Jerusalem Calling - A Khazarian AAR
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Thats a huge conquest for Jaberdetim Clan, and while its leader seems to like Zacharia, the Khagan cant feel comfortable with a vassal that powerful and with that much grazing ground, and the dialouge shows hes a bit self-conscious about it...lets hope Zacharia doesnt try and bite off more than he can chew with his next conquest but things are looking up for Khazaria.
The Byzantines have been in almost constant trouble since Tarkhan's last visit, and he was young and unexperienced back then. If they actually take the hoof to the face, it becomes seriously unpleasant. More on that in the coming updates.
In the short run, it actually doesn't matter much as Tarkhan doesn't give much about his reputation. When it comes to quelling the resistance for good, being known as a backstabber won't be helpful either though.
Indeed things are going very well for Khazaria as a whole. The near defeat against Bolghar taught Tarkhan the invaluable lesson that he's not actually invincible and that he still needs to put in all his weight to stay on top of things. The Byzantines will get to see what that means soon.
Yilig is too old and his clan too powerful for an immediate repercussion to be worth it. Losing the Khagan's trust still doesn't strengthen his position though.
True. I was already wondering when the constant purging of dissent would become known publicly, and Tarkhan didn't mind very closely who to include in his plans lately.
Samsam is loyal indeed, but he does of course have his own ambitions. With the Russian lands under them, the Jabdertim would at least be very hard to bring down again should they decide to go their own way at some point. The big question is if Tarkhan thinks far enough into the future to recognize the problem this poses for him.
Thanks!
Always a pleasure to read that people enjoy themselves a bit with what I'm doing here.
Chapter 76 - Invasion
Chapter 76 - Invasion
January 28, 922 AD
Sinope, Theme of Armeniacon, Byzantine Empire
Going back to Trebizond was a great idea for once. Feels a bit like home. Could be a few degrees colder though. A light-hearted Egill Rögnvaldrsson rode ahead a treck of a few dozen Khazar recruits. They were the first reinforcements that could be brought in by ship straight to the occupied Amisos, instead of having to take the land route from Georgia.
Egill had been in charge of the host that sieged down Amisos and created this important foothold for the Khazar horde, a joint force from four clans numbering seven and a half thousand men. With the first ship from Tana a confidential missive from Khatun Yartilek, who ran most of the business at home with the Khans over in Trebizond, arrived. The instructions said clearly that it was to be passed to Tarkhan immediately and by no one else than Egill in person, so the dutiful Norseman saw to head to Sinope along the bunch of fresh troops.
The said horde was now on its way west as well, but they kept away from the coastline. In most places the hills which the Anatolian highland subsided into stretched until the sea, making the coast steep and rugged, full of narrow paths and chokepoints. Progressing through this environment was rough enough for the Khazars in small numbers just because it was unusual for most of the men, but in large numbers it became a major issue to keep the horde together - and the animals fed. The rough terrain offered way too little room and nourishment for such large numbers of horses to sustain themselves, even if the people could live off the land by and large. It was said that the haymakers at home were working day and night and soon the scarce supplies for the animals would also be provided by sea.
The men took the last turn on the road from the hillside and looked upon the flat peninsula, washed into the coastline by the Iris river, that harbored the City of Sinope on its edge to the usual cliffs. A vast sea of yurts and makeshift stables surrounded its walls, bustling with soldiers, squires and the entourage that provided for the riders.
Six weeks ago, the joint hordes of Ashina, with Khagan Tarkhan at their forefront, and Jabdertim, lead by his brother in law Khan Samsam, stormed the coastal fortress of Talaura after a prolonged standoff and were able to quickly advance along the coast and toward Sinope. The city was defended sparsely and would soon yield to the enormous numbers of the Khazarian hordes - and the rampant consumption.
The sickness was not sparing the invaders, but their numbers were no less overwhelming. Never had Khazaria – or any other Khaganate - seen such a massive number of men pulled together. Almost twenty thousand riders had poured into the Byzantine lands on the southern Black Sea coast since Tarkhan's march order and the general mobilisation of the Khanates.
It was not surprising anyone that the Romans were not showing the least inclination to go after this mass of enemies. Mere days after the Khazar war declaration, the Strategos of Trebizond decided to become part of yet another rebellion on the unenviable Basileus Theocharistos, which kept his own domain out of the war on Khazaria for the time being.
While this was inconvenient to the Khazars, who found themselves unable to take over the region bordering the Khaganate and had to head further west, it further amplified the problems of Basileus Theocharistos who had little opposition to offer the Khazars. The rumour went that his legions were down to barely six thousand men. If that was true, things were looking grim for the Roman emperor – this time much more was on the table than a single-county exclave.
Khagan Tarkhan Ashina had proclaimed a full-on invasion of the Byzantine realm, against the advice of about every one of his more trusted advisors but still somehow managing to win the council vote (not that this would have stopped him anyway). This meant that if they were successful, the Khazars would take over the entirety of the region around Trebizond, along with every other province that fell to Khazaria throughout the war. The proud Empire was in existential peril, save for a wonder.
While the soldiers made their way toward the commander on duty, Egill went straight to see Tarkhan. Apart from the missive in his saddle bag, he was one of the few people who were actually pleased to meet the Khagan. Most people were either afraid of Tarkhan's mood swings or secretly appalled by his brutality and his rudeness.
Through all the years and countless battles, Egill and Tarkhan had fought at each other's side. In all this time, the two men got used to each other's company and Egill found that despite his harsh demeanor in public, the Khagan was as human as anybody else. Ever more often, they had exchanged their thoughts about the world, life and what was beyond. Their different backgrounds, Tarkhan's curiosity about the ways of the Norse and Egill's experience with both cultures showed excellent prerequisites for a recurring discourse that both were enjoying a lot.
The Khagan's yurt was close to the center of the war camp, clearly distinguishable from the others by its size and the banners decorating it. Egill descended from his horse and saluted to the guards in front of the entrance, who saw to announce his arrival.
Tarkhan came out from behind his table where the usual maps and figurines were drawn out and the two friends shared a hearty clasp of hands.
"Good to see you and the men well accomodated, your majesty", Egill said with a wide grin. "As scenic as the landscape may be, it's not exactly suited to sustain masses of horses. This place is like an oasis."
Tarkhan nodded contently. "We are lucky there are places like these along the coast. They almost make one forget we're in a war. It's a shame we will have to leave again as soon as the city falls."
"Of course we do. Victory will only come to us...."
"...if we keep going forward. You've got it", an amused Tarkhan fell in. "You're never gonna leave those old hat pep phrases be, huh?"
The Khagan and the general took seat and a servant brought wine and bread.
"So what is it that brings you here, old fellow? Must be important if you're ready to leave the troops to Khan Yilig, that boozy old man."
"It's so secret I don't even know myself." Egill chuckled and handed the sealed missive to Tarkhan while keeping on talking. "As for Yilig, luckily he leaves the business to his son and keeps to snarling orders around that nobody takes serious. I'm pretty sure he just enjoys the vacation. Not the worst idea, considering that there is still not the least to be seen of the Romans and how intriguingly different these lands are from the steppes."
"As long as the Byzantine cities and castles keep falling, Yilig can doodle around all he wants. With the new revolt in Anatolia, the Basileus runs out of troops under his command ever more quickly. The Romans have nothing on us, and if Theocharistos is smart, the men he does have keep away from us", Tarkhan responded while circuitously opening the seal.
"Will it help him?", Egill returned humorously.
"No." was the prompt answer.
Tarkhan turned to the missive and put it aside after a short read. Only a keen observer would have noticed the slight twitch around the corner of his eye.
"Tell me, Egill...what're you doing this all for? What is it that you hope for? One day the fight must end...where do you want to be when it does?"
"Uhm...these are tough questions", Egill could only eject, irritated by the sudden change of subject. What could have been the content of that message? "Will we even be done fighting one day? To be honest, I can hardly imagine a settled life."
Tarkhan smiled with a hint of melancholy. "That is not necessarily what I meant...but do you want to settle eventually? You have wife and children, and you grew up sedentary."
Egill scratched his head. "I've not given it serious thought for a long time. When I was young, I dreamed of being a mighty man as any lad would, but over the years Khazaria and the horde have become like a new home to me...one that always offered more than I could ever hope for in Nidaros."
"For the mere price of signing over your soul to Çilen", Tarkhan gave back with amusement.
"I was young and stupid", Egill laughed. "It could have gone a lot worse as far as I'm concerned."
The Norse didn't tend to take such remarks personal. As things tended to go, the young love of their earlier years wouldn't last forever, and by now Egill and his higborn wife were rather distant from each other. Çilen wasn't happy with Egill being away so much, and Egill secretly was quarreling with her still not having birthed a son to him, yet constantly talking about the future of their bloodline. He also knew about the hearty aversion between Tarkhan and her, which had caused him more than enough trouble in the past – but it was also her that encouraged her older brother to take him into the horde's services in the first place, in a time before the feud inside the Ashina clan.
"But to be serious", Egill continued, "there was never much to dream about for an orphan boy who happened to be sired out of marriage by a Chief shortly before his demise. In fact, I lived a commoner's life for all that matters until I got here. Did I ever tell you how I ended up meeting Çilen, thousands of miles from home?"
"Now we are talking. I only know that you were in the service of some Italian mercenary band at the time." Tarkhan leaned back and took a sip out of his cup.
"My mother died when I was a toddler and I was taken in by a pair of good-hearted peasants, but I only heard that much later. I was trained as a soldier, but I never knew of my heritage. Shortly after my sixteenth birthday, somehow the court caught on to me - and the way I eventually learned who my real father was were the guards my older brother, the Chief, sent after me. Luckily, my superior was in on it and told me about everything. I was still barely able to escape and get on a ship. Eventually I ended up in the Mediterranean protecting trade convoys against the inevitable Berber raids. It turned out those scoundrels are not as tough and merciless as the traders tend to say...at least if you know how to put up a fight."
"Is that so? The legends that go about are full of their prowess and brutality. I've always suspected something must be at odds there", Tarkhan interjected and leaned back contently. "Those chronists are worth jack, if you ask me. Just let the people write the stories who were there in the fray."
"If only they knew how to write", Egill shrugged. "Anyway, when we visited Tana for the first time, your sister crossed my ways, and you know the rest. I do not tend to look back...and somehow, the thought of looking forward does not occur to you when you're marching from one battle to the next."
"Tell me about it", Tarkhan replied. "You're a warrior just as I am, Egill. And still...we all sometimes feel that there has to be more. All those battles for more land, all those years I have spent crushing other Khaganates, all the destruction, the violence...it sometimes feels as if it was all worth nothing. I thought one day it would end, I would not have to run anymore."
"It sure looks more like the others are running from you, as far as I – and many others – are concerned. Look at where we are. This used to be the greatest empire the world ever saw. Now they're hiding beyond the Bosporus, with their so-called Emperor hoping we will leave before he actually has to fight us."
"I'm not talking about the realms around us. They're weak, we are powerful, this has been proven time and again.
The true enemy is at home, the ones who want this power for themselves. I had to learn that from a very young age, and my father taught me more than one hard, but valuable lesson. The most important one was that in the steppes, you either assert that you are not to be messed with, or your own blood will prove the opposite by putting you in chains and an early grave. "
Egill wasn't sure where they came from, but he thought deeply about the words of his friend. He'd never properly realized that this man who seemed so untouchable from the outside was yet so troubled, so haunted by his yesterdays.
Tarkhan continued after a large gulp from his wine. "But if true peace is out of reach, what remains but another war, and then another and another and another?"
"Maybe the answer lies beyond our own scope", Egill replied after a short silence. "Maybe we're not meant to see through the chaos and all we can do in our time is to protect our necks and our loved ones'."
The following silence was longer.
Tarkhan's reply sounded almost desperate. "That is what I've always been looking for. And now I sit here and cannot even bury my mother."
Egill was in shock. That was in this missive. The Jews buried their dead soon after their demise and there was no way the message could have reached Tarkhan in time, he knew that all too well.
"My Khagan...Tarkhan...I cannot say anything but how sorry I am for your loss."
"You do not have to be, Egill", Tarkhan replied, more steadfast than before. "I rarely thought about how lucky I have been to have her on my side for so many years. The more I appreciate your sentiment."
The men shared a grave and heartfelt clasp of hands.
"What was your born mother's name, Egill?"
"Freyja Tornsfall."
"And your father and brothers do not accept you, is that right? At home, you're but a simple man considered a threat to a mighty one?"
Egill only nodded.
"Does anyone there even know what's become of you?"
"I doubt it. Nidaros is remote and far away, the people there have little reason to care about the steppes."
Tarkhan looked at him with grim determination. "They will see."
September 20, 922 AD
Karvuna, Bulgaria
"Milady, the dust cloud to the south emerges from a large army not far of us...", the breathless scout reported upon approaching Çilen Ashina, who was moving along the Bulgarian part of the Black Sea coast with a small guard force.
The group was on its way back to Khazaria from Ras, north of the Serbian capital fortress, where Çilen's and Egill's oldest daughter Yeldem was wed to King Dobroslav of Serbia a week ago. Both had only come of age recently, and the young King was already embroiled in a difficult and ill-looking war against Bulgaria. Çilen's own cousin King Boris of Bulgaria forced it upon Countess Anthousa, the regent of Serbia, shortly after his ascension following Simeon's death of old age three years earlier.
Serbia was under the rule of regents for most of the past thirty years, but still relatively successful in that time. Dobroslav's father Sinisa inherited the Kingdom in 891 at two years of age, only to mysteriously perish at twenty-one and leave the throne to another toddler. Despite those prolonged phases of a King too young to rule, the realm managed to profit from the instability to the North, where the Hungarian and Moravian realms had slowly dissolved and the fringe regions of East Francia were in constant turmoil. The newly expanded borders proved difficult to defend though, and now the King had to hold his own wedding in Ras because his homestead was under occupation of the Bulgarian invaders.
Although Çilen could not have known of a future war against Bulgaria when the betrothal was arranged, in secret she was worried that Dobroslav's throne wasn't as secure as she had thought it to be. Boris was aiming for Dobroslav's very own demesne, and losing those lands would weaken his position decisively against the numerous and powerful lords under him. He would not have it easy anytime soon. At least their trip back had been uneventful. Until now.
Çilen glared at the scout. "What? There is supposedly no fighting in these lands...the Serbs are busy defending their own turf, we know that all too well. The Oltenian revolt is much farther to the west..."
"No, it's not that...they are on horseback, and they are...carrying the Ashina royal banners, milady."
Çilen looked even more puzzled than before. "Are you sure? What would Tarkhan be doing here...I thought the horde was in Byzantium?"
"We will know soon. They are moving toward us quickly."
"I can barely wait", Çilen replied with sullen expression.
The ranger turned out to be correct. Less than half an hour later, the riders he spoke of caught up to their small envoy. They were in light travel formation and moved with astounding speed for such a large force – Tarkhan's expertise on the field was widely known, and the Khagan himself was at the top of the troops.
Apparently Tarkhan had been informed of the unexpected travelers along the way of the horde. He and his honor guard rode towards Çilen unerringly.
"Now ain't it a pleasure to meet family in such an unlikely place", the Khagan uttered with unmistakable sarcasm when the horses stopped in front of his sister's group. "If I only knew to what I owe the honor."
"Yes, if only you knew. I'll gladly remind you that your niece is now married to the King of Serbia, before you plan to invade him too. You agreed to the betrothal yourself." Tarkhan gave his sister an annoyed look, but she continued: "Once we're at asking questions: what are you doing here...with thousands of men? Are you roleplaying your legendary raid on Bulgaria when you were twenty-four?"
Tarkhan ground his teeth, but managed to keep his composure. "It seems I'm not the only one who lacks information... The Christian peasants in Moldavia have taken up arms once again, presumably because of untenable rumours about the treatment of the people in Trebizond. We are moving to smoke them out. Egill opted to stay with the army instead of the mission close to home, for reasons I cannot explain to myself for the life of me."
"Don't try to fool me, Tarkhan. I know that he goes wherever you order him to, as any loyal soldier would – and he's the most loyal of them all, for reasons I cannot explain to myself."
"For once, you speak the truth. Now queue up with the horde if you don't wish to be ambushed by some bunch of raiders or Christian zealots who would certainly not hesitate to burn you on a stake."
Çilen had to laugh. "That would suit you." Nonetheless she gave her guards an appreciative nod. Tarkhan remained unmoved and turned his horse without further words.
January 28, 922 AD
Sinope, Theme of Armeniacon, Byzantine Empire
Going back to Trebizond was a great idea for once. Feels a bit like home. Could be a few degrees colder though. A light-hearted Egill Rögnvaldrsson rode ahead a treck of a few dozen Khazar recruits. They were the first reinforcements that could be brought in by ship straight to the occupied Amisos, instead of having to take the land route from Georgia.
Egill had been in charge of the host that sieged down Amisos and created this important foothold for the Khazar horde, a joint force from four clans numbering seven and a half thousand men. With the first ship from Tana a confidential missive from Khatun Yartilek, who ran most of the business at home with the Khans over in Trebizond, arrived. The instructions said clearly that it was to be passed to Tarkhan immediately and by no one else than Egill in person, so the dutiful Norseman saw to head to Sinope along the bunch of fresh troops.
The said horde was now on its way west as well, but they kept away from the coastline. In most places the hills which the Anatolian highland subsided into stretched until the sea, making the coast steep and rugged, full of narrow paths and chokepoints. Progressing through this environment was rough enough for the Khazars in small numbers just because it was unusual for most of the men, but in large numbers it became a major issue to keep the horde together - and the animals fed. The rough terrain offered way too little room and nourishment for such large numbers of horses to sustain themselves, even if the people could live off the land by and large. It was said that the haymakers at home were working day and night and soon the scarce supplies for the animals would also be provided by sea.
The men took the last turn on the road from the hillside and looked upon the flat peninsula, washed into the coastline by the Iris river, that harbored the City of Sinope on its edge to the usual cliffs. A vast sea of yurts and makeshift stables surrounded its walls, bustling with soldiers, squires and the entourage that provided for the riders.
Six weeks ago, the joint hordes of Ashina, with Khagan Tarkhan at their forefront, and Jabdertim, lead by his brother in law Khan Samsam, stormed the coastal fortress of Talaura after a prolonged standoff and were able to quickly advance along the coast and toward Sinope. The city was defended sparsely and would soon yield to the enormous numbers of the Khazarian hordes - and the rampant consumption.
The sickness was not sparing the invaders, but their numbers were no less overwhelming. Never had Khazaria – or any other Khaganate - seen such a massive number of men pulled together. Almost twenty thousand riders had poured into the Byzantine lands on the southern Black Sea coast since Tarkhan's march order and the general mobilisation of the Khanates.
It was not surprising anyone that the Romans were not showing the least inclination to go after this mass of enemies. Mere days after the Khazar war declaration, the Strategos of Trebizond decided to become part of yet another rebellion on the unenviable Basileus Theocharistos, which kept his own domain out of the war on Khazaria for the time being.
While this was inconvenient to the Khazars, who found themselves unable to take over the region bordering the Khaganate and had to head further west, it further amplified the problems of Basileus Theocharistos who had little opposition to offer the Khazars. The rumour went that his legions were down to barely six thousand men. If that was true, things were looking grim for the Roman emperor – this time much more was on the table than a single-county exclave.
Khagan Tarkhan Ashina had proclaimed a full-on invasion of the Byzantine realm, against the advice of about every one of his more trusted advisors but still somehow managing to win the council vote (not that this would have stopped him anyway). This meant that if they were successful, the Khazars would take over the entirety of the region around Trebizond, along with every other province that fell to Khazaria throughout the war. The proud Empire was in existential peril, save for a wonder.
While the soldiers made their way toward the commander on duty, Egill went straight to see Tarkhan. Apart from the missive in his saddle bag, he was one of the few people who were actually pleased to meet the Khagan. Most people were either afraid of Tarkhan's mood swings or secretly appalled by his brutality and his rudeness.
Through all the years and countless battles, Egill and Tarkhan had fought at each other's side. In all this time, the two men got used to each other's company and Egill found that despite his harsh demeanor in public, the Khagan was as human as anybody else. Ever more often, they had exchanged their thoughts about the world, life and what was beyond. Their different backgrounds, Tarkhan's curiosity about the ways of the Norse and Egill's experience with both cultures showed excellent prerequisites for a recurring discourse that both were enjoying a lot.
The Khagan's yurt was close to the center of the war camp, clearly distinguishable from the others by its size and the banners decorating it. Egill descended from his horse and saluted to the guards in front of the entrance, who saw to announce his arrival.
Tarkhan came out from behind his table where the usual maps and figurines were drawn out and the two friends shared a hearty clasp of hands.
"Good to see you and the men well accomodated, your majesty", Egill said with a wide grin. "As scenic as the landscape may be, it's not exactly suited to sustain masses of horses. This place is like an oasis."
Tarkhan nodded contently. "We are lucky there are places like these along the coast. They almost make one forget we're in a war. It's a shame we will have to leave again as soon as the city falls."
"Of course we do. Victory will only come to us...."
"...if we keep going forward. You've got it", an amused Tarkhan fell in. "You're never gonna leave those old hat pep phrases be, huh?"
The Khagan and the general took seat and a servant brought wine and bread.
"So what is it that brings you here, old fellow? Must be important if you're ready to leave the troops to Khan Yilig, that boozy old man."
"It's so secret I don't even know myself." Egill chuckled and handed the sealed missive to Tarkhan while keeping on talking. "As for Yilig, luckily he leaves the business to his son and keeps to snarling orders around that nobody takes serious. I'm pretty sure he just enjoys the vacation. Not the worst idea, considering that there is still not the least to be seen of the Romans and how intriguingly different these lands are from the steppes."
"As long as the Byzantine cities and castles keep falling, Yilig can doodle around all he wants. With the new revolt in Anatolia, the Basileus runs out of troops under his command ever more quickly. The Romans have nothing on us, and if Theocharistos is smart, the men he does have keep away from us", Tarkhan responded while circuitously opening the seal.
"Will it help him?", Egill returned humorously.
"No." was the prompt answer.
Tarkhan turned to the missive and put it aside after a short read. Only a keen observer would have noticed the slight twitch around the corner of his eye.
"Tell me, Egill...what're you doing this all for? What is it that you hope for? One day the fight must end...where do you want to be when it does?"
"Uhm...these are tough questions", Egill could only eject, irritated by the sudden change of subject. What could have been the content of that message? "Will we even be done fighting one day? To be honest, I can hardly imagine a settled life."
Tarkhan smiled with a hint of melancholy. "That is not necessarily what I meant...but do you want to settle eventually? You have wife and children, and you grew up sedentary."
Egill scratched his head. "I've not given it serious thought for a long time. When I was young, I dreamed of being a mighty man as any lad would, but over the years Khazaria and the horde have become like a new home to me...one that always offered more than I could ever hope for in Nidaros."
"For the mere price of signing over your soul to Çilen", Tarkhan gave back with amusement.
"I was young and stupid", Egill laughed. "It could have gone a lot worse as far as I'm concerned."
The Norse didn't tend to take such remarks personal. As things tended to go, the young love of their earlier years wouldn't last forever, and by now Egill and his higborn wife were rather distant from each other. Çilen wasn't happy with Egill being away so much, and Egill secretly was quarreling with her still not having birthed a son to him, yet constantly talking about the future of their bloodline. He also knew about the hearty aversion between Tarkhan and her, which had caused him more than enough trouble in the past – but it was also her that encouraged her older brother to take him into the horde's services in the first place, in a time before the feud inside the Ashina clan.
"But to be serious", Egill continued, "there was never much to dream about for an orphan boy who happened to be sired out of marriage by a Chief shortly before his demise. In fact, I lived a commoner's life for all that matters until I got here. Did I ever tell you how I ended up meeting Çilen, thousands of miles from home?"
"Now we are talking. I only know that you were in the service of some Italian mercenary band at the time." Tarkhan leaned back and took a sip out of his cup.
"My mother died when I was a toddler and I was taken in by a pair of good-hearted peasants, but I only heard that much later. I was trained as a soldier, but I never knew of my heritage. Shortly after my sixteenth birthday, somehow the court caught on to me - and the way I eventually learned who my real father was were the guards my older brother, the Chief, sent after me. Luckily, my superior was in on it and told me about everything. I was still barely able to escape and get on a ship. Eventually I ended up in the Mediterranean protecting trade convoys against the inevitable Berber raids. It turned out those scoundrels are not as tough and merciless as the traders tend to say...at least if you know how to put up a fight."
"Is that so? The legends that go about are full of their prowess and brutality. I've always suspected something must be at odds there", Tarkhan interjected and leaned back contently. "Those chronists are worth jack, if you ask me. Just let the people write the stories who were there in the fray."
"If only they knew how to write", Egill shrugged. "Anyway, when we visited Tana for the first time, your sister crossed my ways, and you know the rest. I do not tend to look back...and somehow, the thought of looking forward does not occur to you when you're marching from one battle to the next."
"Tell me about it", Tarkhan replied. "You're a warrior just as I am, Egill. And still...we all sometimes feel that there has to be more. All those battles for more land, all those years I have spent crushing other Khaganates, all the destruction, the violence...it sometimes feels as if it was all worth nothing. I thought one day it would end, I would not have to run anymore."
"It sure looks more like the others are running from you, as far as I – and many others – are concerned. Look at where we are. This used to be the greatest empire the world ever saw. Now they're hiding beyond the Bosporus, with their so-called Emperor hoping we will leave before he actually has to fight us."
"I'm not talking about the realms around us. They're weak, we are powerful, this has been proven time and again.
The true enemy is at home, the ones who want this power for themselves. I had to learn that from a very young age, and my father taught me more than one hard, but valuable lesson. The most important one was that in the steppes, you either assert that you are not to be messed with, or your own blood will prove the opposite by putting you in chains and an early grave. "
Egill wasn't sure where they came from, but he thought deeply about the words of his friend. He'd never properly realized that this man who seemed so untouchable from the outside was yet so troubled, so haunted by his yesterdays.
Tarkhan continued after a large gulp from his wine. "But if true peace is out of reach, what remains but another war, and then another and another and another?"
"Maybe the answer lies beyond our own scope", Egill replied after a short silence. "Maybe we're not meant to see through the chaos and all we can do in our time is to protect our necks and our loved ones'."
The following silence was longer.
Tarkhan's reply sounded almost desperate. "That is what I've always been looking for. And now I sit here and cannot even bury my mother."
Egill was in shock. That was in this missive. The Jews buried their dead soon after their demise and there was no way the message could have reached Tarkhan in time, he knew that all too well.
"My Khagan...Tarkhan...I cannot say anything but how sorry I am for your loss."
"You do not have to be, Egill", Tarkhan replied, more steadfast than before. "I rarely thought about how lucky I have been to have her on my side for so many years. The more I appreciate your sentiment."
The men shared a grave and heartfelt clasp of hands.
"What was your born mother's name, Egill?"
"Freyja Tornsfall."
"And your father and brothers do not accept you, is that right? At home, you're but a simple man considered a threat to a mighty one?"
Egill only nodded.
"Does anyone there even know what's become of you?"
"I doubt it. Nidaros is remote and far away, the people there have little reason to care about the steppes."
Tarkhan looked at him with grim determination. "They will see."
September 20, 922 AD
Karvuna, Bulgaria
"Milady, the dust cloud to the south emerges from a large army not far of us...", the breathless scout reported upon approaching Çilen Ashina, who was moving along the Bulgarian part of the Black Sea coast with a small guard force.
The group was on its way back to Khazaria from Ras, north of the Serbian capital fortress, where Çilen's and Egill's oldest daughter Yeldem was wed to King Dobroslav of Serbia a week ago. Both had only come of age recently, and the young King was already embroiled in a difficult and ill-looking war against Bulgaria. Çilen's own cousin King Boris of Bulgaria forced it upon Countess Anthousa, the regent of Serbia, shortly after his ascension following Simeon's death of old age three years earlier.
Serbia was under the rule of regents for most of the past thirty years, but still relatively successful in that time. Dobroslav's father Sinisa inherited the Kingdom in 891 at two years of age, only to mysteriously perish at twenty-one and leave the throne to another toddler. Despite those prolonged phases of a King too young to rule, the realm managed to profit from the instability to the North, where the Hungarian and Moravian realms had slowly dissolved and the fringe regions of East Francia were in constant turmoil. The newly expanded borders proved difficult to defend though, and now the King had to hold his own wedding in Ras because his homestead was under occupation of the Bulgarian invaders.
Although Çilen could not have known of a future war against Bulgaria when the betrothal was arranged, in secret she was worried that Dobroslav's throne wasn't as secure as she had thought it to be. Boris was aiming for Dobroslav's very own demesne, and losing those lands would weaken his position decisively against the numerous and powerful lords under him. He would not have it easy anytime soon. At least their trip back had been uneventful. Until now.
Çilen glared at the scout. "What? There is supposedly no fighting in these lands...the Serbs are busy defending their own turf, we know that all too well. The Oltenian revolt is much farther to the west..."
"No, it's not that...they are on horseback, and they are...carrying the Ashina royal banners, milady."
Çilen looked even more puzzled than before. "Are you sure? What would Tarkhan be doing here...I thought the horde was in Byzantium?"
"We will know soon. They are moving toward us quickly."
"I can barely wait", Çilen replied with sullen expression.
The ranger turned out to be correct. Less than half an hour later, the riders he spoke of caught up to their small envoy. They were in light travel formation and moved with astounding speed for such a large force – Tarkhan's expertise on the field was widely known, and the Khagan himself was at the top of the troops.
Apparently Tarkhan had been informed of the unexpected travelers along the way of the horde. He and his honor guard rode towards Çilen unerringly.
"Now ain't it a pleasure to meet family in such an unlikely place", the Khagan uttered with unmistakable sarcasm when the horses stopped in front of his sister's group. "If I only knew to what I owe the honor."
"Yes, if only you knew. I'll gladly remind you that your niece is now married to the King of Serbia, before you plan to invade him too. You agreed to the betrothal yourself." Tarkhan gave his sister an annoyed look, but she continued: "Once we're at asking questions: what are you doing here...with thousands of men? Are you roleplaying your legendary raid on Bulgaria when you were twenty-four?"
Tarkhan ground his teeth, but managed to keep his composure. "It seems I'm not the only one who lacks information... The Christian peasants in Moldavia have taken up arms once again, presumably because of untenable rumours about the treatment of the people in Trebizond. We are moving to smoke them out. Egill opted to stay with the army instead of the mission close to home, for reasons I cannot explain to myself for the life of me."
"Don't try to fool me, Tarkhan. I know that he goes wherever you order him to, as any loyal soldier would – and he's the most loyal of them all, for reasons I cannot explain to myself."
"For once, you speak the truth. Now queue up with the horde if you don't wish to be ambushed by some bunch of raiders or Christian zealots who would certainly not hesitate to burn you on a stake."
Çilen had to laugh. "That would suit you." Nonetheless she gave her guards an appreciative nod. Tarkhan remained unmoved and turned his horse without further words.
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It continues to tickle my fancy the parallels between this AAR and @Dunaden's People of the Forest. Here we have the Horde conducting a "tour" of the Empire, 'sharing their culture' as it were. Over there Erziya has sort of done them exact same thing
Tarkhan has a plan on his mind. One can tell.
Tarkhan has a plan on his mind. One can tell.
My exact thoughts upon reading The people of the Forest lately. And in both cases, the Byzantines get taught a severe lesson about their actual strength. Constantinople will also be visited by Tarkhan soon.
And in both cases, the Byzantines get taught a severe lesson about their actual strength. Constantinople will also be visited by Tarkhan soon.
I'm also reading people of the forest and thinking the exact same thing. Revolts can be very frustrating zealots in particular
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Tarkhan takes advantage of the turmoil in the Empire and it looks like he come out ahead.
Moldavia has given the Khagan almost nothing but trouble, im not very familiar with nomad mechanics, but who holds Moldavia and do they provide Tarkhan with taxes?
Some very good scenes in this chapter!
I wonder what will happen to Egill in the end, maybe a holding or even a Khanate?
Trebizond is a small kingdom but it will serve as a welcome addition to the Khaganate
I wonder what will happen to Egill in the end, maybe a holding or even a Khanate?
Trebizond is a small kingdom but it will serve as a welcome addition to the Khaganate
Luckily for Tarkhan, the perpetual rebels weren't able to actually achieve anything until now, but they have been a persistent distraction that could have cost him everything in the Bolghar war. Other realms (looking at the Romans once again) have not had that comfort. Doubling their numbers by the game rules turned out quite effective to make them into an actual factor to what is happening around the world.
He's not the only one either. The Muslims creep in from the South and the Italians from the west. It very much looks like a premature fall for the Byzantines.
The taxes do actually flow. Baronies under a Khaganate always pay their full share, regardless of their opinion of their liege - and most of them are loyal, inconspicuous Khazar Jews after a few purges of unruly Mayors and Bishops. It's still debatable if it was actually worth it - Moldavia isn't particularly rich and it turns out that pillaging in particular, as profitable as it is, makes the local people *very* angry. Then there's that much larger swath of land full of Orthodox Christians Tarkhan plans to annex soon...
Thanks! I've been brooding over it for quite some time.
Tarkhan has always been one to reward loyalty and Egill will be no exception, that much can be said. Handing out titles beyond mere Baronies is rather tricky as a Nomad though, which will become obvious when the time comes to distribute the spoils - which might be more than Trebizond, as the Invasion CB grants the attacker all lands he is occupying at the time of the surrender.
Quick disclaimer: I can barely make the time and focus to properly delve into the intricacies of an alternate timeline, with all that our original one currently throws on all of us in one way or the other. 'Jerusalem Calling' is in quarantine, so to speak, but rest assured it is well and in no peril.
The next chapter is ready and will be posted soon, yet it might take some time again for more to follow.
I sincerely hope you all stay safe and healthy.
The next chapter is ready and will be posted soon, yet it might take some time again for more to follow.
I sincerely hope you all stay safe and healthy.
Chapter 77 – Turning Point
Chapter 77 – Turning Point
May 23, 923 AD
Trapezous, Black Sea Coast
Egill Rögnvaldrsson returned to his yurt from his usual round through the siege camp. He and the men were used to the procedure by now – they did not have the means to get through the sturdy walls of the fortresses that protected the Byzantine holdings, so they cut them off from the outer world, prodded at their defenses to discourage costly counterattacks from behind the walls and otherwise mostly waited until the defenders gave up by themselves, be it because of starvation or mere reluctance to suffer for an Emperor who couldn't protect his lands
In the early days of the war, these standoffs did pose some kind of a risk for the Khazars as their own supplies and the capacities of the land to sustain especially the horses were limited. Egill himself was there to conquer the first Byzantine port which made things far easier, and by now the Black Sea coast was firmly enough in their hands to ship supplies in and loot out on a regular basis. The Khazars had learned a lot about the logistics of seabound provision for their troops in the past year, although they were still by and large skeptical to use them for transporting those same troops apart from small numbers to reinforce their standing hosts.
The horde he was leading was a colourful mixture of soldiers from almost all parts of the empire, the bulk of them provided by the rivaling Khanates of Hekel and Bulçir. Fortunately for the Khazars, the well-running war and the still significant riches of the crumbling Eastern Roman empire were enough to keep them focused on the task and away from squabbles among themselves. Even when the host was commanded back into territory ridden with camp fever after Strategos Leon of Trebizond's supposedly natural death, the order would not be questioned.
Egill had thought of the Nomads as a barely controllable lot when he first arrived in Khazaria, wondering how their commanders ever got them to follow orders - but over the years he recognized that their devotion and discipline merely took a different manifestation than he knew at the time, one that was obviously shaped by the nature of life and warfare in the Steppes.
Egill had been a soldier as a young man at home, where horses were a commodity reserved for the highest nobles because breeding them was so costly in the rough climate, and battles were mostly decided by a skjallborg holding its ground. This meant that there was no margin to back down or break out once the forces were locked into the clinch, and each man needed to absolutely rely on the ones next to him. Courage and relentlessness were indispensable assets in a skjallborg, and this was what the Norse warriors were trained for.
In the vast open steppes where Egill had spent most of his adulthood, success was all about perpetual movement and outmaneuvering the enemy, with well trained hordes acting not unlike a swarm. Exact orders could hardly be conveyed over the much larger fields those clashes usually took place in, and so each man was responsible to take his own decisions at every moment, keep his horse under control in extreme situations and still adhere to the larger plan.
This difference in training influenced the respective soldiers' way of thinking and their relation to their superiors and their comrades as much as their actual fighting styles, and Egill sometimes came to think that maybe the circumstances in the steppes were superior to the more densely populated European realms when it came to providing a powerful military. The campaign to Byzantium turned out another example to affirm such asserations. Half a year ago already, Basileus Theocharistos had to admit he possessed no means to fight back against the Khazar horde ravaging his northern coast and offered his surrender to Tarkhan, before his army was even showing itself to the Khazars.
The hitch was that Theocharistos did not yet control the easternmost part of the said coast, the proper Theme of Trebizond, at the time, so the original war goal was out of his own reach and the remaining prize would be cut off from the rest of the Khaganate. The Khagan was full of contempt for the Basileus' weakness and furious about the perceived attempt to double-cross him even in the middle of an obvious complete and utter defeat. All that the offer achieved was renewed furor to the Khazar efforts, and soon after Constantinople itself was besieged by a legion of horsemen under the Khagan himself. The fabled Theodosian Walls and the city's favorable position right on the Bosporus straits were proving effective until now, but if no peace deal was worked out in time, an eventual surrender of the former heart of the Empire was inevitable.
The Roman legion was almost entirely shattered by now, worn down by constant quarrels with rebellious forces and then finally getting caught by Egill and his host on their way east. Sure, the small group of reinforcements from the Jabdertim were dispersed, but this came at the price of losing almost two thirds off their already sparse numbers.
Hard to imagine Constantinople under a Khagan, Egill thought upon removing his helmet. Then he noticed the missive on his small desk. It had to be from the Khagan himself, according to the seal on it.
Egill's eyes grew wide when he read the short note. Fortunately, Tarkhan was about as prolific at writing as he was at reading, and so what he saw was only two short sentences: Be easy with the fortress. It will be yours soon.
In the back of his mind, Egill had suspected that he would be rewarded soon, but he never dared to ask. After a moment of awe, he silently saluted. Thank you, my friend.
July 16, 924 AD
Constantinople
The large gate to the Theodosian Walls lay peacefully in the morning sun, and another cloudless summer day was about to begin in the city of Constantinople. Everything could have seemed just as usual from afar, where two Irish men appeared on the horizon along a small band of Imperial Guards.
Liam Cremthainn was the youngest son (and the only one alive) to the late Catholic Basileus Bardas 'the Hideous', and currently the steward of the Empire. Today he should accompany his older fellow Doux Ferdomnach Ua Braenein, a childhood friend of his father who was namedly the holder of the Aegean Islands and the Chancellor to Basileus Theocharistos. Ironically, those islands were part of Liam's own Duchy in practice while Ferdomnach ruled a strip of the mainland west of Thrace - the result of several political tit-for-tats in the past. He didn't understand much about how those things were playing out, nor did he about managing a treasury that moved about 21 ducat's worth a month in total.
In general, Liam never stood out as very talented at about anything throughout his childhood and youth. It just so happened that growing up in the purple always opened every door for him in the Palace through all his life, ultimately getting him a Duchy and a post in the council without having to do much for either. Despite his questionable reputation, Bardas 'the Hideous' had established an extensive cult of personality around him throughout his reign and radically dealt with the slightest disagreement, with the according effect on the court and the administration. Crucial positions were handed out by loyalty and kindredship rather than competence for many years, and the resulting networks turned out to persist after Bardas' eventual demise.
In short, the reign of 'the Hideous' was still leaving its mark on the Empire, and there were now lots of people in the cities talking about how this episode would eventually run it into the ground. None of Bardas' successors was able to overcome the divisions in the Empire that had been there for long, but were ruthlessly exposed during those years and the inner and outer conflicts were abundant. Recently the revolt from the eastern Dukes had gained ground far into Thrace and the Empire's tributary on the Adriatic coast, the Duke of Epiros, lost almost all his territory to a heretic from Northern Italy with his rag-tag warband. Even Egypt managed to secure a foothold for itself in Tarsos. But all this would be minor setbacks for the Romans, compared to how Liam's and Ferdomnach's mission today would impact the Empire and the world.
On their way toward the walls, Ferdomnach – who was a tad bit more capable than Liam – recognized that the small farming communities around the city were looking different than usual. More fields lay fallow, with goats and sheep roaming around the weeds that grew rapidly in the lush flat that stretched south until the Sea of Marmara. And for an uneasy moment, Ferdomnach Ua Braenain wondered if what he knew was the past, but what he saw was the future.
The group arrived at the gates of the insurmountable wall, heavily manned with Khazar Divine Guards. One of them barked at the Irish in a strange language, obviously asking for their business here or something like that. Ferdomnach swallowed heavily and pulled out the scroll, set up in Khazar by some crafty folks in the Empire's duty, that would grant them diplomatic protecton – if everything went as expected, of course.
The guard captain looked at the parchment, and a wide grin came to his face. He called two other men to him and pointed on the scroll, followed by collective laughter. Then he shouted something to a man who quickly disappeared into the city and gestured them to wait. Ferdomnach and Liam looked at each other uncomfortably. Those savages seemed to not care in the least about their position. They'd never been treated like that in their lives, in the Empire everyone used to bow before them and be all reverent.
After a short wait, another Khazar man, apparently an official and not a soldier, appeared at the gates and walked towards them.
"Good to see you have arrived safely", he uttered with slightly sardonic friendliness and in surprisingly clean Greek. "We have been expecting you. Natronai of Bartenstein, Steward of Khazaria. Honored to make your acquaintance."
Ferdomnach bowed, but kept a stern expression. "I am Chancellor Ferdomnach Ua Brenain, and this is my colleague Liam Cremthainn."
"You have quite an unusual name for a Khazar. Why is that?", Liam interjected to Ferdomnach's obvious displeasure. This was not the moment to ask questions.
Natronai chuckled. "I could say the same of you, Doux Cremthainn. My father, may the Lord protect his soul, was from East Francia. Of course he wasn't as important as yours, so I take no offense. Where I grew up, names matter less than deeds."
The old Zakkai of Bartenstein's heart had given up shortly after the war declaration against Byzantium, and although people were always secretly wondering why Natronai did not resemble his father on the outside at all, it was well known that his financial talents did not fall short of his father's. Zakkai, all professional even during his rapid bodily decline, had pulled the strings in advance and arranged for the money to flow to the right places, and so Tarkhan had no objections when the other councillors proposed to name Natronai the new steward to the Khaganate. Growing up in a former Roman exclave and standing to rule it some time, Natronai had had all the reason to learn Greek, which was now paying off.
"I reckon you are here on duty though, so let me accompany you to the palace. Khagan Tarkhan Ashina awaits you", Natronai expressed with unchanged affability.
As they rode through the city, Ferdomnach noticed that although there was little destruction and Constantinople was as bustling as he remembered it, few people would still get the idea to call it the 'Queen of Cities' anymore. What they saw resembled a sprawling slum rather than the centre of wealth and prosperity most people still thought of. Beggars seamed the main roads and ragged children were chasing each other around buildings that clearly had seen better days.
Noticing the Imperial envoy's disenchantment, Natronai asked "Is anything wrong, milords?"
"It's a shameful sight to see the city like that. How did all those people get so impoverished?", was the prompt reaction from Liam.
Ferdomnach took deep breath to stop himself from facepalming. Natronai raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Sure, the city has been under siege for fourteen months – but that has been over half a year ago, and otherwise we found it mostly like this. I imagined it differently too, be sure of that."
He turned to Ferdomnach. "If I am not wrongly informed, the Imperial administration never returned after the break-off from the Empire twenty years ago."
"That is indeed so. During the shameful reign of Ioseph the pig-farmer, it was decided that the Emperor was better off ruling from his home. Therefore Basileus Theocharistos sits in Thessalonice."
"It is well known that losing such an important institution as the Empire itself hits places' economies. The people get used to the wealth flowing in, and when it suddenly stops they do not have the means to create this kind of prosperity by themselves. Maybe you should have a closer look into this, my high-born colleague, before the Empire relocates again", Natronai quipped in audible delight.
In that same moment, the former Imperial palace, adorned with banners in the blue and white of the Ashina clan, came into sight. The Irish ambassadors to the Eastern Roman Empire remained silent.
"I haven't seen this place since I was a little boy", Liam whispered to his fellow when they walked through the naked, gloomy halls of the palace. "Maybe this is why I remember everything as so much larger and more...majestic, you know?"
"I figure it was nicer when it was still home to a Basileus", Ferdomnach replied quietly.
When Tarkhan and his men marched into the town and took over the palace, they had found the impressive building barred and abandoned. Basileus Theocharistos' sparse staff apparently left some time ago, considering that the Emperor wouldn't be able to make use of this holding of his anytime soon. The Khazars gladly took over and the palace was quickly made hospitable again, mainly to act as the command center of the Khazar military as long as the Horde was operating in the region.
The palace did now also accomodate the Khaganate's important figures when their presence was due, such as today. Tarkhan, restless as ever, marched to the East soon after to support Egill and his troops who were securing the area around Trebizond (with unsurprising success, with the Byzantine army almost entirely out of action). Now he had returned to put an end to the war.
On Natronai of Bartenstein's command, the heavy gate to the throne room, where Tarkhan 'the Despoiler' would await the ambassadors was opened. The three men, flanked by half a dozen of guards, approached the throne where the Khagan sat, a grey-bearded, but youthful man in ceremonial armor topped off with the pompous jewelry once commissioned by his father Zachariah. The view was extravagant for sure.
"Greetings, gentlemen", Tarkhan started in slightly crooked Greek. "I hope you got here well."
"Thank you, your majesty", both Ferdomnach and Liam replied quickly.
"Ask them", he went on in Khazar turned toward his steward Natronai who would translate, "if they have any idea why the initial offers of their Basileus were so meager. If he had chosen to not insult me, he could have saved himself and his people quite the lot of trouble."
Liam's face went red with anger. "We don't owe you a...."
"NO, no, no", Ferdomnach immediately fell in with unmistakable determination and took a step toward his fellow. Liam went silent. "We can assure you Basileus Theocharistos meant no insult. It is possible he misestimated the...general state of interests...at first. The offer we are to present you today is of a whole different scope, I have been informed."
"That is pleasant to hear. I have made sure to present my demands clearly to the Basileus in advance this time. It is a shame he could not make the time himself..."
"The circumstances forbid it, I suppose. I am sure though the Emperor would have appeared personally, were it not for the other fronts he is at war at right now."
"Ah, I see. Well, one cannot have everything, right? Would you then be so kind and hand over that offer?"
"Of course, your majesty", Ferdomnach replied and gave Natronai the sealed scroll they had been bringing along with them.
The peace treaty that Theocharistos offered was rather long and written in exhaustingly complicated official language, but in the end it amounted to an unconditional surrender. All of the Khaganate's territorial gains throughout the war, from Trebizond to Constantinople, would be made permanent. The local rulers were to be deplaced and the holdings not yet under Khazar control vacated immediately, which essentially meant invalidating every right to rule based on Imperial law and handing all control over the territory to the Khaganate.
Later that night, Khagan Tarkhan 'the Despoiler' crowned himself the King of Trebizond and the lord over all the coastal lands around the Black Sea. Over night, a sizeable amount of population, wealth and land was seized from the already suffering Byzantine Empire – including Constantinople itself, the Empire's most important stronghold, the City of the world's desire. Khazaria, on the other hand, was looking on a victory that few had dared to dream of and a vast pile of riches to be exploited.
In the following weeks, news spread like wildfire throughout Europe that the Queen of Cities had fallen to the ever-growing empire in the East. Khazaria, barely attended even by Western rulers up until now, quickly grew into a household name – and into the stuff of many scary tales at the same time.
May 23, 923 AD
Trapezous, Black Sea Coast
Egill Rögnvaldrsson returned to his yurt from his usual round through the siege camp. He and the men were used to the procedure by now – they did not have the means to get through the sturdy walls of the fortresses that protected the Byzantine holdings, so they cut them off from the outer world, prodded at their defenses to discourage costly counterattacks from behind the walls and otherwise mostly waited until the defenders gave up by themselves, be it because of starvation or mere reluctance to suffer for an Emperor who couldn't protect his lands
In the early days of the war, these standoffs did pose some kind of a risk for the Khazars as their own supplies and the capacities of the land to sustain especially the horses were limited. Egill himself was there to conquer the first Byzantine port which made things far easier, and by now the Black Sea coast was firmly enough in their hands to ship supplies in and loot out on a regular basis. The Khazars had learned a lot about the logistics of seabound provision for their troops in the past year, although they were still by and large skeptical to use them for transporting those same troops apart from small numbers to reinforce their standing hosts.
The horde he was leading was a colourful mixture of soldiers from almost all parts of the empire, the bulk of them provided by the rivaling Khanates of Hekel and Bulçir. Fortunately for the Khazars, the well-running war and the still significant riches of the crumbling Eastern Roman empire were enough to keep them focused on the task and away from squabbles among themselves. Even when the host was commanded back into territory ridden with camp fever after Strategos Leon of Trebizond's supposedly natural death, the order would not be questioned.
Egill had thought of the Nomads as a barely controllable lot when he first arrived in Khazaria, wondering how their commanders ever got them to follow orders - but over the years he recognized that their devotion and discipline merely took a different manifestation than he knew at the time, one that was obviously shaped by the nature of life and warfare in the Steppes.
Egill had been a soldier as a young man at home, where horses were a commodity reserved for the highest nobles because breeding them was so costly in the rough climate, and battles were mostly decided by a skjallborg holding its ground. This meant that there was no margin to back down or break out once the forces were locked into the clinch, and each man needed to absolutely rely on the ones next to him. Courage and relentlessness were indispensable assets in a skjallborg, and this was what the Norse warriors were trained for.
In the vast open steppes where Egill had spent most of his adulthood, success was all about perpetual movement and outmaneuvering the enemy, with well trained hordes acting not unlike a swarm. Exact orders could hardly be conveyed over the much larger fields those clashes usually took place in, and so each man was responsible to take his own decisions at every moment, keep his horse under control in extreme situations and still adhere to the larger plan.
This difference in training influenced the respective soldiers' way of thinking and their relation to their superiors and their comrades as much as their actual fighting styles, and Egill sometimes came to think that maybe the circumstances in the steppes were superior to the more densely populated European realms when it came to providing a powerful military. The campaign to Byzantium turned out another example to affirm such asserations. Half a year ago already, Basileus Theocharistos had to admit he possessed no means to fight back against the Khazar horde ravaging his northern coast and offered his surrender to Tarkhan, before his army was even showing itself to the Khazars.
The hitch was that Theocharistos did not yet control the easternmost part of the said coast, the proper Theme of Trebizond, at the time, so the original war goal was out of his own reach and the remaining prize would be cut off from the rest of the Khaganate. The Khagan was full of contempt for the Basileus' weakness and furious about the perceived attempt to double-cross him even in the middle of an obvious complete and utter defeat. All that the offer achieved was renewed furor to the Khazar efforts, and soon after Constantinople itself was besieged by a legion of horsemen under the Khagan himself. The fabled Theodosian Walls and the city's favorable position right on the Bosporus straits were proving effective until now, but if no peace deal was worked out in time, an eventual surrender of the former heart of the Empire was inevitable.
The Roman legion was almost entirely shattered by now, worn down by constant quarrels with rebellious forces and then finally getting caught by Egill and his host on their way east. Sure, the small group of reinforcements from the Jabdertim were dispersed, but this came at the price of losing almost two thirds off their already sparse numbers.
Hard to imagine Constantinople under a Khagan, Egill thought upon removing his helmet. Then he noticed the missive on his small desk. It had to be from the Khagan himself, according to the seal on it.
Egill's eyes grew wide when he read the short note. Fortunately, Tarkhan was about as prolific at writing as he was at reading, and so what he saw was only two short sentences: Be easy with the fortress. It will be yours soon.
In the back of his mind, Egill had suspected that he would be rewarded soon, but he never dared to ask. After a moment of awe, he silently saluted. Thank you, my friend.
July 16, 924 AD
Constantinople
The large gate to the Theodosian Walls lay peacefully in the morning sun, and another cloudless summer day was about to begin in the city of Constantinople. Everything could have seemed just as usual from afar, where two Irish men appeared on the horizon along a small band of Imperial Guards.
Liam Cremthainn was the youngest son (and the only one alive) to the late Catholic Basileus Bardas 'the Hideous', and currently the steward of the Empire. Today he should accompany his older fellow Doux Ferdomnach Ua Braenein, a childhood friend of his father who was namedly the holder of the Aegean Islands and the Chancellor to Basileus Theocharistos. Ironically, those islands were part of Liam's own Duchy in practice while Ferdomnach ruled a strip of the mainland west of Thrace - the result of several political tit-for-tats in the past. He didn't understand much about how those things were playing out, nor did he about managing a treasury that moved about 21 ducat's worth a month in total.
In general, Liam never stood out as very talented at about anything throughout his childhood and youth. It just so happened that growing up in the purple always opened every door for him in the Palace through all his life, ultimately getting him a Duchy and a post in the council without having to do much for either. Despite his questionable reputation, Bardas 'the Hideous' had established an extensive cult of personality around him throughout his reign and radically dealt with the slightest disagreement, with the according effect on the court and the administration. Crucial positions were handed out by loyalty and kindredship rather than competence for many years, and the resulting networks turned out to persist after Bardas' eventual demise.
In short, the reign of 'the Hideous' was still leaving its mark on the Empire, and there were now lots of people in the cities talking about how this episode would eventually run it into the ground. None of Bardas' successors was able to overcome the divisions in the Empire that had been there for long, but were ruthlessly exposed during those years and the inner and outer conflicts were abundant. Recently the revolt from the eastern Dukes had gained ground far into Thrace and the Empire's tributary on the Adriatic coast, the Duke of Epiros, lost almost all his territory to a heretic from Northern Italy with his rag-tag warband. Even Egypt managed to secure a foothold for itself in Tarsos. But all this would be minor setbacks for the Romans, compared to how Liam's and Ferdomnach's mission today would impact the Empire and the world.
On their way toward the walls, Ferdomnach – who was a tad bit more capable than Liam – recognized that the small farming communities around the city were looking different than usual. More fields lay fallow, with goats and sheep roaming around the weeds that grew rapidly in the lush flat that stretched south until the Sea of Marmara. And for an uneasy moment, Ferdomnach Ua Braenain wondered if what he knew was the past, but what he saw was the future.
The group arrived at the gates of the insurmountable wall, heavily manned with Khazar Divine Guards. One of them barked at the Irish in a strange language, obviously asking for their business here or something like that. Ferdomnach swallowed heavily and pulled out the scroll, set up in Khazar by some crafty folks in the Empire's duty, that would grant them diplomatic protecton – if everything went as expected, of course.
The guard captain looked at the parchment, and a wide grin came to his face. He called two other men to him and pointed on the scroll, followed by collective laughter. Then he shouted something to a man who quickly disappeared into the city and gestured them to wait. Ferdomnach and Liam looked at each other uncomfortably. Those savages seemed to not care in the least about their position. They'd never been treated like that in their lives, in the Empire everyone used to bow before them and be all reverent.
After a short wait, another Khazar man, apparently an official and not a soldier, appeared at the gates and walked towards them.
"Good to see you have arrived safely", he uttered with slightly sardonic friendliness and in surprisingly clean Greek. "We have been expecting you. Natronai of Bartenstein, Steward of Khazaria. Honored to make your acquaintance."
Ferdomnach bowed, but kept a stern expression. "I am Chancellor Ferdomnach Ua Brenain, and this is my colleague Liam Cremthainn."
"You have quite an unusual name for a Khazar. Why is that?", Liam interjected to Ferdomnach's obvious displeasure. This was not the moment to ask questions.
Natronai chuckled. "I could say the same of you, Doux Cremthainn. My father, may the Lord protect his soul, was from East Francia. Of course he wasn't as important as yours, so I take no offense. Where I grew up, names matter less than deeds."
The old Zakkai of Bartenstein's heart had given up shortly after the war declaration against Byzantium, and although people were always secretly wondering why Natronai did not resemble his father on the outside at all, it was well known that his financial talents did not fall short of his father's. Zakkai, all professional even during his rapid bodily decline, had pulled the strings in advance and arranged for the money to flow to the right places, and so Tarkhan had no objections when the other councillors proposed to name Natronai the new steward to the Khaganate. Growing up in a former Roman exclave and standing to rule it some time, Natronai had had all the reason to learn Greek, which was now paying off.
"I reckon you are here on duty though, so let me accompany you to the palace. Khagan Tarkhan Ashina awaits you", Natronai expressed with unchanged affability.
As they rode through the city, Ferdomnach noticed that although there was little destruction and Constantinople was as bustling as he remembered it, few people would still get the idea to call it the 'Queen of Cities' anymore. What they saw resembled a sprawling slum rather than the centre of wealth and prosperity most people still thought of. Beggars seamed the main roads and ragged children were chasing each other around buildings that clearly had seen better days.
Noticing the Imperial envoy's disenchantment, Natronai asked "Is anything wrong, milords?"
"It's a shameful sight to see the city like that. How did all those people get so impoverished?", was the prompt reaction from Liam.
Ferdomnach took deep breath to stop himself from facepalming. Natronai raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Sure, the city has been under siege for fourteen months – but that has been over half a year ago, and otherwise we found it mostly like this. I imagined it differently too, be sure of that."
He turned to Ferdomnach. "If I am not wrongly informed, the Imperial administration never returned after the break-off from the Empire twenty years ago."
"That is indeed so. During the shameful reign of Ioseph the pig-farmer, it was decided that the Emperor was better off ruling from his home. Therefore Basileus Theocharistos sits in Thessalonice."
"It is well known that losing such an important institution as the Empire itself hits places' economies. The people get used to the wealth flowing in, and when it suddenly stops they do not have the means to create this kind of prosperity by themselves. Maybe you should have a closer look into this, my high-born colleague, before the Empire relocates again", Natronai quipped in audible delight.
In that same moment, the former Imperial palace, adorned with banners in the blue and white of the Ashina clan, came into sight. The Irish ambassadors to the Eastern Roman Empire remained silent.
"I haven't seen this place since I was a little boy", Liam whispered to his fellow when they walked through the naked, gloomy halls of the palace. "Maybe this is why I remember everything as so much larger and more...majestic, you know?"
"I figure it was nicer when it was still home to a Basileus", Ferdomnach replied quietly.
When Tarkhan and his men marched into the town and took over the palace, they had found the impressive building barred and abandoned. Basileus Theocharistos' sparse staff apparently left some time ago, considering that the Emperor wouldn't be able to make use of this holding of his anytime soon. The Khazars gladly took over and the palace was quickly made hospitable again, mainly to act as the command center of the Khazar military as long as the Horde was operating in the region.
The palace did now also accomodate the Khaganate's important figures when their presence was due, such as today. Tarkhan, restless as ever, marched to the East soon after to support Egill and his troops who were securing the area around Trebizond (with unsurprising success, with the Byzantine army almost entirely out of action). Now he had returned to put an end to the war.
On Natronai of Bartenstein's command, the heavy gate to the throne room, where Tarkhan 'the Despoiler' would await the ambassadors was opened. The three men, flanked by half a dozen of guards, approached the throne where the Khagan sat, a grey-bearded, but youthful man in ceremonial armor topped off with the pompous jewelry once commissioned by his father Zachariah. The view was extravagant for sure.
"Greetings, gentlemen", Tarkhan started in slightly crooked Greek. "I hope you got here well."
"Thank you, your majesty", both Ferdomnach and Liam replied quickly.
"Ask them", he went on in Khazar turned toward his steward Natronai who would translate, "if they have any idea why the initial offers of their Basileus were so meager. If he had chosen to not insult me, he could have saved himself and his people quite the lot of trouble."
Liam's face went red with anger. "We don't owe you a...."
"NO, no, no", Ferdomnach immediately fell in with unmistakable determination and took a step toward his fellow. Liam went silent. "We can assure you Basileus Theocharistos meant no insult. It is possible he misestimated the...general state of interests...at first. The offer we are to present you today is of a whole different scope, I have been informed."
"That is pleasant to hear. I have made sure to present my demands clearly to the Basileus in advance this time. It is a shame he could not make the time himself..."
"The circumstances forbid it, I suppose. I am sure though the Emperor would have appeared personally, were it not for the other fronts he is at war at right now."
"Ah, I see. Well, one cannot have everything, right? Would you then be so kind and hand over that offer?"
"Of course, your majesty", Ferdomnach replied and gave Natronai the sealed scroll they had been bringing along with them.
The peace treaty that Theocharistos offered was rather long and written in exhaustingly complicated official language, but in the end it amounted to an unconditional surrender. All of the Khaganate's territorial gains throughout the war, from Trebizond to Constantinople, would be made permanent. The local rulers were to be deplaced and the holdings not yet under Khazar control vacated immediately, which essentially meant invalidating every right to rule based on Imperial law and handing all control over the territory to the Khaganate.
Later that night, Khagan Tarkhan 'the Despoiler' crowned himself the King of Trebizond and the lord over all the coastal lands around the Black Sea. Over night, a sizeable amount of population, wealth and land was seized from the already suffering Byzantine Empire – including Constantinople itself, the Empire's most important stronghold, the City of the world's desire. Khazaria, on the other hand, was looking on a victory that few had dared to dream of and a vast pile of riches to be exploited.
In the following weeks, news spread like wildfire throughout Europe that the Queen of Cities had fallen to the ever-growing empire in the East. Khazaria, barely attended even by Western rulers up until now, quickly grew into a household name – and into the stuff of many scary tales at the same time.
Now that is quite a victory. Now Khazaria will be know and feared by the West which good be a good thing and perhaps a really bad thing.
How the great city has fallen. Will it flourish under Tarkhan? Will the Ashina turn into the western Yuan? So so many possibilities
I'm hoping that Egill will actually be rewarded and it's not an elaborate plot by someone, he deserves it after all his service.
That is certainly an impressive achievement! I wonder what shall be the fate of Constantinople, Tarkhan sounds like the type who would rename it after himself. I wonder if some future Khagan might choose to settle in the Great City?
That is certainly an impressive achievement! I wonder what shall be the fate of Constantinople, Tarkhan sounds like the type who would rename it after himself. I wonder if some future Khagan might choose to settle in the Great City?