[SS 6.4] Restoring Rome - Chapter Two: The Tragedy of the Komnenoi

[Schrödinger]

XL.

Constantinople, 1114 AD



Ioannis

The war on the land had fizzled out once the rebels in the west, peace returned and an uneasy silence was broken only by weak Mediterranean waves lapping on the shores. But then this morning the captain of a small dromon, who reported that the Megas Doux (head of the Byzantine navy) Marianos Maurokatakalon had been burnt at sea in an altercation with a fleet bearing the arms of Sicilia and Venezzia in a fight that had been hard won, but only with the use of Greek Fire. The wildfire had consumed the imperial flagship. Megas Droungarios (senior adviser to the Megas Doux) Ioseph Kontostephanos, had swum to safety and now stood, burned and with a damp air about him, recounting the battle.

"They were not all Italians, my Lords, there were pirate captains there who I recognised. The fire bit more pirates than Venetians, but more Venetians than Romans. I think we shall be safe for a while until more ships can be built..." the unshaven man looked unkempt and dishevelled, less like the scion of the Doukas clan he was, more like the pirate captains of which he spoke, nevertheless he looked directly at Alexios as he spoke next, in an empty voice "or negotiates a peace treaty."

Across the table from him, Ioannis quickly saw Gabras' lip curl as he mouthed something to one of the lordlings he had dragged across the sea to sit next to him at council. It was his father who spoke though, Alexios not raising his voice "Our priority is for peace, should the Venetians and the Normans settle for reasonable terms. Bologna remains an issue of contention, as does the Venetian position with regards to trading. The Normans just want land, our land. Soon the conquerors will be the conquered, but now is not that time. Peace grows men and we need men. Go, Ioseph, to the shipbuilders, for now you are acting Megas Doux until we appoint a successor."

Nodding but keeping his expression blank- unsuccessfully for it was clear to everyone there that platitudes meant little to him, Ioseph turned, limping on his left leg. However, after two steps he turned "One more thing, my Lord, we have a Venetian hostage, he claims to be son of the Doge." without waiting for a reply, the man spun around and haughtily left the room

"I do not think that one will be Megas Doux." Taticius' rumble erupted before the doors had swung back closed, earning a slow nod from Alexios "Nor you, Gabras." preempting the raised voice of the great bear.

Alexios looked at Taticius and all but slapped his hand, "Enough. None in this room will become commander of the imperial fleet, we need a man of the water, and who here is?"

Coughing quietly, Szekeres, who Ioannis' noted had only slightly quivering hands today spoke "My Lord, the Doukas and Palailogos both have ships enough and undoubtedly are able. Perhaps it would sit to honour one of those great houses with the title?"

"Perhaps, it was Doukai support that won me the purple. But Konstantios is not an able general, not of the waves. The Palailogos are disconnected from the affairs here..."

"Father." Ioannis interrupted- a breach of protocol, but he knew from Taticius that if you pretended not to notice or know that you had done so, often you would get away with it "I would be Megas Doux."

A snort and a stench of cloves as Taticius derisively exhaled "Would you? You get green on lakes!"

Ignoring this, Alexios turned left to Ioannis and from the yard they were apart fixed him in the eye "Truly, you wish to test your mettle in this naval war?"

"Yes, father." holding the imperial gaze, he prayed for this chance, even as he felt the Phillipus brothers whispering behind him- the docks of Thessaloniki would be paramount

"You have one year. Show me your worth, symbasileus." the light nod his father gave him filled Ioannis heart, he could help win a war. Deep within him, flames that had died down to mere embers were fanned again and he felt a thirst and a hunger he had almost forgotten in the years of peace.

Iakovos Phillipus raised his voice to fill the pensive silence "What... of this prisoner? If he is the... son of the... Doge we have quite the card... to play. Mikhail... what know... you of him?"

"As we know, the Venetians have an oligarchical system, there is no guarantee this man will become Doge, although his grandfather was once Doge too. All he is, is heir to some land in the Duchy. As far as we know he is not the favourite son of Vitale Faliero, perhaps why he was on a fleet." not realising what he had said, Mikhail continued "He will be useful for information, but unless..." he paused "the Venetians capture a Roman, otherwise useless."

"As we are playing Quiz Mikhail." Taticius spat out a gob of cloves "What news of Dalasennos and Vyrennios. One has remained in Bulgaria 'to fight' while the other has not returned any of our messages to Athens."

For the first time, Ioannis heard something. Mikhail put his head to the side and put his head in hands which sweated and trembled before raising his greying scalp as if it was the heaviest thing in the world, clawing it up with his disobedient servant hands. "I do not know." the silence was heavy "Dalasennos was last seen fighting, for sure, while Vyrennios has disappeared off the face of the earth- most probably to Cilicia. I know what you are suggesting, Taticius, but I do not believe there is a conspiracy."

Grimly smiling, Taticius raised his eyebrows at Mikhail "But you do not know."

Greek Fire is a unique weapon in the Byzantine naval arsenal

[Scottish King]

You are a update machine! I having about 3 pgs of updates to read befire I'm caught up Great writing and characters! Keep up the good work!

[King William the Conqueror]

Could you take a screen shot of the campaign map? We haven't seen to many actual screens.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

A great update

Ioannis as a naval guy? Didn't real strike me, it came out of the blue Nevertheless I'm looking forward to see how Ioannis handles his new role, now that his lust for war is stirring

[Schrödinger]

XLI.

Constantinople, 1114 AD

Dimitra

"My admirals have a tendency to die at the least provocation, I myself do not understand..." he clenched his fists white "the winds or the ports or the inlets and all those beneath me insist on dying. My father's displeasure is more plain every day. The Genoese won't be swayed to our side, while every day the Crusaders edge closer to their Sicilian cousins. The Vyrennios stirred once Sicilians blockaded Athens, but even with his fleet it seems I am inept. I have three months to save my face, Dimitra, three months! The Venetians and the Sicilians close ranks ever tighter, Athens and all of Greece suffers- the Doukas have lost a son and much wealth and look ever more mutinous. I am a failure to my father and my family, I..."

The door opened and Ioannis rolled his eyes and bit his lips angrily, only one person would enter their chambers unannounced- Isaakios. A gangly fifteen year old, his face was constantly besieged by a close-knit gang of zits and blackheads, he walked like a stork and fought like a starling. All his tutors gave him glowing reports except his arms master, and at fifteen he had taken to treating Ioannis as a father figure and the young blonde Komnenians as his siblings, in particular teaching Priskos and Strategios chess. Dimitra liked him, but she knew Ioannis loved him deeply, recognising qualities in him, he did not possess.

"Taticius showed me the situation. I, and he, think we have an answer." normally Isaakios stuttered, but with Ioannis and when he was confident, he spoke strongly- like his father. He did not look at Dimitra, her femininity discomfited him.

Ioannis gestured at the map he had spread out on a table by the window looking over the Golden Horn and simply told Isaakios to show him. Sensing this was not a time for her to linger, Dimitra left the room to tend to her own children. Twenty minutes later she returned to see Ioannis embracing Isaakios and laughing, for the first time the light smile that she loved spread joyously on his face and his eyes twinkled.

"Dimitra! My brother is a genius as much as I am a fool!" he bounded like an ebullient puppy that had just tasted sausage for the first time, his voice happy yips.

She could not help but grin "Isaakios, congratulations, you have made my husband happy." the boy went a deep shade of puce that showed off his pus-filled face in it's full glory, but was saved from having to do anything other than mumble into his bum fluff by his elder brother

"My darling, could you ask your father for a little addition to our wedding gifts?" she remembered he was the son of an Emperor and thought nothing of this, it was not truly a question "Coupled with the wealth of the Szekeres and the Alchemists, Zak sees that we can build enough fire ships to burn all of the Italian scum!"

"Hmm."

Not sensing any misgiving, he ploughed forward like a polar bear on heat "But how to tempt the foe into one mass? A feigned retreat! We sally out of Athens and take a few of them down, then pretend to be running to Rhodes, where a new fleet will set sail, we shall encircle the Venetians and the Normans and capture all their ships!"

"Very good, John, but what if they do not take your bait?"

"Then we chase them!" he grinned the grin of war that she remembered from before. A grin that had haunted her and chased her into Yaroslaw's arms. For the first time in months she wondered what the Rus was getting up to now. Rumour had it that he had seized enough land in Apulia to be de facto governor of the place. She did not doubt it.

"Hmm. No doubt the brilliance of Isaakios' plan is obfuscated by your joy, my love. I can only hope your father, my father and the Kievan are as pleased by it as you are."

Completely uncowed, Ioannis promised that they would be, while Isaakios looked pensive.

***

Five months later, as winter drew in on the Empire, Ioannis was in a pensive mood as he lay in bed with Dimitra, absent mindedly stroking her- like she was some kind of hunting dog. His voice distant, he turned to face her "We did win, didn't we, darling?" his eyes pleaded for her to say yes

"You burnt three quarters of the imperial fleet and killed over half of her sailors."

Wounded by her facts , his eyes widened "But there are no Venetian ships left, nor Sicilian ones. Their invasion of Africa has been halted and left in the mire, we have our peace..."

"We have peace because no-one has any weapons left, John. No boats. When men have weapons they will fight. Give it a few years before you have your real war and you march off to fight. All men do is fight. Fight fight fight."

Ioannis looked genuinely confused at that "But darling, we have a treaty..."

"Because none of you can afford to fight. The price of war is men's lives. What price peace?"

He had no answer for that and rolled back over, as Dimitra felt fear crawl over her heart like a poisonous snake. Would she loose Ioannis and her family to the sword? In truth it had been no war, but the emotional investment her husband had got from it had shown her all she needed to know. There would always be war with Ioannis, always.

Greek fire consumed all before it

____________________________

@Scottish King - cheers it helps that I tend for more vignette-style updates than actual wodges of text, making this more a series of sketches

@King William - well, no, not yet, as I have no screens really until about 1120 I think, but there will be some within the next 20 updates

@Shankbot12 - less Ioannis being a sailor boy, more him wanting another chance to prove himself...

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

I think Ioannis should stick with the army... at least he won

Nice to here from Dimitra, keep it up

[Schrödinger]

XLII.

Sofia, 1115 AD



Roman

"War, what is it good for?"

Redistribution of land, title grabbing, expansion, employment through the army and sudden increase in whoring opportunities and last but not least, the personal satisfaction many men derived from causing bloody slaughter, Roman thought. But what he said, was "Absolutely nothing." because priests seldom like to hear that kind of talk. Apart from the Pope, who was muttering about the chance for another Crusade if the Arabs dared take back any land. This one liked to hear his religious virtues extolled while he took of the holy wine, to symbolise Jesus' blood, and more holy wine to symbolise a good vintage.

Looking up from the goblet he had been staring at like a moonstruck lover, the priest sucked in his cheeks "Exactly. Exactly, my Lord. Ver' ver' perspi-pi-picacious. Why am I here, again?" truth be told, the priest spent most of his time when not giving services following Roman where he could or hanging vaguely around the less secure parts of the Dalasennos residence. The sight on Igor's face whenever he saw the priest was joyous to behold. Not quite the contortion of rage that Roman himself inspired though.

"Matters of state, Stephen." the reply normally sufficed. It had been two years now that they had remained in Serdica and it had been valuable to keep the priest onside, as bad a man as he so clearly was, the word of God was still the highest law in Bulgaria. Aside from the business with the bandits, it had been a peaceful rule here and Roman was starting to enjoy it here. He even felt he was becoming accustomed to the Igor-inspired microclimate of the house, which spun from one extreme to another with wild abandon. Today it felt like the inside of a dragon.

Rolling blotchy eyes in what he clearly thought was a wise way, the priest mumbled "Of course. Of course... aw-awful thing. War. Fathers bury th-their" he hstily glugged some wine, its deep purple trickle coursing an awful waterfall down his cleft chin "...sons. Seven sons is-is a blessing, my Lord!"

"Indeed. I am blessed they are too young to fight, although my eldest now is."

There was a silence as the priest glugged more wine. Roman wondered why his cousin had been so silent in Cilicia himself. Having seen the way he looked at the heir to the Empire, Ioannis, he had his own ideas why he was adverse to aiding the Komnenos too much. Suddenly, the door was flung open, creaking like a lady elephant in labour and allowing a sudden gust of wind to billow into the room.

"Father, look what I found!" Flavius Dalasennos, 18 and full of swagger, strutted into the room, his grizzled guards - picked by his father - clutching a well-tanned wiry man with a ratty face, who was bleeding from his temples and had piercing blue eyes which searched the room before fixing on Roman like a lance of ice.

"Is this the Dalasennos courtesy? I am a troubadour!" he shut up briefly as he was hit in the face by Flavius, but his strong deep voice - probably a decent enough baritone, Roman judged - came back unflustered "I was enjoying a rabbit by a pool in the forest and then this ruffian!..."

Flavius gave his guards a look, and the more thickset one grabbed the mouth of the troubadour and squeezed, reducing him to mumbles "This ruffian" he spat in a way reminiscent of Igor "is the son of Roman Dalasennos."

Ignoring his son, Roman turned to the thinner guard, a whippet-like man known to all and sundry as Weasel. "How did you come by this man?"

"My Lord." Weasel inclined his head, "Flavius and we were riding down the road from the mountains, where he had become tired of his brothers. On seeing this man, who was eating a rabbit by a small cooking fire and tent, he told us to seize him and bring him to you, which we have done."

"Hmm. Let him speak." a gesture and the thickset guard released the mouth of the troubadour was free once more

"I performed in the town last night! That man was there!" pointing at the priest, he smiled, while the priest, who had been steadily working his way through a second carafe and looking wild-eyed and proceedings, rose from his latest goblet to see a finger pointing at him and spluttered wildly. Wine like thin blood spurted all over his front

Gulping and choking slightly on his own bile, he slurred "W-what?"

"Have you seen this man before, Stephen? He claims he is a troubadour and performed in the town last night." Roman had become accustomed to biting back rebutes at the specimen that had become a part of his household.

A moment for the priest to bury his puce face into a goblet and guzzle a bit. "I-I think so. P-played the bawdies. Not quite hymns. Ver' ver' funny though. 'Bout a girl. With 'normous tr-tracts of land!"

"See! I speak the truth, have your men unhand me!" struggling, it seemed it was only a gesture and he relaxed

Irked, Roman turned instead to his son "Why did you arrest this man?"

Flavius seemed hit slightly out of kilter by the turn of events, his face like that of a cat who doesn't understand why the owner isn't ecstatic to be gifted a dessicated rat gut "Our rabbit..."

"The lands rabbit. Unhand this man." the troubadour flopped forwards but then stood, revealing himself of impressive build "What is your name, you speak like a lord."

"A man may speak how he wants."

"Seize him." a moments brief token struggle "I am a lord. Address me as such, it could be you owe me your life, for if my impetuous progeny sat here you would be doing the hemp fandango by dawn."

A few seconds of pause while the priest spat out some more wine and swilled it in his cup before swallowing it again, then the troubadour opened his mouth again, sounding a great deal meeker "My Lord..." he was released again "My name is Many-Coloured Maurice and I am indeed a singer. I am from The City and trained for courtly entertainment, but then a series of events lead to me becoming a lonesome traveller through the Empire and beyond. Having played from Venice to Antioch, I can say with whole heart I may not be returning to Bulgaria."

"You bargain hard, Maurice." Roman was intrigued, he knew singers and the like were notoriously pompous and lacked self-awareness, but this preening popinjay was a paragon of his kind

Sarcastically grinning and making to spin away, Maurice hissed through his teeth, "Yes. I do."

"My Lord." Weasel told him admonishingly

"There is no need to call me a lord, man." Weasel made to grab Maurice, but the troubadour showed surprising dexterity to slip beneath him, trip him and grab the knife from his belt, retreating so his back was to the closed door. "Who wants some? I am trained in arms! I warn you!" his lordly accent sounded ridiculous, but his charade did not last long as the heavy doors swung open and knocked him over, creaking like the arse-cheeks of the Fat Lady rubbing against one another.

The ugly visage of Igor had seldom been a more welcome sight. Shocked by the looks he was receiving as he shuffled in, Igor turned his hunch awkwardly to see Maurice and his dagger. "Oh, marthter." he sounded thoroughly depressed, "I thuppothe I thaved you."

"I owe you my thanks, Igor." the convulsions on the houseman's face could not help but please Roman and put him in a good mood, turning to Weasel, he used the sunniness up "Take the man who bested you to the barracks and initiate him into the Guard, a man like him should rise well. Bring me more like that Flavius and I may reward you."

Are ruins all that shall survive of them?

_________________________________________________________________________________________

No update yesterday due to the FA Semi derby (GET THE IN ANDY CARROLL!) if updates are infrequent from now on it is exam period and I've managed to motivate myself to do work.

Also, post 1000. Woo.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

The first line made me chuckle Nice musical reference

Good update, I'm ashamed to admit I haven't got quite Roman's role in the big picture, but I'm looking forward to finding out

I'll tell you on this thread that I've worked my way through After Manzikert as I don't won't to be accused of necroposting... tut...tut (both of them) and they are really good, although the second one is short but sweet I have to say though I personally think this AAR has come up trumps - probably because I've been following it in 'real-time'

Congratz on your 1000th post and good luck with the exams, I'm sure I'll be able to let you off if you miss a few days... and I'm glad someone has managed to motivate themselves

[Schrödinger]

XLIII.

Constantinople, 1115 AD



Mikhail

A chill crept through Mikhail's flesh that had nothing to do with the gentle Marmaran breeze, a zephyr which teased the lightest downy hair on his arms and coaxed a fresh breath from trees who strained for water in the sunlight. He thought of home, of Kiev. Rarely, these days, he thought of a woman. Soon, Mikhail knew, he would die. He would be a rotting corpse stuffed in a hole in the ground, his only legacy whisperers and Yaroslaw. Yaroslaw who was coming to Constantinople to claim his 'birthright' and his 'inheritance', for Yaroslaw was greatly pleased that a little strip of land by the Marmara was now Mikhail's and his by primogeniture. Not, Mikhail thought with the tiniest flittering from the warm butterfly of pride in his chest, that the young man had much difficulty in winning his own place in the world. Since Yaroslaw Szekeres, né Wladimirowic, had arrived at Bari, he had one way or another secured himself almost half of Apulia as his own. Murder, a marriage, some children and some young love. Mikhail had always preferred gold, but still.

Also, he had always preferred to keep his options open for women. Which reminded him...

The Sirocco was perhaps the most sought after courtesan in all of Constantinople and accordingly the most expensive, but also the most beautiful and the sweetest. For the past twenty five years, it had often struck Mikhail the irony of how he felt as if he had been buffeted by a desert wind so like the name she chose for herself. Nowadays, the money he kept in her pocket was mostly to keep her telling him the gossip only a woman could find out.

"The Quaestor came to be held again." she kept her voice soft with honey and her face smooth with creams, but it saddened Mikhail to see that even her face was crinkling like his, her hair tinged grey at the roots "Although it still remains to me forever a mystery the pleasure a eunuch derives from simply laying with a woman. Most sad. He will die soon for there is a pain in his gut. He thinks that some Lord will want his title."

Mikhail sat opposite her, satiated and now feel the odd detachment that happened in this stage of their meetings. "The Eunuch Philip will succeed him, for his work as master of law in Anatolia is the toast of their courts."

"Another cuddler?" she raised an exquisitely crafted eyebrow and continued "The Patriarch himself denounced me the other day. When he dies I shall be hounded out of the City by his successor. He too, will die soon. As shall you and I, Mikhail." a crocodile tear came from the whore's eye.

Mikhail got up to leave "The day we die is not this day, nor is it tomorrow. My sweet Sirocco, live on. Just as it seems the Komnenos shall continue forever, so shall we."

"Pah. My woman's body gets old and my use shall wither. In a few years I shall sail home and make my peace with the world. Would I were a man and could remain as you do, to play my part in the game we all play." the Sirocco was risen and was angry, her dust of fury flying in Mikhail's face. Ambivalent, for he truly did not care. Memento mori. Silently he turned from her and stalked from the room, feeling quivers and shakes in his bones and thinking of home. The wide plains of home and the snaking path of the Dniepr. Too far away. With thoughts of death in his air his memory's eye made it seems as if it was the Styx. A fit was coming.

Looking at the brewing clouds over the sea, thinking of the Venetians, of the silence from Vyrennios in the east and the suspicious inactivity of Dalasennos in Bulgaria, of the ships being built in the docks here and Thessaloniki, thinking of the anger of the courtesan and the shaking in his bones, thinking of the supercilious smile thread across Taticius' face - he too aged, thinking of Yaroslaw riding his way east, of Andronikos and Isaakios Komnenos close to manhood, of the smiths beating new swords as the fires burned all night down in the market, Mikhail knew. The sense of oppression was lifted and in his knowledge he felt joy.

The storm was coming.

But old men are slow and it could be years yet. So, chuckling even as his marionette limbs played to the Devil's tune, Mikhail remembered that we must live.

For Mikhail, the mighty Dniepr River snakes his way home to Kyiv

________________________________________________________________

Cheers Shanks as always, hoping this Byzantine AAR is different enough to pass muster... Dalasennos has perhaps the most land in the Empire, once Bulgaria is calm he could be a major player? And seven sons...

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

The storm is coming...

Great update mate And congratz on your MAARC triumphs

I'll rep you for the update and MAARC when I can as I went and repped you for the TotW win before looking at the MAARC forum - you're just winning to much these days

Keep it up, and thanks for explaining Romans role. I agree with you, defiantly a possible major player!

Looking forward to the storm!

[Schrödinger]

XLIV.

Adrianople, 1115 AD



Andronikos

"Got one!" Samuil was a deadly shot, his Bulgar blood showing with his skill at the bow. It was his third rabbit of the day. His cool dark eyes showed only the satisfaction of the hunter as we went to pocket his prey.

"Three." dour, thin-faced and pale, Adrian the Serb ward was no fun. He bored Andronikos. He was clearly dealing with the defeat of his people and his position as a hostage simply by being an annoyance.

"You must show him up, my lord." clingy and sweaty Justin Doukas lived and spent his days with the Komnenos boys as a favour to the Doukai, who had helped raise Alexios to the throne. Justin bored Andronikos too.

"Well done, Samuil." the Bulgarian was his better in archery and almost his equal in swordplay. He was a much better friend. "Rabbits bore me, let us return to the castle." all three inclined their heads, for everyone Andronikos went he was the son of Basileus Alexios Komnenos, first of his name and known as the wise. Scowling and kicking a tuft of grass, Andronikos knew he would be remembered as 'Second son' of Alexios the Wise. As much as respected, even liked, Ioannis, he resented his seniority.

They returned to the castle with little event, as Justin shadowed Andronikos, all but tripping over his feet, Adrian sloped behind and to the left Samuil played with the fist-sized leather ball he did tricks with to please himself as much as anyone else. Brooding, Andronikos wondered what they would do when they got there. He was a leader without an aim, so all he did was order. Little use.

Adrianople had grown stale for Andronikos, as much as Dimitra, occassionally Ioannis and all his nieces and nephews gave him a good feeling of family, he wanted to see the world. He wanted to fight, as Ioannis had at his age. When Ioannis had been sixteen, he had invaded Apulia and conquered Bari with Taticius and Yaroslaw at his side.

The shadows grew long as the boys meleed, Andronikos winning easily. Bored. Then he heard the sound of newcomers. Quite probably Ioannis, with his usual hints and suggestions that he would be taking Andronikos, Isaakios and his own eldest son on a tour of the Empire. Sighing, Andronikos threw his sword down and stalked off to his chambers.

Night had settled by the time he was roused, his shoulder roughly shaken by a callused warrior's hand. "Andro! Andro!"

Like a cat, Andronikos woke immediately and grabbed at the hand that was accosting him. "What?"

"Andronikos Komnenos, you shall see the Empire and beyond. From Rome to Antioch and Kiev, all that land you shall see. Ioannis, Andronikos, Isaakios and Priskos Komnenos shall travel the waves. With a hundred men and Dimitra, Anna and Thekla Komnene too." Ioannis was grinning, his handsome grin, clearly expected Andronikos to return the expression.

Instead he yawned, although he did not need to "Sounds good, brother, do my wards come as well?"

Frowning at this weak reception, Ioannis waved the question away "Of course. We'll see."

"Good." Andronikos levered himself up and stared for perhaps the last time out of the windows, into a murky blackness which resonated with him oddly. "Good."

________________________________________________________________

Thanks Shanks again and thanks, good luck next tiebreaker!

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

No worries

Great update, and do I sense a bit of discontent amongst the younglings

[Boustrophedon]

Your dedication to writing is exemplary +rep

[Gandalf.]

Read this and continuously forgot to comment. Great writing, + rep

[Schrödinger]

XLV.

Cilicia, 1116 AD



Nikophoros

The shouts of his men, the screams of dying peasants, the taste of blood on his lips. Nikophoros laughed from underneath his helm, hacking left and right as he rode down the scum. Somewhere, his men were looking for the man who wore a crown of thorns, the one who called himself Ashot. For three years he had been a minor outlaw, but the new tax Nikophoros had imposed on Armenians had proved very unpopular with the peasantry. His band of Armenian Brothers had swollen until it became a serious threat to the Greek landowners.

Although just a large mass of rudimentarily armed peasant folk from the ever-declining Armenian population, it had reached time for Nikophoros to lead a force out to fight. Since Efstathios Lampinos had died, he had married the young Cypriot girl he had once captured to his own son Meletios. With the might of Cyprus welded to his own permanently, along with his land in Achaia he was second in power only to Alexios Komnenos. Today, Ashot the Armenian would feel only a tiny percentage of that might, with 90 kataphracts marching to meet the host of smallfolk.

It was the first battle for Meletios Vyrennios, aged only 13. Nikophoros had been taken into battle by his father at the same age and he did not doubt that Meletios awaited this baptism of blood with the same nervous, eager trepidation. Although Meletios suffered from a weak speech pattern, he certainly impressed in the yard and his understanding of military tactics was very impressive. As far as a man like Nikophoros could dote, he doted on Meletios. Riding next to him in battle filled him with a buoyant feeling of pride. It had taken only a day to find the peasant host, who were somewhere on the Cilician plain. A place with no name that anyone would remember, but it would be doused in blood nonetheless.

Curiously, Nikophoros had felt only a disinterested numbness as his cavalry had clattered into the brave - far too brave - charging peasants. Perhaps as these opponents were no true worthy foes for him and Ashot doubtless a fool of a demagogue, he went through them like a farmer does wheat. Meletios first kill was a messy business, as he tried to behead a brutish man with a sickle, but his blow was only strong enough to open his throat and the boy had had to beat him over the head to down him. The western-style lances of his household brothers took hundreds of deaths that day.

The rhythm of murder was relaxing, Nikophoros reflected as he drew out his mace and hacked peasants down as they fled. Although Ashot was not dead, he had become yellow once he had seen how the first half of the peasantry had fared against real warriors. This mob was now a screaming mass of men, the cavalry merely cantering as they slaughtered or captured the peasants according to personal inclination. Among Nikophoros' hundred, there was much more murder than mercy.

And now Nikophoros was a part of the deadly dance, of the chase. In the distance he could see the rearguard of the peasants taking heels to run to the hills, where rocky terrain would disrupt his horsemen- in truth it astounded him that Ashot had been on the plan at all. Stupid peasants. And Cilica was paying for it with another large amount of the Armenian population, this time of young angry men- farmers, Nikophoros knew, but you could always advertise for land in the overcrowded cities in Europe.

That evening, they captured Ashot, a roughly-spoken peasant with only the barest Greek. He was, Nikophoros had to admit, very recognisable though, with high lordly cheekbones a deep powerful voice and an aura of command. Not with anything to back it up though, once captured and tortured a little by Thelonius and the boys he agreed to do anything- anything! Nikophoros wanted of him. Meletios had watched that too- it had been disturbing even for Nikophoros to see quite how engaged he was in the burning of this man's private parts and the boiling water that scalded his thighs.

For two weeks, he was dragged all around Armenia, from Tarsus, to Sis and Adana, to all the market towns and made to confess his crimes and pledge allegiance to Nikophoros Vyrennios. He was taken by Meletios, as Nikophoros retired to his own castle to spend more time with Anna, who was compiling her histories of the Crusades, and his own burgeoning spider collection. The news that Meletios, having finished his tour of Cilica with Ashot, had hung him from the battlements of Tarsus, swinging blue flanked by his two dogs, his most treasured possessions. When he had received that news in the middle of his chess game with Anna, she had turned to him as soon as they were alone and spoken, each word as dry as an Egyptian tomb.

"The wind is blowing due Vyrennios, and it brings the heady stench of blood."

_______________________

Cheers Gandalf, Boustro and Shanks - wait until the Komnenos boys visit Cilica

[Schrödinger]

XLVI.

Constantinople, 1116 AD



Mikhail

"Your son-in-law is burning Cilicia. The Turks and the Franks are at each other's throats. My men in Rome suggest that a second Crusade is planned should Jerusalem or Antioch fall. The Kings of Hungary and Genoa are eager, while our friend the Holy Roman Emperor also casts his eyes on the Levant, hungrily." Council was just Mikhail, Alexios, Taticius and Michael Phillipus today, as the rest had dispersed as an uneasy peace had settled on the Empire like dandruff on a priest's shoulders. But, Mikhail knew that the sudden new war in the east would bring the lords flocking to this chamber once more, even though Alexios was well known for preferring a small council, eschewing the grand tradition of the Imperial Court as a kind of performance art. He resented even greater numbers than necessary- Mikhail suspected this was part of the reason why he had sent Ioannis and his family on a tour of the Empire. And so soon it had led to the most interesting Council in weeks.

Taticius stirred from the slumberous state he was ever more prone towards, to growl a deep comment, for some things never change "I heard tell that the boy Meletios hung the rebel alongside his dogs and family." always the colour of Egyptian sand, some of the Turk's teeth now either matches his golden nose closer or had blackened altogether. "Which would please our Quaestor certainly, but suggests to me that if at thirteen years he can do that he could be even more of a loose crossbow than his father..."

"Enough." Just like Mikhail and Taticius, the great Basileus Alexios I Komnenos the Wise was also moving towards death, in his mid-sixties with hair as white as Olympus but a voice which retained it's strength. His skin had darkened and deepened to be criss-crossed with ravines, his body still strong beneath his swathes of Imperial purple, he raised a hand to halt his general "Henry V is our friend and he would be welcome to conquer Antioch for us, should the Turks take it back..."

Taticius ignored the hand "You mean to forsake the Seljuks?"

"I mean to adapt to the situation as it comes, you forget yourself."

"If I may speak, my Lord." Michael Phillipus had become the Naval Logothete upon Ioannis' ignominious term in the office "We will have ships enough by the end of this year, mayhaps the turn of the year, to mount an offensive against the Sicilians and Venetians, embroiled as they are with King Roger's war against the Zirids. However, should the Genoese join their Italian brethren we should lose. Only by the year after next could we be assured of supremacy on the seas once more, if all goes to plan in every dock in the Empire."

Alexios turned with a glimmer of a smile on his face "That is to the good, for soon we shall take back that which is rightfully ours. God Bless the Zirids and may it be a long and bloody war in Africa, that keeps the Normans busy enough to forget the snake at their back. The Romans are coming, men."

That night, as cold sweat soaked the bed Mikhail lay on, the sky burned furiously as lightning pelted the world as if Zeus was reborn.

A map of medieval Constantinople, note the large domed Hagia Sophia and also the Hippodrome

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

2 fantastic updates mate

The skirmish was well-described, and the 3 pictures illustrated brilliantly

I'm worried about Nikophoros, surely he's planning something momentous

And with the death of Alexios looming (or it seems to be) I wonder what things people will be getting up to

The 'map' of Constantinople is really good BTW, where did you get it?

Keep it up, and I am indeed looking forward to the Komnenos boys visiting Cilica

[Schrödinger]

XLVII.

Iconium, 1116 AD



Ioannis

This city was Roman once, Ioannis thought, as he gazed at the mosques which now twisted into the sky alongside Moslem minarets which pierced the azure of the Asian sky like coral in the ocean. Malik Shah, Sultan of Rûm, had bid their party to explore the city. It was very beautiful, although not as large, as bustling or as impressive as Constantinople, the capital of the Seljuks in Anatolia had a certain allure under the burnished sunburnt sky as night approached. But there did seem something wrong, even as they walked along with both their own Greek armed guard and an auxiliary Turk force, there was the faintest sniff of threat in the air. Many citizens simply rushed past them, scurrying without raising their eyes from the ground. Perhaps too many citizens were armed. A combination of that and the signs of boredom and tiredness from his family led Ioannis to return to the house set aside for them.

He was the last up, reading a treatise on the themata system and pondering that he would try and talk to Isaakios about administrative reforms once he took the Empire for his own. A cool night breeze riffled the netting erected by the Turks to keep mosquitoes out. The air was cloying still, though. He rose to go outside, but instead felt a hand over his mouth and a knife at his back. "The Shah will see you now." broken Greek and the stench of a warrior, Ioannis was taken to the stables of the house, where he was released to see the Sultan sitting on a bale of hay.

"Excuse my lack of hospitality, but our secrecy is paramount, Komnenos. The men around me are the only men I trust and the... subject I wish to discuss, will not be popular." Melik Shah was a weedy man, with a nervous tic on his right eye lid and a soft voice, his Greek thickly accented and his mannerisms suggesting neuroticism. "Did your father ever tell you of a secret pact between us?"

Ioannis shook his head, scowling "My father does not tell all men of his secrets, Sultan."

"Quite. Quite." Melik stroked his greased beard "I mean to return all of Anatolia to your Empire."

"On what conditions?" Ioannis' heart was beating a fast rhythm, pounding his chest like a grieving woman, "What would inspire you to give away your Sultanate?"

Melik coughed "My aforementioned unpopularity, the promise of high position, the threat of invasion. My people can live under the rule of Constantinople, my atabegs would flee to Baghdad and I would be safe in Europe. It seems the only way to secure peace. My generals have misgivings." one grey-haired Turk with a scar running from cheek to ear scuffed his feet "But I see it as our only option in these times. One of your men brought the document, I have it with me tonight. Would you sign it with me and end the folly?"

It seemed to Ioannis incredible a man this weak held power, but wary of a ploy he insisted on reading the Greek. All of Anatolia was to be returned to Constantinople, Melik Shah would have a home and place in court at Blachernae and Turk lords would be allowed either to pledge fealty to Alexios or return to Persia. There did not seem to be any loopholes and he marvelled that this seemed real. But as he accepted the ink and was scratching his full name and titles onto the parchment, he was seized with a sudden uneasiness. Melik Shah was biting his fingernails, which were already chewed to the quick, and behind him a man in robes of grey was creeping up, a finger at his lips. The silver-haired general had seem him and not reacted, as had two others of Melik's aides. But when Ioannis stood, nonplussed, the man jumped on Melik and cut his throat.

A seasoned warrior, Ioannis did not scream or react, for Melik was dead, but three of the Turks leapt onto the assassin, who whirled like a sandstorm and slew two in silence, ignoring their "Alalalalalalaa" screams as they charged at him mindlessly. With the commotion the door was battered open and a well-dressed man flanked by two soldiers walked in, with a dozen other guards behind him.

"What is this? Melik Shah murdered? Men, seize the assassin!" the newcomer was very young but powerfully built and commanded instant obedience. Ioannis sensed that something underhand was going on here, as the silver haired general knelt before the newcomer and spoke in a voice like a drought-struck brook, in Turk, which Ioannis had never be strong at but nevertheless strained to understand and caught the meaning all too well as the guards rounded up a half of Melik's men and bound them hand and foot.

"Masud, will you be our Sultan? For your father Kilij Arslan was the strongest Sultan we have ever known and surely you are his son."

This Masud smiled a hard smile, lazy like a bird catching a thermal, "I am honoured, do all here agree?"

"Yes, Sultan." the Turks all knelt, but Ioannis still stood and walked up to Masud and spoke to him in rapid, angry Greek

"I do not know what has happened here tonight, but I know you have just caused a grevious blow to relations between our people. Do not harm me or there shall be war. Will you honour the agreement Melik made with my father?"

Sucking his cheeks in with an appalling sucking noise, Masud looked Ioannis straight in the eye with the same queer smile dancing a merry tune on his lips "What agreement?"

Turning, Ioannis picked up the concord "This one." he held it in front of Masud's face

"I do not see Masud's signature on this, only some Greek scribblings." he tore it into sixteen pieces as Ioannis could only watch, "Forget your stupid desires, Greek, my people are free and I their leader. I am happy to continue our amiable relations within the current boundaries of our realm and do not expect such fanciful ideas ever again. When I caught wind of this monstrosity I knew our beloved Masud was finally losing his mind. And now he is dead of madness. Are you mad, Greek? On the morrow a sane man shall ride east from here with his family and relations between our people intact. May your God be with you."

The Turks turned and left the room, carrying corpses with them with the bound men shackled in a slave line behind them. Ioannis clenched his fists and resisted the urge to pound the table. Rome had lost much this day.

An ingenious Roman aqueduct supplying water to a Galatian city

______________________________________________

I get all my stuff from persistent googling thanks Shanks, Nikophoros is not so much younger than Alexios... and royal blood has a way of lasting a long time, his death does seem to loom though

[Schrödinger]

XLVIII.

Sis, 1117 AD

"Nikophoros Vyrennios was meant to be Symbasileus, did you know?" Anna Komnene smiled like a cat, scribbling little notes on her parchment even as she spoke with Dimitra "But Alexios reneged on his promise, even as his noble wife, my mother, begged him to see the cause of Nikophoros and I ahead of a child, as John was at the time. You are lucky that Alexios is so keen on a male dynasty and also that Irene died so young, so tragically. It was our enemies in court who saw to it and made the physicians say it was some disease. It was poison. Here, read my description of her. It shall go down in history, like Virgil."

She stood upright like some young sapling, erect and evergreen, all her limbs and the other parts of her body absolutely symmetrical and in harmony one with another. With her lovely appearance and charming voice she never ceased to fascinate all who saw and heard her. Her face shone with the soft light of the moon; it was not the completely round face of an Assyrian woman, nor long, like the face of a Scyth, but just slightly oval in shape. There were rose blossoms on her cheeks, visible a long way off. Her light-blue eyes were both gay and stern: their charm and beauty attracted, but the fear they caused so dazzled the bystander that he could neither look nor turn away...Generally she accompanied her words with graceful gestures, her hands bare to the wrists, and you would say it was ivory turned by some craftsman into the form of fingers and hand. The pupils of her eyes, with the brilliant blue of deep waves, recalled a calm, still sea, while the white surrounding them shone by contrast, so that the whole eye acquired a peculiar lustre and a charm which was inexpressible.

Dimitra read slowly, savoured the words but felt an unease at the mawkishness of the grief Anna was displaying "She sounds like a truly beautiful woman. If only I could have met her."

"Ha. You could never have met her, had she lived I would be married to the co-Emperor, not you. Do not inflict this fakery on me, go." with steel in her grey-blue eyes, Anna stood and left the room, leaving Dimitra to return to her own chambers.

The Komnenos winter in Cilicia had been comfortable at all times, Vyrennios lavishing all the wealth he could on his visitors, but there had always been a cold undercurrent to the conversation. Alexios had instructed Ioannis to try and mend relations between the throne and Nikophoros, but Vyrennios' thwarted personal ambition and only grudging fealty.

Meletios was a cruel child, who thought of himself as a man even though on his cheeks were only the thinnest dark hairs. He regaled the table with his tale of his hanging of Ashot on their very first day, as winter was still only creeping down from the hills and as the cold fingers had caressed them through the winter in the new year he had done nothing to ameliorate opinions of him. Callous, delighting in murdering small animals and aggressive, Dimitra was certain he bullied her girls Thekla and Anna, and also her boys Priskos and Strategios. Anna could stand up to him, being elder than he, but the rest were younger and weaker. It had been miserable for them and when they could they stuck as close to her or Ioannis as they could.

Gawky Isaakios had buried himself in books after scenting the hostility, while Andronikos and her Ioannis had dealt with Nikophoros, leaving her with the bare hatred of Anna and the boys to suffer with the son. The people here were in general reflective of the Vyrennian attitude towards them, not openly hostile but always edgy. The only effusive reaction they had received was from the effervescent Venetian ambassador Giampaolo Pazzini, who was on his way to Baghdad. Even though to the west Venetians sailed against Greeks and total war loomed, he cracked jokes and did his best to chum up to the elder Komnenoi.

She misliked this place. Nikophoros had warned them over dinner last night that Bohemond II was no better than his father Bohemond I for his distrust and dislike of Greeks. With that recommendation, Dimitra could not wait to leave. Sighing, she flung herself onto the linen and creaked her bones as she stretched out. After their hurried flee of Iconium, where they had been warmly received and in comfort, their protracted spell in Cilicia mispleased her, almost as much as Ioannis was mispleased by his crash course in Seljuq politics. He had been praying that he would not pay for his sloth at the assassination and that Masud would be true to his pledge of continued peace with Constantinople. After years with no further children, she had also heard him pray for a boy. Their lovemaking was frequent enough, but she was beginning to fear that no children would come from Ioannis.

After Antioch, they were to head to Jerusalem, then via Crete to Italy, where they would meet with Yaroslaw, who had become strategos of Apulia and held the castle at Bari for his own now. That would be interesting. He had a wife now, the union had begot him three children and effective leadership of Apulia. He had come to Constantinople a few years ago but they had not met, all that had happened was Mikhail Szekeres declared him his heir and left him some land. Nothing significant and all quickly forgotten, except a brief glimpse of his smirking face at the races. Ioannis' ill-advised experiment with the Red team had led them to two championships and a following from Komnenian loyalists. Once, Ioannis and Yaroslaw had been closer brothers than her husband was to Andronikos. To see the impish glee on his face had given her the queerest feeling as her old treasons were rubbed back into her face.

When she could not sleep, she still remembered her days with Yaroslaw at Bari.

Ruins at Tarsus, once an important Cilician hub of Rome's might

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

mawkishness... Really? (Seriously, what does it mean)

Great update I can tell all the intrigue and politics are working as I'm just about managing to understand it all, on the edge of confusion

And that passage of description was first-class

Looking forward to finally seeing the 'big picture'

EDIT: Just realised there were 2 updates (This is becoming quite common )

The first one was brilliant It's shame about the Sultan's death (that pact would've been ), although I can't help but wonder what possibilities that of a new Sultan brings

Oh and good luck carrying on with the persistent googling

EDIT2: Only 3 more years until some screens

EDIT3: Because I'm getting confused

(I know there is a lot I'm missing, and later on I'll try to find the relevant information by reading through, but if you want you can tell me some of the stuff I'm missing and I'll update it )

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Sorry it's a bit barbaric (I'm not very good at art ), if I update it I'll make it more presentable

Hope this helps other readers, if your memory is anything like mine, it should do

EDIT: Where does this Irene fit into?