Chaos reigned in the Emperor’s tent.
“We’re outnumbered, two to one!” Demetrios said breathlessly.
“They have over fourteen thousand horse!” Georgios Pantiokanes, personal manservant to Manuel, complained loudly.
Manuel Komnenos, Emperor of the Roman Empire, Vice Gerent of Christ, etc. etc. ignored all the words coming from his plainly frightened generals and courtiers. He knew he was outnumbered. Only a mere glance showed that unlike the Normans, the German army was likely every bit as confident and disciplined as the Romanoi, so victory was not likely.
In Manuel’s mind, there was no need to continually cluck over the facts that were patently obvious. Instead, one should work on finding a solution.
All morning Manuel had personally looked about at the terrain around them, hoping that Italy itself could offer some salvation. The ground was flat, perfect for cavalry – altogether horrible for a Romanoi defense. Manuel had considered his options regarding his prisoners. He thought about handing Bohemond over to the Germans, but the wretched Norman king had the nerve to die of pleurisy two days before. Young Robert, barely 13, was now King of Sicily and an imperial prisoner. He had a future, and thus couldn’t be handed to the Germans.
Manuel’s mind wrestled with his options as everyone else panicked, and slowly a plan came together in his mind. A few minutes later, right as Georgios was yet again bemoaning the lack of Imperial cavalry, Manuel spoke.
“I’m going to ride out to meet him,” Manuel said simply.
“What, Your Majesty?” his page asked in horror.
“Brother, don’t be foolish,” Demetrios counseled. Yet Manuel didn’t hear their words. All he saw before him was the vast clearing between the two armies, and a chance for a bold solution to the problem ahead of them.
A solution that didn’t involve his 17,000 attempting to take on twice their number.
“Georgios,” Manuel spoke over the naysayers, “go and fetch me a flag of truce. Run over to the German lines and tell them I wish to speak to Hermann, directly. Demetrios, I’m going to need an escort – ten of your best riders will suffice, in the best armor and raiments you can find on such short notice.”
Both the
Megos Domestikos and Manuel’s personal manservant looked at each other quizzically, before bowing and dashing off to see to his demands.
What Manuel meant by ‘fine raiments.’
========== ==========
A full hour later Manuel and his small escort sat gamely on their saddles, halfway between the two great armies drawn up for battle. It had been a tense five or ten minutes before the front ranks of the German army broke open as well, and Manuel had caught is first glimpse of his erstwhile opponent.
To say that Herman, King of the Romans and Emperor of the Western Empire was a giant among men was an understatement. The German easily stood some six and a half feet tall, taller than Charlemagne, so tall that despite riding an immense stallion his stirrups hung low to the ground. He came out dressed in armor, the raiments of war, not the fine robes of the Easterners. Manuel instantly saw the message that was being sent – to Hermann’s men he was their commander, their lord of war. Likely he’d spent so much money maintaining his magnificent army he probably couldn’t maintain imperial clothing befitting his station.
“What is the meaning of this?” Hermann rumbled as he and his own escort trotted to within earshot.
“Imperial Majesty!” Manuel called, forsaking protocol for a second. Technically the Emperor of the East was the senior of two, and should have been addressed first. Manuel hoped Hermann would understand the signal as a sign of what would follow. “Greetings!”
“Hail Caesar,” Hermann grumbled half-heartedly as his horse drew nose to nose with Manuel’s.
“Come, Majesty. Let us discuss our differences as men of Christ, not men of war,” Manuel gestured off to the left, away from the ears of pages and escorts. The words had been carefully couched and picked.
“And what if you have some ruse?” Hermann asked darkly. “I’ve heard of your reputation, Majesty.”
“And what if I had some ruse?” Manuel shrugged. “It would be useless. Majesty, look at the differences between us – I am no physical slouch among men, yet you are literally a mountain. I have no doubt if we lived in more barbarous times you would be capable of literally rending me limb from limb. What do you, a mountain among mere foothills, have to fear from me, the most average of all?”
Manuel watched and smiled as the Western Emperor’s face went slightly red. Manuel had offered a compliment, stated the obvious and called out his compatriot. If Hermann did not accede, in the eyes of those gathered here he would look to be a coward. And while one or two Germans might keep a secret, Manuel knew the twenty escorts Hermann had brought could not.
After a moment, the German Emperor gestured off to the left, and the two rode away from their escorts and towards privacy.
Hermann’s idea of ‘fine raiments.’
“Why?” Manuel finally said, gesturing towards the splendid German army gathered. Even discounting its numbers it was easily the most fearsome military force Manuel had ever seen. Perfectly equipped, vast in number. “Why is such a fearsome host here in southern Italy, rather than further north cowing the Italian princes and German dukes?”
“Because of that splendid host,” Hermann pointed towards the Romanoi, making Manuel laugh.
“Your army is here merely to take on mine?”
“My army is here to enforce a settlement to the question of southern Italy,” Hermann said sharply.
“Robert has already made peace with me,” Manuel smiled thinly.
“At the point of a sword,” Hermann said gruffly. “I propose a more
honorable settlement.”
“And what if I want the current settlement? That I rule all of southern Italy in the name of Romanion?”
Hermann shifted in his saddle and sighed. He looked bored. “Then I will be forced to do the unfortunate thing and annihilate you here on the battlefield, and curry Papal favor for the rest of my reign.”
“Ah, that possible, even likely considering our current circumstances,” Manuel said with an ironic smile. It was the obvious, perhaps even an understatement. “However, that would do you and yours far more harm than good.”
Manuel’s smile became genuine when Hermann sat up in the saddle. Good. He had his attention.
“How is that?” the German emperor rumbled. “How is me embarrassing the East and proving we are equals in poor form for myself or my sons? How is showing your arrogant Greek ass that we Westerners are far better in battle bad for my progeny? How…”
“Am I your greatest enemy?” Manuel raised an eyebrow, cutting off the other Emperor.
Hermann stopped in mid sentence, then blinked. “What?”
“Am I your greatest enemy? Who has caused you and yours the most trouble over the course of your reign? Has it been the Eastern Empire?”
“No…” Hermann’s voice trailed off. “You are my enemy now…”
Manuel rolled his eyes. The uncouth German really couldn’t see what he was getting at. Very well, the Greek would spell it out for the barbarian. “Who has funding and encouraged your opponents, from the Dukes of Bavaria to the magisters of Northern Italy? Who has constantly sought to check the power of the Western Emperors, so he doesn’t lose his own? In short, Hermann, my cousin, who is you
greatest enemy?”
“The Pope…” the German Emperor said quietly.
“What concessions did he give you?” Manuel sighed. “A few excommunications? Recognition for your son? A promise on lay investiture?” Manuel’s horse snorted, the only noise that broke the silence. “You know he does this because I’m here – because Romanion is here,” Manuel gestured to his army. “As soon as we’re gone, and as soon as you’ve recrossed the Alps, Innocent, like the Popes before him, will renege his word, and you’ll be bereft of any leverage on him.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Hermann asked in the same quiet tone. Manuel could see in the man’s great eyes he was weighing his fellow Emperor’s words. The Greek smiled – he knew he had him.
“Because, if Romanion remains in southern Italy, Rome will
always be under threat, and if Rome is always under threat…”
“I’ll always get concessions?” Herman growled. The Western Emperor had realized where Manuel was going.
“Exactly. The greatest thorn in the side of the Western Empire will be brought to heel, as a mangy cur runs to its master at the first clap of thunder,” Manuel said simply. Hermann frowned – it’d been apparent he’d be hoping for some diplomatic humiliation for his erstwhile opponent. It was apparent now that such a humiliation would harm Hermann as much, if not more than Manuel.
“I see,” was all the King of the Romans said quietly.
“You need me here, Majesty,” Manuel said with simplicity and frankness. “You have me at a disadvantage, but you need me in southern Italy.”
“But I cannot simply let you simply ‘take’ southern Italy,” Hermann suddenly looked up. That mind was in gear again, much to Manuel’s chagrin. “I must save face as well, and look like I accomplished
something.” It was Hermann’s turn to smile.
Manuel sighed. Here, he knew he was stuck, and the German had a point. If Hermann marched away from here leaving Manuel with all of the south of Italy, it would be taken as a sign of weakness by his great lords, and the Pope might call on one of them to depose such a weak and Orientally-friendly ruler.
“What if I make Robert the titular Prince of Apulia?” Manuel asked. As a member of the
dynatoi on paper Robert would still rule, save on behalf of the Romans. In practice, Manuel already had planned on sending his cousin Zeno to actually rule the province. It would look as if Manuel had given a concession to the Western Emperor, bolstering Hermann’s position – Manuel cared less about what the
dynatoi thought. They were cowed and afraid of him, so he thought. “Robert would still rule, the Normans would officially be in control. The Pope would have to call for
Te Deums throughout your realm and thank you for keeping me from taking
all of Italy. Yet His Holiness would know who the true rulers of south Italy were, and he would supplicate to you accordingly.”
Hermann slowly ran a great hand through his immense beard in thought.
“Give the item some thought,
cousin,” Manuel said coldly. Time to ratchet up the pressure. “It would serve both our purposes, and keep us from having to seek a bloody decision on the field. You have a larger army than me, but trust in this, Your Majesty, I will maul your forces so horribly you couldn’t keep a cow in line in Germany, let alone the great dukes.”
Hermann was still silent for only a second longer, before he nodded.
“Agreed,” the King of the Romans said quietly.
“Agreed?” Manuel raised an eyebrow, before he smiled. “Ah, with such innocuous words great decisions are made.” The Emperor visibly relaxed, before holding out his hand. “We shall work together then, as comrades in Christ and the Imperial diadem.”
Manuel’s hand was fairly engulfed in that of the German. “So we shall. Though, if we are to be friends, even partners, I would be remiss if I did not mention something. His Holiness has been planning a counterstroke against you for some time,” Hermann said. “He has been in contact with the…”
“…Cuman?” Manuel raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Yes, I thought as much. Only opponents on our border other than you the Pope could be in discussions with. I already have some plans in the works for them….”
“And what of Naples?” the King of the Romans asked. “Duke Godfrey inexplicably broke his oath of fealty to King Bohemond when you Greeks invaded. Technically Naples belongs to no one right now…”
“What of Naples?” Manuel blew off the question, despite its importance. Naples was a part of the Duchy of Salerno, and was the single wealthiest city in the south of Italy. Basiliea’s father was the Duke of Salerno – and Manuel saw no reason to stir that hornet’s nest just yet. Godfrey was old, he was fat, his days were numbered. He could do as he liked for now. Manuel was sure of one thing.
Godfrey would not take the title King of Sicily. That was for Manuel, and Manuel alone…
Southern Italy at the end of the First Italian War. By treaty, Robert de Hauteville surrendered his title as King of Sicily to Manuel, and stayed on as Duke of Apulia. His cousin William remained Duke of Calabria. As both are still minors, of course this means Manuel would send ‘counselors’ to help guide them, and usurp any real power they might receive in the future. Godfrey, Duke of Salerno is the only remaining original Norman lord – left alone and seeing his betrayal, he has fled to the Pope…
========== ==========
Konstantinopolis, June 7th, 1953
“Andreas!”
Andreas Venizelos looked up, his face peering from amidst the sea of papers and books that covered his desk at the Imperial Archives in Constantinople. He’d already lost track of half of his notecards in the mess, and part of him cursed. His dissertation was already unwieldy, and the helpful archivists, by bringing even more documents every day, were unwittingly adding to his misery.
“Yes?” the doctoral student called. With some effort he managed to clear the notecards from his lap so he could stand.
Approaching him was Konstantin Demertzis, one of the better known of the invisible archivists in the state archives, and a chief component of the overwhelming amount of research material Andreas now had to dig through. To Andreas’ amazement and relief, Konstantin only had a single volume in his hand, and at the pace the old man was running, it must have been something important.
“Andreas,” Konstantin said breathlessly as he came up, “I found it!”
“Found what?”
“The final key to your research into the Manueline government!” Konstanin fairly wheezed as he handed the document over to the young researcher.
“Is a small dispatch book from an Imperial Spy in southern Russia, then known as Cumania,” Demertzis said in awe. Gently the archivist blew dust off of the cover of the cover. “No one has been in here to look at this in ages… I only came across it by accident when cataloguing the contents of its fond and folio yesterday. I thought you could use it in your research.”
Venizelos was too engrossed in the small volume in his hands to hear any of the words the archivist might have been saying. It had been well established that for centuries the Imperial government had a well organized and maintained intelligence machine, as far back as the days of Justinian. But it was a rare treat for a historian to come across evidence such as
this. Unable to restrain himself, Venizelos carefully opened the book, which fell open:
So Manuel has managed to beguile Hermann into an arrangement, and he has taken care of the Cuman threat. Will letting it publicly be known that he has assassinated a fellow head of state come back to haunt him, or will it have the desired effect of cowing all of the enemies on his borders? And what will Basiliea have to say about this arrangement – her goal was to get her father as King of Sicily, not to have him reduced to an independent duke and little else? All of this and more when Rome AARisen continues.
A final note: The book style presentation has been borrowed from
A Pictorial Lesson in the Art of Dynasty: Blood, Power et Conquest . Its a new AAR, and I really really like the graphics presentation in it (my imitation does it very poor service). I'd urge all of you, if you haven't already, to take a look!