Daffius - Welcome to the AAR! One, Manuel's appearance is still coming up... its just my rate of updating has slowed down so its taking longer to get to than I originally expected. Be assured though, its coming!
Second, thank you for letting me know about that... originally I just copied each successive generation's lists over to that original post, and I'd included David's death in the sixth generation post because it'd already happened at that point. I didn't realize what a spoiler I was putting in! It's been fixed
The_Guiscard - Once again thank you for your kind words... I'm glad to hear I can help elicit people to like characters, as well as hating them (I find most of them utterly deplorable people). My writing in that regard is kind of patterned after George Martin's
Song of Ice and Fire series... the heroes aren't too heroic, and the villains are numerous (and tend to have understandable motives).
I'm actually impatiently looking forward to the point in the story where I get to fill Alexios' blank page in. Let's just say if it all pans out as I hope, he'll be a memorable character along the veins of Manuel or Basil!
kalenderee - Yeah, by that point they have gone downhill... imagine the political arrangement of the Western Roman Empire in the early 5th century A.D....
Servius Magnus - I'm actually thinking of having another "If Emperors Were Gamers" interim, though I'm trying to figure out what gamers Basil and Heraklios would be. Thomas is easy - he's the whiner that gets upset when he loses, and throws controllers. So far we have:
Demetrios - the moonlight gamer. Jock by day, avid gamer by night.
Nikolaios - the unkempt, walking dictionary gamer that people don't want to be around.
Manuel - the emo/goth gamer that likes insulting others
Will - the author inserting himself into the mess as a point of "sanity" in an insane short story.
asd21593 - *fetches a new pair of pants for asd!*
AlexanderPrimus - I'm SERIOUSLY looking forward to writing Tamerlane as a character, just as I'm looking forward to Genghis Khan, Subodai, and several others. I already have one scene already planned - a meeting on the Volga... </end evil plot dropping>
Ksim3000 - Sometime down the line I will have an interim with Andronikos. He'll likely be the most complicated and intense character in the whole series... and no, the Empire doesn't fall to Islam, but Muslims still even in the 14th century form a sizeable percentage of the population (and in many places, the majority). So how the state and local
themes deal with the Muslims is a very touchy, very important issue later on...
The_Archduke - I see you've become Rome AARisen's Cato the Elder.
Enewald - This is the evil thing about such updates... Andronikos, Eirene and the 14th century are likely a year away in real time... *evil cackle*
Laur - Well, that's definitely what happened historically when Rome became too hot for the Popes...
Allāhu Akbar…
Allāhu Akbar…
Allāhu Akbar…
Allāhu Akbar…
Ash-hadu an lā ilāha illallāh…
Ash-hadu an lā ilāha illallāh…
Christina of Dau laid back, listening to the Muslim calls for prayer as they echoed off of the Theodosian Walls. Part of her thought it strange – that she, a Christian woman,
Romanoi through and through, would find the calls of the
muezzin familiar, comforting even. Then again, she was still getting used to the immense paradoxes that filled Konstantinopolis. At once, it was one of the holiest cities in Christendom, yet here, outside the “official city” defined by forbidding walls, there was a thriving Muslim Quarter, filled with merchants with connections as far abroad as Samarkand, Muscat, and even India. It reminded her of her home, her father’s palace in Gizeh. There, she and the other Christians were decidedly the minority. So unlike many of the more devout that lived within the city walls, she could appreciate the rather tolerant policy of the last string of Emperors – Muslims, like the Latins, the Rus, and all other forms of barbarians were allowed their own quarter, outside the immense Theodosian Walls. Konstantinopolis’ status as a center of trade was enhanced, coffers were filled, and spy networks grew. It just made sense.
Yet in the year since her father relocated to Konstantinopolis to be closer to the center of power, she’d seen all manner of things that
did not make sense. The Queen of Cities had also developed another name – the City of Spies. Every gathering, every party, every chance meeting could potentially be some part of a larger plot – or so it seemed to Christina. Church against army against nobility – such was the way of things. She’d lived through that on a daily basis in Egypt, where as far back as she could remember her father was constantly pitting the factions of the
theme against each other – Muslim against Christian, magistrates versus army – all in an effort to maintain his paramount position.
It was a game she’d grown to understand, appreciate, even enjoy.
Gizeh, capital of the theme of Aegyptos, and home of Christina of Dau. Aegyptos is one of the wealthiest of the themes added to the Empire since the Megas, and one of the most religiously fragmented. Here Copts and Muslims live alongside Latin and Eastern rite Christians.
Yet now, here she was, in the Queen of Cities. Christina’s father certainly had prescience to see that Thomas would be the ascendant. It had not been a foregone conclusion – Alexios was the most direct descendant of Basil, while Sophie was universally respected as an Empress that played the deadly game of politics well. For once, he’d had the brilliant idea of having Christina ride next to Thomas during Basil’s funeral, exposing the Emperor to Christina’s already legendary beauty.
It was the ultimate compliment, but not one that made Christina smile. Her supple red lips pursed into a grimace, and a frown hid her piercing blue eyes. She glanced down, and was of half a mind to curse her breasts.
As a price of betrothal, the young Emperor had demanded his conjugal rights, even before the marriage was consecrated. Khorbut had agreed, and at first, Christina wasn’t disinclined - she was by no means a nun. She would be careful, she knew the proper herbs to take to ensure a child would not be born. That, however, had turned out to be the least of her worries. As the litter rocked again gently, she looked at her wrists again, and sighed. The volatile mixture of tinctures covered the bruises well. The mental image of him, and the things he did – she pushed them out of her mind.
She frowned. Thomas wanted to see her again, this afternoon, and the main reason Christina was in the Muslim Quarter was to find several herbs common to Arachosia that helped with pain.
“Pain is temporary,” she murmured yet again to herself.
Then there was Mehtar.
She’d seen the looks that Spaniard cast towards Thomas – they were very close cousins to the looks Thomas looked at her. And then there was the way Mehtar looked at her – ‘feral’ was not an adequate term, neither were ‘raging’ or ‘vengeful.’ He was Thomas’ right hand man, and Christina had heard all the rumors about what had happened to Sophia. To Christina, it looked as if his emotions were far stronger than his logic – that would explain his unerring devotion to Thomas.
She needed to bring him around – eliminating him was out of the question. He was too well entrenched, and far too formidable. If his emotions were driving him, she needed to calm his nerves about her. Reassure him – she didn’t love Thomas, and by the brutish way he treated her in copulation, she was some cow meant for rutting and little more.
Her mind was still wrapping itself around how to do this when suddenly the familiar tramp of military boots echoed outside of the litter. For a second, Christina’s blood ran cold. Was she being arrested? Was there some danger outside? Then, suddenly, she heard someone bellow in Greek, and her litter drew to an abrupt halt.
“Why are we stopping?” She nervously drew aside the curtains and leaned out into the bright sunshine. All around her small band of bodyguards and litterbearers were the brilliant uniforms and cloaks of the
Basilikon Toxotoi – the personal bodyguards of her future brother-in-law.
“Lady Christina!”
Christina quickly went to the other side of her litter and peered out. Hovering next to hers on the shoulders of sixteen burly Nubians was an imperial litter, covered in gold, silks and adorned with gems. A young boy’s face peered out from between the brilliant silken curtains, sandy hair, a cherubic face whose cheeks were scattered with freckles. Brown eyes peered at her from between the shades of the imperial litter. They weren’t bombastic, the stare of a high-born child at his social inferior, but neither were they afraid. Christina instead felt a distinct feeling like the young boy was already looking at her, judging her as an adult would...
“Lady Christina,” the boy said. “What brings you to the Muslim market today?”
“Majesty,” Christina bowed as best she could in her precarious position. “I am here looking for herbs for my personal garden.”
“What kinds of herbs?” His little eyes narrowed.
“Are you familiar with the poppy?” Christina asked quickly. She knew where his mind was headed – the same place it seemed all the Komnenids minds went since the days of Heraklios’ grandfather. She needed to quickly cut that line of thought off.
“Yes… its used to reduce pain and gain a sense of euphoria. What causes you such pain, Lady Christina?”
“An accident I had as a child – I fell from a horse and hurt my leg,” she lied. He wouldn’t understand the truth… he was far too young.
“Ah… well, I wish you health then, Lady Christina!” the boy said with a genuine smile.
“Uh… thank you, Majesty,” Christina bowed again. “What brings you to the Muslim Quarter of the city?”
“Mama is letting me travel through the Muslim markets today to search for a proper Persian rug,” the young boy answered. “She also said it’d be good for me to observe and note Muslim customs, as they do form a large part of our Empire.”
“Indeed,” Christina nodded, even as she processed the information. Sophie was evidently moving out of that torpid period of mourning. Now she was training Heraklios, just as she’d trained that Spaniard… and the world could see how formidable Mehtar Lainez was. Heraklios already had the distinction of being known for his scholarly appetite – the main reason he and his mother had settled in Blacharenae was its large libraries. If Sophie trained him as well as she trained Mehtar…
Christina felt her grip on power slipping through her fingers, into the hands of this cherubic little boy.
“Down in Gizeh, there’s still at least two Muslims for every Christian,” Christina continued, putting up a brave front. “My father…”
“I have heard of your father,” Heraklios smiled.
“You have?” Christina plastered a fake smile of her own onto her face.
“His plan to thwart the Sunni sects in Buhwariyah was impressive,” the young boy continued.
Christina’s eyes went wide. She would’ve been surprised if anyone that had lived only in Konstantinopolis knew there were multiple sects of Islam, let alone heard of her father’s campaign four years before to eradicate the militant Al Suriyah sect from the west bank of the Nile.
“Military attacks and making a network to report on the sect and spreading discouraging rumors… that was inspired.”
Christina blinked.
“I am sure if my father was here, he would thank you for your kind words, Majesty,” she managed to say. “If I may be so bold, where did Your Majesty learn such a great amount of detail on my father’s efforts? It is not something one would normally read about in Konstantinopolis.” The city still seemed rooted on the great campaigns of the Megas and Basil, and not on the more subtle efforts of the princes to
retain control over the wide swaths of territory the Emperors had conquered.
“My mother has many books and records set at my disposal,” Heraklios said, “For example, all the papers of state that pass through her hands as my Regent pass through mine as well. Tell me, Lady Christina,” Heraklios motioned for her to lean close, “why do you not take credit for your ideas? Using agents to convince the sectists that their
khalifa had died in a hovel was far more interesting than anything my grandfather did!”
Christina’s eyes narrowed. Was Heraklios truly ten, going on eleven? The boy was intelligent – too intelligent. If Sophie was allowed to exert her influence on him, Christina knew what would happen. All the pain of letting Thomas use her, the arrangements, the careful planning to take an imperial diadem, would be gone. Not even Mehtar would be able to protect Thomas from such a threat.
In short… an ally, a backup, for when Thomas was past his usefulness. She could persuade others - Heraklios was bright – a budding statesman, a compliment to Thomas in many ways. He just needed to be separated from his mother, and allied to the newest woman in imperial politics…
“So, Majesty, if you read all the information that passes through your mother’s hands, what do you think our prospects are in the upcoming war?” Christina asked. She felt no compunction to not mention the coming war – the signs were obvious to anyone with eyes. Grain being shipped out, armorsmiths having double, even triple their regular orders…
Heraklios frowned, looking down in thought. “I don’t know… I must admit I do not understand military affairs,” the boy said quietly. “It appears the Turks are busy fighting against the Arachosians, Indians, and all manner of other people to their east, so I imagine the campaign will be rather easy.”
“Really? Hmmm,” Christina pretended to be in thought. “I have seen information otherwise. Old Sultan Sulieman himself has returned from the East, and
I’ve heard he’s got 45,000 troops in Mesopotamia and Luristan…”
It wasn’t a complete lie. She had no
concrete evidence of any of that - she’d only heard that the old Sultan had returned from campaigning in the East with his bodyguard. Sulieman, though, had a reputation as a canny commander, and she doubted that had faded in old age. A child would’ve kept a significant force behind in Mesopotamia to watch the Romans. Sulieman would have made plans for a Roman sneak attack, especially after the death of Basil.
“Really?” the young boy’s eyes went wide. “Where did you hear that? Come,” Heraklios gestured to his litter, “sit here, tell me all about it!”
“Of course! Down!” Christina ordered her litterbearers, then stepped into the Imperial litter beside her future brother-in-law. Thomas could wait. He’d be furious, and that’d mean more bruises, but Christina would bear it. If she wanted to survive, she needed allies in this city, so she started spinning tales of intrigue for the young one in front of her...
So Christina is going about attempting to become Heraklios’ friend, behind Thomas’ back. Heraklios, for all his brilliance, is a ten year old boy. Ominous news as well for the proposed Turkish campaign – Sulieman is still the Sultan, and undoubtedly the old man has a few surprises left in him…
