Lord Valentine - Exactly... or, if you're a Manuel, cow them into obedience. The nobility had a definite interest in the Megas expanding imperial territory and handing it off to noble families. Manuel had the capacity to cause them great harm and cowed them. The problem with Basil is he did neither... they weren't afraid of him, but his wars in Spain to the dynatoi were distant affairs. The growing prosperity was the main reason they've stayed quiet... no one wanted to rock the boat and stop the gravy train. Money curbs ambition only so much though...
TC Pilot - The nobility has always been the empire's greatest weakness... and because Basil didn't do any of the things listed above, they're now rich
and emboldened. As for Mehtar, he's now in charge... we'll see what happens...
Ksim3000 - This is the point where the AAR starts straying more and more from the game events. The treasury, for example. However, as time went on I did start handicapping myself... for example, after the Seljuk War under Manuel, I never ever called up the grand mobilization of the Empire - its too unfair, so wars were fought with troops from imperial lands. This meant I still had an enormous army (near the end, the Emperors have a private army of nearly 100,000... but this is amidst a sea of lords that, according to CK, could collectively field a million in the 14th century), but I couldn't go on a world conquest spree. I also refrained from using the ridiculously deep treasury to "bribe my way to stability" too often. I did it occasionally, but not as constantly as I could have.
One aspect of the gameplay that is going to start cropping up is how fairly powerful
dynatoi began lurching off into their own conflicts with great success... this will definitely be appearing in the AAR as one of the motivations for separatism.
Servius Magnus - I'm not ruling him out... I'm just saying right now he's only two.
4th Dimension - I'm not as familiar with the life and death of Stefan Dusan (or medieval Serbian history altogether, outside of the Battle of Kosovo), but from your description of him, it sounds rather dead on. You have any links to his bio aside from wiki? (I'm planning on wiki-ing it later today).
Enewald - Not really a noob emperor, but a series of them, then a series of emperors that try to overcorrect too harshly and drive things off the cliff. That's not to say the Mongols don't have their say... as you'll see, they have a role in the final push that sends the whole mess clattering downhill into oblivion...
November 18th, 1190
Alienor Capet-Komnenos looked out over the sea of people and sighed. Banquets were supposed to be fun, but the young woman hardly felt like laughing.
Then again, it wasn’t every day the greatest emperor in Christendom was laid to rest, nor were the coronations of no less than
three emperors in his stead a daily occurrence. To say it’d been a day of opulence, somberness, and joy, all wrapped in a confusing emotional array of ceremonies and parades was an understatement.
Basil III died perhaps the most revered ruler in all of Christian Europe. To his subjects, he brought glory to their realm, while ensuring peace and prosperity at home. Sure, amongst the army, the Church and other entities there were rumblings, but to the people of Konstantinopolis, Basil was their
Megaloprepis, the glorious, shining warrior. They crowded the streets, pressing on the funeral procession, headed by shining men of the
Hetaratoi in full armor. They threw flowers, trinkets, gold and silver at the coffin-carriage as it trundled by under a black shroud. They cried as images of the late Emperor, already being acclaimed as
Hagios Basilieos by the Church, floated by above the procession.
The funeral procession slowly made its way through the streets, until finally reaching the immense bulk of the Hippodrome, where princes, dignitaries and the elite of all the Empire sat gathered. A multitude of great men from all parts of Christendom travelled to Konstantinopolis to pay their respects, their cloaks of the finest silks and furs overwhelming the Great Turn of the Hippodrome. The coffin circled the track once, twice, before coming to a stop before the rostrum of the great
spina. Slowly, the four great patriarchs rose to the rostrum, and censers swaying, opened the ceremonies with a great prayer.
Then the three new emperors entered the vast arena. Thomas had then arrived in the Hippodrome in a chariot, painted tyrian purple with giltwork, members of his personal guard flanking him. After came Heraklios, sitting awkwardly on a great white stallion, the raiments of Emperor far too large for his small frame. Finally there was another chariot, this one bearing the Emperor Alexios in the arms of his mother, screaming at crying at the thunderous noise of the Hippodrome. As the three emperors neared the spina, they all drew to a halt and dismounted, and the Patriarchs all descended to deliver the Blessings of God and the anointing. As Alienor had expected, the crowd roared its thunderous approval, and Alexios had kicked and screamed even more.
Thomas’ entrance into the Hippodrome. The Autokrator is accompanied by Christina of Dau, daughter of one of the more powerful of the neodynatoi…
Then, a number of orations echoed from the
spina, eulogizing the former Emperor of the Romans. The new Patriarch of Konstantinopolis, Georgios Laskaris, delivered a stunning call for men to be like the late Basil – kind, gentle, just and God-fearing. The
Megos Domestikos gave a moving rendition of the Emperor’s greatest triumphs, his bravery on the battlefield and his concern for his men. Malhaz Komnenos rose and spoke of a man that cared for the people, whose policies granted them the peace and prosperity they now enjoyed. The only oration that fell flat was that of Thomas Komnenos, whose words from a son seemed to laud his own accomplishments in Spain more than honoring his father’s work in destroying the power of the Moors.
When the last of the speakers descended from the
spina, the four great patriarchs ascended once more, censers swaying, calling on God to accept Basil’s soul into the gates of Heaven. Few had any doubt the Almighty would – already Patriarch Laskaris spoke of
Hagios Basilieos, and the glorification would likely spread across the Empire. After the patriarchs finished the final prayer, they slowly made their way down the great
spina as the great procession circled the Hippodrome one more time, before the black coffin, accompanied by a small honor guard from the
Hetaratoi, clattered to the great imperial vaults underneath
Hagia Eirene. There, Basil joined his uncle and grandfather in an imposing stone mausoleum, stony eyes looking upwards forever more.
The tomb of Basil III Komnenos, as seen today
Yet, to Alienor, all of this vast cacophony of ceremony and ritual was overwhelming, to say the least. The processions, chants, and calls were all in alien Greek, the rituals of the Eastern rites befuddled and unnerved her. Even now, in the midst of a form of ceremony she
did understand, a banquet, there were elements that seemed – wrong, to her. The sofas that lined the room instead of a bona-fide table. The mechanical beasts that surrounded the room. The way courtiers came before the three thrones and prostrated themselves on the floor before the three Emperors.
She’d thought her years in Basiliopolis would have prepared her for dealing with life in Konstantinopolis, but now she realized she was sorely mistaken. Within days of the funeral-coronation, Alienor had already gathered from sources that Thomas was gathering his veterans from the Spanish Wars in Konstantinopolis, as well as commissioning a large number of cloaks from merchants throughout the Empire. He was plaining commissioning a personal guard – which meant Alexios would need one of his own.
Then there was the wider world as well – Alienor’s own father regarded Alexios as dangerous. He was no Capet, in Drogo’s eyes, he was Komnenos, and Drogo would sooner die than let a Komnenos take his Empire – so much was Alexios feared that Drogo had freed Alienor’s brother from the dungeons, and forced him to marry a plump and apparently fertile German countess. The couple already had three daughters in a little over three years. Little two year old Alexios might have only learned to walk and say “mama,” but he was already the most feared person in Christendom – or so Alienor thought.
She finished her goblet of watered down wine as those thoughts rolled around in her mind, before her eyes spotted someone looking directly at her from the side of the hall. He was tall, with a strong, erect bearing… and he met her gaze directly. That alone told her he wasn’t of Konstantinopolis, the city where one looked behind one’s back constantly…
“What is your name, sir?” she walked over to him and asked with a pleasant smile.
“Serlo de Hauteville, my lady,” the man bowed in the manner of a Latin, and Alienor’s smile grew.
“de Hauteville? Konstantinopolis is a far distance from Italy, young man,” she said. The de Hautevilles almost fifty years before had been the Kings of Southern Italy. It was Basil’s father who had thrown them out and conquered the whole of the territory for the Greeks. What one of their line was doing in Konstantinopolis was beyond her.
“It is quite far from Algiers, you mean,” the young man gently corrected. “My grandfather was the Duke of Calabria at one time, and my father became a sellsword, then Marshal to the Count of Algiers. Five years ago when he passed on, I took his place, and now, here I am – representing the Count at this…”
“…spectacle?” Alienor offered, and they both laughed nervously.
“Indeed. 50,000 people watching the Emperor’s coffin come rolling past on that black carriage. Amazing,” Serlo said, before finishing off his wine. A servant walked past, and the young knight grabbed two goblets off the dish. “My lady?”
“Thank you, Sir Serlo,” she smiled, feeling her face heat up. He was an attractive one, to be sure, and being close only confirmed it. He had a strong face, strong jaws, and by the calluses on his hands, a strong warrior as well. And if he was Marshal to one of the most powerful of the Crusader States, he could be a useful friend off in far away Mauretania.
“If I may be so bold, how does it feel to be the mother of an Emperor of the Romans?” Serlo asked, smile broad, teeth straight. Alienor allowed herself a small laugh.
“It feels… interesting,” she said, looking off towards the three great thrones at the front of the room. Alexios was crying, his tiny hands alternately stretched out, begging for his mother, then closed into tiny little fists. His uncle Heraklios was kneeling beside him in a completely un-regal manner, trying to distract him by hiding his face behind his hands. Thomas, for his part, was too busy asking the prostrate Prince of Vidin to rise to evidently care. “I’m entering a political game I know little about,” Alienor said. It was only a part lie – Greek politics in Mauretania had been easy for her. Here though…
“We all are. Every fly reports back to someone in this city,” Serlo said, looking over his wineglass.
“How do I know you do not report back to anyone?” Alienor raised an eyebrow.
“I do. His name is Count Hugh of Algiers,” the young man laughed. “Considering the vastness of your son’s domains, you have little to fear from him. And, I daresay, he has little interest in you other than imperial trade and making sure the imperial fleet doesn’t blockade his cities simply because the Emperors are bored!”
“Ha,” Alienor smiled. There was something about this man, that made her feel warm and comfortable. That in and of itself was unusual. Alienor truly trusted her instincts – many a time she’d met someone far smoother than event his young man and the hairs on her neck stood up in fear. Yet, considering the city and its reputation, she decided to change the topic.
“You are a Marshal, Serlo. I am surprised you haven’t tried to regale me with any tales of your martial exploits!”
“They are common enough, my lady, that I would not want to bore you with them. If you are sufficiently curious, you will discover them on your own,” Serlo said with a wide smile. She noted where the smile was directed – it was to a location distinctly below her face.
“So you command a great company of knights then?”
“I have my own personal retinue of 300 knights, in addition to commanding the forces of the Lord of Algiers,” de Hauteville said, looking back up. His face went red.
Alienor’s eyes widened slightly. 300 knights was no small force, as each knight brought 3-5 other soldiers with him of various types – perhaps over a 1500 total. If Serlo commanded such a force…
Alienor’s mind clicked – her son’s protection problems could be solved in one fell blow…
“Really, Lord Serlo?” Alienor forced herself to blush again. So, he was interested. She’d never considered herself attractive, but if he was lured, she would pull him in – all the more pleasant for because he
was attractive. She offered her arm. “Come, Lord Serlo. I am interested enough in you, and your exploits, I want to hear about
all of them from your very mouth…”
As the de Hauteville took her arm and the walked over to one of the sofas, neither noticed Methar Lainez quietly watching them from behind Thomas’ throne, nor did they see the smile that came across his face…
==========*==========
January 19th, 1190
“Be careful, you imbeciles!”
The cold January wind off the Marmara made Eusebios Apokrilites shiver in his warm furs, but it didn’t seem to bother his lord, Enguerrand Komnenos. The still youthful looking, still handsome youngest brother of the late Emperor was anyway too busy shouting at his litter-bearers to show any care for the cold, other than pulling his own fur cloak a little tighter.
“Morons,” Enguerrand hissed, “Now,
logothetes, where were we?”
“You were saying to me you had concerns about the new Emperors,” Eusebios said, rolling his eyes slightly.
Everyone had concerns about the new imperial arrangement – some felt it unwieldy, some felt it ridiculous, some felt it dangerous. For his part, Eusebios was more inclined to think of it as the latter.
Enguerrand in his litter with Eusebios
“Well, I’d spoken about the half-Latin and the child?” Enguerrand asked, and Eusebios nodded. “Very well. Then there’s Thomas, and I fear I could take up the entire trip back to my villa talking about all of his failings and shortcomings!”
“He has that Spaniard with him though,” Eusebios pointed out.
“Yes – and that Spaniard is as slippery and clever as they come!” Enguerrand sighed. “He even has Thomas creating a new
tagma for the Imperial Guard!” the Exarch hissed.
Ever since the
Megas had brought in his Kappadokian regiment to take over personal bodyguard duties, each successive Emperor had brought in his own regiment and added to the guard – Manuel Komnenos had his
Nubiatakoi, Basil had his
Basilikon Toxotoi. A new guards regiment had become the
de facto means of keeping legitimacy as Emperor, as well as providing personal security from troops that one knew well. It was an arrangement that made sense, undoing centuries of intrigue where usurpers attempted to bribe longstanding guards regiments.
“Tarraco?” Eusebios asked, using what had already become in common parlance the shortened name of the Exarchate.
“2,00 of his veterans!
Hispanikon tagma!” Enguerrand threw his hands up as his litter crawled through the crowded streets. “By his proclamation, they’ll be taking over from the
Toxotoi the roles of guarding the palace and the person of all the Emperors!”
“Who signed off on that?” Eusebios wondered loudly. “It’s sheer lunacy! It gives Thomas complete power over the other two emperors!” With the
tagma guarding the emperors under Thomas’ control…
“Kosaca and the army,” Enguerrand sighed. “He’s commissioned new uniforms and arms for them as well. He even authorized them to wear
purple cloaks!”
“Purple?” Eusebios asked, “but… the cost! How can he afford it?”
“My brother left a state treasury overflowing with
solidii,” the fiscally gifted Enguerrand said, a hint of pride in his voice, before the melancholy of the present overwhelmed that small light. “Thomas seems intent to use every penny Basil saved. They aren’t tyrian purple, mind you – some darker, almost blue knockoff shade I heard merchants in Acre have been hawking as ‘imperial’ for years. But still…”
“Will they still have the helms as well?” Eusebios asked. During the coronation procession, the talk of the city had been the helmets of Thomas’ personal escort – dark steel capped with a single headed eagle, pointed left. Some mumbled that on a map that meant the eagle was looking West…
“Yes… every one of the two thousand soldiers will have them,” Enguerrand complained. Eusebios did not want to think about the cost. Purple – even cheap, knockoff purple - was an expensive dye.
A kentarchos in Thomas’ Hispanikon tagma, also know as the ‘purple cloaks.’
“Are either of the other emperors…”
“The Empress Sophie has announced that the
Basilikon Toxotai will personally guard the Emperor Heraklios, and the Emperor Alexios’ mother has, according to my sources, been in contact with people within the Crusader States to form a
Latinikon guard for the squalling child,” Enguerrand shook his head. “Some Latin, they tell me – Serlo de Hauteville.”
“There’s going to be a bloodbath,” Eusebios said unnecessarily.
“We sail tomorrow for Spain,” Enguerrand looked out of the litter uneasily. “We need to be in position. Thomas will undoubtedly triumph, Eusebios – his men are ready, they are here, and more importantly, he has the army. After he disposes of Alexios, Mauretania will be up for grabs. When his legates arrive in Basiliopolis, I want my flag already flying. With Lusitania and Mauretania, we need only slightly shove to push that Spaniard out of the way and dominate Spain.”
“What will Thomas do, though? You’ll be stripping imperial prerogatives to appoint
Exarchs…”
“It won’t matter,” Enguerrand turned back. “He’ll be preoccupied with Heraklios. Alexios and his mother will be easy to get rid of – the boy is half Latin, she’s the daughter of the hated King of the Franks. Empress Sophie is popular, and Heraklios will be… less pliant,” Enguerrand smiled. “By the time Thomas can turn around, I want most, if not all of Spain flying my banner. After a fratricidal war, he’d be
stupid to attempt to take on a united… what’s that?”
Outside, the noise of the market had changed, almost imperceptibly. The hawkers had gone silent. Eusebios looked out as well – the stone walls around them were dark, in shadow. The people that passed by were hustling, hurrying – eager to get from the dangerous alleys into the sunlight of the open market.
“Imbeciles!” Enguerrand shouted at the litter-bearers, “My villa is
straight down the street! Yet again you make a wrong turn!” He leaned back into the litter itself and sighed. “Incompetent fools – they’ve been on hire for two months, and they continuously make wrong turns.” He leaned back out. “Backtrack, you fools!”
Eusebios slowly felt the litter begin to turn around, before there was a sudden, jarring lurch to the right. The right side of the litter dipped, then Eusebios, Enguerrand, and the litter all tumbled to the ground.
Eusebios’ face landed on a mud splattered pillow, as he heard the noise of feet running. He swore under his breath at the litter bearers – they would likely suffer a beating, or worse – probably worse, knowing Eusebios’ lord. He could hear Enguerrand cursing and swearing as well.
“Goddamn sons of…” As Eusebios started to turn to his liege, there was a slight
thwip, then another, and Enguerrand’s voice died into a gurgle. By the time Eusebios had turned around, he saw his liege falling backwards, two small bolts sticking from his neck, blood, spraying everywhere.
Assassination.
Eusebios scrambled to his feet. He needed to run. He needed to alert the City Prefect. Yet the ruins of the toppled litter blocked his path. He started to clamber over part of the mess, when a dark figure stepped into his path, dark robes billowing behind him. Strapped to each of his arms, underneath his sleeves, Eusebios could see what looked to be two miniature crossbows.
For a moment, the
logothetes breathed in relief – evidently those had been what had killed Enguerrand, and the man was making no movement to rearming them. Yet, Eusebios’ relief turned into horror as the figure merely flicked his hands upside down. The small, angry forms of two more hand crossbows, cocked and loaded, stared the
logothetes in the face.
Eusebios had only a moment to look up at that cowl-shielded face, and for a moment he saw brown eyes, devoid of emotion, staring into his soul. There was the soft, sharp whine of twine, as Eusebios felt the bolts tear into him.
As he fell back, bleeding out from a pair of bolts in his throat, his dying ears picked up a terrifying call echo outside of the upturned litter.
“Sic semper tyrannus! La mort aux ennemis du vrai Empereur!”
So the blood has already begun to flow… who killed Enguerrand? And why? All the Emperors are gathering personal guards around them, when will the first blow fall?
EDIT - As for Serlo de Hauteville, he happens to be my favorite character from a
remarkable new AAR. "Furor Normanicus," simply put, is one of the best written AARs I have seen, and The_Guiscard has a cast full of memorable characters. Just so happens Serlo is my favorite, so he had to make a cameo! I'd urge all of you, if you haven't had the chance and you have some free time, to head over and check it out. Be forewarned though - once you start reading, you
won't want to stop!
