The Grace of Rome
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1: The Hedge Knight
Acre, February 16th 1228After its conquest in the First Crusade, Acre was made the primary port of the Crusader Kingdom. It developed into the main port of the Eastern Mediterranean and brought massive wealth to the Kingdom of Jerusalem. |
The port of Acre bustled with activity as usual as Baudouin I finally drifted in, its crew exhausted after the hasty journey. The trip had been estimated at two weeks, but they had made it in ten days despite unfavourable winds. The sailors were unhappy over having to row overnight on open sea several times when the wind betrayed them, but some monetary lubrication and a healthy dose of browbeating had whipped them into action. No delays could be afforded, was the mantra repeated during the journey until everyone was sick of it. The quote, attributed to Lord Maurice, had drifted down to the rowmen, who had soon taken to chanting it.
"No!" swish "Delays!" swish "Can be!" swish "Afforded!" swish!
Of course, sailors being sailors, the chant became the subject of a series of artistic modifications: "No delays can be afforded!" became "No whores can be afforded!" then "No Maurices can be afforded!" and finally "Lord Maurice can kiss mine arse!" After that, they started to become vulgar. Maurice didn't mind, as their little rebellion seemed to give them the energy to carry on.
Now with their destination in sight, he breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as exhausted as if he had been behind the oars himself.
"After this journey, your John better measure up to his reputation," grumbled a low voice beside him. A tall and bald man joined him at the bow, wearing a scowl that Maurice suspected had etched itself permanently into his face over its fourty years of residence.
"You are just as well acquainted with his reputation as I am, Count Narjot," replied Maurice, bowing his head slightly. As a Count, Narjot de Toucy was the highest-ranking noble in the delegation and titular leader, even though the mission had been Maurice's idea from the start, and operated despite the reluctance of his more prestigious counterpart. Whereas Maurice could only claim nobility for a couple of generations, Lord Narjot de Toucy could trace his ancestry back to the times of Charlemagne, claiming relations to several kings and emperors along the way. He couldn't even accuse him of leeching of his family's prestige, for he had personally conquered the very lands he ruled today. He had been sixteen years old at the time. He was the sort of man Maurice did well not to insult.
"His reputation," scoffed Lord Narjot. "A reputation as a soldier of fortune. A mercenary who wanders Europe in search of glory and plunder. He takes up crowns nearly as quickly as they fall of his brow. And this man you would choose to..." he trailed off and shook his head. It had taken a lot of effort to convince the severe lord of this course of action, but Maurice had apparently succeeded, and he despised it. Even though the Duke of Naxos outranked Narjot within the Empire, the young Angelo had refused the regency in favour of the older and more experienced count. It was no mean feat to talk a man into willingly surrendering the most prestigious and wealthy office of the Imperial Court, not to mention the powers available to any regent to advance the interests of his family.
* * *
"... and now we have reports that Nikaea is buying up grain and arms and preparing for an invasion. War is coming, and we don't know if we can win it," Maurice finished.
John de Brienne threw his head back and laughed. Maurice felt his face drain of blood and looked over at Count Narjot, who met his gaze with an expression that promised bloody murder. The other faces at the table did little to comfort him: Narjot's eldest, Philip, had his mouth full of mutton and didn't seem to understand the joke, but chuckled awkwardly anyway; Bishop Simon of Constantinople's shoulders slumped and he looked down at his plate; Onfroy de Cula's lips turned white and he looked ready to throw his goblet at the man; Baron Edward of Blachernae sat back and rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head gently; Queen Alix of Jerusalem closed her eyes and failed to suppress a grin of her own; Baldwin d'Ibelin gave a single snort; Bishop Aymar of Adelon, titular Patriarch of Jerusalem, looked scandalised.
John's mirth finally subsided enough for him to speak again: "Hate to put an end to that winning streak, eh?"
"Your Royal Highness!" squawked the Patriarch, "John!" scolded the Queen and Philip de Toucy shouted a muffled protest, but all this only sent the former King of Jerusalem into another fit of laughter. Since the Fourth Crusade had sacked Constantinople and placed Baldwin, Count of Flanders, on the Throne of Caesars twenty-four years ago, the Empire of Romania had known nothing but decline, breaking apart under the strain of a hostile populace and the advances of the Kingdoms of Bulgaria and Epirus and the Empire of Nikaea, which claimed to be the true successor to the Roman Empire.
"Do you think this is some kind of joke?!" a voice roared. Maurice instinctively looked to his left, where Narjot was sitting, but found himself looking down at him, still in his seat, meeting his gaze with a surprised and impressed expression. It was Maurice himself who had leapt to his feet, throwing his chair to the floor, and screamed at His Royal Highness at the top of his lungs.
He was suddenly very aware of the company he was in. The Queen of the Holy City, the Patriarch of the Holy City, and John de Brienne, who had led two Crusades and worn the crown of Jerusalem himself, then sacked Sicily in vengeance when Holy Roman Emperor Frederick dispossessed him of it. Maurice's grandfathers were a sheepherder and a Greek minor noble who hastily converted to Catholicism in the face of the invading Franks. Through a series of insightful business transactions and strokes of luck he had garnered enough wealth and goodwill to be elected mayor of Galata, which was what landed him in the Imperial Court. The silence in the room was deafening, but now that he had begun, he had to keep going.
"The... The very bastion of Christianity is... is under siege and you just sit there and-" he stammered, but John cut him off.
"That city was burned to the ground twenty-four years ago," he said, his mirth now turned into a sneer. "There is nothing left but wishes and poor imitations."
"That city was burned to the ground twenty-four years ago," he said, his mirth now turned into a sneer. "There is nothing left but wishes and poor imitations."
The Crusaders of the Fourth Crusade were massively indebted to the Venetians who sold them transportation and military support. In order to repay their debts they agreed to place the son of the deposed Emperor Isaac II, Alexios IV Angelos, on the Byzantine throne, as he promised them enough money to repay the Venetians and more. Greek politics turned foul on them, however, and after successfully installing Alexios IV, he was strangled by a Greek courtier before he was able to fulfill his promises to the Crusaders. When his successor, Emperor Alexios V Doukas, refused to honour the debts of Alexios IV, the Catholics attacked the city and subjected it to a three-day-long sack of uncommon brutality, destroying or looting numerous priceless relics and desecrating Greek churches, including the Hagia Sophia. |
"And what do you mean by that?" snarled the old knight, all traces of levity vanished.
Maurice swallowed and began to truly regret speaking up as he did. This whole mission was a joke. Who did he think he was, trying to tell these people what to do? He had aimed above his station and was going to be burned, and badly. He opened his mouth, but only stammered.
Bishop Simon came to his rescue: "He means... well, you have committed certain sins and we offer you the opportunity to redeem yourself in-"
"Redeem myself?" John snorted, "I took up the cross. Again. I did my time. I followed that fool Pelagius into- Nevermind, what do you mean, offer me the opportunity? You haven't offered me anything, you've just been whining like a-"
"We would offer you the Crown of Caesars!" Maurice blurted out.
That shut John up.
"As Regent," added Narjot, "Emperor Robert passed away last month, and his heir, Baldwin, is only-"
"Oh, Regent is it?" mocked John, recovering from his momentary shock to contort his face into a snarl. "Not only would you give me a crown that is more burden than honour but you would have me relinquish it as soon as the boy comes of age!"
"Your Highness, we need you," growled Onfroy de Cula, leaning forward. "You are a proven commander and popular with the soldiers and the nobility! You are the only one who could turn the fortunes of the Empire around!"
"And as soon as I have done that, off goes the crown and I‘m back to begging for scraps! No thank-"
"This appointment is for life," said a low voice. It was the first time Baron Edward had spoken, but he caught the old paladin‘s attention at once, who stared at him, silent. "Baldwin will be your heir, but you will remain Emperor-Regent until your death. Your Highness, you can die with a crown on your brow."
John‘s expression remained frozen for several moments. Then his eyebrows gave a tiny twitch and relief washed over Maurice.
They had him.
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