Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR
- Thread starter General_BT
- Start date
-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Marvelous progression in the story. Finally we get to see the much-alluded-to Eirene and her Mongolian nemesis 
Eirene sounds really badass, and I love how she uses her useless husband.
The religious situation is also intriguing. Will Egypt stay heretic? Should the Romans ever get their hands on the place, there would be killing and fire when the Orthodox inquisition tries to root out the Aionite "heresy".
Eirene sounds really badass, and I love how she uses her useless husband. The religious situation is also intriguing. Will Egypt stay heretic? Should the Romans ever get their hands on the place, there would be killing and fire when the Orthodox inquisition tries to root out the Aionite "heresy".
Wait, isn't Aionism a breakaway religion from Islam? Like Christianity from Judaism.
Yes it was, but I believe that it also has much more in commen with Christianity than Islam does.
The earliest beginnings of Aionism, IIRC, came to be after the Thomasine emperors conquered Mecca and Medina, the Muslim Holy cities, which is something Islam claimed couldn't happen; some sort of religious strife was bound to appear when Christianity conquered the Holy Cities of Islam, and BT handled it quite nicely. Aionism, as I understand it, also presents a fusion of sorts, of some of the Muslim and Christian beliefs, that was bound to happen when the renewed Roman (and even more importantly, Christian) Empire came in possession of such vast Muslim lands.
That would be quite novel to the Orthodox. If RL history is any indication, rooting out of heresy will be firmly in the agency of the secular lords, who will coordinate with the church; which is why this situation is interesting, the secular lords are disagreeing with the Church. The Empire hasn't faced this kind of thing since the days of Iconoclasm.
Well it certainly wasn't the Orthodox way in our timeline, but that doesn't mean it couldn't have been. In our timeline the Orthodox lands had, by this point, either been conquered by Muslims or were under constant assault. In the end the Patriarch of Constantinople even wound up a sort of puppet of the Ottoman Empire. In short, the Church simply didn't have the power, resources or motive to establish an Inquisition.
But in this timeline, the Church is a powerful, rich and well centralized organisation with a clear threat to its power. The loss of Egypt (one of the oldest converted lands) must be a stinging defeat to the Church that already is providing a powerful incentive to fight back. Add to that the current power vacuum the Empire is still experiencing and the Church could potentially make such a move in spite of Imperial protests.
Yeah, but as far as I know, Inquisition was such a fearful force because they were given full powers by a central authority of Pope, and while Patriarch of Constantinople is powerful he still is traditionally first among equals. So you would need ALL Patriarchs (and probably all bishops and metropolitan too) to agree with the plan, because they could all to easily shut down any too zealous Inquisitor. Besides, this isn't the first time Eastern Christianity faced a theological rift, and even then things didn't escalate beyond excommunication and throwing monks of not supported creed out. Any actual physical deeds were always to be done by the local secular authority, if they want to.
I don't say there won't be mobs out there going out for Aionite blood, but such an institutionalized persecution of different denominations, isn't according to the creed or experiance of the church. After all the church has been living together with Muslims and Miaphysites and other religions for quite some time in relative peace. What mostly pisses them off is that Aionites are claiming to be Christians, and part of the Orthodox Church, and in their eyes Aionite heretical ideas are seemingly forced upon them.
I don't say there won't be mobs out there going out for Aionite blood, but such an institutionalized persecution of different denominations, isn't according to the creed or experiance of the church. After all the church has been living together with Muslims and Miaphysites and other religions for quite some time in relative peace. What mostly pisses them off is that Aionites are claiming to be Christians, and part of the Orthodox Church, and in their eyes Aionite heretical ideas are seemingly forced upon them.
Great as always, but I too must ask.
What's the name of Petros son, and does he have any brothers? (not counting the bastards) =)
What's the name of Petros son, and does he have any brothers? (not counting the bastards) =)
First, I want to apologize. I started some replies, but I have been called into work, so I didn't have time to finish. So in the meantime, I'll leave you with the next update and I'll post replies later on when I have a chance!
“It is a wise mans part, rather to avoid sickness, than to wishe for medicines.” - Guillaume d'Ockham
May 17th, 1326
Andronikos II, Megas Komnenos, looked outside the window of this small, confined study and sighed. The weather outside was crisp and cool, and a pleasant breeze blew through the window from the Marmara. It was a fine day, just like the day of the grand processional into Konstantinopolis, marking the union of 'Romanion' into a 'single state' under two emperors. And today, like that day, Andronikos could only think of how much he wanted to simply go on a hunt.
The grand processional a month prior had cost almost a year's income from the treasury—nothing less would do, in Andronikos' mind, to celebrate reuniting Italy and Africa with the Empire. His empire. Mother Church, of course, insisted that the coming Council, finally scheduled to commence on New Year's Day, 1328, would be an even grander affair, but Andronikos hoped Leo's entry into the city would dwarf anything those pompous prelates could put together.
The amount of glitter, gold, and brocade was enormous. While the various mystikoi in the bureaucracy screamed about the cost, Andronikos' uncaring Logothetes ton genikou, Kaleb abd-Hinnawi, had blithely signed off on the spending. The Emperors both rode chargers in full barding, Leo's steel traced with gold, Andronikos' fully gold plated with silver tracings. They also wore gilded armor and helms, but Andronikos alone was allowed to wear the cloak and boats of tyrian purple that marked the High Emperor of the Roman world—Leo had to make due with 'Syrian purple,' a shade darker blue than Andronikos' fine trappings.
A month of feasts and banquets followed, a time of bonding, merriment and carousing for the high and mighty of two disparate realms who were now joined by the alliance of their masters, but almost as important, it was a time where the two joint rulers of the Roman world, as well as their closest advisers, could plan how they would completely unite the Komnenid Empire. Alexios still thumbed his nose at union from the safety of mighty Spain, and his ships still harassed trade in the Western Mediterranean. 'That damned fool in Spain' was the occasion why Andronikos was now locked in a room with his elder brother, instead of hunting in that lovely spring weather.
And he hated it.
“So,” Leo Komnenos, Autokrator ton Romanion, sat down opposite his younger brother. “Where's the famed Kaleb abd-Hinnawi?” Leo looked around bemused.
"Not here," Andronikos nodded, and servants filled all three goblets with wine. “He's in the Megara, cataloging the specimens in the menagerie. It's work for my next book. He whined like a bitch in heat until I handed his regular duties over to a logothetes,” he laughed. “I still give him the treasury salary," the Megas Komnenos snorted. "It keeps him in the palace doing useful things!"
"Ah," Leo looked momentarily, before taking a sip. "A pity, I was hoping to meet this man you described as the 'Sage for all Ages.' He must have an incredible intellect, brother, if he almost persuaded you into defying the will of Mother Church..."
“If Mother Church is led by close minded fools, shouldn't we defy Mother Church?” Andronikos shot back.
"Let's...look to the future, Majesties, not the past," d'Ockham physically stepped between them with a smile.
Thank you, Guillaume, else I might have had to put my fist into my 'dear colleague's' chin. "Yes," Andronikos nodded, trying his best to smile after his brother's rude words, "the past is forever gone, washed away. We two have the future to look forward to."
"Indeed," Leo smiled as well, his eyes also showing ice and snow. "Well," the Autokrator sighed and sat down, "if I may not see the famous Kaleb abd-Hinnawi, then perhaps I shall be able to see the ancient ibn Taymiyya? They say he still lives in a...gilded cage somewhere in the city?"
"He left," Guillaume quickly said, glancing only momentarily at Andronikos. "His Majesty asked him to leave the city, and gave him documents and letters of introduction for safe passage to the land of the Turks, in India."
"Ah," Leo smiled then. "An accident is waiting for him then?"
"No accident," Andronikos sat down as well. It would be wrong to ill-treat a brave man like that. "Safe passage means safe passage. If there are any accidents it will be Master Taymiyya's doing, not mine. I know," Andronikos spoke over Leo's sputters, "he raised armies against me. He' was a threat. Was. Now, he's an old man who wants to write in retirement. What harm could he do to us in India? Besides," Andronikos kicked his chair back, "Perhaps the Persians will do something to him for us, and spark more trouble in their own realm."
"Perhaps," Leo looked to the left. Not easy to please, this one, Andronikos thought sourly. "What of our plans in Italy?" Leo asked, setting his wine down. “My sources in Spain say that Alexios has made contracts with the Capets and the Scots for ships, and is building fleets in Cadiz and Barcelona. My own ships have tried to penetrate both harbors, but...” the Autokrator shrugged sadly. “They even stopped a fireship attack at Barcelona. It won't be this year, but next year, or the year after, Alexios will have a great host of ships, one the Dytikos alone can't match. We need the Italian states, and we...”
“...need their ships, I know,” Andronikos hissed. They should all be cut down, just as Thomas I and II did! The Italians north of Rome had a long history of semi-independent city-states and duchies before they were brought back into the Roman Empire. It must be the vile Lombard blood still in their veins, the Emperor mused. The city-states for now were under the suzerainty of Gerhard von Franken, brother-in-law to the Emperor, and a man openly talking to the Pope in Trier about restarting the empty title of “King of the Romans,” and “Holy Roman Emperor.”
That tickled Andronikos' ire. First, the von Frankens had started calling themselves Rigas ton Italikon, “King of Italy,” without asking imperial permission. Then they began to call themselves 'Hohenfrankens,' a 'high' dynasty with open ambitions for the title “King of Germany,” as well as the defunct “King of the Romans.” King of the Romans? What does that make me? Andronikos fumed. These High von Frankens had run amok long enough—it was time for the imperial sword to pare their ambitions—and Leo, untied to their family as it were, made the perfect blade to shave their influence in fractious northern Italy.
“I'm sending Petros west with a taxarchia,” Andronikos sipped his wine, then winced. Cretan crap!
“Just a taxarchia?” Leo started to complain. “I was informed...”
“I need the bulk of my forces here in the east,” Andronikos waved off his brother's concern. “The von Frankens have rivals in Wurttemburg and all other parts of Germany—their forces are split. That Persian witch has gone so far as to make the Yemenis pay her tribute, and Muscat is hers. She even took an island called...”
“Qahlat, Majesty,” d'Ockham offered.
“Kallahat,” Andronikos winced as his tongue shattered the pronunciation, “which is a very strategic location for a fleet, so I am told! I tell you, brother,” Andronikos stabbed a finger in the air, “she means to at least cut into the Red Sea Trade, if not lure all our merchants east to fatten her own coffers!”
“For what ends?” d'Ockham asked.
“War! That's what ends!” Andronikos snapped. God, you're a dolt at times! “I've got the damn Danes to the north, and Egypt, all in addition to your 'Hohenfrankens' or whatever they're calling themselves now and Alexios!" You have two threats now, I have dozens! The Danes, Persia, Angelos, Skalites, ach! A shot of pain raced across his temple--the first volley of a barrage that would become yet another headache. Why do they always come when the old man is out doing something for me?
"Is everything alright?" Andronikos heard Guillaume ask.
He's a good friend, a loyal friend. "Yes," Andronikos rubbed his temples gently. Maybe I can hold it off by myself, just for a while. "Just a slight headache is all. Forgive me, brother, I am under a great deal of stress, as you imagine."
"No offense taken, brother," Leo said, face furrowed with concern. "If you wish, I can send some of my physicians..."
"No, not necessary!" Andronikos waved his hand. They'll probably poison me, that's what you'd want! Just like all the others! "Thank you, though, brother. To the business at hand," he said. Maybe that'll distract them both. "Petros will have a full taxarchia, brother. 25,000 men in ten tagmata, half standing and half thematakoi. Not that there's much difference between the two nowadays. That should be more than enough, with your Persians, to put the von Frankens to shame and get the Italian cities to sign treaties with you--alliance, friendship, mutual defense." He grimaced. God, what have we become? Making treaties with the damn Italians? My ancestors put them to the sword!
"I was hoping we could pressure the great mercantile powers of Venice and Genoa into treaties of alliance," Leo said hopefully. "They were already 'imperial cities.' We'll have to grant them full autonomy, perhaps even sovreignty..."
"We need the prows of their galleys," Andronikos grunted. Those prows will keep Alexios at bay, while we consolidate North Africa. "Once we've got things under control, we can send in a few tagmata to renegotiate, as it were."
"As you say," Leo sighed. "And what of Egypt and Persia? You seem...confident...that this Eirene has designs on your lands, and the Egyptians, I understand, are being as stubborn as ever... you, I mean we, need their grain. Sicily can fill the gap some, but we have Karthagion, Rome, and Napoli to feed..."
"I know," Andronikos took a full gulp from his cup. Believe me, I know! "That ancient dog Isaakios is still demanding an elevation to Basilieus and 'Protectorship of Arabia' if we don't admit his clergymen to the Church Council. Says that rat Manuel gave him Sebastokrator but he finds it 'insufficient to govern his realm.' Insufficient?! And he wants Basilieus?!" Andronikos huffed, and downed the rest of the wine. "The nerve! From a provincial son of a whore, no less!"
"Pah," Leo offered his opinion. "You've told him no, I trust?"
"We are attempting to get him to accept Rigas ton Aiguptikon instead," d'Ockham artfully spoke in the gap. "Of course, this means we'll have to modify the treaty we signed with you, Majesty," the bishop nodded to Leo, "to make sure your children retain the title of Rigas as well. Better than Rigas in fact." He looked over to Andronikos. Panrigas? Hyperigas?"
"Something of that sort," Andronikos nodded. The first waves of pain were already crashing through his brain. "No matter. Either way, your progeny will most definitely be superior in station to those of that... goat-sucking slob."
"That's perfectly acceptable," Leo nodded as well. Good, Andronikos thought, Don't think for a second you can come a-begging for a title of purple for them too. "What about Persia?" the junior emperor asked.
"Indeed, what about Persia?" Andronikos echoed the question as servants filled his cup. It's not the best, but at least its not Cretan. “Skalites has some contacts in the court at Sarai,” Andronikos leaned forward and grinned, “that have connections to Samarkand. I'm going to send word to our dear cousin Papaz that if he should press his son's claim to Persia and his lost princess, that Romanion will back him to the hilt, with force if needbe...”
“War? With Persia? Why would...” Leo started to complain, “...ah! You clever man. You have no intention of helping Transoxania, do you?”
“None in the slightest,” Andronikos leaned back once more, this time putting his feet on the table. He glanced off in d'Ockham's direction, and caught a glimpse of Guillaume's blanched face. Dislike it all you like, Bishop. You can afford to keep your hands clean. I can't. "Faraud isn't strong by any means, but it will certainly be enough to keep Persia busy while we solidify Italy and then move against Alexios jointly. If we're lucky, the whole mess could spread to the Mongols in Sarai, maybe even the Danes...”
“If only fortune were so kind,” Leo swirled his goblet before taking a sip.
“I don't believe in fortune,” Andronikos said. “I believe in myself.”
January 25th, 1328
'Hans' closed his eyes in the cool winter wind. IT was still strange to him, how it bit into his face, but not his body—the press of the crowds went beyond forming a windbreak, it formed an island of heat from his shoulders down. A man bumped into his side—he turned, feigned fury on his face like any true resident of The City would only to see an aged man in the blue and gold of a bishop from the Patriarchate of Jerusalem. Hans excused himself hastily, then turned and cursed under his breath, just like a native would. For today, his name was Gian Grimaldi, a resident of the Genoese Quarter. Tomorrow, if all went well, he would be 'Hans' in Chrysopolis, then 'Ioannis' thereafter.
The cleric soon disappeared in the push and crush of the crowd, just like so many others Hans had literally run into during his walk to the Megara. It wasn't surprising—clergymen were smothering the city like flies in summer. The city had been abuzz for years about the coming Council, and near chaos ensued when the long awaited Conclave of Christianity finally convened nearly three weeks before. Bishops from Lisboa to Mazadaram had been filing through the streets of the Queen of Cities since the August previous, their numbers growing by the day until the Augusteon was daily filled with the kaleidoscope of colors of clergy from all the Patriarchates in the One Holy Apostolic Church. Along with the bishops and their representatives came multitudes of onlookers—peasants from outlying Thrace come to see the spectacle, learned men from around the Empire seeking to offer their expert opinion, bureaucrats, lawyers, nobles, merchants—it seemed the entire detritus of humanity the Komnenid world could offer had descended on already packed streets.
Hans slipped through the crowd as a knife worked through steaming suet. While many sought one of the mighty Churches of the city, Hans slipped under the shadow of the towering Hagia Sophia and Hagia Eirene, past hurrying metropolitans and their scurrying scribes, towards the bronze doors to the great Megara. A pair of distracted guardsmen gave his papers only a cursory read, and a moment later the press of the crowd was long gone, replaced by the sounds of birds and the rustle of leaves inside the imperial menagerie. Quiet eyes looked around for only a few moments.
There he was, standing before a great grey beast marked by a single enormous horn. Hans flicked his dagger from the sheath that had held it under his sleeves.
The man was fat, just as his master said. Hans looked down at his dagger, and wondered if it would be long enough. Or will I, like Ehud, lose my blade in my mark? He really didn't want to lose the dagger. It had a nice heft, and was balanced for both stabbing and throwing. It'd be a waste... 100 silver solidii lost to blubber. The killer slid the dagger back inside, and started towards his target.
“Master abd-Hinnawi?” he asked, throwing in a slight Italian accent to seal his disguise.
“Hmmm?” the old man looked up, then smiled. “Ah! The newest function arrives! Come, come!” the dead man called, gesturing towards the great beast before him. “I am taking variable of the beast's horn, for Prince Petros' parade,” the old man huffed, “but the beast's nominal behavior is for... movement,” he complained as the animal moved its head once more, “and the difficulty of the process is exponentially greater than I expected! You have worked with these animals before, Master Grimaldi?”
“I've worked with difficult animals before,” Hans lied, “but not this particular animal.” He drew closer and closer to his mark. “What is it called?”
“A rhinoceros,” abd-Hinnawi said, patting the beast's snout. “There were five, now there are five minus four in the menagerie of imperial,” the old man sighed. “His Majesty noted there were five minus five books on such beasts, and he desired more variables be collected so the number of books could have one added. Here, I think if you...”
He didn't have a chance to speak another word.
Hans shouldn't have worried. The blade slid back out as easily as it'd slid in. The fat man struggled managing a muffled shout as Hans slipped the blade between his ribs two, three, four more times before he slid to the ground, eyes wide, his plump legs quivering. The great grey beast grumbled, then walked away. The man's breath was rattling—clearly, if the thrusts had not done their work, the poison would. He took another look around—still no one in sight. As the poor man gave his last breaths, Hans yanked open his mouth, and yanked on his tongue. A single, swift cut removed it—the man was so weak he barely moaned. That'll earn a few more coin, the hitman nodded to himself, before tossing the bloody piece of flesh aside. It'd be a message even the Emperor could understand.
Quickly, the assassin wiped his prized dagger on his target's dirty linens, till the blade shone clean, then slid it back into his sleeve and starting towards the Sea Wall side of the Megara. There were several secret entrances along the Marmara, any one of which would do. As he slipped away from the scene of the crime, Hans knew he likely wouldn't be able to take a job in Konstantinopolis ever again, but that didn't bother him. He'd had his fill of the so called Queen of Cities.
A den of thieves, he gave one last look at the beautiful garden that death had so recently spoiled, before slipping into anonymity.
February 4th, 1328
“What do those vipers want?”
Guillaume d'Ockham said nothing—over the past week and a half, he'd learned the best course of action was to say nothing. The night Andronikos heard about the murder of Kaleb abd-Hinnawi, he'd asked the same question. He'd ranted, he'd raved. Megoskyriomachos du Roche had delivered the news. He'd had the temerity to pat the Emperor's shoulder—an act of solidarity, or sympathy. All it did was spark the Lord of the Known World into slapping his chief minister. Best to let him vent, d'Ockham listened as his best friend sniffed. Let him work it out. Abd-Hinnawi was his friend, d'Ockham reminded himself, in addition to all those things the Patriarch and others said about him.
“What do they want?” Andronikos asked again, a shimmering crystal goblet filled with red wine swirling in his hand. “They'd won, didn't they? They'd already won! I didn't send the letters to Egypt!” Andronikos looked out the window to his personal chambers, his eyes shooting daggers at the birds that dared sing. “I asked the exiled bishops to attend! Isaakios is furious, and Egypt still flies her own banner! Why then? Why kill him?” his voice became softer.
You didn't allow de Normandie's bishops to come to Konstantinopolis, yet you treated with Isaakios and offered him a crown, d'Ockham thought in the safety of his mind. They're angry you're negotiating with heathens as equals, and protecting them when Christ's flock attempts to preach the Gospel! Years of resentment, decades of simmering complaint had sharpened the dagger that did the deed. Abd-Hinnawi was no foul man himself, but what he represented—that drove them to a murder most foul...
“He did no harm!” Andronikos sighed again. “He was a man of science, a mathematician! He was no threat! Guillaume, they cut out his tongue! Cut out his tongue!" the Emperor said quietly, before he looked up. His eyes were wet and red. "You aren't smiling, like half the puffed up pontiffs now in the city," Andronikos smiled sadly. "You look as sad as me!"
"Murder is never something to smile about," Guillaume sighed. "It's a sin, a terrible crime. God teaches us to love our neighbors, regardless of their belief. Abd-Hinnawi was not a believer, Andronikos, but he did not deserve that end. No one deserves such an end. I pray," he went on, "that the murderers are found, and that justice is done." And I pray that no true man of the cloth had a hand in such a foul deed...
Andronikos smile changed--still sad, but something else. "I'm glad. You seem to be the only true believer left in the city sometimes."
"Ha! I thank you, but there are many of us, and many with far more faith than I," Guillaume smiled back. "So faithful in fact," he sat himself down, "that they are content to argue about theological points for eight hours to come to no conclusion!" Long ago he and Andronikos had dispensed with formality when they were alone--there was no need to wait for the Emperor to sit first. "It's damn fascinating though, watching the most learned minds of our time spar on complex matters of God, man, and nature."
"I would like to see it myself more often," Andronikos said, "but alas, soldiers don't train themselves, and my stupid courtiers won't desist from their own pettiness without me there."
"Well, you wouldn't have liked today's session," Guillaume's smile vanished. I should be the one to tell him, break the subject to him gently. "The Spanish bishops brought up the question of whether the Emperor is truly Christ's vicegerent..."
"They what?!" Andronikos roared.
“Bishop de Lacy of Burgos brought the item to question,” Guillaume cleared his throat, “of whether the Megas Komnenos, or any emperor, in fact, was an equal to the Patriarchs or Pope as a viceroy of Christ. He...brought up the longstanding dispute between you and your brothers as...”
“What did the council say?” Andronikos asked darkly, rising to his feet like a flood tide overrunning the coast. Guillaume saw his fingers twitch by his waist. Thankfully, Lordkiller was not hanging from the hip of her enraged master.
“There was much debate. Metropolitan Kosaca,” Guillaume hastily offered, “made a spirited defense of Your Majesty's ancient rights...”
“What...did...the...council...say?” Andronikos whispered, his lips curling in a snarl.
“Ah...um...” Guillaume stammered, “they tabled the matter without vote.” They WANTED to vote in favor of the measure, d'Ockham remembered, but not enough of them had the spine to stand before their temporal masters and defend that decision...cowards all, they were...
“Bah!” Andronikos slumped back into his chair. “Pack of thieves, they are! Murderers, all murderers," Andronikos hissed. "Skalites, Kosaca, the whole lot! Du Roche is the leader of the pack! He spoke badly about the old man only a few weeks ago! I bet he had something to do with it!
“Majesty?” Guillaume blinked. Wait, what does the Megoskyriomachos have to do with the Church Council?
“They've all got bloody hands, I know it!” Andronikos fumed, the furrows in his forehead growing deeper by the second. “Ach! My head is pounding! Son of a speckled whore!" the Emperor grabbed his forehead. "God, I need abd-Hinnawi! Guillaume!" the Emperor looked at him, one eye open, "Guillaume, open the cupboard, there should be some ground powder, red in color, in a jar. There's also a...jar, with hoses of skin attached, as well as ground of parts of greenplant. Bring them here, I'll do the rest!"
"I...yes, Majesty," Guillaume did as we was told. "What is all this?" he asked as he laid materials down on the table.
"Boy! Wine and water!" Andronikos snapped at one of the servants, before hastily disassembling the strange jar into its various parts. Guillaume watched in fascination as his friend quickly distributed a piece of charcoal, the plant, and water in various parts of the apparatus, before reassembling it. So this is abd-Hinnawi's miracle cure for the headaches? "Powder," Androniko grunted to next, before taking out a spoonful and dumping it into his cup of wine. He stirred quickly, before downing a gulp.
"Does it work?" Guillaume asked a moment later.
"It does, after a few moments," Andronikos replied, busily lighting the charcoal. Within a moment, it was glowing, and the Emperor of the Known World grabbed a hose and sucked on it with all his might. "Ah..."
"What is that?" Guillaume nodded. If this method is so miraculous, why have I never seen any of these items? Why had abd-Hinnawi not shouted his cure from the rooftops...aside from how few people would have understood him...
"This?" the Emperor nodded to the jar apparatus while rubbing his temple. "Some damn-fool thing from Persia. Does amazing work--it calms me, puts me at ease, and allows the powder to do its work."
"And what's in the powder?"
"Dried pig's blood, rosemary, a few other...what? What is that look for? You like like I just called on the Evil one to steal your soul!"
"Pig's blood?" Andronikos...my god... Panic went through d'Ockham's mind. What nonsense did that Egyptian plant in his head!? Is Andronikos so far gone he drinks blood? Blood?! "Church canon specifically forbids eating unbled animals or animal blood! It's...blasphemous... St. Paul specifically says in..."
"Oh come off it! It works!..." Andronikos rolled his eyes. “The old man said...”
I don't give a fig for what the old man said! "...is a sin! A horrible sin!" Guillaume snapped, before grabbing the cup of wine. If you can't save yourself, I'll have to save you from what you're about to do!
"What the hell are you doing?"
"As your chaplain and friend, I can't let you drink this!" Guillaume yelled as he threw the contents of the goblet to the floor. It landed with a crash, the crystal goblet shattering into a hundred pieces. As the wine spread across the floor, then, and only then, did Guillaume come back to his senses. He heard Andronikos breathing hard and fast, and he tensed, expecting a fist to slam into his stomach, or a palm to slap his face.
Yet none came.
After a moment, Guillaume dragged his eyes up. The Megas Komnenos was on his feet, towering above the seated priest, his hands twitching by the belt where his ceremonial dagger hung quietly. His eyes were wide, his nostrils flared, his whole body trembling.
“I care for you, and your soul,” Guillaume said gently. He hasn't struck me, like he'd strike the others... maybe, just maybe... “It is for the best, Andronikos. I am you friend...”
The Emperor blinked, still staring for a moment longer. "Fine, I won't drink it!" Andronikos hissed, before grabbing his temple again. His face looked absolutely thunderous as he fell back into his chair. "The headache's returned, are you happy you bastard! Ach!”
“Pray, Andronikos,” Guillaume reached over and gently took his friend's hand. “Pray, and God will cure your sickness!”
“God cures sickness about as well as a broth...ah!” he winced before he could finish the blasphemy. “ What were we talking about? I want to lie down!"
"Du Roche," Guillaume offered. "You were saying you think he has something to do with abd-Hinnawis' dreadful death."
"Ah, I did," Andronikos visibly trembled, massaging his temple. A smile, half-strained with beauty as shallow as a chancred whore, crossed his lips. "As you said, there's no proof, so nothing will happen to him."
"Nothing?" Guillaume asked warily.
"Nothing by my hand," the false smile spread further, as d'Ockham felt a shiver go down his spine. “If there's nothing else, I'm going to lay down. Maybe some wine...without blood...” he added before d'Ockham could open his mouth, “will help. Drunkeness will be my escape,” the Emperor said, steadily rising to his feet. “Yes...”
One last quick thing before I have to run. Next update is titled "Timur and the Shadows." Thought you all would like to know...
“It is a wise mans part, rather to avoid sickness, than to wishe for medicines.” - Guillaume d'Ockham
May 17th, 1326
Andronikos II, Megas Komnenos, looked outside the window of this small, confined study and sighed. The weather outside was crisp and cool, and a pleasant breeze blew through the window from the Marmara. It was a fine day, just like the day of the grand processional into Konstantinopolis, marking the union of 'Romanion' into a 'single state' under two emperors. And today, like that day, Andronikos could only think of how much he wanted to simply go on a hunt.
The grand processional a month prior had cost almost a year's income from the treasury—nothing less would do, in Andronikos' mind, to celebrate reuniting Italy and Africa with the Empire. His empire. Mother Church, of course, insisted that the coming Council, finally scheduled to commence on New Year's Day, 1328, would be an even grander affair, but Andronikos hoped Leo's entry into the city would dwarf anything those pompous prelates could put together.
The amount of glitter, gold, and brocade was enormous. While the various mystikoi in the bureaucracy screamed about the cost, Andronikos' uncaring Logothetes ton genikou, Kaleb abd-Hinnawi, had blithely signed off on the spending. The Emperors both rode chargers in full barding, Leo's steel traced with gold, Andronikos' fully gold plated with silver tracings. They also wore gilded armor and helms, but Andronikos alone was allowed to wear the cloak and boats of tyrian purple that marked the High Emperor of the Roman world—Leo had to make due with 'Syrian purple,' a shade darker blue than Andronikos' fine trappings.
A month of feasts and banquets followed, a time of bonding, merriment and carousing for the high and mighty of two disparate realms who were now joined by the alliance of their masters, but almost as important, it was a time where the two joint rulers of the Roman world, as well as their closest advisers, could plan how they would completely unite the Komnenid Empire. Alexios still thumbed his nose at union from the safety of mighty Spain, and his ships still harassed trade in the Western Mediterranean. 'That damned fool in Spain' was the occasion why Andronikos was now locked in a room with his elder brother, instead of hunting in that lovely spring weather.
And he hated it.
“So,” Leo Komnenos, Autokrator ton Romanion, sat down opposite his younger brother. “Where's the famed Kaleb abd-Hinnawi?” Leo looked around bemused.
"Not here," Andronikos nodded, and servants filled all three goblets with wine. “He's in the Megara, cataloging the specimens in the menagerie. It's work for my next book. He whined like a bitch in heat until I handed his regular duties over to a logothetes,” he laughed. “I still give him the treasury salary," the Megas Komnenos snorted. "It keeps him in the palace doing useful things!"
"Ah," Leo looked momentarily, before taking a sip. "A pity, I was hoping to meet this man you described as the 'Sage for all Ages.' He must have an incredible intellect, brother, if he almost persuaded you into defying the will of Mother Church..."
“If Mother Church is led by close minded fools, shouldn't we defy Mother Church?” Andronikos shot back.
"Let's...look to the future, Majesties, not the past," d'Ockham physically stepped between them with a smile.
Thank you, Guillaume, else I might have had to put my fist into my 'dear colleague's' chin. "Yes," Andronikos nodded, trying his best to smile after his brother's rude words, "the past is forever gone, washed away. We two have the future to look forward to."
"Indeed," Leo smiled as well, his eyes also showing ice and snow. "Well," the Autokrator sighed and sat down, "if I may not see the famous Kaleb abd-Hinnawi, then perhaps I shall be able to see the ancient ibn Taymiyya? They say he still lives in a...gilded cage somewhere in the city?"
"He left," Guillaume quickly said, glancing only momentarily at Andronikos. "His Majesty asked him to leave the city, and gave him documents and letters of introduction for safe passage to the land of the Turks, in India."
"Ah," Leo smiled then. "An accident is waiting for him then?"
"No accident," Andronikos sat down as well. It would be wrong to ill-treat a brave man like that. "Safe passage means safe passage. If there are any accidents it will be Master Taymiyya's doing, not mine. I know," Andronikos spoke over Leo's sputters, "he raised armies against me. He' was a threat. Was. Now, he's an old man who wants to write in retirement. What harm could he do to us in India? Besides," Andronikos kicked his chair back, "Perhaps the Persians will do something to him for us, and spark more trouble in their own realm."
"Perhaps," Leo looked to the left. Not easy to please, this one, Andronikos thought sourly. "What of our plans in Italy?" Leo asked, setting his wine down. “My sources in Spain say that Alexios has made contracts with the Capets and the Scots for ships, and is building fleets in Cadiz and Barcelona. My own ships have tried to penetrate both harbors, but...” the Autokrator shrugged sadly. “They even stopped a fireship attack at Barcelona. It won't be this year, but next year, or the year after, Alexios will have a great host of ships, one the Dytikos alone can't match. We need the Italian states, and we...”
“...need their ships, I know,” Andronikos hissed. They should all be cut down, just as Thomas I and II did! The Italians north of Rome had a long history of semi-independent city-states and duchies before they were brought back into the Roman Empire. It must be the vile Lombard blood still in their veins, the Emperor mused. The city-states for now were under the suzerainty of Gerhard von Franken, brother-in-law to the Emperor, and a man openly talking to the Pope in Trier about restarting the empty title of “King of the Romans,” and “Holy Roman Emperor.”
That tickled Andronikos' ire. First, the von Frankens had started calling themselves Rigas ton Italikon, “King of Italy,” without asking imperial permission. Then they began to call themselves 'Hohenfrankens,' a 'high' dynasty with open ambitions for the title “King of Germany,” as well as the defunct “King of the Romans.” King of the Romans? What does that make me? Andronikos fumed. These High von Frankens had run amok long enough—it was time for the imperial sword to pare their ambitions—and Leo, untied to their family as it were, made the perfect blade to shave their influence in fractious northern Italy.
“I'm sending Petros west with a taxarchia,” Andronikos sipped his wine, then winced. Cretan crap!
“Just a taxarchia?” Leo started to complain. “I was informed...”
“I need the bulk of my forces here in the east,” Andronikos waved off his brother's concern. “The von Frankens have rivals in Wurttemburg and all other parts of Germany—their forces are split. That Persian witch has gone so far as to make the Yemenis pay her tribute, and Muscat is hers. She even took an island called...”
“Qahlat, Majesty,” d'Ockham offered.
“Kallahat,” Andronikos winced as his tongue shattered the pronunciation, “which is a very strategic location for a fleet, so I am told! I tell you, brother,” Andronikos stabbed a finger in the air, “she means to at least cut into the Red Sea Trade, if not lure all our merchants east to fatten her own coffers!”
“For what ends?” d'Ockham asked.
“War! That's what ends!” Andronikos snapped. God, you're a dolt at times! “I've got the damn Danes to the north, and Egypt, all in addition to your 'Hohenfrankens' or whatever they're calling themselves now and Alexios!" You have two threats now, I have dozens! The Danes, Persia, Angelos, Skalites, ach! A shot of pain raced across his temple--the first volley of a barrage that would become yet another headache. Why do they always come when the old man is out doing something for me?
"Is everything alright?" Andronikos heard Guillaume ask.
He's a good friend, a loyal friend. "Yes," Andronikos rubbed his temples gently. Maybe I can hold it off by myself, just for a while. "Just a slight headache is all. Forgive me, brother, I am under a great deal of stress, as you imagine."
"No offense taken, brother," Leo said, face furrowed with concern. "If you wish, I can send some of my physicians..."
"No, not necessary!" Andronikos waved his hand. They'll probably poison me, that's what you'd want! Just like all the others! "Thank you, though, brother. To the business at hand," he said. Maybe that'll distract them both. "Petros will have a full taxarchia, brother. 25,000 men in ten tagmata, half standing and half thematakoi. Not that there's much difference between the two nowadays. That should be more than enough, with your Persians, to put the von Frankens to shame and get the Italian cities to sign treaties with you--alliance, friendship, mutual defense." He grimaced. God, what have we become? Making treaties with the damn Italians? My ancestors put them to the sword!
"I was hoping we could pressure the great mercantile powers of Venice and Genoa into treaties of alliance," Leo said hopefully. "They were already 'imperial cities.' We'll have to grant them full autonomy, perhaps even sovreignty..."
"We need the prows of their galleys," Andronikos grunted. Those prows will keep Alexios at bay, while we consolidate North Africa. "Once we've got things under control, we can send in a few tagmata to renegotiate, as it were."
"As you say," Leo sighed. "And what of Egypt and Persia? You seem...confident...that this Eirene has designs on your lands, and the Egyptians, I understand, are being as stubborn as ever... you, I mean we, need their grain. Sicily can fill the gap some, but we have Karthagion, Rome, and Napoli to feed..."
"I know," Andronikos took a full gulp from his cup. Believe me, I know! "That ancient dog Isaakios is still demanding an elevation to Basilieus and 'Protectorship of Arabia' if we don't admit his clergymen to the Church Council. Says that rat Manuel gave him Sebastokrator but he finds it 'insufficient to govern his realm.' Insufficient?! And he wants Basilieus?!" Andronikos huffed, and downed the rest of the wine. "The nerve! From a provincial son of a whore, no less!"
"Pah," Leo offered his opinion. "You've told him no, I trust?"
"We are attempting to get him to accept Rigas ton Aiguptikon instead," d'Ockham artfully spoke in the gap. "Of course, this means we'll have to modify the treaty we signed with you, Majesty," the bishop nodded to Leo, "to make sure your children retain the title of Rigas as well. Better than Rigas in fact." He looked over to Andronikos. Panrigas? Hyperigas?"
"Something of that sort," Andronikos nodded. The first waves of pain were already crashing through his brain. "No matter. Either way, your progeny will most definitely be superior in station to those of that... goat-sucking slob."
"That's perfectly acceptable," Leo nodded as well. Good, Andronikos thought, Don't think for a second you can come a-begging for a title of purple for them too. "What about Persia?" the junior emperor asked.
"Indeed, what about Persia?" Andronikos echoed the question as servants filled his cup. It's not the best, but at least its not Cretan. “Skalites has some contacts in the court at Sarai,” Andronikos leaned forward and grinned, “that have connections to Samarkand. I'm going to send word to our dear cousin Papaz that if he should press his son's claim to Persia and his lost princess, that Romanion will back him to the hilt, with force if needbe...”
“War? With Persia? Why would...” Leo started to complain, “...ah! You clever man. You have no intention of helping Transoxania, do you?”
“None in the slightest,” Andronikos leaned back once more, this time putting his feet on the table. He glanced off in d'Ockham's direction, and caught a glimpse of Guillaume's blanched face. Dislike it all you like, Bishop. You can afford to keep your hands clean. I can't. "Faraud isn't strong by any means, but it will certainly be enough to keep Persia busy while we solidify Italy and then move against Alexios jointly. If we're lucky, the whole mess could spread to the Mongols in Sarai, maybe even the Danes...”
“If only fortune were so kind,” Leo swirled his goblet before taking a sip.
“I don't believe in fortune,” Andronikos said. “I believe in myself.”
==========*==========
January 25th, 1328
'Hans' closed his eyes in the cool winter wind. IT was still strange to him, how it bit into his face, but not his body—the press of the crowds went beyond forming a windbreak, it formed an island of heat from his shoulders down. A man bumped into his side—he turned, feigned fury on his face like any true resident of The City would only to see an aged man in the blue and gold of a bishop from the Patriarchate of Jerusalem. Hans excused himself hastily, then turned and cursed under his breath, just like a native would. For today, his name was Gian Grimaldi, a resident of the Genoese Quarter. Tomorrow, if all went well, he would be 'Hans' in Chrysopolis, then 'Ioannis' thereafter.
The cleric soon disappeared in the push and crush of the crowd, just like so many others Hans had literally run into during his walk to the Megara. It wasn't surprising—clergymen were smothering the city like flies in summer. The city had been abuzz for years about the coming Council, and near chaos ensued when the long awaited Conclave of Christianity finally convened nearly three weeks before. Bishops from Lisboa to Mazadaram had been filing through the streets of the Queen of Cities since the August previous, their numbers growing by the day until the Augusteon was daily filled with the kaleidoscope of colors of clergy from all the Patriarchates in the One Holy Apostolic Church. Along with the bishops and their representatives came multitudes of onlookers—peasants from outlying Thrace come to see the spectacle, learned men from around the Empire seeking to offer their expert opinion, bureaucrats, lawyers, nobles, merchants—it seemed the entire detritus of humanity the Komnenid world could offer had descended on already packed streets.
Hans slipped through the crowd as a knife worked through steaming suet. While many sought one of the mighty Churches of the city, Hans slipped under the shadow of the towering Hagia Sophia and Hagia Eirene, past hurrying metropolitans and their scurrying scribes, towards the bronze doors to the great Megara. A pair of distracted guardsmen gave his papers only a cursory read, and a moment later the press of the crowd was long gone, replaced by the sounds of birds and the rustle of leaves inside the imperial menagerie. Quiet eyes looked around for only a few moments.
There he was, standing before a great grey beast marked by a single enormous horn. Hans flicked his dagger from the sheath that had held it under his sleeves.
The man was fat, just as his master said. Hans looked down at his dagger, and wondered if it would be long enough. Or will I, like Ehud, lose my blade in my mark? He really didn't want to lose the dagger. It had a nice heft, and was balanced for both stabbing and throwing. It'd be a waste... 100 silver solidii lost to blubber. The killer slid the dagger back inside, and started towards his target.
“Master abd-Hinnawi?” he asked, throwing in a slight Italian accent to seal his disguise.
“Hmmm?” the old man looked up, then smiled. “Ah! The newest function arrives! Come, come!” the dead man called, gesturing towards the great beast before him. “I am taking variable of the beast's horn, for Prince Petros' parade,” the old man huffed, “but the beast's nominal behavior is for... movement,” he complained as the animal moved its head once more, “and the difficulty of the process is exponentially greater than I expected! You have worked with these animals before, Master Grimaldi?”
“I've worked with difficult animals before,” Hans lied, “but not this particular animal.” He drew closer and closer to his mark. “What is it called?”
“A rhinoceros,” abd-Hinnawi said, patting the beast's snout. “There were five, now there are five minus four in the menagerie of imperial,” the old man sighed. “His Majesty noted there were five minus five books on such beasts, and he desired more variables be collected so the number of books could have one added. Here, I think if you...”
He didn't have a chance to speak another word.
Hans shouldn't have worried. The blade slid back out as easily as it'd slid in. The fat man struggled managing a muffled shout as Hans slipped the blade between his ribs two, three, four more times before he slid to the ground, eyes wide, his plump legs quivering. The great grey beast grumbled, then walked away. The man's breath was rattling—clearly, if the thrusts had not done their work, the poison would. He took another look around—still no one in sight. As the poor man gave his last breaths, Hans yanked open his mouth, and yanked on his tongue. A single, swift cut removed it—the man was so weak he barely moaned. That'll earn a few more coin, the hitman nodded to himself, before tossing the bloody piece of flesh aside. It'd be a message even the Emperor could understand.
Quickly, the assassin wiped his prized dagger on his target's dirty linens, till the blade shone clean, then slid it back into his sleeve and starting towards the Sea Wall side of the Megara. There were several secret entrances along the Marmara, any one of which would do. As he slipped away from the scene of the crime, Hans knew he likely wouldn't be able to take a job in Konstantinopolis ever again, but that didn't bother him. He'd had his fill of the so called Queen of Cities.
A den of thieves, he gave one last look at the beautiful garden that death had so recently spoiled, before slipping into anonymity.
==========*==========
February 4th, 1328
“What do those vipers want?”
Guillaume d'Ockham said nothing—over the past week and a half, he'd learned the best course of action was to say nothing. The night Andronikos heard about the murder of Kaleb abd-Hinnawi, he'd asked the same question. He'd ranted, he'd raved. Megoskyriomachos du Roche had delivered the news. He'd had the temerity to pat the Emperor's shoulder—an act of solidarity, or sympathy. All it did was spark the Lord of the Known World into slapping his chief minister. Best to let him vent, d'Ockham listened as his best friend sniffed. Let him work it out. Abd-Hinnawi was his friend, d'Ockham reminded himself, in addition to all those things the Patriarch and others said about him.
“What do they want?” Andronikos asked again, a shimmering crystal goblet filled with red wine swirling in his hand. “They'd won, didn't they? They'd already won! I didn't send the letters to Egypt!” Andronikos looked out the window to his personal chambers, his eyes shooting daggers at the birds that dared sing. “I asked the exiled bishops to attend! Isaakios is furious, and Egypt still flies her own banner! Why then? Why kill him?” his voice became softer.
You didn't allow de Normandie's bishops to come to Konstantinopolis, yet you treated with Isaakios and offered him a crown, d'Ockham thought in the safety of his mind. They're angry you're negotiating with heathens as equals, and protecting them when Christ's flock attempts to preach the Gospel! Years of resentment, decades of simmering complaint had sharpened the dagger that did the deed. Abd-Hinnawi was no foul man himself, but what he represented—that drove them to a murder most foul...
“He did no harm!” Andronikos sighed again. “He was a man of science, a mathematician! He was no threat! Guillaume, they cut out his tongue! Cut out his tongue!" the Emperor said quietly, before he looked up. His eyes were wet and red. "You aren't smiling, like half the puffed up pontiffs now in the city," Andronikos smiled sadly. "You look as sad as me!"
"Murder is never something to smile about," Guillaume sighed. "It's a sin, a terrible crime. God teaches us to love our neighbors, regardless of their belief. Abd-Hinnawi was not a believer, Andronikos, but he did not deserve that end. No one deserves such an end. I pray," he went on, "that the murderers are found, and that justice is done." And I pray that no true man of the cloth had a hand in such a foul deed...
Andronikos smile changed--still sad, but something else. "I'm glad. You seem to be the only true believer left in the city sometimes."
"Ha! I thank you, but there are many of us, and many with far more faith than I," Guillaume smiled back. "So faithful in fact," he sat himself down, "that they are content to argue about theological points for eight hours to come to no conclusion!" Long ago he and Andronikos had dispensed with formality when they were alone--there was no need to wait for the Emperor to sit first. "It's damn fascinating though, watching the most learned minds of our time spar on complex matters of God, man, and nature."
"I would like to see it myself more often," Andronikos said, "but alas, soldiers don't train themselves, and my stupid courtiers won't desist from their own pettiness without me there."
"Well, you wouldn't have liked today's session," Guillaume's smile vanished. I should be the one to tell him, break the subject to him gently. "The Spanish bishops brought up the question of whether the Emperor is truly Christ's vicegerent..."
"They what?!" Andronikos roared.
“Bishop de Lacy of Burgos brought the item to question,” Guillaume cleared his throat, “of whether the Megas Komnenos, or any emperor, in fact, was an equal to the Patriarchs or Pope as a viceroy of Christ. He...brought up the longstanding dispute between you and your brothers as...”
“What did the council say?” Andronikos asked darkly, rising to his feet like a flood tide overrunning the coast. Guillaume saw his fingers twitch by his waist. Thankfully, Lordkiller was not hanging from the hip of her enraged master.
“There was much debate. Metropolitan Kosaca,” Guillaume hastily offered, “made a spirited defense of Your Majesty's ancient rights...”
“What...did...the...council...say?” Andronikos whispered, his lips curling in a snarl.
“Ah...um...” Guillaume stammered, “they tabled the matter without vote.” They WANTED to vote in favor of the measure, d'Ockham remembered, but not enough of them had the spine to stand before their temporal masters and defend that decision...cowards all, they were...
“Bah!” Andronikos slumped back into his chair. “Pack of thieves, they are! Murderers, all murderers," Andronikos hissed. "Skalites, Kosaca, the whole lot! Du Roche is the leader of the pack! He spoke badly about the old man only a few weeks ago! I bet he had something to do with it!
“Majesty?” Guillaume blinked. Wait, what does the Megoskyriomachos have to do with the Church Council?
“They've all got bloody hands, I know it!” Andronikos fumed, the furrows in his forehead growing deeper by the second. “Ach! My head is pounding! Son of a speckled whore!" the Emperor grabbed his forehead. "God, I need abd-Hinnawi! Guillaume!" the Emperor looked at him, one eye open, "Guillaume, open the cupboard, there should be some ground powder, red in color, in a jar. There's also a...jar, with hoses of skin attached, as well as ground of parts of greenplant. Bring them here, I'll do the rest!"
"I...yes, Majesty," Guillaume did as we was told. "What is all this?" he asked as he laid materials down on the table.
"Boy! Wine and water!" Andronikos snapped at one of the servants, before hastily disassembling the strange jar into its various parts. Guillaume watched in fascination as his friend quickly distributed a piece of charcoal, the plant, and water in various parts of the apparatus, before reassembling it. So this is abd-Hinnawi's miracle cure for the headaches? "Powder," Androniko grunted to next, before taking out a spoonful and dumping it into his cup of wine. He stirred quickly, before downing a gulp.
"Does it work?" Guillaume asked a moment later.
"It does, after a few moments," Andronikos replied, busily lighting the charcoal. Within a moment, it was glowing, and the Emperor of the Known World grabbed a hose and sucked on it with all his might. "Ah..."
"What is that?" Guillaume nodded. If this method is so miraculous, why have I never seen any of these items? Why had abd-Hinnawi not shouted his cure from the rooftops...aside from how few people would have understood him...
"This?" the Emperor nodded to the jar apparatus while rubbing his temple. "Some damn-fool thing from Persia. Does amazing work--it calms me, puts me at ease, and allows the powder to do its work."
"And what's in the powder?"
"Dried pig's blood, rosemary, a few other...what? What is that look for? You like like I just called on the Evil one to steal your soul!"
"Pig's blood?" Andronikos...my god... Panic went through d'Ockham's mind. What nonsense did that Egyptian plant in his head!? Is Andronikos so far gone he drinks blood? Blood?! "Church canon specifically forbids eating unbled animals or animal blood! It's...blasphemous... St. Paul specifically says in..."
"Oh come off it! It works!..." Andronikos rolled his eyes. “The old man said...”
I don't give a fig for what the old man said! "...is a sin! A horrible sin!" Guillaume snapped, before grabbing the cup of wine. If you can't save yourself, I'll have to save you from what you're about to do!
"What the hell are you doing?"
"As your chaplain and friend, I can't let you drink this!" Guillaume yelled as he threw the contents of the goblet to the floor. It landed with a crash, the crystal goblet shattering into a hundred pieces. As the wine spread across the floor, then, and only then, did Guillaume come back to his senses. He heard Andronikos breathing hard and fast, and he tensed, expecting a fist to slam into his stomach, or a palm to slap his face.
Yet none came.
After a moment, Guillaume dragged his eyes up. The Megas Komnenos was on his feet, towering above the seated priest, his hands twitching by the belt where his ceremonial dagger hung quietly. His eyes were wide, his nostrils flared, his whole body trembling.
“I care for you, and your soul,” Guillaume said gently. He hasn't struck me, like he'd strike the others... maybe, just maybe... “It is for the best, Andronikos. I am you friend...”
The Emperor blinked, still staring for a moment longer. "Fine, I won't drink it!" Andronikos hissed, before grabbing his temple again. His face looked absolutely thunderous as he fell back into his chair. "The headache's returned, are you happy you bastard! Ach!”
“Pray, Andronikos,” Guillaume reached over and gently took his friend's hand. “Pray, and God will cure your sickness!”
“God cures sickness about as well as a broth...ah!” he winced before he could finish the blasphemy. “ What were we talking about? I want to lie down!"
"Du Roche," Guillaume offered. "You were saying you think he has something to do with abd-Hinnawis' dreadful death."
"Ah, I did," Andronikos visibly trembled, massaging his temple. A smile, half-strained with beauty as shallow as a chancred whore, crossed his lips. "As you said, there's no proof, so nothing will happen to him."
"Nothing?" Guillaume asked warily.
"Nothing by my hand," the false smile spread further, as d'Ockham felt a shiver go down his spine. “If there's nothing else, I'm going to lay down. Maybe some wine...without blood...” he added before d'Ockham could open his mouth, “will help. Drunkeness will be my escape,” the Emperor said, steadily rising to his feet. “Yes...”
One last quick thing before I have to run. Next update is titled "Timur and the Shadows." Thought you all would like to know...
Wonderful update as usual- as a hookah fan, I love it that the practice has spread West.
And I'd worry about the Hohenfrankens- they currently control both major trade cities, and some of the richest land in Europe. They have the intellectual, cultural and monetary weight of Northern Italy, and Austria and Istria aren't too shabby either. If they become ever unite with Burgundy, as another Austrian state did OTL, then Rome has a real problem.
And let me be first to say- go Persia!
And I'd worry about the Hohenfrankens- they currently control both major trade cities, and some of the richest land in Europe. They have the intellectual, cultural and monetary weight of Northern Italy, and Austria and Istria aren't too shabby either. If they become ever unite with Burgundy, as another Austrian state did OTL, then Rome has a real problem.
And let me be first to say- go Persia!
Is the blood necessary, can't you replace it with something? Not that I'm entirely sure the Emperor of the known world being high 24/7 is a very good idea at any rate.
Boozing up is not the solution tho, if his headaches prove to debilitating there is a perfectly serviceable Komnenos right there to replace him.I for one am hoping for an interim Sortmark/Aegypt/Aquiantion update!
FUUUUUUU-
Now that Hinnawi is gone, and d'Ockham has full influence over the Emperor, he won't be getting his 'medication'! Which means he'll be an even bigger lunatic, with the rage and the headaches and all of that stuff.
This is the part when Leo is supposed to strike a secret deal with the Von Frankens and Eirene, and betray this madman when he least expects it.
Now that Hinnawi is gone, and d'Ockham has full influence over the Emperor, he won't be getting his 'medication'! Which means he'll be an even bigger lunatic, with the rage and the headaches and all of that stuff.
This is the part when Leo is supposed to strike a secret deal with the Von Frankens and Eirene, and betray this madman when he least expects it.
No! Our favourite eccentric mathematician is dead! No matter. The rightful Megas Komnenos Leo will soon take care of the madman and rule the empire with augustness and prosperity.
Poor abd-Hinnawi . A truly sad ending for a man who wanted nothing more than to understand the wonders of the natural world. Instead he unwillingly wound up in the middle of Roman politics .
Now it can only go down hill for Andronikos. Without abd-Hinnawi's unusual but effective cure Andi's mood swings will return with a vengeance and all will suffer. Maybe, just maybe the natural philosopher in Guillaume will win out in the end, but I doubt it. Whatever the pigs blood contained, it's doubtful that anybody can find a replacement. abd-Hinnawi was a unique man in his time and nobody for many years will likely be able to match (let alone surpass) his achievements.
The position the Church is taking seems to validate my hypothesis. They are making the first tentative steps towards a more independent stance. Nothing might come of it for the moment, but if Andi's fragile grip on power would slip just a bit... . And it will eventually. The only reason no one is willing to actuallly make a move is because they all fear Andi personally, but they do not fear the office of Emperor itself as they once did. If a power vacuum will arise, possibly after Andi's death, then the Orthodox Church will find it's position similar to that of the Catholic Church after the fall of the Western Roman Empire. It will be the only stable, centralized institution that people can look to for guidance and it's authority will skyrocket, with none of the lords and would-be Emperors able to stand against it. After that, an Inquisition becomes a very real posibility.
. A truly sad ending for a man who wanted nothing more than to understand the wonders of the natural world. Instead he unwillingly wound up in the middle of Roman politics .Now it can only go down hill for Andronikos. Without abd-Hinnawi's unusual but effective cure Andi's mood swings will return with a vengeance and all will suffer. Maybe, just maybe the natural philosopher in Guillaume will win out in the end, but I doubt it. Whatever the pigs blood contained, it's doubtful that anybody can find a replacement. abd-Hinnawi was a unique man in his time and nobody for many years will likely be able to match (let alone surpass) his achievements.
The position the Church is taking seems to validate my hypothesis. They are making the first tentative steps towards a more independent stance. Nothing might come of it for the moment, but if Andi's fragile grip on power would slip just a bit... . And it will eventually. The only reason no one is willing to actuallly make a move is because they all fear Andi personally, but they do not fear the office of Emperor itself as they once did. If a power vacuum will arise, possibly after Andi's death, then the Orthodox Church will find it's position similar to that of the Catholic Church after the fall of the Western Roman Empire. It will be the only stable, centralized institution that people can look to for guidance and it's authority will skyrocket, with none of the lords and would-be Emperors able to stand against it. After that, an Inquisition becomes a very real posibility.
Oh great. Now we'll have Megapsychkomnemnos!
The Orthodox Church has just doomed itself.
And I'm worried about Persia. They are up to something, unless the Timur Plan is pulled off...
The Orthodox Church has just doomed itself.
And I'm worried about Persia. They are up to something, unless the Timur Plan is pulled off...
Great as usual!
Really loving Leo and d'Ockham seems like a really nice guy these days...
I never felt much for abd-Hinnawi but oh, this will be so interesting!
Really loving Leo and d'Ockham seems like a really nice guy these days...
I never felt much for abd-Hinnawi but oh, this will be so interesting!