
“He does? His bed will surely be cold if he does that,” Manuel let a lascivious smile come through. “I doubt our dear sister Helene would allow her husband to go to war against us – even if his brother lies dead on the banks of the Nile. Besides, Nikolaios,” Manuel pushed his chair back and stood, “The whole Kingdom of England might have a hundred ships, two hundred if they impressed merchants by the dozen. But not a thousand.”
“That may be,” Nikolaios lost his cool exterior and growled at his brother’s smugness, “but you have raised a diplomatic storm the likes we have not seen in a while! The Pope has called for three days of mourning, the Kings of the Germans and the French have both lodged formal protests, and the de Hautevilles are calling for blood!”
“Let them come,” Manuel smirked as he reached the opposite wall. The Prince crossed his arms and leaned against it in a relaxed pose. “How will they get their men to Egypt? I do not think the King of the Franks can fly, and we have the most powerful navy in the world.” Manuel laughed darkly. “You know, Nikolaios, as well as I, that for all the barking these dogs do, they cannot bite us that hard.”
“You are so sure?” Nikolaios rumbled. He picked up a ream of the letters and thrust them out. “Read these!”
“I can imagine what they say,” Manuel’s smirk remained. “They call you a tyrant, me a warmongering boy, and have all sorts of rubbish and threats that really do not concern you. Brother, you are putting on a fine act, but it is an act nonetheless,” Manuel started to clap. “An act worthy of mention from an actor, but one that is unneeded. You wanted Egypt, and I have delivered it to you. Yet you must do something to make it seem you are shocked and appalled. Am I correct?”
Nikolaios ground his teeth together slightly. Of course Manuel was right, but he wasn’t about to let his brother have the satisfaction of knowing that fact.
“Leave aside the diplomatic mess. Why did you do that, Manuel?” Nikolaios fumed, slowly crumpling the letters in hand. “Why Egypt? Did you want to make a name for yourself? Secure more lands? Why?”
Manuel looked past his brother, directly at a banner commemorating their father’s victory over the Fatimids so many years before.
“For the glory of Rome and to restore the rightful Patriarch to his Alexandrian throne,” Manuel said blankly, before his eyes flitted directly towards Nikolaios. “Nikolaios, why do you think I did it? I’m not coy – I did it for power.”
“Power, Manuel?” Nikolaios’ voice began to rise.
“Alexandria is still the greatest African port in the Mediterranean. Through her warehouses come goods from Ethiopia, Nubia, Arabia and even far away India. The grain for Konstantinopolis lies in the holds of the thousands of ships that visit her harbor. He who holds Alexandria holds an immense amount of power – it was unfortunate that imbecile Edmund never realized it,” Manuel smiled wryly. “I do.”
“So you are in the business of usurping me as well then!?” Nikolaios shouted. Manuel did have a great deal of power now – he controlled not just Aswan, but all the Nile Delta and most of Egypt – as well as Konstantinopolis’ grain supply. “You haven’t counted on one thing – that I can take Alexandria away from you.”
“Take it away from me?” Manuel chuckled.
“I am Emperor of the Romans, by rights Alexandria is mine,” Nikolaios said sharply.
“Simple, but academic, dear brother,” Manuel’s chuckle became darker, “for Alexandria is mine.”
“By what authority?” Nikolaios sputtered. The Emperor by now was so furious he could hardly see.
“It’s got my troops all over it, that makes it mine,” Manuel’s chuckle ended as his voice went cold.
Emperor Nikolaios was growing steadily more upset with the behavior of his impudent brother
Nikolaios clenched and unclenched his fist, and for a moment he felt the urge to strike his brother across the face for such insolence. Yet his colder, political mind realized that was exactly not the thing to do – if his suspicions before were not enough, Manuel’s strike on Alexandria confirmed Nikolaios’ opinion.
His younger brother was dangerously capable.
The Megos Domestikos was away, stuck in a long, drawn out war that seemed to be without end, and here, a boy of 17, had crushed a larger army in the field and recaptured one of the oldest churches in Christendom. Few would care that he’d attacked a man best described as a fool – the results were all that the people, the dynatoi, and the clergy would see.
Nikolaios felt the anger ebb, as his political mind took over.
“You came here for a reason, Manuel,” the Emperor let the crumpled papers drop to the floor as he turned towards the table. “I do not think thumbing your nose at me was the chief one.” Nikolaios started pouring two goblets of wine. “Wine, brother?”
“No thank you,” Manuel held up a hand.
“Very well,” Nikolaios set the other goblet down and drank deeply. “What is it you came for?”
“The position of Kaisar,” Manuel said confidently.
It was Nikolaios’ turn to laugh – the noise came out as more of a harsh bark than anything born of mirth.
“Is that all?” the Emperor asked. “Something so… simple? A request for the position another holds?”
“A position that someone will likely hold only a short while longer,” Manuel smiled, coming away from the wall. “You, as well as I, know that when Christophoros returns one of two things will happen.”
“And what would those be?” the Emperor asked, taking another drink.
“Either he will return in triumph, and use his position and the loyalty of the army to try to usurp the throne, or,” Manuel was now only a foot or so from his brother, “he will return in disgrace, and you will strip him of all his titles, relieved that the gravest threat to your throne is finished. Either way, you would need someone to be Kaisar. Your son cannot fill the position. Romanos is an indolent git, Demetrios…”
“And how should I know you wouldn’t stab me in the back?” Nikolaios interrupted darkly. “I shan’t like it if that happened.”
“Why would I back Christophoros?” Manuel laughed, his face looking horrificly like that of a happy cherub. “He has sons, he’d name them Kaisar as soon as it was convenient and toss me aside. He’s rash, he’s arrogant, and he’s foolish – there would soon only be half an Empire to rule by the time he was done.”
“And why should you be loyal to me?” Nikolaios asked, finishing his wine. “You are young, clearly capable – why do you not sit on the sides of this contest, wait for Chistophoros and myself to weaken our respective forces, then strike?”
“Because,” Manuel smiled coldly, “I have time on my side if I pick you, a precious ally indeed. Christophoros has a brood of sons. You have none that could truly rule. I need only to wait for your time to pass through the hour glass to have my crown.” Manuel laughed slightly. “You have seen 46 winters already, there aren’t many left.”
“You are so kind and loving,” Nikolaios made a sour face.
“If I waited for the both of you to finish your squabble, once again I would inherit the rump of an Empire,” Manuel continued. “Call me greedy, dear brother, but I would prefer to gain the whole intact.”
Nikolaios started to chuckle, then the chuckle turned to a full fledged laugh.
“Did I say a joke?” Manuel asked, his voice sounding dangerous.
“No,” Nikolaios continued to giggle a bit, “but I’ve won!”
“How?” Manuel backed away, confusion on his face.
“You’ve shown me your true age,” Nikolaios grinned. “You’ve given me a full measure of how your mind works, what you consider when acting, what you ignore. To these aged eyes, Manuel, that is what victory looks like!” Nikolaios sputtered another laugh.
“I did no such thing,” Manuel fumed.
“You shall have the Kaisar-ship, dear brother,” Nikolaios said finally, “If two things happen.”
“What would those be?” Manuel said, not as angry. Now was the time for negotiation, and Nikolaios was pleased to see his younger brother suddenly reinterested.
“You will make Alexandria a property of the Imperial Crown, and you will return Damietta and the Delta to Edmund’s nearest successor,” Nikolaios grinned, preparing for the inevitable explosion that would come from his younger brother.
“What?!”
“If I let you keep Alexandria, Christophoros is likely to get suspicious.” It was the Emperor’s turn to be slightly smug. “And you have created a diplomatic storm, so to speak, and returning those Crusader lands would alleviate that while keeping Alexandria firmly in the Imperial grasp. Alexandria is what is important – the other lands can rot in Norman hands for a few more years for all I care.”
The Norman King of England threatened war if parts of Egypt were not returned to Norman hands. Fortunately for Romanion, his wife was a renowned beauty and the sister of the Emperor, and she could do some negotiating of her own…
Manuel looked down in thought.
“I’ll agree if I receive an army command when Christophoros comes after you,” Manuel said after a moment. “And I also must receive credit as the Conqueror of Alexandria, or some other gibberish title of that ilk. I want the people to know that I did it, and remember I did it.”
“As long as I can conduct ruses to make Christophoros think you I stripped the province from you, rather than talked it away from you,” Nikolaios countered.
“You did not talk it away from me!” Manuel complained, before a slight smile snuck through onto his lips, “I freely gave it up!”
“As freely as a miser surrendering his fortune,” Nikolaios smirked. “A public falling out of some sort is in order. It will be made known that I stripped Alexandria from you.”
“Make it seem you did it to have full control of the Alexandria Patriarchate,” Manuel advised. “That will be sure to rouse the passions of any traitors within the Church, so that when they stick their heads out of their rabbit holes we are ready with an axe to cut those heads from their bodies.”
Nikolaios crossed his arms. “My, you are a vicious boy. And what traitors would those be?”
“I heard the Patriarch doesn’t like you for things you did with some of your friends.”
Nikolaios’s face went completely dark. “How did you hear of those things?”
Manuel shrugged his shoulders. “Old rumors die hard. Peace, brother, Patriarch Anathasios has no love for this family, and I have no doubt that the rumors were spread by agents who wish to see Christophoros made Emperor.”
“No doubt,” Nikolaios’ bristling came to an end.
“You don’t trust me, do you?” Manuel smiled. “A wise man. And I don’t trust you. But you know I don’t trust you, I know that you don’t trust me, and we both know that we both know those things. Altogether, we are a very knowledgeable pair.”
“Indeed,” Nikolaios sighed, before looking out the palace window. It was getting late in the day. “Well then, to the falling out, before it gets late in the day and interrupts supper.”
“That would be a travesty, would it not?” Manuel smiled.
“Servants should hear us shouting at each other first. Shall we begin this, you rash, war-mongering boy?” Nikolaios grinned.
“At your leisure, you old, indolent lizard,” Manuel smiled as well.
The Emperor didn’t realize Manuel’s smile was one of triumph.
================================================
Why is Manuel smiling in triumph? Will Christophoros return victorious or defeated? The answers to these questions will be in the next update!
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Haha, Lion in Winter, over and over.
Does Manuel have some kind a Richard he can blackmail as well? And I don't mean Nikolaios, he's too old, I meant something juicier.
Funny, jeffg did a Lion in Winter inspired AAR just recently, too bad that one croaked.
Nikolaios seems to have no grasp over the military. That just can't be good.
And they're all just waiting for Christophoros' failure, but is one actually coming? Cause that could throw both their plans completely off.
Does Manuel have some kind a Richard he can blackmail as well? And I don't mean Nikolaios, he's too old, I meant something juicier.
Funny, jeffg did a Lion in Winter inspired AAR just recently, too bad that one croaked.
Nikolaios seems to have no grasp over the military. That just can't be good.
And they're all just waiting for Christophoros' failure, but is one actually coming? Cause that could throw both their plans completely off.
Nikolaios definitely is meeting his match with Manuel but Manuel's still young and has so many things to learn .
P.S. Johnathan Rhys-Myers ; I remember him first and foremost from Titus . That was a hot movie .
P.S. Johnathan Rhys-Myers ; I remember him first and foremost from Titus . That was a hot movie .
Wow, if the knives ever come out between Manuel and Nik, it will not be pretty.
Manuel certainly seems to have the "qualities" a Byzantine emperor needs though.
Manuel certainly seems to have the "qualities" a Byzantine emperor needs though.
Manuel will be a great emperor one day. If he doesn't miscalculate how his behaviour affects other people. I'm not sure his cruelty will be a good asset in the long run, to be frank.
Lion in Winter is definitely one of my my top historical movies. The dialogue is so rich, witty, and cynical, I love it. "Do tell me, what's nature's way? If poison mushrooms grow and babies come with crooked backs, if goiters thrive and dogs go mad and wives kill husbands! What's unnatural?"
Great scene. In a way, it's a shame Egypt went down so quickly as the war and intrigue is short-lived, but it sounds like Manuel is living up to the bill. What movie was that Rhys-Myers pic from?
"Do tell me, what's nature's way? If poison mushrooms grow and babies come with crooked backs, if goiters thrive and dogs go mad and wives kill husbands! What's unnatural?"Great scene. In a way, it's a shame Egypt went down so quickly as the war and intrigue is short-lived, but it sounds like Manuel is living up to the bill. What movie was that Rhys-Myers pic from?
Mettermrck said:
That's the new Lion in Winter with Patrick Stewart and Glenn Close.
Anyone else very amused by Manuel's refusal to drink the wine he was offered? A suspicious mind is not always a good one.
It seems that Manuel can easily arrange for Christophoros or Nikolaios to die when he judges the time to be right. If that is the case, he’s won.
Fulcrumvale - Manuel is even far more devious than I've revealed so far. Take my word for it - you'll find out in the next update. That said, he's also immensely fun to write.
Deamon - That is one possibility, yes. *evil grin* Though Ignatios has so far stayed far from political affairs, Manuel if he decided to do that would go after someone far more close to politics to cover up his tracks...
Estonianzulu - THANK YOU! I put that little bit in there in the hopes someone would notice it!
RGB - Yes, its the Lion in Winter. I personally like the 1968 version more... Peter O'Toole does a much better job as Henry II - thats taking nothing away from Patrick Stewart, its just O'Toole blows the role away.
Mettermck - Considering it was Manuel versus the Black Adder, was it a surprise Egypt fell quickly? That battle is a little one-sided.
Nikolai - Manuel certainly has all the makings of a formidable Byzantine Emperor - one able to corral the dynatoi and beat them at their own games. But there is the question of his cruelty - is it necessary, or is it merely a symptom of something far worse than an ineffective Emperor?
Alfred Packer - If knives come out between Manuel and Nik, it'd be a battle for the ages. That said, I doubt much of Romanion would remain afterwards...
canonized - Manuel still does have a few things to learn - its not like Nikolaios is a schoolboy at the game of Imperial politics. But will Manuel listen and learn, or will impatience get the best of him?
That said, he's also immensely fun to write.Deamon - That is one possibility, yes. *evil grin* Though Ignatios has so far stayed far from political affairs, Manuel if he decided to do that would go after someone far more close to politics to cover up his tracks...
Estonianzulu - THANK YOU! I put that little bit in there in the hopes someone would notice it!
RGB - Yes, its the Lion in Winter. I personally like the 1968 version more... Peter O'Toole does a much better job as Henry II - thats taking nothing away from Patrick Stewart, its just O'Toole blows the role away.
Mettermck - Considering it was Manuel versus the Black Adder, was it a surprise Egypt fell quickly?
That battle is a little one-sided.Nikolai - Manuel certainly has all the makings of a formidable Byzantine Emperor - one able to corral the dynatoi and beat them at their own games. But there is the question of his cruelty - is it necessary, or is it merely a symptom of something far worse than an ineffective Emperor?
Alfred Packer - If knives come out between Manuel and Nik, it'd be a battle for the ages. That said, I doubt much of Romanion would remain afterwards...
canonized - Manuel still does have a few things to learn - its not like Nikolaios is a schoolboy at the game of Imperial politics. But will Manuel listen and learn, or will impatience get the best of him?
Wow.
I've finally caught up. Two very long nights and a pair of very sore eyes later!
This is absolutely fantastic, and keeps getting better. The arc from a ruling family of a small (if important) province to the full intrigue of an Imperial court, spanning (so far) the rule of two Emperors and some what - 50? - years is drawn in a coherent progression, with unexpected twists and subplots, superbly-detailed battles, not to mention the host of well-portrayed and utterly believable characters...
Wow.
I can't wait for the next instalment!
*SUBSCRIBES*
(finally)
PS I'm loving the fact that the current Emperor's name is abbreviated to the same form as mine! He's by far my favourite character. Here's hoping he lasts a few more years yet!
I've finally caught up. Two very long nights and a pair of very sore eyes later!
This is absolutely fantastic, and keeps getting better. The arc from a ruling family of a small (if important) province to the full intrigue of an Imperial court, spanning (so far) the rule of two Emperors and some what - 50? - years is drawn in a coherent progression, with unexpected twists and subplots, superbly-detailed battles, not to mention the host of well-portrayed and utterly believable characters...
Wow.
I can't wait for the next instalment!
*SUBSCRIBES*
(finally)
PS I'm loving the fact that the current Emperor's name is abbreviated to the same form as mine! He's by far my favourite character. Here's hoping he lasts a few more years yet!
OxfordNik - Welcome to the AAR! Glad you are enjoying it, and look at it this way - there won't be any all-nighters now to get caught up.
Well, this was originally supposed to be a teaser, but then it grew into a full scene that needed its own post. There'll be another teaser after this (probably this weekend), then we'll be back on schedule.
===========================================================
January 17th, 1140
Litters were a well known sight within the city of Konstantinopolis. Everyone, if they were a person of even moderate note, was borne about in a litter. So no one gave any thought to yet another veiled litter, richly adorned and hauled by eight strong, well built Africans, moving through the streets of the city. When the litter finally stopped and was lowered however, people might have given note to how the occupant looked, once he emerged.
Lord Basilieos Kaukadenos was a man of immensely regal bearing - tall in stature, deep in voice, he looked straight from some heroic tale of how a powerful, wise and just lord should look. He was always dressed in the finest of silks, enough to show his station but not enough to over-do things, and was temperate and just in his conduct and behavior. Even his very name - Basilieos, conveyed a sense of majesty.
Lord Basilieios Kaukadenos, Sebasodomestikos of the Imperial Army
It was a tragic twist of fate that his wits did not match his looks.
Calling Kaukadenos a fool would be far too harsh, even inaccurate - he was not stupid, nor was he plodding, he simply lacked the sheer brilliance the likes of Siddiqa Mazin, or Nikolaios Komnenos possessed. However, he possessed one trait that Christophoros knew was in dire shortage within the dynatoi of Romanion - loyalty. Unswerving, unyielding loyalty.
Christophoros knew he could trust whatever came out of Kaukadenos' mouth, and while he could not be trusted to hatch and form plots of his own, the Megos Domestikos knew that Kaukadenos would diligently keep track of what he learned, and report all of it faithfully back. Indeed, he and Christophoros had been friends for many years.
Kaukadenos was not without other merits as well. He had risen through the Imperial ranks, becoming Sebastodomestikos, second in command of the Imperial military. He was tactically unimaginative, but extremely brave, often leading charges in person and all sorts of other actions that Nikolaios would have dismissed as rash. However, this boldness and recklessness on the battlefield had given Kaukadenos a following of sorts amongst the military, who always appreciated leaders who actually led from the front, instead of from a silken divan in the Great Palace.
But as the most trusted confidante of Christophoros Komnenos, here he was in the Queen of Cities, to fetch a fleet and to gauge support for the Megos Domestikos after a campaign that should have taken only six months had now entered its third year.
What he had found alarmed him. The Princes of the realm were mostly busy with their own internal squabbles, and it seemed only a few were still openly discussing rebellion. That was the bad news. The good news was that the Emperor was regarded in a similarly ambivalent attitude. Few of the dynatoi felt sufficiently inclined to stick their neck out for anyone, which boded well for Christophoros, slightly. If the Komnenid heirs stayed their hand, he'd have the full support of five dynatoi, versus the Emperor's three.
Slim odds for a civil war, given that the Megos Domestikos was having issues in Africa. Especially slim with the defenses of the city itself.
The city of Konstantinopolis, situated as it was on a peninsula between the Bosphorus and the Gold Horn, was impregnable by land - the Theodosian Walls had never been breached. Along the seaward sides of the city ran a single wall, about twenty feet high. It was a formidable defense, but unlike the Theodosian Walls, it was breachable. Yet so long as the great dromons and galleys of the Thrakia Stolos remained in the Golden Horn, ready to sally and crush any invading fleet that tried to bring soldiers to those walls, the city was effectively unconquerable.
Yet another reason why Christophoros needed a fleet, and why Basilieos Kaukadenos now stood at the gates of one of the newest villas on the edge of the city, one graced by the form of an eagle bearing a cross and a sword in its talons - the symbol of House Thrakesios, whose current patriarch, Romanos Thrakesios, Prince of Bosnia, was Megas Doux - commander of the Imperial Navy.
It was still small by Konstantinopolis standards even - most of the dynatoi had only comparatively small homes in the city itself, for their massive estates lay in their provinces - and by the workmen scurrying about, it was clear construction was ongoing. A doorman noticed Kaukadenos outside, and smiled in recognition. The gates were opened immediately.
Kaukadenos found himself ushered inside with great speed, and within five minutes, found himself before the master of the household, who greeted him in his study with a beaming smile and a dirty shirt that showed he had been supervising the construction before Basilieos' arrival.
"Well met, good friend," the Megas Doux smiled and gestured towards the seat. Kaukadenos sank into the soft silk pillows of the chair and smiled. It certainly felt far better than the saddle of a horse.
Romanos Thrakesios - Prince of Bosnia, Megas Doux
Romanos Thrakesios was not a tall man, but neither was he short. He wasn't handsome, nor foul, neither loud, nor softspoken. He was average, through and through, in looks and temperment. The eldest survivor of six males, and at the age of 41 he had taken his father's title of Prince of Bosnia on the death of Isaakios during the winter of 1138, and had been appointed Megas Doux the same year. He was a consumate bureaucrat, efficiently organizing resources for the fleet and its maintenance.
"So, this is your new home?" Kaukadenos looked around appreciatively at the rich, yet tasteful decor and bright, new tapestries hanging from the walls. "A far cry from the hovel your father lived in!"
Romanos laughed, "Yes, that horrid thing, filled with dust and always the smell of hobnails, leather and steel. As you can see, we've become civilized now."
"I see, Megas Doux! Allow me to congratulate you, even if the congratulations are late!"
Romanos nodded in thanks, as servants brought wine and fruit for them. "So, tell me," Thrakesios said some time later, when the two had stuffed themselves with grapes reminiscing about serving under Thrakesios' father and other old times, "what brings an old soldier like you all the way from dusty Africa to Konstantinopolis? It could not have been just to see me!"
Kaukadenos started to open his mouth, thought for a moment, then went ahead anyway. "We need a fleet," Kaukadenos said quietly. "Tunis still holds, and so long as King Aarif can bring in fresh food and water by sea, the city cannot be taken. We have tried engines, ruses, and the soil is too loose for mining the walls. We need ships!"
"Why have you not asked the Emperor for ships?" Thrakesios asked.
"The Emperor refused us," Kaukadenos sighed.
"Refused you? Why?" Romanos set his goblet down, his face turning grim. "Because he fears his brother will come back victorious and usurp him?"
Romanos himself had wondered if that was what the Megos Domestikos was planning, but he'd never had the gall to ask Christophoros openly. He had no doubt that Christophoros was more resolute and more militarily capable than the Emperor - if it should come to blows, there was little doubt who would turn out on top. For his part, Romanos prayed Christophoros would reign - it would be a militarily strong ruler, who would let the dynatoi do as they wished, and as a member of the 'new blood' amongst the Princes, someone who was sympathetic to the side of the neodynatoi was helpful as well. Yet as appealing as that would be, bureaucratic orderliness went against coups of any shape and kind. It was an ugly conundrum.
"Exactly that," Kaukadenos looked at Romanos out of the corner of his eyes. "But we need the fleet."
Romanos started to open his mouth, then closed it.
"I know it is a great deal to ask," Kaukadenos said, "but I prefer to be frank and honest with those I hold dear. Even if you could spare thirty, maybe even twenty dromons, that might be enough!"
"The Emperor has spoken explicitly against any of the dromons, quadremes or other true warships sailing to Beni Halal," Romanos coughed. "He fears the Cumans are preparing a fleet behind the Kerch Strait, and he is always wary of the Venetians, and the Normans."
Quadremes were powerful warships with two banks of oars and multiple rowers per oar. If tarides and dromons would be considered the battleships of the Roman fleet, these sleek, powerful vessels were the heavy cruisers of their day.
"You know, and I know, the Cumans couldn't build a fleet if God himself came down from the Heavens and told them to build an ark!" Kaukadenos spat.
Romanos sighed. Kaukadenos was right, but he had his orders. The backbone of the Imperial fleet - all of his dromons, and many of its other heavy galleys, were to remain in the Golden Horn and the Aegean ports. Some 400 warships, sitting idle, on the order of the Emperor.
"Perhaps you could persuade the Emperor to change his orders?" Kaukadenos pressed. "Africa would make an excellent naval base to back up those in Sicily against the Normans, and it would allow Imperial dromons at a place where they could exert influence out to Spain. Not to mention," Kaukadenos added, "a pincer on the Normans would remove a bulwark of the Venetians - at least that is how I understand it."
Romanos nodded as his face took on a pained expression. For several moments he sat, pondering what he course he should take. Loyalty demanded obeying the emperor, but the Emperor's orders had only specified the heavy dromons, quadiremes and triremes. Romanos also wanted to help his friend, and a cause that would help his family, and the Emperors order said nothing about the lighter vessels - single decked liburnians, or biremes.
A Roman bireme. With two banks of oars, fast yet powerful, biremes were medium sized warships within the Roman fleet
"How powerful are the ships guarding the supplies of Beni Halal?" Romanos asked after a moment.
"Dhows mostly," Kaukadenos shrugged. "Few have any kind of siphons for naptha, and they are far smaller than a true Roman ship. I know only a little about such things. They have perhaps 40 or 50 ships, that is all."
Romanos smiled slightly. He knew what a dhow was - a light ship, probably could double as a fishing vessel almost. Single masted, with only a minimal compliment of marines. In short, something even a liburnian could easily crush. Numbers went through his bureaucratic mind. Finally, sums arrived at solutions, and he nodded.
40 liburnians and 20 biremes. Easily a more powerful force, considering that each Roman bireme had at least two siphons for naptha and a full compliment of siphonarioi to properly man them. Romanos had no doubt that most of hte siphons on the small Beni Halal ships, if they were manned at all, were run by impressed merchantmen, sailors who would know little about the intricacies of handling, let alone firing, the volatile naptha. It would solve Kaukadenos' immediate problem, and give Thrakesios more time to find a way, within his legal limits, to help his friend, and thus himself, even more.
Neither man said a word for a second, but Romanos told Kaukadenos everything he needed to know by his large, confident smile.
Romanos nodded after a second, then slid his chair back and stood. "I'll see what I can do," he said aloud, extending a hand to his friend. "In the meantime, God keep you safe and well, Basilieos."
"You too, Romanos," Kaukadenos smiled, giving the proffered hand a hearty and heartfelt shake.
=============================================================== =====================================
The double headed eagle was not only a symbol of the Empire, but of the Ecumenical Patriarchate as well.
Manuel slid his pawn forward and smiled.
The Prince had played chess many times - it was one of his favorite hobbies - but he could never say he had played chess here against this opponent.
Few people could say that they played chess within the alcoves of the Patriarch's Palace, a small but impressive building in the shadow of the great Hagia Sophia, and even fewer could say that they had played chess against the Ecumenical Patriarch of Konstantinopolis. Old Anathasios was a chess-lover as well, and what was on the surface a visit where Manuel would receive the thanks of the Patriarch for restoring Alexandria into communion with Konstantinopolis, had also given the two a chance to test their skills against each other. So far, it had been a true test of titans.
"You play chess well, for someone so young," Anathasios smiled. The Patriarch had aged greatly, deep wrinkles lined a care-worn face. Most of his chest was hidden by a gray beard filled with long strands of white. The Patriarch's knight came out to counter Manuel's move.
"Thank you, Father," Manuel nodded and smiled. He responded with an advance by his own knight.
"I heard the Emperor is foolishly upset at you," the Patriarch said quietly, moving his knight forward. "You restored the Alexandrian Patriarchate to its rightful owner, and back in communion with us. Such deserves reward and praise, not punishment."
"Indeed, Father," Manuel scratched the tiniest outline of a beard that were forming on his chin, before beginning his own attack with a rook. "It puzzles me why my brother punishes me so. Why would he fear his own kin would seize power?"
The Patriarch smiled smugly, before moving his bishop to counter. "Your brother has many secrets, Manuel. And there are those that would seek to exploit those secrets. Especially if those secrets were grievous sins."
Manuel laughed softly. "Really? Stodgy, bookwormish Nikolaios?" The young man openly laughed. "Father, for a man of the cloth, you have a good sense of humor..." One of Manuel's knights ambushed the bishop.
"I do not jest," the Patriarch said, scratching his beard and looking at the board. Finally, after some indecision, he moved out his queen to stop the assault he saw coming. "I have heard and seen immense evidence of his great sins. He brings disrepute and disrespect to the Throne through his actions."
"Actions? So they are ongoing?" Manuel asked, quickly moving a knight forward.
"For the sins he has done, I can only imagine they are ongoing. You must understand," the Patriarch said, shifting his knight further forward, "having someone of his ilk sit on the Throne of the Caesars is an affront to God Himself."
"Really?" Manuel said, swooping down and capturing the Patriarch's queen. Anathasios' face went aghast. "I have heard many things too. Is it true what a little birdie told me, that Nikolaios had a carnal affair with his friend and confidante Ioannis Thrakesios?"
Anathasios stopped in mid reach for his king.
"Who told you that?"
"People formerly a part of the Imperial Court," Manuel smirked, before looking at the board. "You can move your king into two places, Father, to the left or directly ahead. The former means I have checkmate in two moves, the latter means it will take four. Pick the shorter route, it will save us time. Then we can start another game."
Anathaios pulled back his hand and sighed in admiration. "You might have me, young Komnenos."
"And the answer to my question?" At the Patriarch's silence, Manuel leaned forward. "Father, both you and I know you knew about this a long time before. I merely want to know, for my own edification, if the rumor is true or not. No word of your statment to me will reach the ears of my brother. If necessary, I am willing to swear an oath."
"Yes," the Patriarch said after a moment, and leaned back. "It is true."
"And you have evidence?" Manuel quickly added.
"Yes."
The Prince of Aswan leaned back, and shook his head. "Amazing. The rumors about Christophoros make sense then," Manuel sighed, then looked at the Patriarch. "Something must be done, Father. We can't have that kind of sin hanging over the throne."
For a second the old man's eyes lit up, but his face kept an even, unchanging expression. "Really?"
"If Christophoros moves against my brother, Father, I plan on moving as the Church moves," Manuel said simply.
The Patriarch calmly reached forward and moved his king directly ahead. "And why should I believe you when you say that?
Indeed, why should I believe anything you say? Word of your skill at ruses has spread quick, young Komnenos," Anathasios smiled, and nodded towards the Chalice of St. Mark, a relic recovered from the Latin Patriarchs and returned to its rightful place, in the domain of the Ecumenical Patriarch.
"Why would I lie to you, Father, and thus lie before God?" Manuel asked, swooping in with his own queen to erase the Patriarch's bishop. "You are the Ecumenical Patriarch, Father, above the temporal squabbles that we Princes enter," Manuel said, "I can only hope that through the proper acts of penance and contrition, the sins of my family can be made up in the eyes of the Church, and the eyes of God."
The Patriarch moved his king again, dodging the immediate trap of Manuel's newly arrived queen. "I am sure, through some acts of penance, those sins could be made up."
"Christophoros has already promised you many, so I've heard. For one, the Ecumenical Patriarchate has long held claim to Thessalonika, a city that is in dire need of God's guidance," Manuel said, then moved his rook leaving the Patriarch with one direction to move his king. "A new Patriarchate in Africa as well, and lands belonging to the Churches of Antioch, Jerusalem and Alexandria being returned to their proper spiritual owners."
The Patriarch moved his king. "He is a good Christian. He has promised the Church many things, and the Church will bless him and thank him for all that he has done for it and the Empire - he has sinned often but come back to the fold, unlike the Emperor, who has not confessed nor repented of his great sins. Should a contest arise between the repentant sinner and the remorseless one, surely the children of God should support those who do God's work."
Manuel slid his knight into position, and the chess game was over. The Patriarch was trapped.
======================= ==========================
How has Manuel trapped the Patriarch? Will Nikolaios find out that a fleet is headed Christophoros' way? Find out, when Rome AARisen returns!
Well, this was originally supposed to be a teaser, but then it grew into a full scene that needed its own post. There'll be another teaser after this (probably this weekend), then we'll be back on schedule.
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January 17th, 1140
Litters were a well known sight within the city of Konstantinopolis. Everyone, if they were a person of even moderate note, was borne about in a litter. So no one gave any thought to yet another veiled litter, richly adorned and hauled by eight strong, well built Africans, moving through the streets of the city. When the litter finally stopped and was lowered however, people might have given note to how the occupant looked, once he emerged.
Lord Basilieos Kaukadenos was a man of immensely regal bearing - tall in stature, deep in voice, he looked straight from some heroic tale of how a powerful, wise and just lord should look. He was always dressed in the finest of silks, enough to show his station but not enough to over-do things, and was temperate and just in his conduct and behavior. Even his very name - Basilieos, conveyed a sense of majesty.
Lord Basilieios Kaukadenos, Sebasodomestikos of the Imperial Army
It was a tragic twist of fate that his wits did not match his looks.
Calling Kaukadenos a fool would be far too harsh, even inaccurate - he was not stupid, nor was he plodding, he simply lacked the sheer brilliance the likes of Siddiqa Mazin, or Nikolaios Komnenos possessed. However, he possessed one trait that Christophoros knew was in dire shortage within the dynatoi of Romanion - loyalty. Unswerving, unyielding loyalty.
Christophoros knew he could trust whatever came out of Kaukadenos' mouth, and while he could not be trusted to hatch and form plots of his own, the Megos Domestikos knew that Kaukadenos would diligently keep track of what he learned, and report all of it faithfully back. Indeed, he and Christophoros had been friends for many years.
Kaukadenos was not without other merits as well. He had risen through the Imperial ranks, becoming Sebastodomestikos, second in command of the Imperial military. He was tactically unimaginative, but extremely brave, often leading charges in person and all sorts of other actions that Nikolaios would have dismissed as rash. However, this boldness and recklessness on the battlefield had given Kaukadenos a following of sorts amongst the military, who always appreciated leaders who actually led from the front, instead of from a silken divan in the Great Palace.
But as the most trusted confidante of Christophoros Komnenos, here he was in the Queen of Cities, to fetch a fleet and to gauge support for the Megos Domestikos after a campaign that should have taken only six months had now entered its third year.
What he had found alarmed him. The Princes of the realm were mostly busy with their own internal squabbles, and it seemed only a few were still openly discussing rebellion. That was the bad news. The good news was that the Emperor was regarded in a similarly ambivalent attitude. Few of the dynatoi felt sufficiently inclined to stick their neck out for anyone, which boded well for Christophoros, slightly. If the Komnenid heirs stayed their hand, he'd have the full support of five dynatoi, versus the Emperor's three.
Slim odds for a civil war, given that the Megos Domestikos was having issues in Africa. Especially slim with the defenses of the city itself.
The city of Konstantinopolis, situated as it was on a peninsula between the Bosphorus and the Gold Horn, was impregnable by land - the Theodosian Walls had never been breached. Along the seaward sides of the city ran a single wall, about twenty feet high. It was a formidable defense, but unlike the Theodosian Walls, it was breachable. Yet so long as the great dromons and galleys of the Thrakia Stolos remained in the Golden Horn, ready to sally and crush any invading fleet that tried to bring soldiers to those walls, the city was effectively unconquerable.
Yet another reason why Christophoros needed a fleet, and why Basilieos Kaukadenos now stood at the gates of one of the newest villas on the edge of the city, one graced by the form of an eagle bearing a cross and a sword in its talons - the symbol of House Thrakesios, whose current patriarch, Romanos Thrakesios, Prince of Bosnia, was Megas Doux - commander of the Imperial Navy.
It was still small by Konstantinopolis standards even - most of the dynatoi had only comparatively small homes in the city itself, for their massive estates lay in their provinces - and by the workmen scurrying about, it was clear construction was ongoing. A doorman noticed Kaukadenos outside, and smiled in recognition. The gates were opened immediately.
Kaukadenos found himself ushered inside with great speed, and within five minutes, found himself before the master of the household, who greeted him in his study with a beaming smile and a dirty shirt that showed he had been supervising the construction before Basilieos' arrival.
"Well met, good friend," the Megas Doux smiled and gestured towards the seat. Kaukadenos sank into the soft silk pillows of the chair and smiled. It certainly felt far better than the saddle of a horse.
Romanos Thrakesios - Prince of Bosnia, Megas Doux
Romanos Thrakesios was not a tall man, but neither was he short. He wasn't handsome, nor foul, neither loud, nor softspoken. He was average, through and through, in looks and temperment. The eldest survivor of six males, and at the age of 41 he had taken his father's title of Prince of Bosnia on the death of Isaakios during the winter of 1138, and had been appointed Megas Doux the same year. He was a consumate bureaucrat, efficiently organizing resources for the fleet and its maintenance.
"So, this is your new home?" Kaukadenos looked around appreciatively at the rich, yet tasteful decor and bright, new tapestries hanging from the walls. "A far cry from the hovel your father lived in!"
Romanos laughed, "Yes, that horrid thing, filled with dust and always the smell of hobnails, leather and steel. As you can see, we've become civilized now."
"I see, Megas Doux! Allow me to congratulate you, even if the congratulations are late!"
Romanos nodded in thanks, as servants brought wine and fruit for them. "So, tell me," Thrakesios said some time later, when the two had stuffed themselves with grapes reminiscing about serving under Thrakesios' father and other old times, "what brings an old soldier like you all the way from dusty Africa to Konstantinopolis? It could not have been just to see me!"
Kaukadenos started to open his mouth, thought for a moment, then went ahead anyway. "We need a fleet," Kaukadenos said quietly. "Tunis still holds, and so long as King Aarif can bring in fresh food and water by sea, the city cannot be taken. We have tried engines, ruses, and the soil is too loose for mining the walls. We need ships!"
"Why have you not asked the Emperor for ships?" Thrakesios asked.
"The Emperor refused us," Kaukadenos sighed.
"Refused you? Why?" Romanos set his goblet down, his face turning grim. "Because he fears his brother will come back victorious and usurp him?"
Romanos himself had wondered if that was what the Megos Domestikos was planning, but he'd never had the gall to ask Christophoros openly. He had no doubt that Christophoros was more resolute and more militarily capable than the Emperor - if it should come to blows, there was little doubt who would turn out on top. For his part, Romanos prayed Christophoros would reign - it would be a militarily strong ruler, who would let the dynatoi do as they wished, and as a member of the 'new blood' amongst the Princes, someone who was sympathetic to the side of the neodynatoi was helpful as well. Yet as appealing as that would be, bureaucratic orderliness went against coups of any shape and kind. It was an ugly conundrum.
"Exactly that," Kaukadenos looked at Romanos out of the corner of his eyes. "But we need the fleet."
Romanos started to open his mouth, then closed it.
"I know it is a great deal to ask," Kaukadenos said, "but I prefer to be frank and honest with those I hold dear. Even if you could spare thirty, maybe even twenty dromons, that might be enough!"
"The Emperor has spoken explicitly against any of the dromons, quadremes or other true warships sailing to Beni Halal," Romanos coughed. "He fears the Cumans are preparing a fleet behind the Kerch Strait, and he is always wary of the Venetians, and the Normans."
Quadremes were powerful warships with two banks of oars and multiple rowers per oar. If tarides and dromons would be considered the battleships of the Roman fleet, these sleek, powerful vessels were the heavy cruisers of their day.
"You know, and I know, the Cumans couldn't build a fleet if God himself came down from the Heavens and told them to build an ark!" Kaukadenos spat.
Romanos sighed. Kaukadenos was right, but he had his orders. The backbone of the Imperial fleet - all of his dromons, and many of its other heavy galleys, were to remain in the Golden Horn and the Aegean ports. Some 400 warships, sitting idle, on the order of the Emperor.
"Perhaps you could persuade the Emperor to change his orders?" Kaukadenos pressed. "Africa would make an excellent naval base to back up those in Sicily against the Normans, and it would allow Imperial dromons at a place where they could exert influence out to Spain. Not to mention," Kaukadenos added, "a pincer on the Normans would remove a bulwark of the Venetians - at least that is how I understand it."
Romanos nodded as his face took on a pained expression. For several moments he sat, pondering what he course he should take. Loyalty demanded obeying the emperor, but the Emperor's orders had only specified the heavy dromons, quadiremes and triremes. Romanos also wanted to help his friend, and a cause that would help his family, and the Emperors order said nothing about the lighter vessels - single decked liburnians, or biremes.
A Roman bireme. With two banks of oars, fast yet powerful, biremes were medium sized warships within the Roman fleet
"How powerful are the ships guarding the supplies of Beni Halal?" Romanos asked after a moment.
"Dhows mostly," Kaukadenos shrugged. "Few have any kind of siphons for naptha, and they are far smaller than a true Roman ship. I know only a little about such things. They have perhaps 40 or 50 ships, that is all."
Romanos smiled slightly. He knew what a dhow was - a light ship, probably could double as a fishing vessel almost. Single masted, with only a minimal compliment of marines. In short, something even a liburnian could easily crush. Numbers went through his bureaucratic mind. Finally, sums arrived at solutions, and he nodded.
40 liburnians and 20 biremes. Easily a more powerful force, considering that each Roman bireme had at least two siphons for naptha and a full compliment of siphonarioi to properly man them. Romanos had no doubt that most of hte siphons on the small Beni Halal ships, if they were manned at all, were run by impressed merchantmen, sailors who would know little about the intricacies of handling, let alone firing, the volatile naptha. It would solve Kaukadenos' immediate problem, and give Thrakesios more time to find a way, within his legal limits, to help his friend, and thus himself, even more.
Neither man said a word for a second, but Romanos told Kaukadenos everything he needed to know by his large, confident smile.
Romanos nodded after a second, then slid his chair back and stood. "I'll see what I can do," he said aloud, extending a hand to his friend. "In the meantime, God keep you safe and well, Basilieos."
"You too, Romanos," Kaukadenos smiled, giving the proffered hand a hearty and heartfelt shake.
=============================================================== =====================================
The double headed eagle was not only a symbol of the Empire, but of the Ecumenical Patriarchate as well.
Manuel slid his pawn forward and smiled.
The Prince had played chess many times - it was one of his favorite hobbies - but he could never say he had played chess here against this opponent.
Few people could say that they played chess within the alcoves of the Patriarch's Palace, a small but impressive building in the shadow of the great Hagia Sophia, and even fewer could say that they had played chess against the Ecumenical Patriarch of Konstantinopolis. Old Anathasios was a chess-lover as well, and what was on the surface a visit where Manuel would receive the thanks of the Patriarch for restoring Alexandria into communion with Konstantinopolis, had also given the two a chance to test their skills against each other. So far, it had been a true test of titans.
"You play chess well, for someone so young," Anathasios smiled. The Patriarch had aged greatly, deep wrinkles lined a care-worn face. Most of his chest was hidden by a gray beard filled with long strands of white. The Patriarch's knight came out to counter Manuel's move.
"Thank you, Father," Manuel nodded and smiled. He responded with an advance by his own knight.
"I heard the Emperor is foolishly upset at you," the Patriarch said quietly, moving his knight forward. "You restored the Alexandrian Patriarchate to its rightful owner, and back in communion with us. Such deserves reward and praise, not punishment."
"Indeed, Father," Manuel scratched the tiniest outline of a beard that were forming on his chin, before beginning his own attack with a rook. "It puzzles me why my brother punishes me so. Why would he fear his own kin would seize power?"
The Patriarch smiled smugly, before moving his bishop to counter. "Your brother has many secrets, Manuel. And there are those that would seek to exploit those secrets. Especially if those secrets were grievous sins."
Manuel laughed softly. "Really? Stodgy, bookwormish Nikolaios?" The young man openly laughed. "Father, for a man of the cloth, you have a good sense of humor..." One of Manuel's knights ambushed the bishop.
"I do not jest," the Patriarch said, scratching his beard and looking at the board. Finally, after some indecision, he moved out his queen to stop the assault he saw coming. "I have heard and seen immense evidence of his great sins. He brings disrepute and disrespect to the Throne through his actions."
"Actions? So they are ongoing?" Manuel asked, quickly moving a knight forward.
"For the sins he has done, I can only imagine they are ongoing. You must understand," the Patriarch said, shifting his knight further forward, "having someone of his ilk sit on the Throne of the Caesars is an affront to God Himself."
"Really?" Manuel said, swooping down and capturing the Patriarch's queen. Anathasios' face went aghast. "I have heard many things too. Is it true what a little birdie told me, that Nikolaios had a carnal affair with his friend and confidante Ioannis Thrakesios?"
Anathasios stopped in mid reach for his king.
"Who told you that?"
"People formerly a part of the Imperial Court," Manuel smirked, before looking at the board. "You can move your king into two places, Father, to the left or directly ahead. The former means I have checkmate in two moves, the latter means it will take four. Pick the shorter route, it will save us time. Then we can start another game."
Anathaios pulled back his hand and sighed in admiration. "You might have me, young Komnenos."
"And the answer to my question?" At the Patriarch's silence, Manuel leaned forward. "Father, both you and I know you knew about this a long time before. I merely want to know, for my own edification, if the rumor is true or not. No word of your statment to me will reach the ears of my brother. If necessary, I am willing to swear an oath."
"Yes," the Patriarch said after a moment, and leaned back. "It is true."
"And you have evidence?" Manuel quickly added.
"Yes."
The Prince of Aswan leaned back, and shook his head. "Amazing. The rumors about Christophoros make sense then," Manuel sighed, then looked at the Patriarch. "Something must be done, Father. We can't have that kind of sin hanging over the throne."
For a second the old man's eyes lit up, but his face kept an even, unchanging expression. "Really?"
"If Christophoros moves against my brother, Father, I plan on moving as the Church moves," Manuel said simply.
The Patriarch calmly reached forward and moved his king directly ahead. "And why should I believe you when you say that?
Indeed, why should I believe anything you say? Word of your skill at ruses has spread quick, young Komnenos," Anathasios smiled, and nodded towards the Chalice of St. Mark, a relic recovered from the Latin Patriarchs and returned to its rightful place, in the domain of the Ecumenical Patriarch.
"Why would I lie to you, Father, and thus lie before God?" Manuel asked, swooping in with his own queen to erase the Patriarch's bishop. "You are the Ecumenical Patriarch, Father, above the temporal squabbles that we Princes enter," Manuel said, "I can only hope that through the proper acts of penance and contrition, the sins of my family can be made up in the eyes of the Church, and the eyes of God."
The Patriarch moved his king again, dodging the immediate trap of Manuel's newly arrived queen. "I am sure, through some acts of penance, those sins could be made up."
"Christophoros has already promised you many, so I've heard. For one, the Ecumenical Patriarchate has long held claim to Thessalonika, a city that is in dire need of God's guidance," Manuel said, then moved his rook leaving the Patriarch with one direction to move his king. "A new Patriarchate in Africa as well, and lands belonging to the Churches of Antioch, Jerusalem and Alexandria being returned to their proper spiritual owners."
The Patriarch moved his king. "He is a good Christian. He has promised the Church many things, and the Church will bless him and thank him for all that he has done for it and the Empire - he has sinned often but come back to the fold, unlike the Emperor, who has not confessed nor repented of his great sins. Should a contest arise between the repentant sinner and the remorseless one, surely the children of God should support those who do God's work."
Manuel slid his knight into position, and the chess game was over. The Patriarch was trapped.
======================= ==========================
How has Manuel trapped the Patriarch? Will Nikolaios find out that a fleet is headed Christophoros' way? Find out, when Rome AARisen returns!
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Good. The Church and the Empire are one, and you can't have one undermining the other.
Manuel might want to displace Nikolaios but it would be far wiser to flush out the politically-inclined churchmen and be rid of them. That way when he makes his way to the top, there'll be one less thing to worry about.
Manuel might want to displace Nikolaios but it would be far wiser to flush out the politically-inclined churchmen and be rid of them. That way when he makes his way to the top, there'll be one less thing to worry about.