Chief Ragusa said:
Not really careless, Chief. Those Komnenes are like puppies - lots of them and you never know where they've gotten off to.
J. Passepartout, that's not the answer I wanted, said Tom testily.
-
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Not really careless, Chief. Those Komnenes are like puppies - lots of them and you never know where they've gotten off to.
J. Passepartout, that's not the answer I wanted, said Tom testily.
Unlike puppies they're not cute and lovable, though they do seem to share a man with string and rocks running after them, which must be why they all share the name, Alexius, to throw the puruser off the scent.
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Von Adler - Actually your idea intrigues me....Go ahead. A perspective from the little people would be pretty good, I think....
Still looking for someone to do the Venetians and Norman Sicily....but if not, c'est la vie.....I have another guest author who will be doing something with Georgia...it will happen sometime this weekend or perhaps Monday or so.....Duke of Wellington has kindly agreed to do this, and although he is a bit nervous I have great confidence he will do a bang up job. Of course I still need to do a post with Ariana 'running' into Andros, as it were...and perhaps Director would do a response to it...but it will probably be this weekend before I can do it....
Still looking for someone to do the Venetians and Norman Sicily....but if not, c'est la vie.....I have another guest author who will be doing something with Georgia...it will happen sometime this weekend or perhaps Monday or so.....Duke of Wellington has kindly agreed to do this, and although he is a bit nervous I have great confidence he will do a bang up job. Of course I still need to do a post with Ariana 'running' into Andros, as it were...and perhaps Director would do a response to it...but it will probably be this weekend before I can do it....
Thanks for the oppurtunity, Amric. My first installment follows, I plan to write about 4-5 characters in Anatolia in several installments. If you want to use any of them later, feel free to.
It was a rolling landscape, low hills covered in thorny bushes and patches
of brownish-yellow grass, baked under the hot sun. Further away, rock and
cliff started to emerge from the ground, growing into barren cliffsides
and then into bluing mountains in the distance. Here and there, clungs of
trees, mostly cypresses, cedar and gnarled old olive trees clinged to the
thin soil. Out of this landscape, countless generations had made out a
living, watering the dry fields with their own sweat. Orderly rows of
olive trees, orchards, golden grain fields and grazing grounds with flocks
of sheep and goats, and here and there, cattle, all lined by low, thorny
hedges that held the soil firmly in place, told of nearly endless human
labour as much as the stony cottages and outhouses of the farms inhabited
by the hardy peasants and shepherds toiling this land. Streams ran through
the landscape at a high pace, as if the water itself desperately wanted to
reach the sea to escape the heat and the sun. This was Roman Anatolia, or
rather, what was left of it.
As the shadows grew longer and the sun rapidly set, a building stood out
from all others in this magnificient landscape. It was an old watchtower
lovingly masoned in stone long ago. Some would say it had first been built
during the time of the pagan Hellenes, perhaps during the wars of the
heirs of Alexander the Great. It had since been rebuilt, expanded,
improved and changed into what it was today - a five story large stone
tower with thick walls, arrow slits, murder holes, a cauldron and even the
main door a story up, with the stairs interrupted by wooden parts that
could be torn down or burned should the enemy try to storm the tower.
Surrounded by a wooden pallisade with an extensive gatehouse and four
square towers, also from wood, the end result was a small fort perched
atop one of the higher hills in the landscape. In days long gone, it had
protected a stretch of old Roman road running from the east to the west,
promising safety from highwaymen and bandits in the days of old. Nowadays,
it was unsettingly close to the border and promised a fragile protection
against the heathen Turk and his constant raiding.
And that was indeed the hope of the people streaming into the fort from
far and wide. The Turk was coming, and every scared refugee had his own
story of the savagery they had seen or even experienced themselves. Men,
women, children, sheep and goats were streaming through the open gates.
Some came on carts with most of their possesions piled dangerously high
and all their livestock shepherded in front of them, others came only with
the clothes on their back and barely that. Some came smeared with soot and
dirt and the desperate grief of someone who has seen their home burnt to
the ground written into their tired faces. All glanced nervously over
their shoulders towards plumes of smoke rising in the distance.
Dressed in an old and battered, but well maintained chainmail and a
polished helmet with a red plume, the commander of the fort stood on top
of the gatehouse and peered out over the landscape. Captain Aristedes was
perhaps thirtyfive years old and a hard life as a soldier showed in the
wrinkles around his hard brown eyes and the dashes of grey in his black
whiskers. He was of ordinary stature and his face was of the kind you meet
every day and never remember, with little or no distinctive features. It
was only his posture and his steel hard gaze that drew attention.
"Denes?" he said, his voice being dark and soft.
"Captain." a man behind him answered. It was a large, strong man with
broad shoulders that spoke of many years of wearing heavy armour. A nasty
scar ran from his forehead, cleaving the left eyebrow, disappearing under
an eye patch to emerge again and run down his cheek. He had not seen more
than forty years, but a hard life and an unhealthy love of wine had aged
him prematurely and his short-cut beard and hair was all grey, and large
bags under his eyes accompanied his wrinkled face and a smile that lacked
several teeth.
"I think this is more than a raid." Aristedes said. "There is too many
refugees from too many farmsteads in too many directions for this to be a
normal raid."
"I would agree, Captain." the old soldier replied and took a swig from a
leather pouch.
"So the Turk is coming." the Captain said with a heavy sigh.
"Would seem so." the old one-eyed soldier replied. "And before the wine
harvest too, the adulterous bastards!"
The Captain grimaced at the priorities of the old soldier. "We need to get
these refugees organised..." he turned and walked over to the other end of
the gatehouse, the one facing the courtyard and sighed at the chaos of
carts, sheep, goats, refugees and the occasional soldier from the fort's
garrison futily trying to bring order to the maelstrom of people and
critters in the small courtyard.
Suddenly a boy appeared beside the Captain, peering over the wooden
battlement down to the courtyard.
"Who are you? How did you get here?" the Captain exclaimed, suprised at
not hearing anyone step so close to him.
"My n-n-name is L-l-l-lysander." the boy stuttered. "I-i-i-i c-c-climbed
the ladder over th-th-there." he pointed towards the ladder from the
courtyard to the gatehouse roof. He was a small-framed boy of the peasant
stock of this land, with unkempt dark hair, large, curious green eyes and
the kind of long, lean limbs you would find on a boy of his age,
strengthened by several years as a shepherd. He was dressed only in a grey
woolen tunic that reached to his knees and looked too large for him. A
rope made up his belt and to it a few pouches and strings were tied, as
well as a knife with a worn handle. He carried a woollen sack over his
shoulder, but did not seem to posess anything else. His face was striped
with dirt and his feet bare.
"What are you doing up here, boy?" the Captain said, annoyed by this
distraction to his duties.
"L-l-looking for mother and father. I-it seemd easier to see from up
here." the boy exclaimed, his stuttering increasing as he came under the
steely gaze of the Captain. "The T-t-t-turks came, I think they
b-b-b-burned our farm. They c-c-c-came on horseback and took the
sh-sh-sheep, I hid." the lad managed to exclaim. Captain Aristedes could
not really argue with the flawless logic of the lad, but was just about to
open his mouth to bark a good lesson to the careless boy about climbing
the battlements of a fort without permission, when Denes said something.
"Captain, I think we have horsemen coming in."
Captain Aristedes forgot all about the boy and his insolence and turned to
the other side again. Indeed, a fast-moving dustcloud was closing in along
the road from the east...
of brownish-yellow grass, baked under the hot sun. Further away, rock and
cliff started to emerge from the ground, growing into barren cliffsides
and then into bluing mountains in the distance. Here and there, clungs of
trees, mostly cypresses, cedar and gnarled old olive trees clinged to the
thin soil. Out of this landscape, countless generations had made out a
living, watering the dry fields with their own sweat. Orderly rows of
olive trees, orchards, golden grain fields and grazing grounds with flocks
of sheep and goats, and here and there, cattle, all lined by low, thorny
hedges that held the soil firmly in place, told of nearly endless human
labour as much as the stony cottages and outhouses of the farms inhabited
by the hardy peasants and shepherds toiling this land. Streams ran through
the landscape at a high pace, as if the water itself desperately wanted to
reach the sea to escape the heat and the sun. This was Roman Anatolia, or
rather, what was left of it.
As the shadows grew longer and the sun rapidly set, a building stood out
from all others in this magnificient landscape. It was an old watchtower
lovingly masoned in stone long ago. Some would say it had first been built
during the time of the pagan Hellenes, perhaps during the wars of the
heirs of Alexander the Great. It had since been rebuilt, expanded,
improved and changed into what it was today - a five story large stone
tower with thick walls, arrow slits, murder holes, a cauldron and even the
main door a story up, with the stairs interrupted by wooden parts that
could be torn down or burned should the enemy try to storm the tower.
Surrounded by a wooden pallisade with an extensive gatehouse and four
square towers, also from wood, the end result was a small fort perched
atop one of the higher hills in the landscape. In days long gone, it had
protected a stretch of old Roman road running from the east to the west,
promising safety from highwaymen and bandits in the days of old. Nowadays,
it was unsettingly close to the border and promised a fragile protection
against the heathen Turk and his constant raiding.
And that was indeed the hope of the people streaming into the fort from
far and wide. The Turk was coming, and every scared refugee had his own
story of the savagery they had seen or even experienced themselves. Men,
women, children, sheep and goats were streaming through the open gates.
Some came on carts with most of their possesions piled dangerously high
and all their livestock shepherded in front of them, others came only with
the clothes on their back and barely that. Some came smeared with soot and
dirt and the desperate grief of someone who has seen their home burnt to
the ground written into their tired faces. All glanced nervously over
their shoulders towards plumes of smoke rising in the distance.
Dressed in an old and battered, but well maintained chainmail and a
polished helmet with a red plume, the commander of the fort stood on top
of the gatehouse and peered out over the landscape. Captain Aristedes was
perhaps thirtyfive years old and a hard life as a soldier showed in the
wrinkles around his hard brown eyes and the dashes of grey in his black
whiskers. He was of ordinary stature and his face was of the kind you meet
every day and never remember, with little or no distinctive features. It
was only his posture and his steel hard gaze that drew attention.
"Denes?" he said, his voice being dark and soft.
"Captain." a man behind him answered. It was a large, strong man with
broad shoulders that spoke of many years of wearing heavy armour. A nasty
scar ran from his forehead, cleaving the left eyebrow, disappearing under
an eye patch to emerge again and run down his cheek. He had not seen more
than forty years, but a hard life and an unhealthy love of wine had aged
him prematurely and his short-cut beard and hair was all grey, and large
bags under his eyes accompanied his wrinkled face and a smile that lacked
several teeth.
"I think this is more than a raid." Aristedes said. "There is too many
refugees from too many farmsteads in too many directions for this to be a
normal raid."
"I would agree, Captain." the old soldier replied and took a swig from a
leather pouch.
"So the Turk is coming." the Captain said with a heavy sigh.
"Would seem so." the old one-eyed soldier replied. "And before the wine
harvest too, the adulterous bastards!"
The Captain grimaced at the priorities of the old soldier. "We need to get
these refugees organised..." he turned and walked over to the other end of
the gatehouse, the one facing the courtyard and sighed at the chaos of
carts, sheep, goats, refugees and the occasional soldier from the fort's
garrison futily trying to bring order to the maelstrom of people and
critters in the small courtyard.
Suddenly a boy appeared beside the Captain, peering over the wooden
battlement down to the courtyard.
"Who are you? How did you get here?" the Captain exclaimed, suprised at
not hearing anyone step so close to him.
"My n-n-name is L-l-l-lysander." the boy stuttered. "I-i-i-i c-c-climbed
the ladder over th-th-there." he pointed towards the ladder from the
courtyard to the gatehouse roof. He was a small-framed boy of the peasant
stock of this land, with unkempt dark hair, large, curious green eyes and
the kind of long, lean limbs you would find on a boy of his age,
strengthened by several years as a shepherd. He was dressed only in a grey
woolen tunic that reached to his knees and looked too large for him. A
rope made up his belt and to it a few pouches and strings were tied, as
well as a knife with a worn handle. He carried a woollen sack over his
shoulder, but did not seem to posess anything else. His face was striped
with dirt and his feet bare.
"What are you doing up here, boy?" the Captain said, annoyed by this
distraction to his duties.
"L-l-looking for mother and father. I-it seemd easier to see from up
here." the boy exclaimed, his stuttering increasing as he came under the
steely gaze of the Captain. "The T-t-t-turks came, I think they
b-b-b-burned our farm. They c-c-c-came on horseback and took the
sh-sh-sheep, I hid." the lad managed to exclaim. Captain Aristedes could
not really argue with the flawless logic of the lad, but was just about to
open his mouth to bark a good lesson to the careless boy about climbing
the battlements of a fort without permission, when Denes said something.
"Captain, I think we have horsemen coming in."
Captain Aristedes forgot all about the boy and his insolence and turned to
the other side again. Indeed, a fast-moving dustcloud was closing in along
the road from the east...
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Very nice, Von Adler....You could really feel the fear and desperation in the refugees, and the little boy really put it all out there. You gotta feel bad for him, but you truly captured the whole feeling and spirit of just such a thing that did indeed happen back in those times. Kudos, sir! An excellent posting and I truly enjoyed it immensely.
"Are they Turks?" the Captain said, peering towards the dust cloud that now had closed enough for men and horses to be barely visible.
"I can see a banner." Denes replied. "But my eye is not what it used to be, I cannot make out what is on it." the old soldier said, shrugged and strung his compound trebizond bow.
"CLOSE THE GATES!" the Captain bellowed and several soldiers rushed to the gate, practically pulling the last refugees inside the fort and then closed the wooden gates shut.
"I can't make out the banner either..." the Captain said, straining his eyes, frustration mounting at the dust, movement and distance making it impossible to make out the features.
"I-i-it has a cross." the boy said, again he had walked up beside the Captain without being noticed.
"That lad is a quiet one." Denes chuckled and took another swig from his leather pouch.
Captain Aristedes was about to give the boy a good slap, but stopped his arm mid-air. "You can see it at that distance?" he said.
Lysander was cowering under the expected blow. "Y-y-yes." he again peered out over the wooden battlement, with one or two nervous glances towards the Captain. "I-it is a c-cross. A-and the m-men in the front w-wear armour like yours. T-t-the Turks I saw had a-a-ar-armour like a fish from the s-s-stream."
"Akritai, then." Denes said and smiled an ugly, uneven smile, lacking several teeth. But the Captain had already reached that conclusion and was directing his attention towards the boy.
"They wore scale armour?" he said sternly.
"I-i-i don't know what s-s-sc-scale armour is." he stuttered. "Th-they had a green b-banner with a crescent."
Denes looked at the Captain and the Captain looked at Denes.
"If the boy remembers correctly, it could be a household cavalry unit of one of the Seljuk Princes." Denes said.
"...and if it is, the Turks are not out to nibble off more of Anatolia, it is a full scale invasion. It could be worse than Manzikert." the Captain filled in.
As the two soldiers talked, the boy was again staring over the battlements. "S-s-some of them are ill. One just f-f-fe-fell off his horse." the boy pointed towards a limp pile in the dust behind the advancing horses. The horsemen were riding hard and not stopping for the poor man that had fallen off his mount.
"Open the gates, and be ready to close them fast." the Captain yelled. "They would not ride that hard if hell itself was on their heels, they are exhausting their horses."
"They got something far worse on their heels, I'd say, Captain. The Turk." Denes replied.
"Boy!" the Captain said.
"M-my name is L-lysander." the boy said back. Captain Aristedes pushed down an urge to smack the lad there and then for his back-talking.
"Very well, Lysander." he said between clenched teeth. "This is the battlements, and you are not allowed here. Get down!" he pointed towards the ladder and to his suprise the lad immediately obeyed, quickly and smoothly climbing down.
Finally the cavalrymen arrived. Panic-stricken sheep scurried in all directions under loud baah-ing as the cavalry rode fast and hard into the courtyard. It was indeed a unit of Akritai, but many saddles were empty and the horses were few from the start, and more than one man were clutching sides and tighs, were broken or still fully fletched arrows pointed out. The faces were haunted, dusty and tired, speaking of a hard battle, comrades left behind and long and hard ride with a victorious enemy hard on their heels.
A tall and thin young man jumped off his horse, kneeled in the dirt of the courtyard, closed his eyes, clasped his hands and started murmuring prayers of thanks as the gates were closed behind them. Even though the sun had tanned his face, one could see that he had not led a outdoor life for long and his armour and mantle was definetely of the better kind. Indeed, two broken arrow shafts protrouded from his torso, obviously stopped by his high-quaility armour. His face held an aristocratically bent nose and his ligh-brown hair was cut militarily short. He was young enough to really not need to shave that often, but the patches of fuzz here and there spoke of some days in the field.
Captain Aristedes was climbing down the same ladder the lad had scurried down just before and walked over to the cavalrymen, who were dismounting under groans, curses and the occasional muffled shout of pain. Several of the fort's soldier ad rushed to help, the barber that also doubled as the doctor of the place rushing to help the man who dropped into the dirt when trying to dismount.
"Who is your Captain?" Aristedes said.
"The Turk saw it fit to give him a new career as a porcupine close to the border." one of the Akritai said, limping to the front of his horse, murmuring loving words softly to the frothing and wild-eyed beast.
"Who leads you?" Aristed inquired with some annoyance at the unwillingness of the Akritai to give up information sharply and rapidly.
"I guess the nobleman does." another man said and groaned as he tried to walk, fingering a cut in his tigh, pointing towards the kneeling man.
"Very well." Aristedes said and glanced somewhat nervously towards the still kneeling nobleman. "Water your horses and tend to your wounds. There should be food for you if you talk to the cook." with those words he turned over to the murmuring nobleman.
"Sire?" he asked. The man kept praying with his eyes closed. Annoyed, Aristedes discretely tapped his boot against the tigh of the man. Still no reaction. What was this? He might be a nobleman, but Aristedes was still the commander of this fort, and judging from the man's armour, he still outranked him, even if he was a nobleman. He pushed the kneeling man's shoulder.
The thin nobleman was on his feet in a split of second and had his sword half-drawn before he realised where he was again and his wide open eyes returned to something of a normal state.
"My most sincere apologies, Captain." he said and saluted. "I am Lieutenant Ioannes Maros of the Akritai." he bowed with style and grace, speaking of an upbringing at the court of a higher nobleman.
"I am Captain Aristedes Michalis, commander of this fort." Captain Aristedes replied. "What happened to your unit?"
A soldier gave Ioannes a goblet filled with water, which he greedily, but still with manners, gobbled down before replying. "We were patrolling along the border, looking for a heathen raiding party, when a Turk household unit descended upon us. We had not expected such strength and were spread out. They showered us with arrows and the Captain fell under the first hail." Ioannes shook his head, in regret. "May the Almighty have mercy upon his soul. I think a forth or a fifth of us had fallen before we had our own bows out, and then they came with swords drawn and lances felled, yelling in their barbarian thounge about how their false God is great. I think we bounced them once before we broke. We did not give as good as we got, I can say that for sure. Many of our comrades died on that rocky slope." he took another drink from the goblet. "Since then we've been retreating, God himself probably steering us towards this fort and salvation for His servants from the heathens, since the horses were on the verge of death from exhaustion."
He fell on one knee and bent his head. "I hereby formally rescind my command, or what is left of it, to you Captain."
Aristedes had not seen such old-fashioned manners in many years and tried to remember his officer's training far in a misty past.
"Very well." he said and placed a hand upon the younger man's shoulder. "I accept... your command and will not dishonour it as long as I am required to hold it." he said.
"Captain!" Denes yelled from atop the gatehouse. "We got more horsemen incoming."
"I can see a banner." Denes replied. "But my eye is not what it used to be, I cannot make out what is on it." the old soldier said, shrugged and strung his compound trebizond bow.
"CLOSE THE GATES!" the Captain bellowed and several soldiers rushed to the gate, practically pulling the last refugees inside the fort and then closed the wooden gates shut.
"I can't make out the banner either..." the Captain said, straining his eyes, frustration mounting at the dust, movement and distance making it impossible to make out the features.
"I-i-it has a cross." the boy said, again he had walked up beside the Captain without being noticed.
"That lad is a quiet one." Denes chuckled and took another swig from his leather pouch.
Captain Aristedes was about to give the boy a good slap, but stopped his arm mid-air. "You can see it at that distance?" he said.
Lysander was cowering under the expected blow. "Y-y-yes." he again peered out over the wooden battlement, with one or two nervous glances towards the Captain. "I-it is a c-cross. A-and the m-men in the front w-wear armour like yours. T-t-the Turks I saw had a-a-ar-armour like a fish from the s-s-stream."
"Akritai, then." Denes said and smiled an ugly, uneven smile, lacking several teeth. But the Captain had already reached that conclusion and was directing his attention towards the boy.
"They wore scale armour?" he said sternly.
"I-i-i don't know what s-s-sc-scale armour is." he stuttered. "Th-they had a green b-banner with a crescent."
Denes looked at the Captain and the Captain looked at Denes.
"If the boy remembers correctly, it could be a household cavalry unit of one of the Seljuk Princes." Denes said.
"...and if it is, the Turks are not out to nibble off more of Anatolia, it is a full scale invasion. It could be worse than Manzikert." the Captain filled in.
As the two soldiers talked, the boy was again staring over the battlements. "S-s-some of them are ill. One just f-f-fe-fell off his horse." the boy pointed towards a limp pile in the dust behind the advancing horses. The horsemen were riding hard and not stopping for the poor man that had fallen off his mount.
"Open the gates, and be ready to close them fast." the Captain yelled. "They would not ride that hard if hell itself was on their heels, they are exhausting their horses."
"They got something far worse on their heels, I'd say, Captain. The Turk." Denes replied.
"Boy!" the Captain said.
"M-my name is L-lysander." the boy said back. Captain Aristedes pushed down an urge to smack the lad there and then for his back-talking.
"Very well, Lysander." he said between clenched teeth. "This is the battlements, and you are not allowed here. Get down!" he pointed towards the ladder and to his suprise the lad immediately obeyed, quickly and smoothly climbing down.
Finally the cavalrymen arrived. Panic-stricken sheep scurried in all directions under loud baah-ing as the cavalry rode fast and hard into the courtyard. It was indeed a unit of Akritai, but many saddles were empty and the horses were few from the start, and more than one man were clutching sides and tighs, were broken or still fully fletched arrows pointed out. The faces were haunted, dusty and tired, speaking of a hard battle, comrades left behind and long and hard ride with a victorious enemy hard on their heels.
A tall and thin young man jumped off his horse, kneeled in the dirt of the courtyard, closed his eyes, clasped his hands and started murmuring prayers of thanks as the gates were closed behind them. Even though the sun had tanned his face, one could see that he had not led a outdoor life for long and his armour and mantle was definetely of the better kind. Indeed, two broken arrow shafts protrouded from his torso, obviously stopped by his high-quaility armour. His face held an aristocratically bent nose and his ligh-brown hair was cut militarily short. He was young enough to really not need to shave that often, but the patches of fuzz here and there spoke of some days in the field.
Captain Aristedes was climbing down the same ladder the lad had scurried down just before and walked over to the cavalrymen, who were dismounting under groans, curses and the occasional muffled shout of pain. Several of the fort's soldier ad rushed to help, the barber that also doubled as the doctor of the place rushing to help the man who dropped into the dirt when trying to dismount.
"Who is your Captain?" Aristedes said.
"The Turk saw it fit to give him a new career as a porcupine close to the border." one of the Akritai said, limping to the front of his horse, murmuring loving words softly to the frothing and wild-eyed beast.
"Who leads you?" Aristed inquired with some annoyance at the unwillingness of the Akritai to give up information sharply and rapidly.
"I guess the nobleman does." another man said and groaned as he tried to walk, fingering a cut in his tigh, pointing towards the kneeling man.
"Very well." Aristedes said and glanced somewhat nervously towards the still kneeling nobleman. "Water your horses and tend to your wounds. There should be food for you if you talk to the cook." with those words he turned over to the murmuring nobleman.
"Sire?" he asked. The man kept praying with his eyes closed. Annoyed, Aristedes discretely tapped his boot against the tigh of the man. Still no reaction. What was this? He might be a nobleman, but Aristedes was still the commander of this fort, and judging from the man's armour, he still outranked him, even if he was a nobleman. He pushed the kneeling man's shoulder.
The thin nobleman was on his feet in a split of second and had his sword half-drawn before he realised where he was again and his wide open eyes returned to something of a normal state.
"My most sincere apologies, Captain." he said and saluted. "I am Lieutenant Ioannes Maros of the Akritai." he bowed with style and grace, speaking of an upbringing at the court of a higher nobleman.
"I am Captain Aristedes Michalis, commander of this fort." Captain Aristedes replied. "What happened to your unit?"
A soldier gave Ioannes a goblet filled with water, which he greedily, but still with manners, gobbled down before replying. "We were patrolling along the border, looking for a heathen raiding party, when a Turk household unit descended upon us. We had not expected such strength and were spread out. They showered us with arrows and the Captain fell under the first hail." Ioannes shook his head, in regret. "May the Almighty have mercy upon his soul. I think a forth or a fifth of us had fallen before we had our own bows out, and then they came with swords drawn and lances felled, yelling in their barbarian thounge about how their false God is great. I think we bounced them once before we broke. We did not give as good as we got, I can say that for sure. Many of our comrades died on that rocky slope." he took another drink from the goblet. "Since then we've been retreating, God himself probably steering us towards this fort and salvation for His servants from the heathens, since the horses were on the verge of death from exhaustion."
He fell on one knee and bent his head. "I hereby formally rescind my command, or what is left of it, to you Captain."
Aristedes had not seen such old-fashioned manners in many years and tried to remember his officer's training far in a misty past.
"Very well." he said and placed a hand upon the younger man's shoulder. "I accept... your command and will not dishonour it as long as I am required to hold it." he said.
"Captain!" Denes yelled from atop the gatehouse. "We got more horsemen incoming."
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The crescent moon on a green field was the standard of Byzantium. The Arabs and Turks used it as well. There's nothing in the banner perse that identifies the unit. In addition, Seljuk raiders and akitai wore much the same clothing and armour. It made it very hard to tell friend from foe.
The fort is in all probabilty set some way away from the frontier and not a regular army fort, rather an akritai rallying point and refuge for fleeing peasants. The commander of the regions akritai would be funming, assuming he was still alive,that his hidden fort had been found just as much as the Turks over the smoke columns rising into the sky alerting all akritai in the area that there are Turks about.
The Turks are acting in support of Suleyman-Shah Komnenos as the true Emperor and some akritai would have gone over. Enough to make it even harder to tell firend from foe - for the Byzantines.
The Turks don't want any of the regular forts garrisoned by akritai; they don't want any in the cities, preferringto negotiate with city militia; they do want all the arkitai driven from their villas or turned; they'd rather overrun each villa in turn or face them in set piece battles, but they'd settle for making them run to their (hidden) rallying fortified bases and improvise some way to capture them.
You do a good job in conveying the spirit of the akritai despite their severe losses.
The fort is in all probabilty set some way away from the frontier and not a regular army fort, rather an akritai rallying point and refuge for fleeing peasants. The commander of the regions akritai would be funming, assuming he was still alive,that his hidden fort had been found just as much as the Turks over the smoke columns rising into the sky alerting all akritai in the area that there are Turks about.
The Turks are acting in support of Suleyman-Shah Komnenos as the true Emperor and some akritai would have gone over. Enough to make it even harder to tell firend from foe - for the Byzantines.
The Turks don't want any of the regular forts garrisoned by akritai; they don't want any in the cities, preferringto negotiate with city militia; they do want all the arkitai driven from their villas or turned; they'd rather overrun each villa in turn or face them in set piece battles, but they'd settle for making them run to their (hidden) rallying fortified bases and improvise some way to capture them.
You do a good job in conveying the spirit of the akritai despite their severe losses.
another excellent post.....very nicely portrayed. I really enjoyed it....
I've been spending most of the day screwing around with getting my high speed set up. It's now working and so is the one for the second computer....which is wonderful news...for me....I even downloaded the 1.3 update for EU3....No, I haven't really played it yet....afraid that if I do I will not be updating this very much and that would be VERY bad....
Well done everyone, we've reached over 30k views! Which is the larger number I've EVER had for one of my tales....Thank you all!
I've been spending most of the day screwing around with getting my high speed set up. It's now working and so is the one for the second computer....which is wonderful news...for me....I even downloaded the 1.3 update for EU3....No, I haven't really played it yet....afraid that if I do I will not be updating this very much and that would be VERY bad....
Well done everyone, we've reached over 30k views! Which is the larger number I've EVER had for one of my tales....Thank you all!
[Official Nitpicker mode on]von Adler said:
Who? What? You're missing something at the place of X, and I'd rephrase that sentence, it's too clumsy as it is now.
for instance:
A soldier gave Ioannes a goblet filled with water which he gobbled down greedily, but still with manners, before replying.
or something like that...
[Official Nitpicker mode off]
Captain Aristedes pointed to a young soldier brandishing a spear. "Follow me." Then he turned to the slowly rising Ioannes. "If the Lieutenant would follow me, please?" he said, the strain of chaning from a commanding to a pleasant tone in his voice showing.
"Of course, Captain." Ioannes replied and followed with a rapid stride from his long legs while the other two soldiers ran for the ladder.
Most of the forts' garrison was already manning the towers and the pallisade and some of the Akritai were slowly, with sluggish movement from exhaustion and wounds, climbing ladders and stairs to the battlements.
As the three soldiers reached Denes on top of the gatehouse, the old soldier was peering towards the rapidly closing cavalry.
"Can you make out the banner?" Aristedes said, his question directed generally.
"Not me, Captan." Denes said.
"It is a green one." the spear-wielding soldier said, leaning forwards and squinting his eyes at the dustcloud.
"I think I can make out a crescent on that green, Captain." Ioannes said, himself also leaning over the battlement.
"The Turks are coming then. Probably the same unit that have been pursuing you, Lieutenant." Aristedes said as the cavalry were closing in. Indeed, now that well-crafted scale armour, pointed helmets, chainmailed faces and well-bred, strong horses were visible there was no doubt that this was a household cavalry unit. The men were well fed, rode hard but conservatively, sparing their horses, and held themselves and their lances in a way that told of a well disciplined elite unit. Details in silver and gold could now be seen glittering in the sun, telling of the wealth and power of a Seljuk Prince.
"All Akritai, SIT DOWN!" Captain Aristedes ordered and was immedately obeyed, although at least Ioannes had a very perplexed look on his face.
"No need to let them know you are here right away." Aristedes said with a wolfish smile. "Do you have any Turcopoles among your men?"
Ioannes nodded, seemed to understand and gestured towards one of the Akritai at the battlements of the second wall. The man nodded and crawling on all four to make sure he could not be seen, he quickly made his way to the gatehouse.
"This man is, by the Grace of God, a christian and speaks Turk." Ioannes said as the brown-skinned Akritai seated himself with his back towards the battlement of the gatehouse, next to Ioannes.
"Good." Aristedes said. "BANNER TO ME!" he roared, and the fort's banner was quickly detached from the roof of one of the towers and a soldier took the role as bannerman and quickly appeared at the side of the Captain.
The Turk cavalry had stopped, forming a disciplined line. Aristedes was quickly counting. "At least two hundred men." he murmured to himself.
"Ah, there's at least sixty of us, and two dozen Akritai or so, Captain." Denes said and smiled is ugly smile. "They're cavalry and will come short climbing up storm ladders."
"Perhaps." the Captain replied. "But I do not think they'll be alone for long." he sighed.
There was some ruckus among the Turks, and then a banner of truce appeared, and the leader of the unit, a high officer with intricate decorations on his expertedly crafted armour trotted forwards together with the two banner carriers, one for the banner of truce and one for the banner of the unit, two escorts, probably relatives of the officer, considering their almost equally splendid armour and a man, probably an Armenian, with armour of far lower quality.
The leader stopped and then spoke towards the fort. The Armenian, translating to a passable Greek shouted even louder.
"Greetings Greek subjects."
"Subjects?" Aristedes said quietly.
The Turk nobleman resumed talking and the translator continued.
"In the name of your Emperor, Suleiman-shah Komnenos, I order you to open the gates and surrender this fort to his loyal servants, who will make sure you will not come to harm at the hands of the usurpator's forces." the words rang falsely, considering the pillars of smoke rising to the heavens on the horizon.
"WHAT?" Aristedes exclaimed, unable to control himself.
The translator said a single word to the nobleman, and the nobleman resumed talking, with the translator only a few words behind.
"Suleiman-shah has been proclaimed the rightful Emperor and has enlisted the support of the Seljuk Sultan to bring order to a Roman Empire ravaged by civil war and secure his by birthright rightful place upon the throne in Contantinople. Bend knee to your rightful Emperor and open the gates to this fort, and you shall not be harmed."
Denes chuckled and then roared. "Did you hear you hear that lads, we have another! We Romans are truly blessed, other subjects get one ruler, we get four or even five!"
Laughter rolled across the battlements to the obvious irritation of the Turk nobleman.
"How many are there now?" Aristedes said, almost whispering.
"I think there are five. Isaac of Cyprus, Alexius, although he has disappeared, Androcinus the Usurpator, rumour has it that Theodore Lascaris has been proclaimed Emperor by Leonides the Barbarian and his host in Bulgaria and now the Turk has his own candidate in Suleiman-shah." Ioannes replied.
"Five Emperors and no army..." the Captain said softly.
"...and soon no Empire at all." Ioannes replied sadly.
"Very well. We will die sooner or later anyway, let us make a legend to be honoured when the Greek imagine the days of an Empire long gone." Aristedes said with a defeatist smile.
"I am with you, Captain." Ioannes said. The Turcopole next to him nodded tiredly.
"Good." Aristedes said. "Denes, I'll leave our reply to you. Do your worst."
"Trust me, Captain." Denes said with another ugly smile and then turned towards the nobleman on the horse in front of the fort.
"Most honoured goat-shagger of the heathen and ugly Turk tribe." he started. Even with the distance, one could see the translator grow pale.
"Even if your so-called Emperor was a descendant from heaven itself and not bending his knee to the devil of Mecka, we would not open these gates to his leper-stinking, bloated servants. You are nothing but the horrible stench of the deamons of hell's privy, your rotten souls shall burn in hell just as your deformed and despicable bodies shall burn in naphta and Greek fire. May you be boiled in wine and fried in pork's fat, you unclean swines, you slow-witted rejects of the civilised world, you barbarian beasts! You are nothing but the bastards of un-veiled dark-skinned whores and lusty goats. You might have bribed and cowed your brethren of the sheep-loving tribes with fine arses of your younger bastard sons, but true christian Romans will stand tall and straight while you desecrate your mounts every night. Return to your woolly baah-ing wifes and stick your arses invitingly into the western air as you usually do, go back to the infertile mountains whose magic and dark secrets fed your inpure beings!" he shouted as laughter rolled across the battlements, higher and higher for each insult.
The translator was stuttering in his translation now as the Turk nobleman grew more and more furious. He yelled something and then expertedly turned his mount on the spot to ride back to his troops.
The words cane from the translator. "You will rue this day, infidel. I will make you eat those words."
The Armenian rode after his master, as did one of the escort and both the banner carriers, but one of the relatives of the nobleman remined behind and started an impressive show of horsemanship, expertedly as only from a man who had spent most of his life in the saddle could perform.
The show might have impressed the Akritai, but since they sat down and saw nothing and most of the garrison of the fort were infantrymen and understood little or nothing of horsemanship, the show was rather futile.
Denes quickly took a sip from his leather pouch and then laid an arrow on his bow, increased his angle and let go.
The arrow missed by a good two feet. "Damn." Denes cursed, but the Turk stopped his show and looked towards the fort, where at least twenty or thirty other men were laying arrows on their bows.
"Denes!" Aristedes said sharply.
"What? He was no where near the banner of truce!" Denes retorted.
The Turk suddenly realised he had important business further from the fort as arrows started to rain down around him and his hurried retreat was met with another salvoe of laughter from the battlements.
"Of course, Captain." Ioannes replied and followed with a rapid stride from his long legs while the other two soldiers ran for the ladder.
Most of the forts' garrison was already manning the towers and the pallisade and some of the Akritai were slowly, with sluggish movement from exhaustion and wounds, climbing ladders and stairs to the battlements.
As the three soldiers reached Denes on top of the gatehouse, the old soldier was peering towards the rapidly closing cavalry.
"Can you make out the banner?" Aristedes said, his question directed generally.
"Not me, Captan." Denes said.
"It is a green one." the spear-wielding soldier said, leaning forwards and squinting his eyes at the dustcloud.
"I think I can make out a crescent on that green, Captain." Ioannes said, himself also leaning over the battlement.
"The Turks are coming then. Probably the same unit that have been pursuing you, Lieutenant." Aristedes said as the cavalry were closing in. Indeed, now that well-crafted scale armour, pointed helmets, chainmailed faces and well-bred, strong horses were visible there was no doubt that this was a household cavalry unit. The men were well fed, rode hard but conservatively, sparing their horses, and held themselves and their lances in a way that told of a well disciplined elite unit. Details in silver and gold could now be seen glittering in the sun, telling of the wealth and power of a Seljuk Prince.
"All Akritai, SIT DOWN!" Captain Aristedes ordered and was immedately obeyed, although at least Ioannes had a very perplexed look on his face.
"No need to let them know you are here right away." Aristedes said with a wolfish smile. "Do you have any Turcopoles among your men?"
Ioannes nodded, seemed to understand and gestured towards one of the Akritai at the battlements of the second wall. The man nodded and crawling on all four to make sure he could not be seen, he quickly made his way to the gatehouse.
"This man is, by the Grace of God, a christian and speaks Turk." Ioannes said as the brown-skinned Akritai seated himself with his back towards the battlement of the gatehouse, next to Ioannes.
"Good." Aristedes said. "BANNER TO ME!" he roared, and the fort's banner was quickly detached from the roof of one of the towers and a soldier took the role as bannerman and quickly appeared at the side of the Captain.
The Turk cavalry had stopped, forming a disciplined line. Aristedes was quickly counting. "At least two hundred men." he murmured to himself.
"Ah, there's at least sixty of us, and two dozen Akritai or so, Captain." Denes said and smiled is ugly smile. "They're cavalry and will come short climbing up storm ladders."
"Perhaps." the Captain replied. "But I do not think they'll be alone for long." he sighed.
There was some ruckus among the Turks, and then a banner of truce appeared, and the leader of the unit, a high officer with intricate decorations on his expertedly crafted armour trotted forwards together with the two banner carriers, one for the banner of truce and one for the banner of the unit, two escorts, probably relatives of the officer, considering their almost equally splendid armour and a man, probably an Armenian, with armour of far lower quality.
The leader stopped and then spoke towards the fort. The Armenian, translating to a passable Greek shouted even louder.
"Greetings Greek subjects."
"Subjects?" Aristedes said quietly.
The Turk nobleman resumed talking and the translator continued.
"In the name of your Emperor, Suleiman-shah Komnenos, I order you to open the gates and surrender this fort to his loyal servants, who will make sure you will not come to harm at the hands of the usurpator's forces." the words rang falsely, considering the pillars of smoke rising to the heavens on the horizon.
"WHAT?" Aristedes exclaimed, unable to control himself.
The translator said a single word to the nobleman, and the nobleman resumed talking, with the translator only a few words behind.
"Suleiman-shah has been proclaimed the rightful Emperor and has enlisted the support of the Seljuk Sultan to bring order to a Roman Empire ravaged by civil war and secure his by birthright rightful place upon the throne in Contantinople. Bend knee to your rightful Emperor and open the gates to this fort, and you shall not be harmed."
Denes chuckled and then roared. "Did you hear you hear that lads, we have another! We Romans are truly blessed, other subjects get one ruler, we get four or even five!"
Laughter rolled across the battlements to the obvious irritation of the Turk nobleman.
"How many are there now?" Aristedes said, almost whispering.
"I think there are five. Isaac of Cyprus, Alexius, although he has disappeared, Androcinus the Usurpator, rumour has it that Theodore Lascaris has been proclaimed Emperor by Leonides the Barbarian and his host in Bulgaria and now the Turk has his own candidate in Suleiman-shah." Ioannes replied.
"Five Emperors and no army..." the Captain said softly.
"...and soon no Empire at all." Ioannes replied sadly.
"Very well. We will die sooner or later anyway, let us make a legend to be honoured when the Greek imagine the days of an Empire long gone." Aristedes said with a defeatist smile.
"I am with you, Captain." Ioannes said. The Turcopole next to him nodded tiredly.
"Good." Aristedes said. "Denes, I'll leave our reply to you. Do your worst."
"Trust me, Captain." Denes said with another ugly smile and then turned towards the nobleman on the horse in front of the fort.
"Most honoured goat-shagger of the heathen and ugly Turk tribe." he started. Even with the distance, one could see the translator grow pale.
"Even if your so-called Emperor was a descendant from heaven itself and not bending his knee to the devil of Mecka, we would not open these gates to his leper-stinking, bloated servants. You are nothing but the horrible stench of the deamons of hell's privy, your rotten souls shall burn in hell just as your deformed and despicable bodies shall burn in naphta and Greek fire. May you be boiled in wine and fried in pork's fat, you unclean swines, you slow-witted rejects of the civilised world, you barbarian beasts! You are nothing but the bastards of un-veiled dark-skinned whores and lusty goats. You might have bribed and cowed your brethren of the sheep-loving tribes with fine arses of your younger bastard sons, but true christian Romans will stand tall and straight while you desecrate your mounts every night. Return to your woolly baah-ing wifes and stick your arses invitingly into the western air as you usually do, go back to the infertile mountains whose magic and dark secrets fed your inpure beings!" he shouted as laughter rolled across the battlements, higher and higher for each insult.
The translator was stuttering in his translation now as the Turk nobleman grew more and more furious. He yelled something and then expertedly turned his mount on the spot to ride back to his troops.
The words cane from the translator. "You will rue this day, infidel. I will make you eat those words."
The Armenian rode after his master, as did one of the escort and both the banner carriers, but one of the relatives of the nobleman remined behind and started an impressive show of horsemanship, expertedly as only from a man who had spent most of his life in the saddle could perform.
The show might have impressed the Akritai, but since they sat down and saw nothing and most of the garrison of the fort were infantrymen and understood little or nothing of horsemanship, the show was rather futile.
Denes quickly took a sip from his leather pouch and then laid an arrow on his bow, increased his angle and let go.
The arrow missed by a good two feet. "Damn." Denes cursed, but the Turk stopped his show and looked towards the fort, where at least twenty or thirty other men were laying arrows on their bows.
"Denes!" Aristedes said sharply.
"What? He was no where near the banner of truce!" Denes retorted.
The Turk suddenly realised he had important business further from the fort as arrows started to rain down around him and his hurried retreat was met with another salvoe of laughter from the battlements.
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Aristedes and company sound like they would do well to be recruited by Temujin and company.
Another excellent post, Von Adler...I have been quite impressed with your writing skills and the ability you have to really get down into the meat of the characters you are creating. Now why aren't you writing an aar yourself?