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Yeah, it was a close call. In game, it was more sitting there, waiting for the siege at Byzantion to run its course, while watching the huge Imperial fleet get closer and closer... it was quite nerve wracking! :)

Part Two of the Update this Week...

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The sun setting in the Sea of Marmara. Hagia Sophia is visible in the background.
Evening cast a pale, mournful glow over the Kappadokian army. Food was becoming scarce, and the morale of the men was ebbing low.

Demetrios had been inside his private tent, at the side of Anastasia when the tumult first started. Princess Komnenos had seemed paler that morning than usual, and she had scarcely stirred all day. Even though she was near to term, the last three pregnancies had seen Anastasia up and about until the day before she delivered almost. The fact she wanted to lay down was enough to worry Demetrios.

He needed her.

He needed her political acumen, her brains, and most of all, for her to give him a son. He’d warned her to stay behind in Palmyra, but she had pointed out (rightfully so) that a dagger can kill just as easily in Palmyra as a sword can kill in the field, and whoever had struck down Demetrios’ old Logothetes was still about. He’d conducted the morning briefing of he officers by her bedside, and was loath to leave so long as the rest of the siege was running properly.

It was the shouts and cries of the soldiers that finally brought him to his feet.

“What’s all that? Anastasia asked weakly, as Demetrios in two steps covered the distance between her cot and the entrance to the tent.

When he snapped the tent flap open, he could see a small band of riders, only ten in number, far too small to be a raiding party, galloping towards the massed camp of the Kappadokian armies. High above the head of the lead rider snapped the broad black pennant of the Principality of Sinope. It took Demetrios only a minute to realize the second rider in the small column was none other than his uncle, Manuel…

“What is this?” Demetrios asked finally as the riders cantered into camp, soldiers looking up at their resplendent forms in awe. Manuel outshone the city fathers of Konstantinopolis, wearing silks and jewels that likely cost more than a small fortune. As soon as he spotted Demetrios’ shocked face, he reined his horse around and cantered to the front of the tent.

“Well met, Demetrios!” Manuel smiled, and Demetrios swore there were spiders in his uncle’s baritone voice.

“What is this?” Demetrios repeated himself.

“This?” Manuel gestured to the enormous golden medallion that covered his chest. It looked to weigh several pounds at least, and had an enormous emerald and ruby at its center. Demetrios thought he recognized the medallion from somewhere, but he couldn’t place it.

“No, this!” Demetrios waved an arm at his uncle and the band of riders. “What are you doing here? Last I heard you were in Sinope, no doubt planning the downfall of some unlucky lord.”

“Ha!” Manuel’s laugh was sharp and mocking. “You are a sharp one, young man. As a matter of fact, yes, I was plotting the downfall of many people. I am a Prince of Romanion, you see – it is our past-time, young Demetrios!” He grinned broadly as he dismounted. Demetrios thought it looked like a lion baring his fangs.

“What is the meaning of this?” Demetrios finally cried in confusion.

“Its simple, dear nephew,” Manuel the Spider smiled, putting a silk covered bejeweled arm around his bewildered nephew. “Dear old Basilieus Michael finally had a moment of brilliance, and decided the best way to stop an enemy was to make him his friend. So, he gave me this,” Manuel jingled the heavy gold chain on his chest. “I’m now the Megas Doux, and commander of the Imperial Fleet on the Sea of Marmara.” He stopped and grinned. “Pure bribery, you see.”

“For a man who wished to be Kaisar, your price was awfully low,” Demetrios scowled. To his anger, Manuel merely laughed.

“Oh, my dear nephew, how naïve you are. Think on it for a moment. If I wanted Michael gone, why would I accept the position of Megas Doux from him and cut your army off from communication and supplies?” He gestured inside Demetrios’ tent.

“Because you’re an opportunistic bastard?” Demetrios growled, holding the tent flap open for his uncle, and now his bane.

“No!” Manuel almost giggled, looking upwards for a second. “Maybe… yes. You see, dear nephew, this puts me in a position of total power… if you give me what I want, I let your troops have the supplies they need to maintain the siege, and even arrange for the doors of the city to open for you. If Michael gives me what I want, I cut you off and his throne is safe from one Komnenid lion. I am a hero to him, and free to safely plot another strike on him when the time is right.” He winked. “And as you know, with someone like Michael on the throne, that right time will arrive sooner, rather than later…”

You… Demetrios’ eyes narrowed, yet even as he mentally cursed his uncle’s name, he had to admit the genius of Manuel’s move. Michael’s dangerous gambit to bribe him had left Manuel seemingly in a position to gain, no matter what happened.

“I can either cut your army off and bar you from the city, or I can give you control of the better part of the Imperial fleet, and let you parade into Konstantinopolis as an Emperor should… its your choice.”

“How did you do it?” Anastasia stirred. In his confusion, Demetrios hadn’t realized she could hear them.

“Ah, young Anastasia, we meet at last!” Manuel bowed elegantly. “I have heard so much about your abilities, that I scarcely believed you were mortal!”

“How did you do it?” Demetrios repeated this time, crossing his arms. Michael knows you for an enemy! How the devil did you get him, let alone his brother, to put you in this position!?

Manuel gave a slight, secret smile, while tugging at a ring on his finger. “Oh, lets just say the Emperor owes me a debt for some past favors I have done for him…”

“Favors? For Michael?” Anastasia looked like she was in pain as well as doubtful.

I told him it was a favor. In truth, I was acting of my own accord – by convenience I bested an enemy of the Emperor while helping myself,” Manuel admitted with a grin. “A happy circumstance, I have used to its fullest benefit.”

“Who?” Demetrios asked, only to have Manuel start to tsk quietly.

“Ah ah ah… you will have to discover that on your own. A master never trades his secrets to a journeyman.”

Demetrios felt his blood start to boil, until he realized exactly what a pinch he was stuck in. Manuel has the power to either give me the throne or deny it… dammit!

“What do you want?” Demetrios said wearily after a moment, slumping down into his camp chair. He has me by the balls…

“Several things. First, the title of Kaisar,” Manuel sat opposite, the smile gone from his lips. His eyes were now intent on Demetrios – he was serious.

Kaisar? Why? You’re almost forty-five uncle, I’m to be twenty in two months. You won’t ever see the crown… would you…” Demetrios’ voice trailed off, and Manuel gave a sickening smile.

“No, of course not,” the elder Komnenos said, “But I do gain a great measure of authority. And you can trust while you are away on campaign the Empire will be competently run. Second, I want to retain the position of Megas Doux,, if only to keep you to holding your end of the bargain. Finally, as you have no male heirs, until such time comes I want the line of succession to pass through me.”

“What do you think will come of that?” Demetrios asked guardedly, his voice taking on a dangerous tone.

“Ease, my nephew,” Manuel held his hands up in a placating gesture, his smooth voice calming the air. “I too do not wish to see a Dukid on the throne again – and leaving the throne to me makes it securely in the hands of the Komnenids, should you not sire and heir…”

“We shall see. What else?”

“Oh, I think that is enough to demand in one day, don’t you think?” Manuel smiled darkly. “I wouldn’t want to strain our nascent partnership before it has a chance to fully form.”

“You speak with a great deal of confidence,” Demetrios hunched his shoulders angrily.

“I know you, dear nephew,” Manuel said directly. “I saw you as a child, and seeing you again, even for only a few hours several years ago, was enough for me to know you. And, if that weren’t enough, I know your wife is as cunning as she is beautiful,” he looked towards Anastasia and nodded his head.

“All the more reason to fear me,” Demetrios grumbled. “If I accept, you’ve backed me into a corner and made me do it. How do you account for sore memories of such a thing?”

“ I know you will look at it this way,” Manuel started to stand up, the long flowing robes of his office billowing as he started to walk towards the tent flap. “You gave me the position of Kaisar, and I gave you the Imperial throne. That trade is definitely in your favor.” He paused, before turning around with a grin. “Consider it my favor to you as a blood relative.”

“I’ll consider it as I consider it,” Demetrios retorted.

“Very well. When you have decided, send a rider to the city walls.” Manuel was already leaving. “It looks as if you have perhaps a week to decide!” he shouted over his shoulder as he remounted. Shortly thereafter, the noise of cantering hooves disappeared, leaving Demetrios and his wife alone to consider the proposition.

“The serpent raises his head?” Anastasia raised herself up and smiled weakly.

“Yes, and his whole ugly body too,” Demetrios sighed. He looked at his pale, increasingly frail looking wife. Now, more than ever, he needed guidance. “Do I take his offer?”

Anastasia gave a weak laugh, and started to roll her eyes.

“Do you have much of a choice?”

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A fanciful interpretation from the Kingdom of England of the Kappadokian camps outside the walls of Konstantinopolis. Note how the illustrator has depicted Demetrios fully bearded and crowned. – from John Wainwright’s Brief Guide to Roman History
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The next day, the great Imperial fleet in the Bosphorous suddenly peeled north, the oars of its great dromons beating a steady, fast clip upon the restless sea. Within hours, the backed up trade ships from Anatolia began landing south of the city, and soon Demetrios’ army was feasting on long awaited breads, wines, cheeses and meat. Few noticed the constant stream of messengers riding into the camp and from the city, or the constant barrage of messages the other way…

Around five P.M. that evening, a soldier from the Kappadokian armies noticed that the Imperial standard was no longer flying above the Theodosian Walls, and as the sun set, all eyes in the Kappadokian Army watched as a new banner fluttered above the city – the blue and sky blue of Kappadokia, flapping in the wind. A few minutes later, the titanic bronze doors of the Military Gate swung open, and a long line of dignitaries rode forth, headed by Manuel Komnenos, Megas Doux and head of the Imperial Fleet. After Demetrios rode out to meet them, a few words, inaudible to the army, were exchanged, before Demetrios turned, and galloped to the front of his men.

“Soldiers!” he called, a smile on his lips. “You have marched and fought well! For eight months, we have campaigned against this false Emperor! And now, let this day, the 5th of February, the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Ninety, be remembered in the annals of history, for we are about to march into the Queen of Cities!”

An enormous cheer erupted from the massed troops, coupled with chants of Demetrios’ name. The Komnenos raised his hand, calling for silence.

“Soldiers! We march into Konstantinopolis not as conquerors, but as victors, not as plunderers, but as saviors! There will be no looting, not pillaging of this most holy of cities! As God is my witness, any man who loots or pillages will be struck down by the will of the Almighty!”

“Yet your efforts will not go unrewarded. I promise you, my loyal soldiers, some of whom marched with me even in Tripoli, that my first act as Basilieus will be to secure your true, just reward!”

More cheers erupted, and as chants of “Komnenos!” thundered in the air, Demetrios turned and looked at the Lord of Sinope. He nodded his head, and smiled in approval…
 
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Jeez, with family like that who needs enemies? Still, winning over Manuel was quite a coup, now hopefully Demetrios can consolidate his position and marginalize his uncle before he becomes too powerful.
 
Congratulations, General_BT! Lord Valentine has passed the WritAAR of the Week award to you! From what I have thus far read of this work, it is entirely deserved. Head on over to that thread in the main AAR area to accept and to take stock of what winning entails...not much really...simply to enjoy the week in the spotlight and picking your own successor in one week's time. :)
 
A great story so far General_BT, really gripping stuff! You definately deserve WritAAR of the week, though I hope someday that Manuel's favour to the false Emperor will be revealed!
 
*Subscribes*
 
I would first like to say a big thank you to everyone who reads this thread, and enjoys the story... I can only hope I continue to satisfy your appetite! Also thank you to Lord Valentine for considering me for the honor of WritAAR of the week, I am truly humbled by the honor. :)


Without further ado, the next update!

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Basilieus Demetrios Komnenus, First of That Name, Vice Regent of Christ, Emperor of Rome


From Robert Litchfield’s The Ressurection of Rome, University of Illinois Press, 1989

There are few dates that can be conclusively stated as being decisive in the course of history – lately such determinism has fallen out of vogue. Yet few would argue that February 5th, 1090, was not such a fortuitous occasion. On that date, the Roman Empire, formerly a weakened rump of the ancient state, stagnant and moribund, received a new dynasty, and a new dose on life. Unlike the Isaurians, the Justiniads, or the Phokids, the Komnenids would provide the Empire with a span of rule that was measured not in decades, but centuries. If we describe the time of the Caesar’s as the First Golden Age, that of the Five Good Emperors as a second, illustrious Konstantinos as the Third and Justinian as a Fourth, then the Fifth Golden Age clearly began when young Demetrios Komnenos rode into Konstantinople that day.

To this day, we’re uncertain exactly how this young man achieved such a major feat. Even if there were duplicitous dealings, as some historians charge, taking the Queen of Cities with a mere 8,000 men was still no mean feat. What is known is that the arrival of the Lion of the East was electric. We have no conclusive evidence of the reaction of Emperor Michael VII to the news of Konstantinople’s changing allegiance, but legend says that when he triumphantly landed his armies in Tyre, instead of defenders he found a delegation representing the Senate and leading princes of the Empire. Expecting their oath of allegiance to him, he admitted them into his tent. As they informed him that he had been deposed, their brothers went amongst the army, declaring the guards regiments in Konstantinople had acclaimed another as Emperor. When Michael emerged from his tent, he no longer had an army, but the largest collection of gaolers ever assembled.

Some wondered if Demetrios’ terms to Michael were too generous – the Dukas leader was allowed to remain as Count of Thessalonike… we know that Demetrios’ Kaisar vehemently protested against this. Yet the young Komnenid insisted, hoping to be looked at as a savior and liberator, and not as a cruel, rapacious conquerer…

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April 1st, 1090

Demetrios sighed, and swirled the wine in its cup. All around him, the Blacharnae palace was bustling – servants busily replaced flags and banners representing House Dukas with those representing House Komnenos. Manuel was supervising most of the changes – he’d insisted that just inside every grand public entrance to Blacharnae there should be a massive tapestry depicting the colors of House Komnenos, to let everyone know that the Dukids no longer ruled here.

It was a good thing too – the Great Palace was in such disrepair that Demetrios had decided to completely move out of it, and refurbish and restore it once the requisite finances were available. Yet even that did not hold his mind – instead it was the mere memory of someone now long lost, and gone.

The day after the surrender of Konstantinopolis had seemed as bright and glorious as any in Demetrios’ life. In the traditional way, the Army of Kappadokia had lifted Demetrios on their shields, in a move the Varangoi and Excubitores regiments copied. There was no longer any doubt – the Army had acclaimed him, and Demetrios was now raised by the city of Konstantinopolis to the rank of Basilieus.

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A member of the Excubitores Tagmata, one of the Imperial Guard regiments that was crucial in acclaiming Demetrios Emperor.

Manuel persuaded him that there should be a parade through the streets, and that he should address the people. Demetrios wanted to remain by Anastasia’s side – she’d grown even paler, and the chirugeons had said she was close to delivering their child. She’d agreed with Manuel, and so reluctantly, Demetrios went.

The parade was not the formal affair that preceded other coronations – there was no way one could arrange for elephants, lions, and a display of prisoners from distant lands in only one day. However, Demetrios had one impressive element he brought into the city – his army. Hurriedly shoved into finer tunics and with weapons polished the night before under the gaze and sharp tongue of watchful sergeants, the Army of Kappadokia made an impressive and formidable sight as it marched into the city, each column ten wide and one hundred deep, nine columns in all. Flutes and drums played a marching tune, shrill and harsh music to the ears of the residents.

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A later miniature from Mesopotamia depicting Demetrios’ entry into Konstantinople. Note the ahistorical crescent moon flag.

At the head of the Army rode Demetrios, ahead of a small army of dignitaries, officers and hangers on. He had worn his finest armor, its metal scales burnished to a brilliant silver shine. One of his servants had found a plethora of eagle feathers stashed somewhere in the labyrinth of the Great Palace, and now four of them rose in splendour from the head of Demetrios’ charger. The standard bearers around him no had longer bore the blue and cyan flag of Kappadokia, but the red and gold of Romanion. Most importantly, hanging from his neck was a cloak of brilliant tyrian purple, and boots of the same color clad his feet. No one could wear tyrian purple – except the Emperor of Romanion himself.

Behind him rode his Uncle Manuel, and the senior staff of his army. Manuel, as Megas Doux, had also come sumptuously attired, clad in a black tunic whose contrast made the massive necklaces and chains of his various offices shine even more. He wore a cloak of gold, its hue shining brightly in the sunlight. While Demetrios rode somewhat uncertainly through the similarly hesitant crowd, Manuel smiled and waved, a familiar face in a sea of unfamiliar soldiers.

Slowly the great procession had woven through the streets of the city, until ahead loomed the massive Hippodrome itself, the noise of the crowd inside already rumbling, thundering. The Kappadokian Army parading around the inside of the massive structure, awing the crowd with its massed spears and military might. As the parade ended, Demetrios had entered the Hippodrome’s lower levels through a door, only to emerge in the Imperial box. There, he began his speech to the people of Konstantinople – a speech heavily edited by his uncle, Manuel.

Demetrios had promised the crowds many things. Some they cared about – that Demetrios’ troops would not loot the city, that free bread would be distributed in the coming weeks to every citizen in the city. Some many didn’t care about – as in when Demetrios said he would uphold the Komnenid name. In the end, his address got enough of them to their feet that the Hippodrome itself seemed the shudder under the cheering.

It was the height of is short, exciting life.

Then a messenger had entered the box, pale and quaking. Demetrios had asked the man what was wrong. The servant was so afraid he couldn’t speak, and wouldn’t open his mouth until Demetrios repeatedly promised that no matter what the news was, the servant would not be harmed.

Then came the news.

Anastasia had died.

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Anastasia dead in childbirth

She had a lingering sickness, the doctors said. The midwives said that the delivery was difficult, as the child tried to emerge into the world legs first. The baby, a boy, was also dead.

At one fell stroke, fate had given him the greatest power in Christendom, and then stole the one person he trusted for advise on how to use it.

Demetrios continued swishing his wine. It had been three weeks since then. He’d coped by throwing himself into the role of the Basilieus, signing off on plans for a revamped army, a new school, and the rebuilding of the Great Palace – all once the Empire had money.

And now he was about to face his first Council meeting, without his most trusted confidant at his side.

“Your Majesty?” he heard a soft voice say, and he looked up to see Isaakios Thrakesios, one of the members of his new Kappadokia guards regiment, standing quietly in front of him.

“Its time for the Council meeting,” the young man said softly, and Demetrios nodded.

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The Council Chambers in Blacharnae Palace were far more sumptuous than the drafty, tiny closet that passed for a chamber back in Palmyra. The walls were painted a deep royal blue, several couches stuffed with ostrich feathers lined the walls, as did an enormous bookshelf, made of ebony, and covered with ancient Greek and Roman scripts – Virgil, Herodotus, Thuycidides. In the center of the room was the conference table itself, made from oak imported from the Saxon Kingdom of England, and inlaid with ebony from Nubia. Gold trim completed the edges of the table, and a set of walnut and cedar chairs surrounded it.

Arrayed around the table as Demetrios entered were the members of his Imperial Council. Agathe Eulogios had remained as his logothetes in charge of the treasury, but now she had a staff under her to track the thousands of solidi that flowed through the Imperial government. Demetrios’ own mother, Zoe, now state in the place originally held by the elder Anastasia, and while she tried her best, she could not match the late crone’s cunning or abilities.

Theophano Bryennios was now the Megas Logothetes in charge of diplomacy – a carryover from the Council of Michael VII. While Demetrios did not doubt her ability, her loyalty was a value that was yet untested. Finally, there was his Megos Domestikos, Kamal Qasim, son of the late, incompetent Domestikos of Kappadokia. Unlike his father, Kamal was not only a Christian, but infinitely skilled in the art of warfare – after Demetrios, he was likely the best general in Konstantinopolis.

Finally, there was the new Kaisar of Romanion, and Manuel did not let a moment pass where he didn’t fully enjoy wearing the numerous rings, amulets, chains and robes of his new, powerful office.

“Imperial Majesty,” all five rose and bowed, and Demetrios hurriedly waved his hand that they could stop. He walked around the table, towards his seat, hoping to get the affair done before any memory of Anastasia could come back. At the last moment, he decided to head towards the window, taking in the fresh breeze coming off the Marmara. Behind him he could hear the Council calmly waiting, the slight ruffle of parchment on the table.

“Report,” he said finally, falling back to the safety of using a military command for the situation he was completely unfamiliar with. The last time I went to Council without her, I was sixteen, and it was my first council meeting – this feels like that all over again…

“Report?” he heard Theophano say uncertainly.

“All is quiet in the city,” Kamal spoke up, instantly recognizing what the command meant. “The people seem quite happy you are here, even three weeks on. Should I still have the men walk around in the borrowed uniforms to distribute the bread?”

“No,” Demetrios waved a hand. “Too expensive. Have them supply free bread until the granaries say they are at three quarters capacity. I don’t want to cut off food supplies in case the harvest is poor. Theophano?”

“Your majesty, we have a slew of major problems,” Theophano sighed. To Demetrios, she’d always seemed like a perpetually depressed woman. Her demeanor when he turned around – dark circles under her eyes, a face that looked on the edge of tears, merely confirmed that.

“Yes?” he said, walking over towards the table.

“Firstly,” said the Megos Logothetes, “we have the problem of the Latins.”

“What problem with the Latins?” Demetrios took off the outer damsk coat and finally sat down. The Normans, I bet… The Imperial defeats in southern Italy only forty years before still hit hard against the pride of many of the older nobles in the Empire – and the consequent hatred of the Normans ran deep.

“Last year, as your armies were marching towards the Queen of Cities, the Patriarch of Rome declared that Romanion was no longer fit to defend the interests of Christian pilgrims in the Holy Land, and called for a great crusade against the Saracens and the Turks to drive them permanently away.”

“That’s all and good, it’s about time the Latins started fighting the Saracen…” Zoe started to say, before Theophano glared at her.

“The problem is, the upstart in Rome declared that they could keep whatever lands they conquered!”

“But the Levant and Egypt are Romanoi by right!” Demetrios hissed. Before the Arab conquest, Egypt had been a center for Christianity (heretical, it might be), and more importantly, its grain fed the growth of the cities of Greece, Dalmatia, Thrace and Anatolia. Every Emperor since Heraklios had dreamed of retaking Egypt.

“We should have burnt Rome!” Manuel rumbled from the corner.

“Hopefully only a small trickle came at that usurper’s call?” the Megos Domestikos asked.

“No, Imperial Majesty,” Theophano sighed, and began looking at some of the parchments before her. “The Kings of the Franks and the Germans sent no one, but the King of the Croats and the Norman King of the England sent substantial forces. The King of England landed his troops near Alexandria, while the King of the Croats has sent numerous smaller forces on either side.”

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The Norman Kings of England landing in Egypt with their allies.

Demetrios found himself, for the first time, hoping the Saracens were victors in a battle. “How have they fared, so far?”

“The Caliph in Egypt is weak, Imperial Majesty,” Theophano studiously looked at her notes. “There is major infighting in his court, and his nobles in the Levant have not answered his call for war against the invaders. It will take time, Majesty, but I have no doubt that all of Egypt will fall to the Latins.”

“Damn!” Manuel snapped.

“Reports indicate that the King of England might have devoted as many as 20,000 troops to his attacks, while virtually the entire Croat army is now in Egypt and the Levant. I have taken the liberty of sending ambassadors to these kingdoms, as well as to Rome, to officially protest these actions – but I doubt there is anything that will come of that.”

“And, Majesty,” said Kamal, “we do not have the resources to fight those large of forces, what with the Hungarians still on one border and the Turks on another.”

“Trebizond is now being attacked,” Theophano nodded, “and there is nothing we can do to save her.”

“Gavras was a moron for leaving Romanion when you declared against Michael,” Manuel snapped. “I hope the Turks let him dangle from a noose.”

“Adding to this,” said Agathe, her ancient brow furrowed with worry, “is the state of the Imperial finances. The solidus is dangerously inflated, Your Majesty.”

“Dangerously what?” Demetrios asked. “I do not see how balloons and coins can be…”

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A pair of Imperial solidii (gold, not silver, however)

“What she means,” Manuel clarified for his economically backward nephew, “is that people think the solidus is worth more than it is really worth. At some point they will realize this, and prices will skyrocket, leading to misery for the people and unrest.”

“This is in large part because of our outstanding debt to many of the great merchant houses of Konstantinopolis,” Agathe added. “My week-long inventory of the Imperial treasury yields a net debt of 70,000 silver solidi, with an income of a little over 5,000 solidi per month.”

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The meager state of the Imperial treasury at the start of Demetrios’ reign. Not only is the treasury income small for an Empire the size of Romanion’s, the Emperor’s personal desmense numbers only 6 provinces, counting Byzantion itself.

“Meaning we’ll have no debt in nine months?” Demetrios asked hopefully.

“If we do not have any expenses, which we will always have,” Manuel grunted. “You must remember, Majesty, you are considered in the minds of many to be a usurper. They do know you will be better than Michael, but many nobles wonder if you’re truly better than they would be – so at times I will need to promise them ‘support’ in return for them trusting your leadership.”

“Bribes, then?” Demetrios sighed. What have I gotten myself into? “It seems to my simple economic mind, then, that we need to minimize our expenses.” He looked at the table for a moment. “We should halt the restoration of the Great Palace then, as well as all other building projects in the city.”

He heard a muffled complaint from Manuel, but the other members of the Council merely nodded in agreement.

“However, this does leave us with a dilemma. What do we do about the Turks? And Hungary, since we are still technically at war with them?”

“The Hungarian situation is not difficult,” Zoe finally spoke. “King Salamon has a daughter. Marry her. Her name is Hajnal, and from they tell me she is quite beautiful and intelligent.” At Demetrios’ sour face, she sighed.

“I know it has only been a few weeks since you lost Anastasia, but the matters of state are pressing,” Zoe continued. “Salamon has left our frontiers for now, but there is no guarantee he won’t return, and as Agathe has so carefully pointed out, we do not have the funds for another war…”

“Leave the boy alone,” Manuel grumbled. “He just lost his wife, don’t go shoving another woman at him so soon.”

“You merely want him to not sire a son!” Zoe shot back, and Demetrios was forced to raise a hand to stop what would have undoubtedly been a verbal free for all, so he could think.

He crossed his arms and looked down. Such an idea almost felt like he was betraying the memory of Anastasia. Yet Zoe did have a valid point – the marriage would bring an end to the war without shedding any more blood, or more importantly, having to raise and pay any more armies. I have to do it… Demetrios realized. I have little choice… I am Basilieus now, and my people need this… He glumly nodded in agreement.

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Princess Hajnal of Hungary
“What about the Turks then?” he asked quietly a few seconds later.

“We can do nothing, for right now,” Agathe and Theophano both said at the same time.

“The Turk has grown strong enough that in an outright war, we stand little chance of victory,” Theophano added. “We can only hope their attention is held elsewhere for the time being, while we gather our resources.”

Demetrios ground his teeth, but couldn’t disagree. The civil war had left the Empire prostrate – for now the only realistic option was to try to do as little as possible to get the attention of Sultan Malik. Demetrios nodded and grunted as the rest of the council meeting dealt with other issues – the restoration of the burnt cropland in Thrace, what to do about repatriating Michael’s old armies. After several more hours, the meeting drew to a close, and Demetrios dismissed everyone.

The next few coming months would be critical – Civil war had left Romanion weak, on her knees. Demetrios would have to find the money to wage war to increase the lands of Romanion, all before the greedy eyes of the Turk, and now the Latins, were drawn to the weak state of the Empire…
 
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Poor Demetrios, losing his wife and only son, then finding out that the state finances are in a mess! Hopefully the new wife will do some good, and lets hope the Latins don't become to belligerant!

Great update General_BT!
 
I’m willing to bet that the nobility is less than pleased by their new leadership. That’ll cause problems. Soon.
 
Christian V said:
Wasn't theree something about a bastard son? I think I can recall that...

There was, by that woman Thera, His name was Michael if I recall correctly
 
Christian V - Yes, Demetrios has a bastard son by a camp follower supplied by one of his nobles. Demetrios doesn't know about the bastard son yet, though. That little surprise will get dumped on him at a most inconvenient moment. :)

Fulcrumvale - Oh yes, the nobility gets upset with Demetrios quite soon. Needless to say he's better than Michael, but things come to head that some of them don't appreciate. :)

EP - Hajnal's stats are pretty darn good, and she has a good head on her shoulders, as you'll soon find out.


As for Manuel, he's comfortably sitting in the position of Kaisar, or is he? :cool:
 
Ah bugger, nothing like an overly successful crusade to ruin a Basileus' day. And Anastasia dead at such a young age... Poor Demetrios is in for a hard life I think. :(

With stats like that, though (especially his Martial score), I expect to see him on campaign soon. ;)
 
I was bored this week, and instead of doing my reading (which I should have been doing) I worked on updates for the AAR. :) So here's a special mid-week update for everyone!
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Negotiations with King Salamon were fruitful – the Magyar ruler had moved against Romanion, it seemed, because under Michael’s rule border raids by Romanoi slave catchers had increased, imprisoning many free Magyar peoples. In return for their release, Salamon agreed to not only give his daughter’s hand (a prestigious honor), but to also grant Demetrios a dowry totally nearly 64,000 silver solidii, at one fell swoop almost erasing the government’s debts.

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The royal marriage to Hajnal Arpad handsomely helped the Imperial treasury

Demetrios and Hajnal were married on the 17th of April, 1090, only three days after the Magyar princess’ arrival in the city. Unlike Anastasia, Hajnal was no world class beauty, yet she was a brilliant scholar, literate in her native tongue, Latin and Greek, and well versed in the arguments of not only the ancient philosophers but the most current theological debates. Yet, in Demetrios’ eyes, she would never measure up.

Anastasia had been his first love. He had slept with another woman while married to her, but that was only once, and it was a transient affair. He had never loved anyone else as he’d loved her, relied on her, and no matter how she tried, Hajnal could never fill that void…

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April 28th, 1090

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Hajnal Arpad, Basilieia of Romanion

Demetrios grimly clenched his teeth as he opened the door to the library annex in Blacharenae. He was surrounded by his personal security detail, yet these brave warriors couldn’t protect him from the storm of emotions that always overtook him when he was around his new wife. Just as he expected, she had her nose stuck in some dry, dusty parchment when he opened the door. He’d asked to meet her here, partly because he’d known she was going to be here anyway.

She had been reading the scrolls and parchments scattered on shelves all about the room. This was only a minor library in the palace complex at Blacharenae, and Demetrios had been afraid to show her where the main Imperial archives were located, for fear she would never come out of the place. As distracting as it was to break from the main palace complex to come to the annex to meet her, it would take a miracle of God to pull Hajnal from her parchments and books when she was in the mood to read. Which amazed him.

A Magyar scholar… who would have known? he moaned to himself.

She was tall, surprisingly so – she nearly matched Demetrios in height – with a pleasant, yet not beautiful, face. Thin traces of pearls had been strung in her long, brown hair, making it shimmer and glisten in the light flooding through the window. When she turned, she did not move with the same grace as Anastasia, but with purpose, like a wave rising in the sea, pushing aside ships that blocked its path.

“Imperial Majesty,” she bowed, the move efficient yet gangly. Demetrios forced himself not to frown – he was already mentally comparing her to Anastasia, and was finding her wanting in all regards. He could see brightness in her eyes, the same kind of brightness he saw in Anastasia’s eyes when she saw him… something he could not return to this Magyar princess.

“Princess,” Demetrios extended a hand, which she took and rose. “Please,” he gestured towards the lone table in the room. Two goblets as well as a jug filled with the finest Cretan wine sat on the table’s exquisite surface, set there by some servant before Demetrios’ arrival. As the two sat down, Demetrios poured himself a draught, then offered the wine to her.

“No thank you, Majesty,” she smiled shyly, and looked down. “I do not drink – I feel liquor and such beverages are a route to illogical, dangerous activities and thought.”

“Bah,” Demetrios voiced his opinion of that logic by taking a large drink from his own goblet. He saw her look up slightly, and for a second there was a flash of excitement in her eye before she spoke.

“Your Majesty, are you aware there are copies of the Iliad and the Odyssey within this room?” Hajnal asked.

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A bound volume that might have been placed in a Byzantine library

“Um… no…” Demetrios said slowly. He’d never heard of those two books – they sounded like they might be Greek, or perhaps ancient Latin. After a second his mind settled on the decision that they were probably Latin.

“They’re famous works by the ancient Greek Homer,” Hajnal said, with the smile a bright pupil has when showing up the duller students in the class. “Your palace is blessed with a great number of these ancient Greek works. Thucydides has a place of prominence on that shelf as well…”

“Pagan writers,” Demetrios dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

“They are hardly mere pagan writers!” Hajnal exclaimed, “they are great scholars and scientists! Men of intellect and learning that, while not saved, can nonetheless teach us much about how the world was constructed and functions according to God’s Will!”

“Hajnal, I really do not have an interest in going into a moral and theological debate,” Demetrios cut her off again. “You may poke about in here as much as you’d like and debate as much as you want, but these things tend to end badly here for Emperors.”

“It is hardly irrelevant, Majesty!” Hajnal protested. “All of these works contain lessons that every Basilieus can apply to their rule! Thucydides teaches us the value of trade and a good currency exchange…”

“Thucydides matters not to me – nor does your opinion,” Demetrios said, annoyed. “I merely called on you to confirm your father had signed the treaty, and to tell you that the Chamberlain will have your quarters here arranged by the end of today. Until then, you are free to poke around this dusty room as much as you like,” Demetrios waved around to the books and parchments dismissively. “I care not.”

To his surprise, his new bride looked nearly broken by his comments, yet he cared little. His day was busy.

“You do understand your purpose here?” he asked coldly.

“To love Your Majesty and…” she started, before he shook his head.

“No… This is not a tale of virtue, or a minstrel’s yarn. This is real life in a real court with real political needs and ends. Your role is to bear me male heirs, render useful advice and knowledge when I need it, and support me in court. That is all.” It was an extremely cold statement, but a summation of what Demetrios wanted. You cannot replace Anastasia… do not even try. He saw her tremble slightly and tears starting to form in the young princess’ eyes. He took it as his cue.

“Anyways, I must leave. I have other business to conduct. I trust I will see you at the banquet tonight?”

“Yes, Majesty,” Hajnal replied, upset in his last sentence he didn’t even refer to her by name.

“Good,” Demetrios began walking towards the door. “And stop pouting,” he added as he started to leave the room. “It reflects badly on yourself, on me, and the Imperial throne!”

“Yes Majesty,” she nodded, looking down as he left.

Demetrios closed the door to the annex behind him, and immediately his two personal bodyguards fell in behind him. He didn’t trust the tagmata of the Imperial Guard themselves – far too many Emperors had expected the guard to defend them, when they, in fact, did not – so men like Thrakesios from his own old units with personal loyalties to him and no one else were useful. The military side of Demetrios understood this, at least.

“Unpleasant conversation, my lord?” Thrakesios asked quietly as the small party strode down the halls of the palace, then across several gardens in the palace complex.

“Very,” Demetrios acknowledged with a growl. “What has Theophano laid out for me next today?” Thrakesios and his comrades were also useful as partial secretaries. Since they were around Demetrios at all times, they often would remember parts of his schedule during the day he might forget.

“Next we have the ambassador for Armenia, whom you have been communicating with for the past few weeks…” Thrakesios said.

“Ah… lead me on.”

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“Eudoxios!” Demetrios smiled as he entered the throne room of Blachernae. It was not nearly as elegant or opulent as the octoganal throne room of the Great Palace, yet it had its own sumptuous décor. Its dark tyrian purple walls were covered with priceless icons and rich tapestries. It was here where Demetrios would meet Eudoxios Stauriakos, Ambassador Extraordinary from the Court of Rouben Rubenid, Prince of the Armenians and lord of the former theme Armenia Minor.

Some years before, the Rubenids had grown sick of the rule of Michael VII, and had declared their independence from Konstantinopolis – with no response from the former madcap Emperor. Demetrios recognized that Armenia Minor would provide a good bulwark in the East – more troops to stabilize the frontier, and one less independent force to watch and worry about should the Turks move.

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Prince Roupen of Armenia-Cilicia

Eudoxios Stauriakos was a elderly man, his skin dark and chapped from years in the sun. By his facial features, it was apparent that despite his Greek name and fine clothes, his ancestry was that of Armenia. For his part, Stauriakos bowed, and would not rise. Annoyed slightly, Demetrios finally told him to get up.

“Rise, good man,” Demetrios said. “If I had wanted you to go through a full groveling act and the like I would have appeared to you behind the purple veil of the throne. You are not, however, a mere barbarian – you are a part of Romanion…”

“Your predecessor did not think that,” Stauriakos said boldly, making Demetrios smile.

“No he did not. If I recall, he banished all Armenians to the lowest place dignity among the nobility?” Demetrios shook his head. “What foolishness, especially after all the aid your people have given Romanion since the days of Konstantinos Megos.”

“It was an insult and a shame on him and us as well,” Stauriakos agreed.

“Your time is precious to you, so I will get to the point,” Demetrios said directly. “We have been negotiating for several weeks now. What does your Prince say to rejoining Romanion?”

Stauriakos laughed. “My pages said that in person you were direct, Your Majesty, but I did not expect this much directness!”

“I find it cuts through useless talk and gets things done more quickly,” the military minded Demetrios said.

“Well then. I have a question from Prince Rouben, and your answer will govern our response. Will Romanion move against the Turk, to bring Georgia and Armenia proper back into the Christian fold?”

It was a tough question. Demetrios knew the Empire could not marshal the forces immediately for such a monumental task as war with the Turks – let alone reconquering a vast swath of territory lost under the negligent gaze of the Dukids. To tell the Armenians that he would attack the Turk would be a fallacy – and he was sure they knew it.

“Please tell Prince Rouben that I swear, on my father’s grave, that before my life expires, Romanion will free the peoples of Armenia and Georgia from the Turk,” Demetrios said firmly. “In order to do that, I will need his support and allegiance. Michael hurt Romanion gravely, but he did not kill it. Together, we can rebuild the fortunes of our Christian brethren here in the East.”

“Those are excellent words, Your Majesty, but I am afraid we Rubenids have been forced to rely more on deeds than words as indicators of action from the Throne of Caesars,” Stauriakos said warily.

Demetrios expected Stauriakos to be disappointed, yet he felt honest was the best policy.

“I will be frank, Stauriakos, we cannot move to free your compatriots immediately, nor will we be able to move for some time,” Demetrios confessed.. “Michael left the realm almost bankrupt with a horrific administration – problems I will have to fix before attempting anything as vast as a military operation against the Turk. But I can promise you, however, that with your assistance, the day we retake Georgia and Armenia for Christendom and the Empire will come much sooner than it will if you do not join us now, and lend us your strength.”

To his surprise, he saw Stauriakos smile. At his quizzical expression, the Armenian ambassador laughed slightly.

“Your Majesty, you do offer us one thing we never received when Michael was Basilieus.,” he said. “Honesty. Michael would have bombastically announced that with our support he would have marched out within the year, and then wasted our taxes on bribing court officials. You acknowledge there are problems that must be dealt with, and deal with us fairly – as men, as members of Romanion, not barbarians. And for that, I’m pleased to tell you I’ve been authorized by Prince Rouben to say that we accept your offer to rejoin the Empire of Rome.”

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Armenia Minor rejoins the Empire of the Romanoi!

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The diplomatic coup of regaining Armenia Minor bolstered the Empire’s eastrn frontiers, creating a secure line of communication that ran between the Komnenid frontier holdings and Konstantinopolis itself. Despite the tenseness of their early meetings, Hajnal and Demetrios’ relationship was fruitful from a dynastic perspective – Hajnal soon became pregnant, and a daughter, Anna, was born on March 13th, 1091.

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Anna Komnena, born 1091

Michael VII had caused a great deal of consternation when he had declared his young son Kaisar, and while Demetrios desperately wanted to start a dynasty of his own, he knew the nobility, long used to selecting the strongest of them as the new Basilieus, would not likely tolerate an overt move in this regard. Many were already muttering that the Komnenids as a whole had too much power, and even the least politically astute knew that such comments, coming mere months into a new reign, were a sign of trouble.

The Kaisar had briefly left the city to tend to his own personal estates in Sinope, and in consultation with his mother, Demetrios planned a quick counterattack that would break the charges of these accusers, as well as cut his uncle, still proudly strutting as the Kaisar, down to size. A minor revolt in one of the Pecheneg provinces captured by Prince Kantakouzenos of Samos was crushed with ease, and Demetrios took this opportunity to name Kantakouzenos Megas Doux. Before the Lord of Samos returned to Konstantinopolis, Zoe concocted a story where Kantakouzenos defeated a large rebel armada in the mouth of the Danube with brilliant tactics, sealing in the minds of the citizens that Kantakouzenos was a naval genius.

When Kantakouzenos returned, he was greatly surprised and pleased to find that he had been given such an immense award, which by all appearances his ambitious heart could no refuse, even if he had little understanding of why he received it. With due pomp and circumstance Kantakouzenos was installed, and given command of the fleet. In one fell swoop, Demetrios silenced the critics who felt that Manuel had too much power, and stripped from his Uncle one of his most valuable resources, while handing it to a crony that would be beholding to Demetrios’ needs and wishes.

Both Anastasias would have been proud of the plan… yet it would have unforeseen consequences…

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Hajnal is pregnant again… will Demetrios finally have an heir?
 
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Demetrios was exceedingly nastty to Hajnal...but I suppose that's how most medieval noble marriages were.
 
I agree with Fulcrumvale, poor Hajnal, she only wanted to make Demetrios happy.

Ah well..

Good news in Armenia! And hopefully Demetrios will have an heir, and hopefully he will be in a strong enough position to name him as his heir..

Great update as always
 
This is uncompromisingly brilliant. I've just spent my morning reading through it, and I have to say it's skyrocketed to becoming one of my favorite AARs (and very near to my favorite CK one, as well). Keep it up - I'm enjoying it immensely.