[M2TW AAR] After Manzikert- Romanorum Redividus

[Schrödinger]

The Roman Empire, or her remains, has been blown on Fortune’s wind of late, indeed, they have been for many centuries, what were once provinces are now in the hands of the more successful barbarian warlords. What was once the homeland of barbarians and blood-drinkers now claims to be the true descendants of Rome. And what is the true descendant of the Empire is reduced to Greece, having been battered by Turks and Normans, far from the height of a thousand years previously. Banished from the city of seven hills, split by religion from Europe and the Near East, the Basils, through a series of defeats and internal struggles, have arrived in the worst predicament perhaps, since the Republic was founded by Romulus and Remus two thousand years hence.
This is not a tale of how this came to be, but a tale of how it was sought to reverse it, told by many men’s own tales, countless men, and this process, some would call it the Komnenian Restoration, but some, some would call it what Alexios himself called it:

Romanorum Redividus

Rome Rebuilt

Go Forth and Conquer what is Rightfully Yours



After Manzikert, the Tale of the Basils of Constantinople

The Basilea ton Romaion, the remnants of the Empire that had spanned from Hadrian’s Wall to Egypt, from Gibraltar to Hatra, seven hundred years ago much land had been taken by barbarian hordes: The Huns, The Vandals, The Visigoths, some regions had fallen to their own people, Brittania, but it had all gone, even Italia and Rome. Reduced to Macedonia, Graecia, Anatolia, Syria and Thracia, they retreated to lick their wounds. Justinian had tried to reclaim the Empire, but one great leader was not enough, the Exarchate of Ravenna fell. Barbarians still pushed at the northern border over the Danube. And then, Islam exploded onto the world. Sicily fell into the infidel hands, following the God, Allah, and the prophet Muhammad, in a few hundred years that controlled a territory that could perhaps have rivaled Rome’s once. There was a long and lengthy stalemate, until the eleventh century. When an evil race from the east came down from the steppes, the Turks, they slew and killed, like the Sassanids of old, and in 1071 Anno Domini, in the culmination of many conflicts across Anatolia, the evil Turks, led by Alp Arslan faced the cream of the Roman army led by Romanus IV, the current Basil and his co-general and direct rival Andronikas Doukas, the Roman army consisted of 65,000 men, the Seljuks where thought to be elsewhere. The army was strong, but the Armenian general Joseph Tarchaneiotes was given half the force, and they disapeared, presumed to have deserted or died. So the Romans where left with around 37,500 troops, they marched, and on August 26th met the Seljuk field army. Many Seljuk mercenaries had deserted when they met their kin, and the Romans were greatly weakened, but still outnumbered the Turks, however, the hit and run horse-archer tactics of the Turks slaughtered the Romans, and defeated, Romanus taken prisoner, and the Empire in dissarray.

1071 Anno Domini


BasilRomanusIV had returned to Constantinople blinded by the Turks, and was deposed by his own people and the rival Doukas, he was exiled and died of an infection of his eye wounds shortly afterwards. The city was in disaster, the centre of the Empire, her Anatolian heartlands were torn from her, still beating, the themes fell, the cities of Trebizond and Sinope were the last holds in Anatolia, it was a great catastrophe. The Seljuks ran rampant, the Frankish mercenaries that had fought at Manzikert had deserted and forged their own Kingdom in Galatia, it was the worst possible situation. Doukas proclaimed himself Basil, and reigned for a further seven years, although he was an awful Basil, and even in that year Bari fell to the Normans in Italy, the last foothold on the peninsula. The Bulgarians revolted, although it was suppressed, and in 1073, Isaac Komnenus led an unsuccessful attempt to reclaim Anatolia. The Empire was falling.


1078 Anno Domini


Nikephoros Botanieates rebelled in 1078, and marched on Nicaea where he announced that he was the true Basil, Doukas abdicated, becoming a monk, and Nikephoros became Nikephoros III. He was aided greatly by AlexiosComnenus, who, after stopping rebellions in the Balkans and Greece , deposed his superior in 1081, in view of the Normans crossing the Adriatic, who he faced at Dyrrachium, he had fought before, having served well against the Turks and also for Doukas, by Dyrrachium was the first battle of his reign. He lost, and retreated, and only with luck did the Empire survive, the Normans returning to Italy to aid their ally the Pope against the German pretenders to the Roman Empire, he left his vassal in control, but a series of Roman attacks forced him to cede Thessaly, Macedonia and Epirus to the Basil.


1083 Anno Domini


Alexios had a dream, that of restoring the Roman Empire, he wanted to quash the petty disputes and various factions holding them back, to inspire fervour of restoring the Empire, to make every serf, every foot-soldier, every noble to dream of the Empire being restored, he knew he could not do it on his own, and his entire line would be the future, but he was set to conquer as he could. And his dream was called:

Romanorum Redividus

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This is an introduction to my first AAR, as you probably guessed I'm the Byzantines, and it will be very stroy-based and not entirely faithful to my campaign.

[vonKrysiak]

Perfect! Can never have too many Byzantine AAR's ;-)

[Schrödinger]

Thanks, I read a bit of your s and I looks good!
(I did have a genoese one but it got lost in the ether, )
Now, for The first good bit...
_________________________________________________________________

Romanorum Redividus
Roma Rebuilt

The Eastern Mediterranean, 1083 AD

Alexios would do all he could to reclaim the Empire he saw as rightfully his, and the first step was a gathering of an army worthy of reclaiming Anatolia. He could raise 60,000 men, but it would take time, Alexios needed his attempt to be the best, the greatest, standing head and shoulders over Justinian’s ‘renovatio imperii’ he would recover the lands lost at Manzikert, he would be the first Roman Emperor to march into Rome for five hundred years. He would have the Pope on his knees, begging for forgiveness. The first step was the renew alliances in the west, with to Genoese, the Franks that claimed to be the true successors of the Roman Empire, in a land which had rarely been under her sway, and the Pope, who would fall. The Danube border was secured, with Greeks being sent to pacify Bulgaria, and border castles put up against Illyria and Dalmatia. The powerful factions of Constantinople would feud long over the army, and it had already ensued after Alexios announced his dream.

Constantinople, the House of Flavius Balgiarotes, August 26th

Flavius Balgiarotes had a large family, he was wealthy and very influential in the capital, he was very popular, well respected within his district, and out of it too. The citizens knew he could deal with an unwelcome visitor, and doubtless an intruder body would be floating in the Bosporus before nightfall. And so the stranger climbing over the perimeter walls and leaping into the manicured garden was ignored, it was common knowledge that Flavius could deal with it.
Michael Phillipus walked up to the fine door with it’s stained glass windows, and knocked loudly, Flavius’ personal Varangian Saxon guards looked round and yelled in their own coarse tongue at him, but he stood completely still, and when the door opened he walked calmly in it with a confident gait. The guards, perplexed, returned to their post, if Flavius wished to entertain guests he would have told them, but he could deal with him if he was going to let him into the house.

The Drinking Room, the House of Flavius Balgiarotes

Michael Phillipus was handsome, tall and well-built, and he exuded a sense of self-confidence and power, indeed, he was one of the most powerful men in the Angeloi families, his branch had a claim to the Imperial throne through marriage, and held high favour with the Basil. His reputation was that of a handsome political genius, and Flavius Balgiarotes held that in mind as he looked across the low parley table, raising a hand to the servant that brought in the wine. He knew that he had to concentrate, as he had been for the last decade, in Constantinople it was not Turks you feared, the triple walls and legacy of ‘The City’ saw to that, but the schemes of other noble families, the citizens respected him, even revered him, but every family in the city wanted some Balgiarote blood, this feeling had been heightened when his nephew had caused a rebellion in Morea, and it was because of this that a guard now watched attentively from the wall. Flavius watched as Phillipus took some wine and examined the room, from the mosaics of saints to the rich windows and beautifully carved furniture. Flavius waited a while before speaking, his voice purred, and had a small hint of warning in it, “What brings you to parley here?”
Phillipus took a gulp of wine, and leant over the table: “This is good wine, where is it from?” he had a light, dancing voice, and a cultured accent typical of the Angeloi
“Italy, near Brindisi, my merchants have spent many years searching, and this is the fruit, but you cannot have come here to congratulate my merchants on garnering wine, why are you here truly, Phillipus, and why did you not knock on the front gate like a civilized guest?” the dangerous undertow of Flavius’ voice became more eminent
“If you denounce my mode of entrance, then I may not tell you what I came to if you are not more civilised, and why dampen the meeting with guards,” he cast the guard a cheery smile, “when it dampens this peaceful meeting so?”
“Because, Michael,” Flavius was visibly restraining the tension, an own goal, Phillipus thought, “Half the people in this city are after my blood, take as hospitality enough that I let you use the golden goblets of my family and not the wood I show ambassadors of the Juliani, and the trust of neglecting a guard I can scarcely afford to my own son, and it is only twenty years ago that an assassin bearing the Phillipus coat of arms entered my bedchamber, so don’t try and coax me into giving you another chance.”
Phillipus smiled, “You say half the nobles are out for your blood? Well then, I wouldn’t turn down Manuel Angeloi’s offer of an alliance then would I, if I were you? We heard you speaking out against the Basil, a brave move, although perhaps we all wish to see the Empire restored, but Manuel too is against the decision, and he, also on behalf of the and the Valsamon and Platorius families, to join the ‘Byzantine league’.”
Flavius choked violently, “I thought Byzantine was merely what the ancients called the city, when her realm was only the city itself! Not something to aspire to, at least by it’s name, tell me more, Phillipus.” A servant walked in and took away the wine to refill it, Phillipus acknowledged him, but Flavius was transfixed on the man opposite him’s face, he barely noticed as the servant teased the goblet from his hands, “More wine sir?”
Flavius nodded, but didn’t look up, “Tell me, Phillipus.”
“Well, as you said, Byzantium, what we call the Kingdom of Byzantine, was merely the city itself, and a few Greek towns in Asia Minor and Thrace but they were rich, and the founder in legend, King Byzas, having sailed from a small town near Athens, was told by the Oracle the found a city opposite the blind. He found ‘the blind’ at Chalcedon...”
“Chalcedon, the district on the opposite side of the strait?” Flavius was all ears, he had never heard the legend of the city before, and if he had he would have been a child in bed, drowsy, but now he was attentive.
“Yes, it was there he found ‘the blind’, for the city had been built in Asia Minor, just opposite clearly better land on the opposite shore of the Bosporus, and so the city came to be. They were conquered by the Romans around fifty years after Christ was born. But the name is inconsequential, we are working to undermine the attempt to restore the Roman Empire, as we believe it would result in eventual defeat and the final Fall of Rome, we aim to besiege the Basil in his palace when he next speaks of ‘Romanorum Redividus’, we have a thousand men already, and the hundred in your service would be a great gift indeed to the effort, as head of the Balgiarote family, do you agree to join the Byzantine league?” Phillipus knew he had won before Flavius opened his mouth, the fervour and excitement in his eyes, and beneath that, the determination,
“So I have friends in the City once again, I accept.”
“Shake.” Phillipus extended a hand, which Flavius took, and shook enthusiastically, “Come to the house of Mikhail Szekeres the Kievan, on September 2nd, where you will be given your contract, don’t forget, Flavius.”
“I won’t don’t worry. You may leave Phillipus.”
And so the figure left the house, through the gates, and the citizens gave him funny looks, but ignored him, maybe Flavius had a powerful friend?

The Informer’s Room, the Basil’s Palace, Constantinople

The Informer, Ioannes Palaelogus, leant back in his chair, and at the Basil’s order, told him all. “The Angeloi, the Balgiarotes, the Valsamon and Platorius, the Szekeres, the Tarchianotes. They are all plotting against the ‘Redividus’ they are powerful, be wary.”
“Oh, I only need to know.” The Basil smiled, and the Informer shivered.

The House of Mikhail Szekeres, Council Chamber, September 2nd

The Szekeres were descended from a Kievan diplomat that had stayed in the City, and were very wealthy, with vast estates in Greece and Thrace to their name, having married well and got into the right movements. They could also afford one of the largest, and most lavish, manors in the upper echelons of Constantinople, with a sumptuous banquet room and its own shining great hall, they also owned the best council chambers in the City, besides the official one used by the Basil and his authorised meetings. But this was no authorised meeting, but for all the decorations and rich display it would never be guessed that here was the heart of a rebellion. Although in the City it would merely be called an ‘alternative’.
Mikhail Szekeres had invited fifty people to the council, with eleven heads of family and forty-four heads of branch-offs, and five scribes, the Szekeres, the Angeloi, the Valsamon, the Platorius, the Balgiarotes, the Evgenikos, the Gavras, the Apakaukos, the Manatios, the Paidianitis and the Tarchaniotos all had arrived, and were represented, with the major branches of Phillipus and Vryennios given semi-head status. Nearly all of the bureaucracy and aristocracy was related in some way or form, and among the feast provided by the Szekeres family groups formed, although the heads: Mikhail Szekeres, Manuel Angeloi, Aleksandros Valsamon, Epiphanios Platorius, Flavius Balgiarotes, Iakovos Evgenikos, Iosif Gavras, Frankoulis Apakaukos, who was descended some said, from Charlemagne, Elias Manatios, David Paidianitis and Evdaemon Tarchaniotos sat at the high table, with Michael Phillipus and Dionysios Vryennios beneath them, and down the table sat every other head of branches, an air of power and money, the sound of light debate, and five scribes sat at lecterns, scribbling away at parchment.
After a while and much merriment and feasting, although it had been underlain with the seriousness of business, Mikhail Szekeres ordered servants to take away the remains of the banquet, and the chatter died down as he stood and raised a hand, and his voice. “Heads of the Byzantine League, you have each brought with you the most prominent four branches of your families, we are here to decide on the plan of action against the Romanorum Redividus, as we know, and Alexios has a dream. To restore the Roman Empire of her heyday, he has conned the city into believing this is not only the ideal it is, but also feasible. This it is not, the army he seeks to raise would not be invincible, however many Kataphracts and Varangians are in it, it would eventually be defeated, and where would that leave us? Hiding in the City, no army to protect us, and those who killed the Basil returning with a vengeance. We must stop this foolery.”
Szekeres sat, and gestured to Manuel Angeloi to speak.
“Men, each of the founders will speak, and as the first to speak I wish to acknowledge Michael Phillipus, Ioannes Strymon, Ioannes Chrysanthemum and Tyrennhios Tatziaokes as heads of the four most prominent branches, and to announce the decision we came to when we discussed this matter with the Valsamon and Platorius, and I assume that I speak also for them.” He glanced at them and they nodded, “When I say that we should use the thousand and a hundred men we have gathered between us and the Balgiarotes, alongside any men those who would agree with us, to besiege the Basil in his palace after his next public announcement of the ‘Redividus’, his army has not yet started to gathered, and our men have fought enough to overcome any militia rabble the Basil can use with his kataphracts and Varangians, we could take the throne, and vote on the Basileus.” Angeloi sat, his deep, calm, confident voice still speaking passionately in all the heads of those in the hall.
Mikhail Szekeres stood, “Ponder those words well, four of your heads have gathered men, who wishes to contribute more, raise your hands, heads.” Every head raised their hands, the Evgenikos, two hundred men the Gavras, four hundred, the Apakaukos, five hundred, the Manatios, three hundred, the Paidianitis, four-hundred and the Tarchaniotos, providing two-hundred, 3,300 men in total, and outside the battlefield and among the feuds of Constantinople that was a formidable force. Mikhail Szekeres waited for the cheers to abate before speaking again, “Alexios is going to speak once more on September the 7th, I wish you all to report to me or before then with your men, be ready at the basil’s speech, and now I offer a chance for anyone to speak, and there will only be one more thing to be voiced, by one more person, all raise your hand and I will choose.” Only Flavius Balgiarotes raised his hand, he did not wait for Szekeres to allow him to speak, “Thank you, host, as the only man who has put himself forward I see fit to speak. As you know, the Balgiarote name has been crushed into the dirt by my nephew, having encouraged a rebellion in Morea, as a result my family has been the scapegoat for just about every crime or misdemeanour in the City, we have been shunned and some of us have been killed, doubtless some of you here are guilty. But I do not wish to press charges, I wish to congratulate you all on choosing the right thing, many families will oppose, but the element of surprise must not be lost, be silent, be secret, and be safe. When Michael Phillipus extended the hand of friendship I took it, but please, do not ask anyone to join us, they could be working for the Basil, and we will be crushed beneath his foot if this is not a secret. Remember, the Fall of Rome can only be prevented by the success of the Byzantine League, now go, and work in God’s name, in Rome’s name.” he inclined his head as the crowd clapped politely, and sat, allowing Szekeres to speak.
“Council adjourned, we march on the basil’s palace in five days, you may leave.”

[Schrödinger]

Outside the Basil’s Palace, September the 7th

“It is ready? Everything, because, Theo, if it isn’t I will set my son on you, and little torturer Phelonius would gladly enjoy the chance to drain your life away.” Alexios spoke calmly, but Theo spoke back sounding worried,
“I assure you my lord, it is ready, the eagle hangs from the lectern, and a mighty crowd has gathered.” Theo bowed, “They expect you to arrive any minute sir.”
“Then I will arrive.” The Basil ran his hand over his face, before striding out into the open, raising a hand to acknowledge the cheering, before climbing up onto the lectern. When he raised both hands the entire crowd fell silent, “People of Constantinople, many of you know of my dream, your dream, the Empire’s dream, Roma Redividus, each and every one of you are more civilised than the barbarian Kings of Europe, and also of those you can plot against restoring an empire, those that are currently plotting against me, those that belong to the.” Alexios paused, “To the Byzantine League, many of the City’s greatest families plot against me, but my army is rising, three-thousand men so far, over half of which are the bravest citizens of this noble city, these men seek to undermine the return of the Empire, would you let them do this?” he opened his arms, and embraced the response, a resounding affirmative noise. “Well then, tell all your peasant pals, go home and get your pitchforks, and be the angry mob that stings the Byzantine League’s bum.” He waved his arms, “Away with you!”, the mob scurried away, hallooing and cheering, Alexios turned, smiling, that was a few points on the Basil’s side, and indeed, victory.

Two Hours Later

Three-thousand men now stood outside the Basil’s palace, they were clear what they wanted, Alexios to submit to their wills. MikhailSzekeres looked up at the high window where Alexios peered out, any arrows fired up there were pointless, and they were merely waiting for the Emperor’s force to arrive, no attempt was made to force entrance into the palace. Although a servant that had charged out of the kitchen to try and slay every soldier in a futile attempt to save the Basil, his body was now floating in the Bosporus. And just as the army settled into a long wait, the Basil’s force arrived.

And so began the Battle of the Basil’s Palace

...

The Battle of the Basil’s Palace

One-Eye was a peasant, and having put on a padded leather jacket and having took a spear and shield from the armoury he ran, not to the forum where the ‘mob’ were arranged to meet, but to the palace, where the Byzantine League army was besieging the palace, he had always been an anarchic. Perhaps driven to madness by how he was shunned, having been born with one eye-socket empty, his mother had kept him secret until he was thirteen, when the local priest, Gavriel Branas, had been asked about him. Not only had the priest declared him a ‘son of the devil’ but had been on the verge of stabbing the boy to death before the fanatic priest heard his mothers frantic pleading, ever since he had been spat at on the street, and kicked by boys that should have been his friends. One-Eye thought that if he fought for the Byzantine League they would give him a powerful position in the new aristocracy, and if they lose, well, he had no friends in this world, he’d lose nothing. One-Eye was unusually observant, having spent his life hiding in secrecy from devil-hunters and GavrielBranas, who had luckily passed away earlier that year. And he was lucky, as he saw quickly where the power of the Byzantine League’s army lay, and shoving his way past many heavily armoured men, who spat at him, seeing the empty socket, or crossed themselves. He arrived, panting, and knelt at the feet of the man he perceived to be the leader. The man was tall, with northern looking features and an air of natural command; he broke off giving order to a heavily armoured man leaning on a shining sword and addressed One-Eye in a disparaging manner. “And why is there a smelly one-eyed peasant groveling at my feet?” he seemed to be addressing the general, but One-Eye answered none the less, feeling terribly self conscious, “I’ve come to fight for you, sir, and to inform you that long with the thousand imperial troops there will be maybe five, thousand peasant mob, sir, coming with all haste. The Basil knew who you was and what you was doing, and he told them of it in a speech nigh on two hours ago. He knew, and so the fight will be harder, and as small as my help is, I come to aid you, sir.”
“There is a traitor then, oh well, Manuel, get the men in battle formation, One-Eye, follow Iosif here, he fight with a hundred men from the city. Your information is valued and you shall be repaid.” If I live, thought One-Eye, but he followed Iosif, who silently took him to a regiment of men from the Docklands, he was paired with two men, Ioannes and Dromon, named after the ship, they showed open mistrust and dislike, even from the beginning when One-Eye had been introduced by Iosif,
“Son o’ the devil en’t ‘e Ioannes?” Dromon had sneered as soon Iosif was out of ear and eye sight, he had pushed One-Eye in the gut, unprepared, he had stumbled and fell to the floor, “Weaklin’, in battle you ‘ave be stronger than that, brace yeself this time.” And Dromon had charged again, while Ioannes laughed harshly, this time One-Eye thrust back, and toppled the aggressor, inwardly he threw a party, while outwardly he looked modest. Ioannes had stop laughing, and Dromon’s face, plastered in pig muck, looked up with hatred. “Better not be in front of me in the battle, you might find a spear poking out of you.” He spat at One-Eye’s feet, luckily, before One-Eye was murdered by the two men, orders were issued to face forwards, ten ranks behind the main battle. The were jogging to their position when Ioannes spoke: “Ever bin on a ship?”
“No.”
“Or a battle?”
“No.”
“Well, this’ll be a nice surprise for you then.” Ioannes dropped silent for a minute, but when they reached their position he spoke again, “Ever seen blood and decapitated heads rolling on the floor, injured men coughing up their life-blood, the dead limp on the floor?”
“No.”
“Well then, nothing can prepare you for that.”
“You fill me full of hope.”
“ATTENTION! THE ENEMY IS HERE! FORM UP! FORM UP!” a large, muscled man roared to the regiment, “COME ON YOU ‘AIRY SAILORS! FORM UP!”
And then they heard the Basil’s army chanting:
“OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT WITH THE BYZANTINE! OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT!”
And they roared back, a primeval sound, like a pack of wolves on the hunt. One-Eye tensed himself as the frontline of kataphracts engaged with the Basil’s men, the sound of dying men’s screams and limbs being hacked off and leaking blood and pain and misery and death. And he saw blood leaking through the pave-stones towards him. He retched, adding the putrid smell of sick to the overwhelming odour of sweat and blood. He saw Ioannes raising an eyebrow out of the corner of his eye. Then:
“CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGE! PUSH THEM! PUSH! PUSH!” the same burly officer was roaring at them to go forwards, and they ran forwards, pushing into the mass of bodies, they felt tension being released as the men in front of them fell, and then One-Eye was in the front-line, he raised his shield and retched again as he saw dead bodies, blood, the stench of carnage, a sword thrust hit his wooden shield and he fell backwards, the men behind him swore and him and pushed him back into the fray. He plunged his spear into the man in front of him’s gut, he fell to the floor, flailing wildly, crying. One-Eye leapt forwards and thrashed about with his shield. He heard a deep whizzing noise. A large catapult rock rolled past him, glancing off his skull. He knew no more.

After the Battle

One-Eye regained consciousness, and his first feeling was that of pain, terrible pain, anguish, torment, agony, torture, he tried to scream but no voice came out, it was a silent cry, but the pain was evident. He rolled in distress and misery, and rolled into a crow pecking at a dead body, he vaguely recognized it, and then with a noiseless gasp he saw beneath the blood- Asca. Asca, the terror of his childhood, Asca, who had thrown stones at him, Asca, whose gang had nearly drowned him, Asca, Asca, Asca who he had known since he had been a toddler. One-Eye didn’t understand why, but a tear trickled down his face. He crumpled to the floor, and sobbed silently into Asca’s body.
“MikhailSzekeres, Basil of New Rome. MikhailSzekeres, liberator of the City. MikhailSzekeres… Mikhail, grandson of a Russian ambassador… BasileusMikhail the First.”
One-Eye heard footsteps behind him, it was the general, he looked up from the bloody corpse of Asca and saw the general, crawling towards him.
“MikhailSzekeres… Mikhail… BasileusMikhail, Emperor Mikhail, aaargh!”
The general puked, a sickly mixture of blood and saliva. He lunged for One-Eye, and deranged, grabbed him by the neck. “You boy! You dirty peasant! You scum! D’you know how we lost? Do you? It was that dirty, scummy, mob! You hear me? The mob! That bloody mob some peasant told us about. Was it you! You look familiar! Ah yes, the one-eyed kid! I’m gonna kill you, it’s your fault, all your fault.”
And with a mad roar he tightened his grip and kicked One-Eye, who, having been dazed before by his madness, came to his sense and bit his assailants hand, fresh blood spurted into his face, and the irony taste spilt onto his tongue. He choked, as Mikhail screamed and leapt back, regaining his breath, curled into a ball Mikhail looked up, “You bloody animal.”
And fell to the floor, unconscious, One-Eye sighed, and fell to the floor, his mouth damp from the General’s blood, but as it dried it felt parched, he tried to force sound from his throat, but all he could muster was a sad croak. He was resigned to death, and when the heavily armoured man came and slew him, he merely accepted death, and even, perhaps, was grateful for it.
FlaviusBalgiarote lent on his sword and smiled a secretive little smile, which graduated into a broad grin, and eventually a maniacal laugh. A head-wound bled profusely down his face, and for a good few minutes he guffawed and chuckled in glee and mad happiness. He looked at the body at his feet.
“Michael Phillipus, perhaps I should thank you for this victory. The man who let the traitor in.”

[bomberboy]

This is a good AAR, are we going to see screenshots of future battles.

[Schrödinger]

Of course,

[bomberboy]

Of course,

Great

[Schrödinger]

I just need to upload them.

[Selifator]

Very good storytelling, I haven't read all of it yet but I can already tell its great.

[Ambiorix_thijs]

Bleh Rome sucks. Their fall was one of the most beautiful things in history.
End of story

[Schrödinger]

@Ambiorix, Thanks for the rave review, it’s awesome people can be bothered to tell me they hate the subject (and the end of story is in a few weeks, so please go to the bother of congratulating me on trashing Rome then.
@Selifator, thanks, and I have pictures for the next chapter! (up Saturday)

[Schrödinger]

The Seljuk Siege of Antioch, 1083 Anno Domini



The ramparts of Antioch, Mons Silpius

“If only Taticius were here. We could do with Alexius’ general here.”
“Aye, aye,”
“The Turks are massing, three weeks and they finally decide to attack. The men aren’t ready.”
”What men? All we have are a few levy men, since Anatolia fell at Manzikert there has been little to no news. All we got in the letter from Cyprus that got through was that the Basil crushed a rebellion in Constantinople, we have been abandoned, if men were being sent they would already have arrived.”
“We have men though, we have men, Nicephorus.”
“Scarcely soldiers, more men who see the world as it is, better to die in battle than to be systematically executed by the Turks for the crime of being a Christian! Face it, our time is over Theotokios, our time is over. All we can do is fight for honour.”
Nicephorus peered over the ramparts, “They are coming, Theo, God Bless You.” He grasped his counterparts hand and raising the standard high into the air drew his sword, he turned to the man on the opposite side to Theotokios. “Master Archer, it is time to fire.”
The man nodded and raised an army, “Reload. Aim. FIRE!”
Arrows bit into the Turks ranks, but none of the howling infidels faltered, carrying ladders, running, screaming, howling. Behind them the siege towers and the rams were being lugged forwards, and the miners were running out of their rat holes, but the walls would not fall to the floor, unless the bribe had failed.
“Reload. Aim. FIRE! ... VOLLEY! Reload. Aim. FIRE! ... VOLLEY!”
Nicephorus beat a sinister rhythm upon his legging with his gauntlet, he looked sideways at Theotokios and spoke solemnly:
“And so the battle begins.”


Theotokios nodded, and gulped, but did not reply, arrows bit into the Turk ranks, but they carried on, a relentless tide. Sixty-thousand men, infidel fiends, doom and despair hung over the massed men on the walls of Antioch. They were going to die, the ominous sound of Nicephorus leggings seemed to rise to a crescendo in Theotokios’ mind before it consumed him and battle-fear gripped him, he was in a stupor of terror, but was woken by Nicephorus tapping him on the back.
“Theo, it’s time.”
He had his sword drawn, and the steady look on his old friend face was reassuring. He nodded and drew his sword, one long line of men, stretching around the entire wall. One thin line, Antioch’s hope, Theotokios would have laughed if death hadn’t been so imminent.
The Master Archer looked across to Nicephorus and put down his bow and drew his sword, “Well then, to victory.”
Nicephorus nodded, “The first ladder is here.”


With a roar Theotokios reached out to push the ladder down, and just as a leering Turk face peered over it fell into the abyss.
All along the line men were pushing ladders down, but there was no time to watch, as in the adjacent ladders Turks had come reached the top of the ladders and were hacking and keening harsh war cries. Nicephorus stabbed one in the gut, and he toppled over, taking the entire ladder worth of men with him, it fell sideways, scything through the next ladder. However, Nicephorus had no time to celebrate, as the Master Archer was engaged by one who had made it onto the ramparts, and was losing, as danger of falling onto the paving below was pending. Indeed, as the Master Archer lost his footing Nicephorus plunged his sword hilt deep into the Turk, and as the tip protruded through the enemy’s back he grabbed the Master. He nodded in thanks before engaging the next man. Just as all four ladders were defeated, the siege towers came.


There was only time for a brief respite before the hatch opened, and a swathe of Turks landed on the wall. And they charged. The pressing weight of a mass of sweating bodies. The reek of blood and gore, the screams of dying Turks, Theotokios glanced at Nicephorus, and saw his head, as if in slow motion, fly off his neck and twist, spurting life-blood. It fell, and fell, down, down off the wall. Theotokios uttered a soundless scream, cut short by a Turk scimitar in his heart. The Master Archer, seeing he was left alone, roared in defiance and plunged further into the fray.
Hack. Left. Right. Plunge. Sweep. Punch. Hack. Duck. Left. Elbow. Thrust. Block. Parry. Hack. Chop. Swing. Duck...
And so he fell to the floor, dead.

If you’re going to lose you should go out fighting, Aleksandros thought as his small bunch of men condensed, a small pocket holding out against the Turks. As the women and children hid in their houses, and the horrific sound of those in the adjacent buildings that did not dishearten the soldiers, but fight with more ferocity, they were fighting to avenge the pending doom of the Christian Antioch. Aleksandros looked to the sky as more men fall. Once honest merchants and smiths, tanners or farmers from the area, fighting not out of blood-lust, but out of necessity, Aleksandros remembered Nicephorus Bolanchiantes’ speech:
“Men, we fight not today because we are warriors, we fight not today because we want to, we fight not today because we lust for blood, no men, we fight today because we cherish that which is ours. We fight for our children. We fight for our wives. We fight to save. What do the Turks fight for? What reason? Can anyone tell me what their reason is? No! Because the Turks fight for gain, not for love! Think that for every infidel you slay you save one Christian’s life, put that behind your sword-hand. Put that behind your bow-string. Put that behind your spear-hand.
So Men! Go out and punish these devils!”
Aleksandros punched the air with his sword and beat it on the pommel of his shield, for a decade he had nurtured this city, as a minister and member of the bureaucracy of Antioch, and now he was taking up sword and shield to fight. It gave him pride, and as he watched men hacked down in front of him, and saw defeat, he did not weep. But charged.

And so ended Roman rule over Antioch

And so began...

Roma Redividus

[bomberboy]

Great AAR battle, the Byzantines didn't last long. Will they win some battles.

[Schrödinger]

Ta, we do end up winning, thi is Alexios Comnenus! Anyway, this is more of a piece of fiction than an AAR, focusing on intrigue and internal strife... (which is why the Szekeres come back)
_______________________________________________________________

Roma Redividus

Alexios Comnenus’ Dream

The Basil’s Palace

“You did well Flavius, all these weeks after I still remember your loyal acts against the rebellion, but as if to counter-act this the Turk horde has taken Antioch.”
“As if the invoke an even greater Casus Belli, Basileus?”
“Indeed, and once the Roman lion has food to eat he will grasp it between his jaws and will not let go, our army, so far it is around forty-thousand, a huge sum, but the Turk army that took Antioch is reported to be of sixty-thousand! A horde of sixty-thousand men!”

Flavius shifted visibly, “whose information is this? Is he reliable? Inexperienced men often severely exaggerate armies when they see them.”
“No,” Alexius said ponderously, “My best agent, he also reports that the Christian population was decimated, and the remainder forcibly converted. It is terrible, and when we move next spring we will move with such a vengeance as has never been seen before. Taticius will take ten thousand to Rhodes and from there to Milas and Halicarnassus, you are being given five thousand to reinforce Sinope, and I am leading the army over the straits to Nicomedia and Nicaea. Hopefully the land between Sinope and Milas, including Smyrna, will surrender. From there we will march to Iconium and Caesarea, and send you to regain Trebizond and Taticius to Armenia. Then, assuming the plan is faultless we will converge on Syria, at Antioch and march south through Tripoli and Acre. However, that is only the plan and it is liable to go wrong. I know you know this, but it is a long wait of sending assassins and spies into the land that was once ours. Of sending agents on suicide missions to our friends in Asia Minor, I lust, Flavius, I lust for war, to regain, to conquer, to revenge.” Alexios banged his fist on the table
“As good a Casus Belli as there ever was.”
“RomaRedividus. Imagine belonging to the clique that ruled to Empire that stretched from the end of the world to Persia, having the power to govern the lives of men on the opposite side of the world. I would risk anything if the chance is there, those fools in the ‘Byzantine League’, holding back power. Flavius, you saved Rome. Have some more wine.” Alexios proffered the glass,
“Gladly, sir.” He took it and sipped thoughtfully at it, “Here we are, sitting in the capital of the world, next to the HagiaSophia, first and foremost awesome wonder of the world and we still have want for more. Ambition.”
He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. Flavius was the second most important man in the Empire, almost on equal terms with the Basil, and above even Taticius. His role in suppressing the Byzantine rebellion had been rewarded, not only with revenge on all those who had prosecuted him, and seeing them kneel before him, but by money, and position. FlaviusBalgiarotes, the second most powerful man in the second most powerful Empire in the known world, not that he’d ever admit the Romans were inferior to the Turks, he had Roman pride and Roman ambition.

The House of Mikhail Szekeres, the Parley Room

Nikhita Szekeres had just arrived from travels in Russia, and he listened attentively to Antonina as she reported all that had happened over the last month. His uncle Mikhail leading a rebellion against Alexios’ foolish dreams, the battle of the Basil’s Palace and Flavius Balgiarotes treachery, but also the finer details, the complex political landscapes of the City, Romans, Greeks, the few remaining Byzantines, Macedonians, and of course, the Kievan faction, she spent hours explaining, over the bread Nikhita was ravaging in front of her. However, Nikhita was young and clever, and knew he had to swallow and digest all of this to stand a chance as the new Szekeres family head. He wanted to gather the scattered Byzantine league and work through the realms of treachery to bring down Alexios. Chance would have it, that Nikhita had friends in Kiev, powerful friends. He rubbed his hands in anticipation, and told the widowed Antonina all.

Constantinople
The City
How could her internal feuds ever succumb to Roman desire?
How could the disparate factions meld together as a single one?
Rome
The City
When would an Emperor march down her streets again?
When Roma Redividus

[bomberboy]

Great job there tweety. I'll definately read your other AAR.

[Schrödinger]

Ta, just remember, rep is appreciated.
_______________________________________________________________

Romanorum Redividus
Roma Rebuilt

The Eastern Mediterranean, 1084 AD

The General’s House, the Barracks, Constantinople, March 12th

Taticius, Flavius Balgiarotes, Basil Alexios, names that held audiences among the upper classes of the Empire captivated when thrown onto the table, gathered in a small, cramped room in the Army Barrack in the City. The Empire’s greatest General, her Basil and her Saviour, the room smelt of power as they spoke quietly over the map, Taticius moving markers around the board:
“We move here, the Turks move the reinforce Iconium and march out of it towards Nicaea…”
the great general continued in the same vein, but Alexios and Flavius remained rapt with attention, listening as Taticius conveyed the information they knew off by heart: Alexios to Nicaea and Nicomedia, Taticius to the south, Flavius reinforcing Sinope, joining together to strike towards Caesarea past Iconium. But with each rendition their heart-rate increased, the drum beat of war resounded through their heads, and they waited. And on March 20th, the Ship Master gave those long awaited words:
“The fleet is ready”

The Marmara, March 22nd

The wind rifled through Flavius’ hair as he leaned over the great ships side, he felt pleasure as his hair was whipped against his face by the wind, he was going to reclaim Asia Minor, he was a worthy son of Rome, he was going to war. Twenty ships, five-thousand men, bound to fight Turks at Sinope. Flavius raised his head and gulped down the sea air, life was good.

Nicaea, March 30th

The Basil looked down at the sniveling, groveling Turk at his feet, he had surrendered with virtually no fight, as they had at Nicomedia on the way, cowardly Turks. But Alexios never let his guard drop, this could be a plot by the Turks to withdraw and lull into a false sense of security, but it wouldn’t work, Alexios was ready, and when all fell before him, be it by surrender or arms, he would not relax, he was ready. He had sent letters for the army to converge outside Iconium, with his thirty-five thousand meeting with Flavius in Galatia, and Taticius arriving as reinforcements, perhaps vital reinforcements. Or perhaps just to make the number fifty-thousand, although still a lot less than the Turk horde, quality would see through, and Rome employed Horse Archers of her own.

Sinope, April 15th

Flavius, a good old Roman name, thought Cassius, like his, his parents having believed in something to the effect of Roma Redividus and chosen a name they had heard often of in texts. Cassius and Flavius, they could be centurions or legionaries, but they weren’t, they were Greeks with Roman heritage striving to reclaim the land they thought rightfully theirs. The land that was rightfully theirs, Cassius found himself thinking. They had driven the Turks from Paphlagonia and Flavius and his army had marched south through Pontus, taking many men with them, but for the first time in ages there was no Turk army outside the city, ever since Manzikert Cassius had been on the edge, and only now could he relax and drink fine wine and eat cheeses and rich meat without fretting about his life. He closed his eyes and remembered sticking his sword through a Turk throat, of the satisfaction of killing these men that had sucked the happiness out of the region, of evil blood perishing by way of his sword. It was going well. Romanorum Redividus.

Rhodes, Isle of Rhodes, May 25th

The Governor’s large face lit up as he saw the army from the walls he had been watching from ever since news of the fleet’s completion had reached him, he had gathered an army of fifteen-thousand from the Greek Islands and Rhodes, trained in sailing and killing they were proud to be serving the Empire, and it gave the Governor pride to have set it into action. Taticius himself had spoken to the Governor, he had commended him on his work and had entered a long discussion on the arts with him, the Governor felt not only privileged, but proud that he could converse with such figures. He had reveled in this glory, and had continued too long after they had left on May 30th.

May 26th, Galatia



Anatolia and Eastern Greece, Strategic Locations

The army had arrived and set camp, Flavius had seen off many small ambuscades and skirmishing parties, and even now the Turks were harassing his men as they put up a palisade and pitched. His detachment of men from Sinope was fighting well, sending volleys back into the Turks, although when Captain Mazakes tried to orchestrate a charge Flavius was forced to intervene, explaining at length why charging horse-archers is a bad idea and the advantages foot-archers have over their mounted counter parts in a shoot-out. Luckily the captain was a good learner, and when Flavius left him to his own devices he coped reasonably well. Although it took Flavius’ own horse-archers to win the skirmish, only fifty men had perished on the journey, but twenty had died and fifteen were injured from the skirmish. An inconsequential number when put alongside the size of Flavius’ army: fifteen-thousand, but still too much for the skirmish. Mazakes knew this, and determined to become a general of Taticius standard. Meanwhile Flavius attended to administration of the camp, guards, palisades, light fortification, rations and even mercenary wages with a group of Alans. However, when the leader’s demands became too extortionate and Flavius stabbed him in the gut there they relented with the fear of death in them. Flavius was a harsh man, but demanded respect from his soldiers.

The Emperor’s Tent, the Camp, May 30th

Alexios had arrived in the morning; it had been hectic after securing Cannakale he had force marched the army to Galatia, sending riders south through Turk territory, and only now could he relax. And now having relaxed in his tent, he took a short stroll. He made sure to have guards posted outside, trusted men who had served him for years, he was entertaining a young guest, at least, Alexios was middle-aged, and he seemed young to him. And while Alexios took a stroll round the camp the guest waited:
But Romanus Phillipus was young and handsome with it, his elegantly curved features carrying heavy hints of his dead father, he also had the natural disposition of ease inherent of the Phillipus family and as he reclined in the soft chair his light scent filled the air. Romanus nodded to the servant as he refilled his wine and said: “Alexios will be here in a minute, sir.” The servant had a painfully nasal voice, but Romanus did not wince, he replied lightly, his elegant voice and his sophisticated accent making the servant pay heed:
“Well the sun is setting in the west, he had better get here soon or I shall too.”
“Of course, sir.” The servant replied whimsically, “Anything I can do, sir?”
“No, you may leave.”
As the first servant left another walked through the hanging curtain guarding the tent, and observing the reclining noble man, feet on a footstall carved from finest ebony imported from Ceylon at great expense, eyes shut luxuriantly, coughed, he too had a nasal voice, presumably something Alexios nurtured a penchant for:
“Sir, the Emperor is coming, and he will not appreciate your feet dirtying the footstool.” Romanus raised an eyebrow, “Servant, I do not expect advice from you, go.”
The tone of his voice had changed dramatically from addressing the first servant, it was flat and harsh, although the refined accent subtly remained in the fore. The servant dropped his eyes and scurried through the same curtain the first one had left through. As soon as he had left though, Romanus dropped his feet from the stool, tonight he did not want to anger the Basil.
Several moments later the Basil walked in, with him he brought not the air of confrontation Romanus had expected, especially after the incident with the Byzantine League, in which his father had been irreparably involved, but an opening, trusting, look, as if he sook for friendship . And it was unbeknownst to Alexios that Romanus had fallen a very long way from the tree, he did not share his father’s sentiments. Indeed, Romanus considered that he had only inherited his father’s better traits, grace, composure, finesse, urbanity. And he was remarkably urbane now as he addressed the Basil:
“Hail, Emperor of Constantinople, I thank you for the fine wine you have seen fit to give me, and ask what it is you wish to ask, if it is permitted?”
The Basil ran his hand through his beard and raised it after a few moments of judgment, “Please, please, Romanus, here you are a guest and I hope to make a friend today, as I see prospect in you, a fine young man as you are. And I wish to prove the truth by extending the hand of friendship, and with it the hospitality of an Emperor of Rome.”
Romanus was taken aback, he was sure his mother had mentioned his father having met the Basil before, during the early stages Byzantine rebellion, and how Alexios had been cold and distanced, he had expected the same treatment, but no, unless this was some façade behind which hid a cold-blooded animal. He bowed deeply and sat again before he replied, his quick mind calculating all the time:
“It is an utmost honour to have the friendship of you, Alexios, I understand you secured Cannakale before moving to here, and I am interested, did the Turks put up a fight?”
“Funny you should mention it,” Alexios lowered himself gently into a padded armchair, “They didn’t, or at Nicomedia, or Nicaea, I suspect something, Romanus, a clever Turk trick.”
“Indeed,” Romanus ran a finger down the olive skin of his left cheek thoughtfully, “We can not afford another Manzikert, I was only six when it happened, but I still remember a visitor storming into the house and having a rage. I trust there are no Armenian generals this time around?”
The Basil smiled, “No, just Taticius, me and Flavius, and we each have our under-generals, captains and lieutenants.”
“All incomprehensible gabble to me sir,” Romanus said, “I am a man of politics not war.”
“A shame, you would have made a good leader of men.”
A silence lay over the tent, Romanus sipped some of the wine, pondering the Basil, as Alexios poured himself some more and lay back. They sized each other up, and Romanus spoke first, “When will Trebizond be taken, as I understand it we are pushing through Central Anatolia and missing Armenia and Trebizond until later.”
“That depends where the Turk army is, to which I have no clue, my agents have lost them, although I do not intend to be surprised as at Manzikert.”
“The Greeks, in particular Andronicus Halacaites, still remember the Norman invasions, they wish to attack Italy and reclaim land there, it would be wise to not spend to long fighting in Asia or you may face another major uprising. And the political machinations of Constantinople are only fathomable to those well experienced in dealing with such things, you must be careful, Basil. And quick, but not hasty, and we must not fail.” Romanus was serious,
“It is only natural for the Greeks to wish for vengeance, but they will have to wait, as will Andronicus Halacaites. I have a plan here, and I will not abandon it before it is finished.” The Basil stood, “God be with you, Romanus, I must leave to converse with Flavius Balgiarote, you are free in this camp to do as you wish, I leave you now.” And he strode out of the room, his elegant cloak flicking at his heels.
Romanus Phillipus whistled and leaned back in his chair, he closed his eyes and sipped some wine, he rested it down on the table before slowly falling to sleep.

June 12th , The road to Iconium, Near Kaymaz

The marching column of sixty-thousand had been marching since dawn, leaving only a thousand men to guard the camp, in high spirits they sang as they marched, of divine retribution upon the infidel Turks, of victory, of their families. Veterans recounted tales of the wars before Manzikert, of the Normans and new recruits were filled with an excitement for their first battle. And it came sooner than expected.
Alexios had been running an advanced forward scouting system, and it was reported to him in the morning that a Turk army was on the way, seventy-thousand men plus five-thousand nobles to the west. The Romans were conveniently in a sloping valley, so they set up a pike-line spanning the lowest curve of the valley. The mass of Alan mercenaries were set up on a ridge to the east and the archers and the catapults to the west, the plan was to funnel the army into a narrow gap to fight the infantry and to charge them with the Alans and rained arrows upon them. But in war, plans rarely go right.

“Romanus Phillipus, you are so unlike you’re father and yet so alike, it is uncanny.” Flavius Balgiarotes cast Romanus a sideways glance, expecting mention of his father to evoke some emotional reaction, but no, Romanus merely smiled and replied:
“I suppose I took the better aspects of him and did away with the… more rebellious parts.”
Upstart kid, cocky little… Flavius thought, but instead changed the topic, “Thank the Lord, I would hate to be anywhere near anyone like your father, no offence meant. Ever been in a battle before Romanus?”
“No.” he said, simply. “And as my first one looms on the horizon I do not quiver in fear, I stand tall and strong and await it.”
He thinks that, wait until some screaming Turk is lunging for his throat with a bloody sword “Can you surmise anything from Alexios’ tactics?”
“All I can work out is that he has kept the force as one except for the scouting forces to avoid a repetition of Manzikert, and that he intends to ‘lure’ the Turks into the bottleneck and enclose them.”
“Like Hannibal at Cannae in the days of the ancients, when our ancestors were defeated by the African general.”
“I have heard of that, my mother kept many books.”
“The books don’t tell of the horrors of war, of battle, when we meet the Turks this afternoon…”
He was cut short by an abnormally tall noble, riding up and tapping him on the shoulder, handing his a slab of meat and a goblet of wine, “With the Basil’s congratulations.” He said, with a hint of sarcasm on his voice. He was more cordial to Romanus, stating: “I knew your father,” before walking off.
After eating and have drunk his wine, Flavius turned to Romanus:
“Do you know him?”
“Indeed, he arrived in Constantinople a week before I left, he is Nikhita, the son of Mikhail Szekeres.”

Early-Afternoon

These were the last moments of peace they would have, and they spent it playing games, eating and drinking, silently psyching themselves up for the battle. But Flavius had other interests, Nikhita Szekeres
He strode casually up to the tall Kievan and tapped him on the shoulder, “I knew your father.”
Nikhita spat in Flavius’ face, evidently he was less of a political face than his slick father, “Traitor.”
“I was acting in not only my own best interests, but the Empire’s and Rome’s.” Flavius replied, serenely wiping the spit off his face.
“You killed my father.” Nikhita stood and drew his sword.
“No, your father caused his own death, and I wouldn’t do that, I may be fifty-one years of age but I am still an adept swordsman.” Nikhita lunged.
In one swift, flowing movement Flavius dodged the blade, drew his sword and knocked it out of Nikhita’s hands. He winked and stood on the sword, “Don’t be so hasty, young man, and don’t even think of stabbing me in the back, he kicked the sword away, among the silently watching nobles, and strode away. He could feel Nikhita’s eyes burning holes in his armour, but he did not turn, a waste of energy on that feisty young man.

[Incu_volta (Crown Prince)]

Very nice indeed. Amazing story telling- its intriguing and entertaining. I really like the fact you are more role playing than reporting.

Keep up the good work!!

[Schrödinger]

Thanks everyone battle impending Wednesday!

[Schrödinger]

The Battle Of Kaymaz


The Turks came at Mid-Afternoon, bringing bows and arrows aplenty, a massive horde riding through the Anatolian mountains. Captain Andronicus of the archers order the first volley, but the Turks struck first, and so began the battle of Kaymaz.



The Alans charged down the hill to skirmish the advancing Turks, mainly unarmoured peasants on foot, armed only with a short knife and a bow. It would be massacre as long as the Alans did not get bogged down.


“It is good to feel the blood of war coursing through our veins once more.”
The Alans turned the Turk advancing left flank, but did not listen to any orders from the generals, and the new mercenary leader Theotokios Alanoi, a Greek, could only hope the Alans did not do anything other than the harry the Turk archers on this flank, and did not charge into the mass of Turkish spears in the centre.



Meanwhile, on the Turk right, the mounted archers are engaged in heavy arrow exchanging between them and the archers, a battle that would continue long until the sun went down, indeed, when the Turk army withdrew to the other end of the valley. Groups of Turks remained on each flank, while the infantry rested. The Roman line relaxed as well, apart from the archers, who retained steady fire against the Turks. The Alans were skirmishing still on the Turk left.
It was not until the last bright hours of the day, when the sun was sinking over the hill in the west that the battle resumed in earnest.


And the Turk infantry was ordered to charge. They were backed up by a force of a thousand experienced Turk riders, who fired arrows into the waiting Roman line.


They were a group of men from Sinope that stood between victory and defeat, led by Captain Mazakes; they had fought before often, although never in a large engagement. And now they stood their ground and waited, while the spears, pikes and sword of the lines were drawn back, shields raised, and they braced themselves.
Mazakes had been given command of the right flank, of men he knew well, and it saddened him to watch Turk arrows find targets among his friends, he yelled an order for his men to stay in line, and prayed he could turn the Turks back. He raised his head and roared a defiant war cry:
“SINOOOOOOOOOOOOOPE!”
His men howled back and beat sword up shield as the Turks approached.
As they came closer Mazakes realized they were poorly armed and equipped, it would be an easier battle than expected, he turned to the hill, and saw in the distance the archers fire a volley. Defiance he thought, and raised his shield.


Mazakes had fought in mêlées before, but never on a scale as huge as this, this was a battle, not a moment of lapse in concentration could be afforded. He swung his sword at an approaching Turk and caught him in the gut, the Turk fell to the floor and clutched his stomach. This was war. After the initial charge the Turks kept their distance, poking the swordsmen from range, it was Mazakes’ turn to order a charge. And the Turks, seeing defeat was inevitable, were turned away on the Roman left, Mazakes set chase.


However, the centre and right were still engaged, but not for long as a detachment of the Sinope soldiers flanked the Turks and ate away the line. This left the entire infantry leaderless, except for Captain Mazakes’ squadron, so the hasty and bloodied soldiers hastened to join the nearest combat.
On the far left, on the hill, the outnumbered Roman kataphracts engaged the Turk heavy cavalry, and although their weapons were superior, they were outnumbered. And slowly but surely were ground into the dust.


“But now would the Varangians save us!”
Flavius was old, but he was a seasoned warrior, he roared back at the Turks, with their vile tongues and God, he fought hard, his noble war horse Gavras fought hard, but they were dying, slowly but surely, there were not enough. Turks, he felt anger, they had taken this land, it would take years to reclaim it, to re-institute the thematic system. And here he was dying! A lion roared in his heart and he lunged at the Turk in front of him, the man attempted to block his sword but failed. Blood swept through the air, behind him he heard the scream of a dying man:
“Flaaavius…”
“I will avenge you.” He whispered, blocking a Turks thrust and kicking the man of his horse, and suddenly, he was thrown of Gavras, and he lay on the floor. He moaned, he was broken, he heard strange, foreign voices above him, he heard footsteps and Greek words: “It is the general, slay him!”
He looked up and say Varangians, they had come. And he saw behind the proud Norse face, a Turk falling…


Through bloodied, crusted eyes, he saw the Turks face scrunched in pain, a silent scream etched on his mouth, he did not know whom the general was, but he croaked in an attempt to cheer, leaderless, the Turks would fall.
The Varangians had come.
Flavius closed his eyes, silently praying for life.

Romanorum Redividus,
An Imperator Somnium
Rome Redividus
Romanorum Specimen
Rome Redividus
Pugna procul Kaymaz

Rome rebuilt
An Emperor's Dream
Rome rebuilt
The Roman Ideal
Rome rebuilt
Battle at Kaymaz

Hic, is ero certus.
Here, it will be decided.


The Alans were engaging the remaining Turkomans, they flooded from the hills, a berserk swathe of death, those Turks that could escaped, ceding defeat to the Romans.
Countless dead lay on the field, Roman and Turk, groaning in agony, it would take a long time to recuperate, for both sides.

Aftermath
Alexios looked at the reporting Captain Exotrochos Vyasaches, “Yes sah, ten thousand dead and two-thousand mortally injured, fifteen hundred wounded but in a state fit to be marching in a week sah. Fifty-thousand Turks dead sah, and five-thousand captured, sah.”
Alexios stroked the bloodied flat side of his sword, “Kill the prisoners.” His voice was soft, yet determined, “Revenge for Manzikert.”
The officer bowed and scurried away, another came forward, “I bring two things Mi Lord. The head of Melik, the general, and news.” He paused,
“What? What is it.” Alexios was still nervy after the battle, “I know nearly all of the archers fell. And that the many of the Alans are reported missing. What is it?”
The man took a deep breath, steadied himself and spoke, “It is with great regret that I report that Flavius Balgiarotes is mortally wounded, and may not survive the night.”
Alexios groaned and buried his head in his hands, his second-in-command was a popular figure, he was needed. He waved the man away, and dealt with the rest of the reports stoically, yet notably less cheerful. He had won a battle and lost a friend.

[asoiaf]

A truely impressive piece of work. Keep it up.