Kommodus
04-08-2004, 05:03
My third MTW campaign, for which I chose Byzantine/High Period/Expert is about half finished. I've decided to chronicle some of the most significant events in it and write them up in story form. Since I can't yet post in the Mead Hall, I'm placing it in the Entrance Hall. Well, on with the story
A Tale of Eternal Glory
In Memory of the Heroes of Rome
Significance Obscured
Twilight had fallen on the small village of Huesca, near the border between the provinces of Castille and Aragon. On this particularly frigid November evening, most of the local villagers had retired for the night, and the red flicker coming from fireplaces was visible through cracks at the edges of windows and doors. Only the local tavern showed any sign of activity. The one thing out of the ordinary was a contingent of armoured men dressed in purple and bearing great axes standing outside the door. It was clear that these were men of the Roman Varangian Guard, but it was not clear at all what their business was in Huesca. While it was true that most of the inhabitants here could not remember a time without war, their lands had always been bypassed by conquering armies, as it was of little significance. They had simply done their best to survive in the midst of the madness, the senseless killing, and hoped that someday it would end. Therefore, they had been surprised and apprehensious when a troop of Romans had arrived late in the afternoon and taken up positions around the village. They had spoken to no one, and fortunately there had been no trouble so far.
Inside the bar were several more of the Varangian Guardsmen, but tonight they were not drinking. They spoke quietly and sparingly amongst themselves, yet seemed always vigilant. An observant eye would have noticed that they were keeping a close watch on one man, who sat alone at a table with a mug of mead before him. He was dressed warmly, with a gray cloak and hood around his shoulders. His chiseled features were partially obscured by a thick, yet neatly trimmed, beard and mustache. He appeared to be in his late forties, with dark brown hair streaked with silver, and eyes that had clearly seen more than their share of hardship. Through the gap in the front of his cloak, the coat of arms of the Byzantine Empire were just visible. The seat on the opposite side of the table was empty, yet there was another mug of ale, untouched, resting on the table there.
As the last rays of the sun began to fade into the night, the sound of marching boots became audible up the road leading into the town, coming from the north. They grew louder, and soon another troop of Varangian Guardsmen, marching in a column three men wide, entered the gate. Their leader spoke briefly with the night watchman, who pointed down the road in the direction of the tavern. They quickly resumed their march, heading in the direction indicated, and stopped outside the door. From their midst, a man dressed in a purple robe with silver mail armour underneath stepped forward. A thin band of silver complemented his silver-haired head. As he stepped up to the tavern door, the Varangian Guardsmen already waiting there saluted rigidly, the look of deep respect on their faces unmistakable. The man in purple casually returned the salute, then stepped inside the tavern. His gaze immediately went to the man in gray, who looked up from the table and rose to his feet. The two men met one another’s gaze for a moment, then began to walk towards one another, arms outstretched. They met in a warm embrace, which they held for several moments without speaking.
In Search Of Glory
It was the man in gray who broke the silence when they released. “Alexius, my old friend You finally decided to join us. How long has it been?” “Ten years at least, Comnenus,” replied the man in purple, rather grimly, yet with a relieved tone. “You have no idea how good it feels to finally be back on the frontier. You know I was never meant for the world of politics,” he chuckled. “Yes my friend,” responded Comnenus. “We are, and always will be, soldiers. But come,” he said, turning back to the table, “Rest a while; we will have plenty of time to discuss more weightly matters later.” The two took their places at the table, and each took a long draught from their mugs. Comnenus sat back in his chair for a moment, simply gazing at his friend across the table. Slowly he began to chuckle softly, and slowly shook his head. “Emperor Alexius the Third,” he said with an ironic grin. “I still can’t seem to get used to it. Still, I can’t imagine a better man to hold the title.” Alexius was leaning forward, resting his chin on his hand. “And you, Comnenus, look exactly as I remember you. I am rather impressed with the success you continue to have on the Iberian frontier. I must admit I envy you in many ways,” he said with a grin. There was silence for a moment. “Some say that my years away from the battlefield have somewhat dulled my abilities in that area,” Alexius continued, his smile fading.
Comnenus sat back up, looking Alexius in the eye. “You and I both know that isn’t true,” he said. “I may have been able to leave my governmental duties in Trebizond with some knowledgable people, and continue to do what I do best. But you, Alexius, are the greatest commander in the history of our people.” Alexius relaxed, and his grin returned. “You flatter me, Comnenus,” he chuckled. “But that’s why I came back. Did you know I turned fifty years old last month?” he asked. “I need to do everything I can to bring this war to an end. For I still hope,” he added, “to restore peace and order to these embattled lands. I belong in the saddle, with a sword in my hand. My arms forget their strength when all they hold is a pen. I have not many years left while I can still wield a brand.”
Comnenus was serious for a moment, then laughed. “Still leading from the front, I see,” he said. “From what I hear, you personally struck down the King of Aragon last summer. I wish I had been there to see that fight.” Alexius’s eyes suddenly came alive with a light that had not been there before. “Comnenus, you should have seen how the King of Aragon and his sons fought. Now that was a true royal family They made their last stand on a hill at the other side of a valley, with less than two hundred men. Many were royal knights, magnificent in their armour, facing regiments of our best Varangian Guard. Even as a moved out ahead of our left flank,” Alexius continued, “those knights charged straight for me. Rarely have I been met on the field of battle with such great men of honor. I spurred my horse and met them head on. You should have seen the fire in their eyes, Comnenus Even when our fine axemen struck them from the side and theywere surrounded, they fought to the last man, and many of our soldiers fell that day.” He paused in his monologue. “If all the men of Aragon share the nobility of their leaders, then this land will make a fine addition to the Empire.”
Comnenus had been listening quietly, a look of admiration on his face. “It is good to hear to speak like this again,” he said. “The letters you sent from Constantinople never quite showed the spark of life I remember from our earlier years.” Alexius nodded grimly, then changed the subject. “From what I hear of your battles, you’ve had a hard time finding any opponents who will stand fast,” he quipped. Comnenus nodded, shaking his head. “The English stood for a little while on the field at Leon,” he said. “They even showed some initiative at first, with those Jinettes. Fine cavalrymen, those. I thought I might have an interesting battle for a moment; after all, we were outnumbered. But after our arbalesters shot down a few of their horsemen, they wouldn’t approach the center of our lines anymore. We ended up with a cavalry battle on the right, and their Jinettes simply wouldn’t engage in a melee with our spear cavalry. Their commander, leading a company of Jinettes, just kept retreating. I think he was just trying to stay out of arms’ reach, but his men must have thought he was leaving the field, because they turned around and marched away. We only managed to catch a company of longbowmen who had been a bit too bold and gone after our horse archers on our right flank, alone.”
Comnenus paused, shaking his head. “What a mistake that was on their part. Maybe they planned to make for the port and evacuate by sea, but apparently their ships never showed up. We captured most of their army - all the men that couldn’t reach the castle. I left Leon the next year to head for Castille, but the English returned - hence our present dilemma.”
Alexius nodded. “Yes... that was the same year the Aragonese gave us battle in their homeland. But Castille,” he said, “Remind me about that expedition.” Comnenus shook his head and laughed. “There’s almost nothing to tell. Almost as soon as they saw our army approaching, they turned tail and marched off the battlefield. Not a shot was fired. What’s left of them will surely surrender their castle within a year. Perhaps the men of Aragon are not so brave when it’s not their homeland they are defending.” “Perhaps not,” Alexius signed. “Nevertheless, these lands were Roman long ago. Let us hope they will come to embrace the Roman way once again.”
Hope Beyond All Hope
The two men were silent for a moment. “May I ask you something, Comnenus?” asked Alexius. Comnenus waited expectantly. “So rarely, it seems, do we have the chance to step back for a moment, to examine our lives, to ask ourselves the hard questions about why we do the things we do... do you think any of this is worth it? You and I, we’ve never known anything but war. We’ve always operated under the assumption that our goal is to bring peace to this troubled world. Do you think we’re any closer to achieving it?”
For a moment, Comnenus’s gaze fell. He knew that for as long as anyone could remember, all of Europe had been aflame with war, torn along racial and national lines. The Poles fought the Germans, the Almohads fought the Spanish, the Danes fought the Russians, and the English fought the French. Vikings had taken Novgorod and overrun much of northern Asia and even large areas in Western Europe. The victorious English, having conquered France, had pushed into formerly Spanish lands, defeating the Almohads and engaging in war with the young Aragonese kingdom. For many years, the two great empires of England and Denmark had been at war with each other, tearing one another apart and destroying much of Europe in the process. Countless lives had been consumed in the fires of this great clash, while the pope ineffectually tried to mediate peace agreements between the many supposedly “Christian” factions in Europe. Throughout Roman lands, there had been relative peace and prosperity, even as the Western nations continued to weaken themselves and forced their people to live under ever-increasing oppression and poverty. The Roman emperors had agreed that this could not go on; they had a responsibility to bring peace and prosperity to the lands and people of their war-torn neighbors. But events of the last twenty years had cast a dark pall over this once-optimistic hope.
The Lingering Wound
“It’s hard to forget, isn’t it?” said Comnenus, looking up. Alexius nodded. They both knew what it was Comnenus spoke of. Civil war. “For what it’s worth, Alexius,” Comnenus said, “you brought it to a conclusion as quickly and painlessly as anyone could have expected.” Alexius looked away and scratched his chin. “You mean you did, Comnenus,” he said. “We both rushed back from our campaign in North Africa when the news reached us. The army in Bulgaria wouldn’t even fight when they saw my soldiers arriving. You were the one who did the real work... in Georgia.”
At the mention of Georgia, it seemed to Alexius that extra wrinkles appeared on Comnenus’s face, while the the ones already there deepened. It was as if he had grown several years older in a matter of moments. He looked up, his face emotionless. “That was the worst day of my life,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes closed for a moment and the painful memories came flooding back. The clash of steel, the agonized cries of the wounded and dying, certainly nothing out of the ordinary for an experienced battlefield commander... but something was wrong, terribly wrong. All the cries were Roman, the blood staining the ground was Roman, Comnenus was shouting orders like a madman to Roman troops, ordering them to kill Romans, to strike them down... it all seemed so surreal, so nightmarish. Had it really happened? Why couldn’t the rebels have simply lain down their arms? Didn’t they see that it was over? That there was nothing to be gained except the slaughter of hundreds of good men? And that was all that had been achieved that day. The greater part of both armies had fallen that on the field.
Comnenus, Duke of Trebizond, had faced the rebel ringleader, Comnenus of Georgia, on the mountainous terrain of Georgia, ideal for defensive tactics. And the Duke of Georgia was certainly an able commander, having proven himself to be a particularly excellent defender during the Russian war. Both armies were roughly equal in size and skill, except that the Duke of Trebizond had several regiments of Varangian Guard, all of which had remained loyal to the Emperor. However, on this day, it appeared that the Duke of Georgia had blundered. His men were placed on a high slope, but from Comnenus’s pointed of view, they were just behind the peak of a slope which was covered with trees. Comnenus’s men would be able to advance up the hill under cover of the trees, limiting the effectiveness of the traitor’s arbalest bolts. Furthermore, if he moved quickly, his men would be able to march over the peak of the slope and charge downhill into the traitor’s flank. Comnenus had deployed his men quickly, with the infantry in the center and Varangian Guard on the flanks, and set them marching. He followed behind with cavalry and bowmen. As Comnenus’ men advanced through the forest, however, the Duke of Georgia appeared to recognize his mistake. His infantry formed up in a line to face Comnenus’ advance, and charged. His men reached the peak of the hill first, giving them a slight height advantage over Comnenus’ men. He then sent cavalry to strike at the advance in an attempt to drive them back. The Varangian Guard joined the battle, attempting to catch the traitor’s cavalry in the woods. The clash was titanic. At first, the Duke of Georgia’s men were successful. They fought with great passion, knowing that their only choice was to stand or die, and killed most of Comnenus’ infantry, even routing one regiment. However, the Varangian Guard fought relentlessly and slowly turned the tide, at great cost to themselves. Comnenus committed his cavalry reserves, which managed to detroy the remnants of the traitor’s infantry, and then descended upon the exposed enemy bowmen. Even then, the traitors fought almost to the last man, turning to run only when almost all of their number lay dead on the field. Comnenus lost most of his army that day; even the great companies of Varangian Guard were greviously reduced.
Comnenus returned from his memories and looked back at Alexius, breathing a heavy sigh. “Yes, I fought the battle, and I thoroughly wish it had not been necessary. But it was you, Alexius, who returned to pick up the pieces of the Empire. You managed to forge what we can hope will be a lasting peace.” Alexius nodded, saying, “Yes, let us hope it lasts this time.” After a few moments he continued. “You know, Emperor John suspected it would happen. He sent me a message just before you and I began our North African campaign.” Comnenus looked at him quizically. “Didn’t I ever tell you?” he asked. “John hoped he would live long enough to see the young Constantine become Emperor. But he felt his age wearing on him, and he knew a plot was afoot. He was hearing whispers; or maybe it was just his instinct. But I received this from him while I was in Egypt, just before you and I began our march across North Africa.”
Out of his cloak, Alexius produced a wrinkled old letter, unfolded it, and handed it to Comnenus. The ink was faded but still clearly readable. It read,
General Alexius,
I write you this letter, not only because you are our people’s greatest commander, but because you are one of the few people I feel I can trust explicitly. While I hope to live long enough to see my son Constantine come of age, I fear I cannot guarantee it. There are wicked men in the Empire, who wish to claim power for themselves, for their own selfish reasons. They wish for nothing more than my death and the death of my son. Therefore, I give you this charge, as an Emperor and as a friend.
If I perish before Constantine is ready to rule, the stewardship of the Empire will fall to you. The traitors will not hesitate to make their move. You must act swiftly and decisively to crush any rebellion that takes place. The Empire will be in your hands, as well as my son. Do this faithfully for the good of the Roman people.
Signed, Emperor John I
P.S. If a rebellion breaks out, my son Constantine will be in immediate danger. Please come quickly to protect him, for his insight will be needed to lead the Empire in times of peace.
Comnenus read the letter and handed it back to Alexius. “Apparently, John’s trust was not misplaced,” he said. Alexius did not respond. Shaking his head, Comnenus went on. “None of us could have imagined it would be the Duke of Georgia. He had always seemed very loyal, and he was well liked. It was such a terrible waste to lose him, though,” Comnenus said sadly. “He was a hero, and a fine commander.” Alexius gloomily grunted an acknowledgment. Suddenly Comnenus raised his head and asked, “Constantine. How is the heir to the throne these days?” Alexius jumped at the chance to speak on a brighter subject. “He’s such an intelligent young man, Comnenus,” he said. “Did you know he just turned sixteen? He’s admittedly no battlefield commander, but he’s wise, just, and simply brilliant. He will make a fine Emperor in times of peace. That’s why I would like to hand him an empire at peace.” Alexius paused, then continued in a troubled tone. “But how will these wars we fight achieve peace? We claim we are bringing peace to the embattled lands of Europe, but we can’t even seem to secure peace within our own borders. Why is it so elusive?”
“Peace, Alexius,” mused Comnenus. “Complete peace is not something we can ever fully achieve. Perhaps we can get something closer to it when men learn to truly care for others as they do for themselves. Real peace is not achieved through politics, or war. The battles we fight now may bring a temporary end to open war in the land, but men will continue to fight amonst themselves. For real peace to be had, it is men’s hearts that must change. It is there that the real battle is fought.” Comnenus looked up to see Alexius grinning at him. “You always were one to wax philosophical,” Alexius chuckled. Comnenus shrugged and responded, “As for the battles we fight now, who can be certain what they will achieve? Perhaps they will at least make it possible to create an environment in which people need not always fear for the lives, livelihood, and loved ones. But peace? No, my friend, they will not achieve that. That is a much more difficult thing to attain.”
Both men were silent again for a few moments. A cold draft blew through the tavern, and Comnenus pulled his cloak tighter around himself. “I never thought I’d wish for the desert heat again, but a bit of it now would be welcome,” he said. Alexius, on the other hand, did not seem to be as bothered by the chill. “I, my friend, have had more than enough of the desert to last a lifetime,” he said ruefully. “Yes, I can understand that,” responded Comnenus. “You’ve spent somewhat more time there than I have in your lifetime. That’s where you really cemented your reputation, isn’t it?” Alexius furrowed his eyebrow briefly, as if trying to remember something, then met Comnenus’s gaze. Both spoke at once: “Syria.” Alexius laughed and shook his head. “It seems a very long time ago... no, it was a very long ago. Thirty years at least...” Now it was Alexius’s turn to close his eyes, as his thoughts drifted back to a distant memory. For a moment, he could almost feel the Syrian sun beating down on his brow. It was decidedly uncomfortable...
The Sacrifice of the Past
A younger Alexius rose from his crouched position, his right hand full of sand. Rising to his full height, he let the sand slowly slip through his fingers to the barren desert floor. Here and there, light gusts of wind blew grains of sand across the land, slowly building up huge drifts and creating a soft howling sound, but other than that there was almost no wind. The last grains fell from Alexius’s hand, almost straight to the ground. Alexius looked up, listening to the sound of his troops marching in formation across the desert under the merciless white-hot sun. He knew they were already sweating in their armour; Alexius, his bodyguards, and their horses all felt the same way. They were all out of their element, and understandably unnerved by the charge that had been laid on them. Alexius shook his head, scarcely believing it himself. He had been assigned to lead some 1,200 warriors into the depths of Egyptian lands, and challenge an army nearly 3,500 strong. The Egyptian army was strong and experienced, its ranks filled with Saracens, Nubians, Nizaris, Bedouin camel warriors, and fast cavalry, augmented by crack units of Abyssinian Guardsmen. All of these troops were well suited to desert warfare, and were led by a competent Egyptian commander. They would be at their peak fighting ability on this day, and would be particularly angry to find that their lands had been invaded by the Romans.
Of course, Alexius had understood and agreed with the Emperor’s reasoning. Egypt had broken its alliance with Constantinople some years earlier, and had recently launched unprovoked attacks on Rum and other Roman provinces. The Roman armies, which had been guarding the borders against any more invasions by the Golden Horde, quickly turned to face the new threat, beating the Egyptians back although outnumbered nearly two-to-one on many occasions. Year after year, the Egyptians had been sending armies into Roman lands, only to have them repulsed with great loss, and yet they continued to come. Spies had reported an almost inexaustible supply of fresh Egyptian troops, with more being equipped each year from the deep coffers in Cairo. The Emperor had ordered more Roman troops trained, and their numbers on the Egyptian front were slowly increasing. But the Empire had too many fronts to guard. The Hungarians, Italians, and Germans still threatened on the western frontier, and the horsemen of Mongolia stood menacingly across the eastern border. The small Roman navy was frantically building a fleet to challenge the invincible might of the Italian armada. The Roman armies facing swarms of angry Egyptians would simply have to make do as best they could. They had been holding their own for years, fighting strictly defensive actions; but recently had been given a serious fright when a brilliant Egyptian commander had taken Lesser Armenia. A Roman army had been recalled from the western front to retake it. If the Romans were to go on the offensive, now was the time. Perhaps it was the best chance they would ever have to take the war to the enemy.
Hence, Alexius had been sent from Rum to challenge the might of Egypt. If Syria fell, all the lands on the eastern Mediterranean coast would soon follow, depriving Egypt of its main source of income. If Alexius lost, his army would be destroyed, and Asia Minor would be open to Egyptian conquest. The stakes could not have been higher. Alexius’s mind was racing as a dust cloud became visible over the horizon, followed by the distant shapes of men marching. The Egyptians had arrived.
Fortunately for the Romans, the battlefield was relatively flat, with only gently rolling dunes. The Egyptian archers would have no height advantage. They had deployed with a long line of Saracens and Nubians in front, screened by deadly Nizaris and arbalesters. The Egyptian right was held by a unit of Abyssinian Guardsmen wielding great axes. These men could almost go toe-to-toe with Alexius’s own Varangian Guard, except that the Egyptian axemen had no armor. As Alexius surveyed the enemy, he knew his men would fare well in the initial clash. His own swordsmen would be able to handle the Egyptian spear troops. It was the Egyptian cavalry he was more worried about. However, the sun seemed to be getting even hotter, and there was no time to lose. Alexius deployed a long line of infantry opposite the Egyptians, with Trebizond archers in front. Spear cavalry guarded the wings of his army, and a unit of Varagian Guard was held in reserve, slightly to the left. Light horsemen armed with bows advanced ahead of the army on each wing. The Roman army stopped, just out of bowshot range, and the horse archers continued on ahead, nocking their arrows. The battle had begun.
The first Roman arrows fell among the ranks of Egyptian Abyssinian Guard, and the Roman horse spread out as the Egyptians bowmen prepared to answer. The nimble horsemen would loose a shower or two of arrows, then rush back toward their own lines, trying to draw units of enemy infantry within range of the Trebizond archers. Occasionally it worked, and the Egyptians began to suffer casualties. Alexius ordered his army to slowly push forward, and the archery duel intensified. The Egyptians were falling faster than the Romans, but they still had a huge numerical advantage. Suddenly, the Egyptian army began to move; its commander had ordered his men to occupy different defensive positions. They were momentarily out of position, and Alexius seized the opportunity. Ranks of Roman infantry and horsemen began to roll forward, drawing ever nearer to the Egyptian lines. The Egyptian commander suddenly appeared to change his mind, and ordered an attack. The two armies met in a great clash.
On the Roman right, two units of Saracens had been caught isolated from the rest of their army, and were being cut down by Roman swords. The bulk of the Egyptian army fell on the Roman right, where once again the Roman infantry had the upper hand. But a unit of tough, armoured Kwarazmians was rumbling towards the line. Alexius had planned to use his Varangian Guard to counter this force, but the Guard had become engaged with enemy spearmen and axemen, as it was backing up the single unit of Roman spearmen. Therefore, a unit of infantry was forced to hold off the Kwarazmians until some Roman cavalry could get through the center and strike them from behind. The Egyptian formation began to collapse, and soon the Roman spearmen began to march towards the exposed enemy commander, who was leading a detachment of light cavalry. The spearmen were threatened on their flanks by Egyptian cavalry, but soon Alexius’s own cavalry came to their aid and drove into the enemy from behind, forcing their commander to withdraw. The Egyptian army began to flee, and even the Roman horse archers joined in the pursuit. Few of the initial Egyptian army on the field survived. The Roman army was still strong, having lost comparatively few of its own number. Alexius sensed an early success.
Unfortunately, most of Alexius’s men were now exhausted from the heat and the fierce fighting. He knew this, and his heart sank when he saw the Egyptians begin to bring up reinforcements - wave after wave of Bedouin camel warriors, fresh and ready for battle, accompanied by a small number of light cavalry. While under normal circumstances, the Roman infantrymen would be more than a match for these warriors, Alexius’s swordsmen were weary and his archers were nearly out of arrows. He managed to isolate a few units of camels and drive them from the field, but soon a large force of them had gathered on a hill facing the Roman right, threatening a flanking maneuver. Alexius gathered his men to prepare for the inevitable attack, with a line of infantry backed by archers facing the camels and a mixture of infantry, axemen, and the remains of the cavalry gathered on the left, threating the right flank of the Egyptian onslaught. When the Bedouins had nearly reached his lines, Alexius ordered his men forward.
Alexius had blundered. Despite being on the verge of heat exhaustion, his men fought bravely and initially had success against their enemies. However, their line did not stretch far enough on the right, and they were outflanked. Camels smashed into the flank of the Roman infantry. Embattled, exhausted, and outflanked, the infantry began to flee. Alexius had not timed his own flanking maneuver properly. Axemen and extra Roman infantry reached the fight on the left, but it was too late; the center collapsed. Alexius ordered his archers forward to hold the line. These men, wearing much less armour than the infantry, were not as tired, but they were not a good match for the fierce camel warriors they now faced. Alexius was reduced to fighting a desperate containment action, trying to prevent his entire army from being overrun. Too often, Bedouins succeeded in flanking individual Roman infantry units and driving them into retreat, but again and again the Romans rallied and continued to fight. Even the fearsome Varangian Guard was forced to retreat, having been almost completely wiped out. Finally, the Romans drove back the Egyptian attack, and the Bedouins fled the field. Alexius rallied his scattered companies of infantry and breathed a sigh of relief, but many men had fallen, and the battle was still not over. Another wave of Egyptians marched onto the field, this one composed of a variety of infantry. Urban militia, spearmen, and some archers now threatened the greviously thinned Roman lines. Once again, with the help of the archers, the Romans pushed the enemy back. Alexius led his exhausted bodyguards into the action at a critical stage in the fight. He felt he had held back too long.
Alexius now had almost no infantry left. Most of the remaining troops were archers, along with a handful of horse archers, who had long since run out of arrows. His own bodyguard had only a few men left. He had called for his meager reinforcements - a company of spearmen and a small group of horse archers. However, they had a long way to march across the desert, and the final wave of Egyptians was now advancing toward the Romans. There were some spearmen, militia, peasants, and bowmen, along with one last company of Abyssinian Guard. If they attacked now, Alexius had nothing to stop them with. Egyptian arrows began to rain down on the Romans, who had no answer of their own. Alexius ordered his tattered companies to spread out and stand firm. He marvelled at the courage of his men.
Again and again, the Egyptians threatened an attack, only to turn around and draw back. Here and there, a man fell with an Egyptian arrow in his flesh, but the Egyptians had to be running out of arrows. Finally, the Roman reinforcements drew near, already tired from their long march. However, much to Alexius’s surprise, the enemy finally turned around and marched off the field Against hope, the day was his. More than 800 Romans lay dead on the field, along with 1700 Egyptians. Alexius knew he had made many mistakes. He had allowed his units to become isolated and outmatched, instead of making sure they would be mutually supported. He himself had held back from the fight for too long, when his men needed his inspiration. As a result, less than three hundred men survived of Alexius’s initial army, but they had beaten the power of Egypt.
For his victory at the battle of Syria, Alexius had won great renown. The Egyptians scraped together all the troops they could and attacked Syria the following year, but Alexius had reinforced his position, and drove them back. The Empire of Egypt had lost too many men and leaders to recover, and the following year, it broke apart in confusion. Egyptian commanders would no longer face the Romans in battle. Soon the purple-clad armies had occupied the rich Mediterranean lands and pushed as far south as Arabia. Other commanders, including the Duke of Trebizond, were also present, building up their reputations in battle against the failing Egyptian Sultanate. But it was Alexius himself who finally led a victorious army into Cairo, forever breaking the power of the Sultans. The last Sultan led a small band of exiles westward into the desert, where he would survive for some years, a broken shadow of his former self.
Wisdom for the Present
“Hello?” Alexius quickly opened his eyes at the voice of his friend, returning from his memories. He was back in the dim tavern, and once again an old man. “You drifted off there for a moment there,” Comnenus was chuckling. “Yes, I suppose I did,” Alexius responded, taking a drink of from his mug of ale. “Well, the night is wearing on, and we may soon be too weary to talk. Shall we discuss what we came here to discuss?” Comnenus grinned. “If it cannot be avoided.” From within his cloak, he drew out a roll of parchment, yellow and worn at the edges, and unrolled it, placing it on the table. It was a detailed map of Iberia, and included a part of what used to be southern France. His finger went immediately to a spot on the map where, in large letters, the word “Leon” was printed, and he began to speak in a tone that was as business-like as could be expected between old friends. “The English landed in force here last Spring, with an army of more than 3,500 men. As you know, we had only taken the province the year before; I’ve already told about that battle, if indeed it can be called such. We hadn’t expected them to strike there; I had left seven hundred men to continue the siege, while I led the main part of my army into Castille to finish of the Aragonese. The castle in Madrid is still under siege, but should fall by the end of next year. Nevertheless, when our men in Leon realized the size of the English army, they chose to withdraw rather than sacrifice their lives needlessly. They’ve been waiting in Cordoba for instructions.” Comnenus paused, as if expecting something. Alexius nodded. “They made the right decision. We will need those men to contain the English and drive them back, but we will fight when we choose to, on our own terms.” Comnenus, satisfied, continued the briefing. “The English force is led by their King, and includes several princes and a large contingent of knights. The rest of it is rather mixed in quality; there are a few units of the billmen and longbowmen who have fought well in the past, but there are also large numbers of militia and some peasants. A lot of the units have seen battle; many are reduced in strength. So our advance scouts have reported.
Alexius was lost in thought for a moment; then he spoke. “The English have left themselves weak in their northern and western lands, Comnenus. Here,” he said, pointing to Aquitaine on the map, “And here,” pointing to Navarre. “Their only sizable army in the north is led by Prince Henry, in Anjou. However, while the army is 1,400 strong and Henry is a battlefield commander to be respected, his soldiers are not well trained or equipped. Even the 700 or so soldiers I left in Toulouse should be able to deal with them, should they attack.” He shook his head. “The only potential weakness is my second-in-command, Nicephorus Maniakes, who I left there when we marched into Aragon. He’s an able commander, and shows promise, but he’s still green, fresh from the Academy. He’s never seen real battle yet, but he may get the test of his life soon enough.” Comnenus chuckled in response to this. “You, my friend,” he said, “Gave a lot of people quite a fright when you led your entire army by boat into Toulouse. Word couldn’t get back for months, and rumors started to spread that there was no longer an Emperor on the throne. The provincial governors had to take drastic steps to prevent any uprisings, especially in our new holdings. It was a good thing you managed to link up with us the following year.” “Yes Comnenus,” Alexius agreed, “I know I took a risk. But look what we’ve accomplished The English are reeling from the blow we dealt them. This strike into Leon is the last desperate gasp of a dying Empire. Their coffers are empty; they can’t raise any more troops. They couldn’t afford to lose the men trapped in the castle there, and besides, their only remaining hope is to retake the rich lands they used to hold in Iberia. But in making this thrust, they’ve cut off the last potent army from their empire, and exposed it to capture and utter anhihilation if it’s defeated. And we will defeat it,” he added confidently.
“Yes, I suppose your invasion of Toulouse was well worth it,” said Comnenus. “I’m still impressed that our navy was able to make such a landing possible, when they had both the Italian and English fleets to deal with.” Alexius nodded in agreement. “Most of the credit for that goes to Andronicus Ducas, our most experienced admiral, and his protege, Basil Angelus. Between the two of them, they’ve managed to clear out almost all the Italian and English ships from the Mediterranean. I don’t think Andronicus has lost a battle in all of my memory. But for now,” he pointed back to the map, “Here is what we must do. The English advance threatens Cordoba, where we are weakest, and I believe that that is where they will strike next. We will order the Duke of Morocco to move from his post in Valencia and meet the English in Cordoba, if they strike there. He will join forces with your troops that retreated there from Leon last Spring, and he will have plenty of Varangian Guard to deal with their knights. He is a fine commander; he aquitted himself well in the North African campaign, and I have no doubt in his abilities.” “Neither do I,” agreed Comnenus. “But we must also counterattack soon.” “I agree,” nodded Alexius, “And I’d like you to lead our forces into Leon once the Enlish army there is somewhat reduced. You have the best knowledge of the terrain, and you are the most skilled attacker we have.” Comnenus did not respond to the latter part of Alexius’s statement, but agreed that this was the best course of action. “At the same time,” Alexius continued, “I’ll send troops to Aquitaine. This will cut off one of England’s best sources of income. After that, we can easily seize the remaining English holdings on the continent.”
The Legacy of the Ancients
Battle plans laid, the two generals and friends sat back to finish the last dregs of their ale. “You know, Alexius, this situation is not altogether different from the Defense of Constantinople.” Alexius laughed incredulously at this. “You can’t seriously mean our present situation is anywhere near as dire as the one our ancestors faced, Comnenus?” he said. “No, the situation is not as desperate,” replied Comnenus, “but we face a powerful army that outnumbers ours, and while a victory could destroy them forever, defeat could mean the loss of many valuable lands to us. It’s a sort of do-or-die situation.” Alexius nodded knowingly. “Except in our case,” he said, “it is not the very existence of the Empire that is in jeopardy. Which, of course, I’m certainly very glad of,” he added. “Nevertheless, it would have been incredible to be alive during that age, when Emperor Constantine himself had made his stand outside the walls of the City, with the invincible Mongol Horde bearing down on him and his army.” “Yes, everyone hears the those tales of glory at the Academy these days,” replied Comnenus. “Except, of course, it didn’t begin with glory at all.” “No it didn’t,” Alexius responded grimly. “Until the Khan arrived, our armies had not yet had serious trouble holding back the Mongols. They had only attacked with substantial numbers of horse archers, and our men had found shelter in the trees, while our archers from Trebizond returned what fire they could. That was before the Khan arrived with huge numbers of heavy cavalry and struck at Trebizond.” At this point, Comnenus picked up the retelling of the story. “I suppose Prince Romanus should be forgiven for his errors in that battle,” he said. “We simply hadn’t tasted the full fury of those warriors up until that point. I probably would have tried the same thing - deploying on a high hill in a strong defensive formation, with both flanks guarded and huge numbers of archers to kill the Mongols from a distance.” He paused, his expression grim, then continued. “They say that even when his line collapsed from the pressure on all sides, and his entire army broke into flight, Romanus kept fighting like a madman. Every one of his bodyguards was dead before he realized the battle was lost. Still, he managed to extract himself from the fight and leave the field without panicking. I wonder if I could have done the same.” Alexius nodded, “None of us could know this for certain, when we have never faced the same situation. Nevertheless, your courage is legendary, and I am certain you would aquit yourself well.”
Since Comnenus did not respond, Alexius continued. “Even though he was beaten, Romanus hadn’t given up. When the entire Mongol army picked up and continued westward several days later, he led his men out of the fort and followed them secretly. Perhaps he knew he would be needed later. He even managed to get messengers to Constantinople with news of the defeat. They turned out to be just in time, too.” Comnenus was listening, so Alexius continued. “Constantine had left the city virtually undefended; he was holding Bulgaria against the Hungarians at the time. His army was the only one that could reach the city in time. Also, the messengers brought news of the Mongol tactics, so Constantine knew what to expect.” He shook his head. “Without that information, all would have been lost. Constantine had learned not to face the Mongols in a head-on engagement on open terrain. His entire army was deployed in the forest, in a way that would not provide the Mongols with a single weakness in his line to exploit. Even so, if not for the arrogance of the Khan, Constantine would have failed. After the Battle of Trebizond, the Khan was so confident that he boasted to his men that he could break the Romans with only his own detachment of cavalry.”
Comnenus finally broke in, laughing. “And he came surprisingly close to it, didn’t he?” he said. Alexius nodded. “Those horsemen were some of the finest warriors in the world,” he said. “In the end, the Khan had some support from his own infantry and horse archers, but the rest of the heavy cavalry stood back while the Khan led his own unit straight into the woods and attacked Constantine’s army. It was a desperate fight, and Constantine was forced to lead his own horsemen around the enemy flank and attack from behind. Even then, the Khan and his men fought like devils, killing a lot of Romans. All of Rome breathed a sigh of relief when the Khan finally fell with Constantine’s sword in his flesh.” Alexius paused in his retelling, having reached the climax. “When their Khan never returned from the forest, the rest of the Mongols weren’t sure what to do. Eventually evening came and they were forced to leave the field. They tried to return to Trebizond, but Romanus and his men were now guarding the passes they planned to return by Trapped between the Emperor and his son, the entire lot had no choice but to surrender.” Comnenus shook his head. “It didn’t save their hides in the end, though,” he said. “The Khan’s motivation for attacking our Empire had been money; his warriors had simply exhausted their plunder, and they needed more. Fortunately for us, that had been their last significant army. The whole lot of them was killed; but out of respect, Constantine gave them a warrior’s death.”
Eternal Glory
Alexius breathed a heavy sigh. “In some ways I envy them, Comnenus,” he said. “I’ve always imagined I would have a warriors death as well. Not a slow, painful decline into old age and uselessness. The thought of it has troubled me many nights in Constantinople. Nevertheless, it is not for a man to choose his own hour of departure; we must each simply live as wisely as we can, for all the days laid out for us in the Almighty’s plan.” Comnenus chuckled. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “Nevertheless, if you keep doing what you’re doing now, you may yet receive that warrior’s death.” Comnenus lifted his almost-empty mug. “To eternal glory” he said. “For as a wise Roman once said, ‘What we do in life, echoes in eternity.’” Alexius lifted his mug in response, and together they downed the last of the liquid. “Now,” said Alexius, “Let us have one more drink, and speak of more joyful things.” They refilled their mugs, and as the night dragged on, they spoke of their families, their closest friends, their frivolous pasttimes, and all the insignificant things that sometimes seemed to be the only things of significance in the whole world. By the time they left the tavern and retired to the local inn, accompanied by their guards, both had completely forgotten the endless troubles of their lives, and were completely at peace. For one night, they were able to enjoy untroubled, dreamless sleep, their worries drowned in an endless sea of forgetfulness...
A Tale of Eternal Glory
In Memory of the Heroes of Rome
Significance Obscured
Twilight had fallen on the small village of Huesca, near the border between the provinces of Castille and Aragon. On this particularly frigid November evening, most of the local villagers had retired for the night, and the red flicker coming from fireplaces was visible through cracks at the edges of windows and doors. Only the local tavern showed any sign of activity. The one thing out of the ordinary was a contingent of armoured men dressed in purple and bearing great axes standing outside the door. It was clear that these were men of the Roman Varangian Guard, but it was not clear at all what their business was in Huesca. While it was true that most of the inhabitants here could not remember a time without war, their lands had always been bypassed by conquering armies, as it was of little significance. They had simply done their best to survive in the midst of the madness, the senseless killing, and hoped that someday it would end. Therefore, they had been surprised and apprehensious when a troop of Romans had arrived late in the afternoon and taken up positions around the village. They had spoken to no one, and fortunately there had been no trouble so far.
Inside the bar were several more of the Varangian Guardsmen, but tonight they were not drinking. They spoke quietly and sparingly amongst themselves, yet seemed always vigilant. An observant eye would have noticed that they were keeping a close watch on one man, who sat alone at a table with a mug of mead before him. He was dressed warmly, with a gray cloak and hood around his shoulders. His chiseled features were partially obscured by a thick, yet neatly trimmed, beard and mustache. He appeared to be in his late forties, with dark brown hair streaked with silver, and eyes that had clearly seen more than their share of hardship. Through the gap in the front of his cloak, the coat of arms of the Byzantine Empire were just visible. The seat on the opposite side of the table was empty, yet there was another mug of ale, untouched, resting on the table there.
As the last rays of the sun began to fade into the night, the sound of marching boots became audible up the road leading into the town, coming from the north. They grew louder, and soon another troop of Varangian Guardsmen, marching in a column three men wide, entered the gate. Their leader spoke briefly with the night watchman, who pointed down the road in the direction of the tavern. They quickly resumed their march, heading in the direction indicated, and stopped outside the door. From their midst, a man dressed in a purple robe with silver mail armour underneath stepped forward. A thin band of silver complemented his silver-haired head. As he stepped up to the tavern door, the Varangian Guardsmen already waiting there saluted rigidly, the look of deep respect on their faces unmistakable. The man in purple casually returned the salute, then stepped inside the tavern. His gaze immediately went to the man in gray, who looked up from the table and rose to his feet. The two men met one another’s gaze for a moment, then began to walk towards one another, arms outstretched. They met in a warm embrace, which they held for several moments without speaking.
In Search Of Glory
It was the man in gray who broke the silence when they released. “Alexius, my old friend You finally decided to join us. How long has it been?” “Ten years at least, Comnenus,” replied the man in purple, rather grimly, yet with a relieved tone. “You have no idea how good it feels to finally be back on the frontier. You know I was never meant for the world of politics,” he chuckled. “Yes my friend,” responded Comnenus. “We are, and always will be, soldiers. But come,” he said, turning back to the table, “Rest a while; we will have plenty of time to discuss more weightly matters later.” The two took their places at the table, and each took a long draught from their mugs. Comnenus sat back in his chair for a moment, simply gazing at his friend across the table. Slowly he began to chuckle softly, and slowly shook his head. “Emperor Alexius the Third,” he said with an ironic grin. “I still can’t seem to get used to it. Still, I can’t imagine a better man to hold the title.” Alexius was leaning forward, resting his chin on his hand. “And you, Comnenus, look exactly as I remember you. I am rather impressed with the success you continue to have on the Iberian frontier. I must admit I envy you in many ways,” he said with a grin. There was silence for a moment. “Some say that my years away from the battlefield have somewhat dulled my abilities in that area,” Alexius continued, his smile fading.
Comnenus sat back up, looking Alexius in the eye. “You and I both know that isn’t true,” he said. “I may have been able to leave my governmental duties in Trebizond with some knowledgable people, and continue to do what I do best. But you, Alexius, are the greatest commander in the history of our people.” Alexius relaxed, and his grin returned. “You flatter me, Comnenus,” he chuckled. “But that’s why I came back. Did you know I turned fifty years old last month?” he asked. “I need to do everything I can to bring this war to an end. For I still hope,” he added, “to restore peace and order to these embattled lands. I belong in the saddle, with a sword in my hand. My arms forget their strength when all they hold is a pen. I have not many years left while I can still wield a brand.”
Comnenus was serious for a moment, then laughed. “Still leading from the front, I see,” he said. “From what I hear, you personally struck down the King of Aragon last summer. I wish I had been there to see that fight.” Alexius’s eyes suddenly came alive with a light that had not been there before. “Comnenus, you should have seen how the King of Aragon and his sons fought. Now that was a true royal family They made their last stand on a hill at the other side of a valley, with less than two hundred men. Many were royal knights, magnificent in their armour, facing regiments of our best Varangian Guard. Even as a moved out ahead of our left flank,” Alexius continued, “those knights charged straight for me. Rarely have I been met on the field of battle with such great men of honor. I spurred my horse and met them head on. You should have seen the fire in their eyes, Comnenus Even when our fine axemen struck them from the side and theywere surrounded, they fought to the last man, and many of our soldiers fell that day.” He paused in his monologue. “If all the men of Aragon share the nobility of their leaders, then this land will make a fine addition to the Empire.”
Comnenus had been listening quietly, a look of admiration on his face. “It is good to hear to speak like this again,” he said. “The letters you sent from Constantinople never quite showed the spark of life I remember from our earlier years.” Alexius nodded grimly, then changed the subject. “From what I hear of your battles, you’ve had a hard time finding any opponents who will stand fast,” he quipped. Comnenus nodded, shaking his head. “The English stood for a little while on the field at Leon,” he said. “They even showed some initiative at first, with those Jinettes. Fine cavalrymen, those. I thought I might have an interesting battle for a moment; after all, we were outnumbered. But after our arbalesters shot down a few of their horsemen, they wouldn’t approach the center of our lines anymore. We ended up with a cavalry battle on the right, and their Jinettes simply wouldn’t engage in a melee with our spear cavalry. Their commander, leading a company of Jinettes, just kept retreating. I think he was just trying to stay out of arms’ reach, but his men must have thought he was leaving the field, because they turned around and marched away. We only managed to catch a company of longbowmen who had been a bit too bold and gone after our horse archers on our right flank, alone.”
Comnenus paused, shaking his head. “What a mistake that was on their part. Maybe they planned to make for the port and evacuate by sea, but apparently their ships never showed up. We captured most of their army - all the men that couldn’t reach the castle. I left Leon the next year to head for Castille, but the English returned - hence our present dilemma.”
Alexius nodded. “Yes... that was the same year the Aragonese gave us battle in their homeland. But Castille,” he said, “Remind me about that expedition.” Comnenus shook his head and laughed. “There’s almost nothing to tell. Almost as soon as they saw our army approaching, they turned tail and marched off the battlefield. Not a shot was fired. What’s left of them will surely surrender their castle within a year. Perhaps the men of Aragon are not so brave when it’s not their homeland they are defending.” “Perhaps not,” Alexius signed. “Nevertheless, these lands were Roman long ago. Let us hope they will come to embrace the Roman way once again.”
Hope Beyond All Hope
The two men were silent for a moment. “May I ask you something, Comnenus?” asked Alexius. Comnenus waited expectantly. “So rarely, it seems, do we have the chance to step back for a moment, to examine our lives, to ask ourselves the hard questions about why we do the things we do... do you think any of this is worth it? You and I, we’ve never known anything but war. We’ve always operated under the assumption that our goal is to bring peace to this troubled world. Do you think we’re any closer to achieving it?”
For a moment, Comnenus’s gaze fell. He knew that for as long as anyone could remember, all of Europe had been aflame with war, torn along racial and national lines. The Poles fought the Germans, the Almohads fought the Spanish, the Danes fought the Russians, and the English fought the French. Vikings had taken Novgorod and overrun much of northern Asia and even large areas in Western Europe. The victorious English, having conquered France, had pushed into formerly Spanish lands, defeating the Almohads and engaging in war with the young Aragonese kingdom. For many years, the two great empires of England and Denmark had been at war with each other, tearing one another apart and destroying much of Europe in the process. Countless lives had been consumed in the fires of this great clash, while the pope ineffectually tried to mediate peace agreements between the many supposedly “Christian” factions in Europe. Throughout Roman lands, there had been relative peace and prosperity, even as the Western nations continued to weaken themselves and forced their people to live under ever-increasing oppression and poverty. The Roman emperors had agreed that this could not go on; they had a responsibility to bring peace and prosperity to the lands and people of their war-torn neighbors. But events of the last twenty years had cast a dark pall over this once-optimistic hope.
The Lingering Wound
“It’s hard to forget, isn’t it?” said Comnenus, looking up. Alexius nodded. They both knew what it was Comnenus spoke of. Civil war. “For what it’s worth, Alexius,” Comnenus said, “you brought it to a conclusion as quickly and painlessly as anyone could have expected.” Alexius looked away and scratched his chin. “You mean you did, Comnenus,” he said. “We both rushed back from our campaign in North Africa when the news reached us. The army in Bulgaria wouldn’t even fight when they saw my soldiers arriving. You were the one who did the real work... in Georgia.”
At the mention of Georgia, it seemed to Alexius that extra wrinkles appeared on Comnenus’s face, while the the ones already there deepened. It was as if he had grown several years older in a matter of moments. He looked up, his face emotionless. “That was the worst day of my life,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes closed for a moment and the painful memories came flooding back. The clash of steel, the agonized cries of the wounded and dying, certainly nothing out of the ordinary for an experienced battlefield commander... but something was wrong, terribly wrong. All the cries were Roman, the blood staining the ground was Roman, Comnenus was shouting orders like a madman to Roman troops, ordering them to kill Romans, to strike them down... it all seemed so surreal, so nightmarish. Had it really happened? Why couldn’t the rebels have simply lain down their arms? Didn’t they see that it was over? That there was nothing to be gained except the slaughter of hundreds of good men? And that was all that had been achieved that day. The greater part of both armies had fallen that on the field.
Comnenus, Duke of Trebizond, had faced the rebel ringleader, Comnenus of Georgia, on the mountainous terrain of Georgia, ideal for defensive tactics. And the Duke of Georgia was certainly an able commander, having proven himself to be a particularly excellent defender during the Russian war. Both armies were roughly equal in size and skill, except that the Duke of Trebizond had several regiments of Varangian Guard, all of which had remained loyal to the Emperor. However, on this day, it appeared that the Duke of Georgia had blundered. His men were placed on a high slope, but from Comnenus’s pointed of view, they were just behind the peak of a slope which was covered with trees. Comnenus’s men would be able to advance up the hill under cover of the trees, limiting the effectiveness of the traitor’s arbalest bolts. Furthermore, if he moved quickly, his men would be able to march over the peak of the slope and charge downhill into the traitor’s flank. Comnenus had deployed his men quickly, with the infantry in the center and Varangian Guard on the flanks, and set them marching. He followed behind with cavalry and bowmen. As Comnenus’ men advanced through the forest, however, the Duke of Georgia appeared to recognize his mistake. His infantry formed up in a line to face Comnenus’ advance, and charged. His men reached the peak of the hill first, giving them a slight height advantage over Comnenus’ men. He then sent cavalry to strike at the advance in an attempt to drive them back. The Varangian Guard joined the battle, attempting to catch the traitor’s cavalry in the woods. The clash was titanic. At first, the Duke of Georgia’s men were successful. They fought with great passion, knowing that their only choice was to stand or die, and killed most of Comnenus’ infantry, even routing one regiment. However, the Varangian Guard fought relentlessly and slowly turned the tide, at great cost to themselves. Comnenus committed his cavalry reserves, which managed to detroy the remnants of the traitor’s infantry, and then descended upon the exposed enemy bowmen. Even then, the traitors fought almost to the last man, turning to run only when almost all of their number lay dead on the field. Comnenus lost most of his army that day; even the great companies of Varangian Guard were greviously reduced.
Comnenus returned from his memories and looked back at Alexius, breathing a heavy sigh. “Yes, I fought the battle, and I thoroughly wish it had not been necessary. But it was you, Alexius, who returned to pick up the pieces of the Empire. You managed to forge what we can hope will be a lasting peace.” Alexius nodded, saying, “Yes, let us hope it lasts this time.” After a few moments he continued. “You know, Emperor John suspected it would happen. He sent me a message just before you and I began our North African campaign.” Comnenus looked at him quizically. “Didn’t I ever tell you?” he asked. “John hoped he would live long enough to see the young Constantine become Emperor. But he felt his age wearing on him, and he knew a plot was afoot. He was hearing whispers; or maybe it was just his instinct. But I received this from him while I was in Egypt, just before you and I began our march across North Africa.”
Out of his cloak, Alexius produced a wrinkled old letter, unfolded it, and handed it to Comnenus. The ink was faded but still clearly readable. It read,
General Alexius,
I write you this letter, not only because you are our people’s greatest commander, but because you are one of the few people I feel I can trust explicitly. While I hope to live long enough to see my son Constantine come of age, I fear I cannot guarantee it. There are wicked men in the Empire, who wish to claim power for themselves, for their own selfish reasons. They wish for nothing more than my death and the death of my son. Therefore, I give you this charge, as an Emperor and as a friend.
If I perish before Constantine is ready to rule, the stewardship of the Empire will fall to you. The traitors will not hesitate to make their move. You must act swiftly and decisively to crush any rebellion that takes place. The Empire will be in your hands, as well as my son. Do this faithfully for the good of the Roman people.
Signed, Emperor John I
P.S. If a rebellion breaks out, my son Constantine will be in immediate danger. Please come quickly to protect him, for his insight will be needed to lead the Empire in times of peace.
Comnenus read the letter and handed it back to Alexius. “Apparently, John’s trust was not misplaced,” he said. Alexius did not respond. Shaking his head, Comnenus went on. “None of us could have imagined it would be the Duke of Georgia. He had always seemed very loyal, and he was well liked. It was such a terrible waste to lose him, though,” Comnenus said sadly. “He was a hero, and a fine commander.” Alexius gloomily grunted an acknowledgment. Suddenly Comnenus raised his head and asked, “Constantine. How is the heir to the throne these days?” Alexius jumped at the chance to speak on a brighter subject. “He’s such an intelligent young man, Comnenus,” he said. “Did you know he just turned sixteen? He’s admittedly no battlefield commander, but he’s wise, just, and simply brilliant. He will make a fine Emperor in times of peace. That’s why I would like to hand him an empire at peace.” Alexius paused, then continued in a troubled tone. “But how will these wars we fight achieve peace? We claim we are bringing peace to the embattled lands of Europe, but we can’t even seem to secure peace within our own borders. Why is it so elusive?”
“Peace, Alexius,” mused Comnenus. “Complete peace is not something we can ever fully achieve. Perhaps we can get something closer to it when men learn to truly care for others as they do for themselves. Real peace is not achieved through politics, or war. The battles we fight now may bring a temporary end to open war in the land, but men will continue to fight amonst themselves. For real peace to be had, it is men’s hearts that must change. It is there that the real battle is fought.” Comnenus looked up to see Alexius grinning at him. “You always were one to wax philosophical,” Alexius chuckled. Comnenus shrugged and responded, “As for the battles we fight now, who can be certain what they will achieve? Perhaps they will at least make it possible to create an environment in which people need not always fear for the lives, livelihood, and loved ones. But peace? No, my friend, they will not achieve that. That is a much more difficult thing to attain.”
Both men were silent again for a few moments. A cold draft blew through the tavern, and Comnenus pulled his cloak tighter around himself. “I never thought I’d wish for the desert heat again, but a bit of it now would be welcome,” he said. Alexius, on the other hand, did not seem to be as bothered by the chill. “I, my friend, have had more than enough of the desert to last a lifetime,” he said ruefully. “Yes, I can understand that,” responded Comnenus. “You’ve spent somewhat more time there than I have in your lifetime. That’s where you really cemented your reputation, isn’t it?” Alexius furrowed his eyebrow briefly, as if trying to remember something, then met Comnenus’s gaze. Both spoke at once: “Syria.” Alexius laughed and shook his head. “It seems a very long time ago... no, it was a very long ago. Thirty years at least...” Now it was Alexius’s turn to close his eyes, as his thoughts drifted back to a distant memory. For a moment, he could almost feel the Syrian sun beating down on his brow. It was decidedly uncomfortable...
The Sacrifice of the Past
A younger Alexius rose from his crouched position, his right hand full of sand. Rising to his full height, he let the sand slowly slip through his fingers to the barren desert floor. Here and there, light gusts of wind blew grains of sand across the land, slowly building up huge drifts and creating a soft howling sound, but other than that there was almost no wind. The last grains fell from Alexius’s hand, almost straight to the ground. Alexius looked up, listening to the sound of his troops marching in formation across the desert under the merciless white-hot sun. He knew they were already sweating in their armour; Alexius, his bodyguards, and their horses all felt the same way. They were all out of their element, and understandably unnerved by the charge that had been laid on them. Alexius shook his head, scarcely believing it himself. He had been assigned to lead some 1,200 warriors into the depths of Egyptian lands, and challenge an army nearly 3,500 strong. The Egyptian army was strong and experienced, its ranks filled with Saracens, Nubians, Nizaris, Bedouin camel warriors, and fast cavalry, augmented by crack units of Abyssinian Guardsmen. All of these troops were well suited to desert warfare, and were led by a competent Egyptian commander. They would be at their peak fighting ability on this day, and would be particularly angry to find that their lands had been invaded by the Romans.
Of course, Alexius had understood and agreed with the Emperor’s reasoning. Egypt had broken its alliance with Constantinople some years earlier, and had recently launched unprovoked attacks on Rum and other Roman provinces. The Roman armies, which had been guarding the borders against any more invasions by the Golden Horde, quickly turned to face the new threat, beating the Egyptians back although outnumbered nearly two-to-one on many occasions. Year after year, the Egyptians had been sending armies into Roman lands, only to have them repulsed with great loss, and yet they continued to come. Spies had reported an almost inexaustible supply of fresh Egyptian troops, with more being equipped each year from the deep coffers in Cairo. The Emperor had ordered more Roman troops trained, and their numbers on the Egyptian front were slowly increasing. But the Empire had too many fronts to guard. The Hungarians, Italians, and Germans still threatened on the western frontier, and the horsemen of Mongolia stood menacingly across the eastern border. The small Roman navy was frantically building a fleet to challenge the invincible might of the Italian armada. The Roman armies facing swarms of angry Egyptians would simply have to make do as best they could. They had been holding their own for years, fighting strictly defensive actions; but recently had been given a serious fright when a brilliant Egyptian commander had taken Lesser Armenia. A Roman army had been recalled from the western front to retake it. If the Romans were to go on the offensive, now was the time. Perhaps it was the best chance they would ever have to take the war to the enemy.
Hence, Alexius had been sent from Rum to challenge the might of Egypt. If Syria fell, all the lands on the eastern Mediterranean coast would soon follow, depriving Egypt of its main source of income. If Alexius lost, his army would be destroyed, and Asia Minor would be open to Egyptian conquest. The stakes could not have been higher. Alexius’s mind was racing as a dust cloud became visible over the horizon, followed by the distant shapes of men marching. The Egyptians had arrived.
Fortunately for the Romans, the battlefield was relatively flat, with only gently rolling dunes. The Egyptian archers would have no height advantage. They had deployed with a long line of Saracens and Nubians in front, screened by deadly Nizaris and arbalesters. The Egyptian right was held by a unit of Abyssinian Guardsmen wielding great axes. These men could almost go toe-to-toe with Alexius’s own Varangian Guard, except that the Egyptian axemen had no armor. As Alexius surveyed the enemy, he knew his men would fare well in the initial clash. His own swordsmen would be able to handle the Egyptian spear troops. It was the Egyptian cavalry he was more worried about. However, the sun seemed to be getting even hotter, and there was no time to lose. Alexius deployed a long line of infantry opposite the Egyptians, with Trebizond archers in front. Spear cavalry guarded the wings of his army, and a unit of Varagian Guard was held in reserve, slightly to the left. Light horsemen armed with bows advanced ahead of the army on each wing. The Roman army stopped, just out of bowshot range, and the horse archers continued on ahead, nocking their arrows. The battle had begun.
The first Roman arrows fell among the ranks of Egyptian Abyssinian Guard, and the Roman horse spread out as the Egyptians bowmen prepared to answer. The nimble horsemen would loose a shower or two of arrows, then rush back toward their own lines, trying to draw units of enemy infantry within range of the Trebizond archers. Occasionally it worked, and the Egyptians began to suffer casualties. Alexius ordered his army to slowly push forward, and the archery duel intensified. The Egyptians were falling faster than the Romans, but they still had a huge numerical advantage. Suddenly, the Egyptian army began to move; its commander had ordered his men to occupy different defensive positions. They were momentarily out of position, and Alexius seized the opportunity. Ranks of Roman infantry and horsemen began to roll forward, drawing ever nearer to the Egyptian lines. The Egyptian commander suddenly appeared to change his mind, and ordered an attack. The two armies met in a great clash.
On the Roman right, two units of Saracens had been caught isolated from the rest of their army, and were being cut down by Roman swords. The bulk of the Egyptian army fell on the Roman right, where once again the Roman infantry had the upper hand. But a unit of tough, armoured Kwarazmians was rumbling towards the line. Alexius had planned to use his Varangian Guard to counter this force, but the Guard had become engaged with enemy spearmen and axemen, as it was backing up the single unit of Roman spearmen. Therefore, a unit of infantry was forced to hold off the Kwarazmians until some Roman cavalry could get through the center and strike them from behind. The Egyptian formation began to collapse, and soon the Roman spearmen began to march towards the exposed enemy commander, who was leading a detachment of light cavalry. The spearmen were threatened on their flanks by Egyptian cavalry, but soon Alexius’s own cavalry came to their aid and drove into the enemy from behind, forcing their commander to withdraw. The Egyptian army began to flee, and even the Roman horse archers joined in the pursuit. Few of the initial Egyptian army on the field survived. The Roman army was still strong, having lost comparatively few of its own number. Alexius sensed an early success.
Unfortunately, most of Alexius’s men were now exhausted from the heat and the fierce fighting. He knew this, and his heart sank when he saw the Egyptians begin to bring up reinforcements - wave after wave of Bedouin camel warriors, fresh and ready for battle, accompanied by a small number of light cavalry. While under normal circumstances, the Roman infantrymen would be more than a match for these warriors, Alexius’s swordsmen were weary and his archers were nearly out of arrows. He managed to isolate a few units of camels and drive them from the field, but soon a large force of them had gathered on a hill facing the Roman right, threatening a flanking maneuver. Alexius gathered his men to prepare for the inevitable attack, with a line of infantry backed by archers facing the camels and a mixture of infantry, axemen, and the remains of the cavalry gathered on the left, threating the right flank of the Egyptian onslaught. When the Bedouins had nearly reached his lines, Alexius ordered his men forward.
Alexius had blundered. Despite being on the verge of heat exhaustion, his men fought bravely and initially had success against their enemies. However, their line did not stretch far enough on the right, and they were outflanked. Camels smashed into the flank of the Roman infantry. Embattled, exhausted, and outflanked, the infantry began to flee. Alexius had not timed his own flanking maneuver properly. Axemen and extra Roman infantry reached the fight on the left, but it was too late; the center collapsed. Alexius ordered his archers forward to hold the line. These men, wearing much less armour than the infantry, were not as tired, but they were not a good match for the fierce camel warriors they now faced. Alexius was reduced to fighting a desperate containment action, trying to prevent his entire army from being overrun. Too often, Bedouins succeeded in flanking individual Roman infantry units and driving them into retreat, but again and again the Romans rallied and continued to fight. Even the fearsome Varangian Guard was forced to retreat, having been almost completely wiped out. Finally, the Romans drove back the Egyptian attack, and the Bedouins fled the field. Alexius rallied his scattered companies of infantry and breathed a sigh of relief, but many men had fallen, and the battle was still not over. Another wave of Egyptians marched onto the field, this one composed of a variety of infantry. Urban militia, spearmen, and some archers now threatened the greviously thinned Roman lines. Once again, with the help of the archers, the Romans pushed the enemy back. Alexius led his exhausted bodyguards into the action at a critical stage in the fight. He felt he had held back too long.
Alexius now had almost no infantry left. Most of the remaining troops were archers, along with a handful of horse archers, who had long since run out of arrows. His own bodyguard had only a few men left. He had called for his meager reinforcements - a company of spearmen and a small group of horse archers. However, they had a long way to march across the desert, and the final wave of Egyptians was now advancing toward the Romans. There were some spearmen, militia, peasants, and bowmen, along with one last company of Abyssinian Guard. If they attacked now, Alexius had nothing to stop them with. Egyptian arrows began to rain down on the Romans, who had no answer of their own. Alexius ordered his tattered companies to spread out and stand firm. He marvelled at the courage of his men.
Again and again, the Egyptians threatened an attack, only to turn around and draw back. Here and there, a man fell with an Egyptian arrow in his flesh, but the Egyptians had to be running out of arrows. Finally, the Roman reinforcements drew near, already tired from their long march. However, much to Alexius’s surprise, the enemy finally turned around and marched off the field Against hope, the day was his. More than 800 Romans lay dead on the field, along with 1700 Egyptians. Alexius knew he had made many mistakes. He had allowed his units to become isolated and outmatched, instead of making sure they would be mutually supported. He himself had held back from the fight for too long, when his men needed his inspiration. As a result, less than three hundred men survived of Alexius’s initial army, but they had beaten the power of Egypt.
For his victory at the battle of Syria, Alexius had won great renown. The Egyptians scraped together all the troops they could and attacked Syria the following year, but Alexius had reinforced his position, and drove them back. The Empire of Egypt had lost too many men and leaders to recover, and the following year, it broke apart in confusion. Egyptian commanders would no longer face the Romans in battle. Soon the purple-clad armies had occupied the rich Mediterranean lands and pushed as far south as Arabia. Other commanders, including the Duke of Trebizond, were also present, building up their reputations in battle against the failing Egyptian Sultanate. But it was Alexius himself who finally led a victorious army into Cairo, forever breaking the power of the Sultans. The last Sultan led a small band of exiles westward into the desert, where he would survive for some years, a broken shadow of his former self.
Wisdom for the Present
“Hello?” Alexius quickly opened his eyes at the voice of his friend, returning from his memories. He was back in the dim tavern, and once again an old man. “You drifted off there for a moment there,” Comnenus was chuckling. “Yes, I suppose I did,” Alexius responded, taking a drink of from his mug of ale. “Well, the night is wearing on, and we may soon be too weary to talk. Shall we discuss what we came here to discuss?” Comnenus grinned. “If it cannot be avoided.” From within his cloak, he drew out a roll of parchment, yellow and worn at the edges, and unrolled it, placing it on the table. It was a detailed map of Iberia, and included a part of what used to be southern France. His finger went immediately to a spot on the map where, in large letters, the word “Leon” was printed, and he began to speak in a tone that was as business-like as could be expected between old friends. “The English landed in force here last Spring, with an army of more than 3,500 men. As you know, we had only taken the province the year before; I’ve already told about that battle, if indeed it can be called such. We hadn’t expected them to strike there; I had left seven hundred men to continue the siege, while I led the main part of my army into Castille to finish of the Aragonese. The castle in Madrid is still under siege, but should fall by the end of next year. Nevertheless, when our men in Leon realized the size of the English army, they chose to withdraw rather than sacrifice their lives needlessly. They’ve been waiting in Cordoba for instructions.” Comnenus paused, as if expecting something. Alexius nodded. “They made the right decision. We will need those men to contain the English and drive them back, but we will fight when we choose to, on our own terms.” Comnenus, satisfied, continued the briefing. “The English force is led by their King, and includes several princes and a large contingent of knights. The rest of it is rather mixed in quality; there are a few units of the billmen and longbowmen who have fought well in the past, but there are also large numbers of militia and some peasants. A lot of the units have seen battle; many are reduced in strength. So our advance scouts have reported.
Alexius was lost in thought for a moment; then he spoke. “The English have left themselves weak in their northern and western lands, Comnenus. Here,” he said, pointing to Aquitaine on the map, “And here,” pointing to Navarre. “Their only sizable army in the north is led by Prince Henry, in Anjou. However, while the army is 1,400 strong and Henry is a battlefield commander to be respected, his soldiers are not well trained or equipped. Even the 700 or so soldiers I left in Toulouse should be able to deal with them, should they attack.” He shook his head. “The only potential weakness is my second-in-command, Nicephorus Maniakes, who I left there when we marched into Aragon. He’s an able commander, and shows promise, but he’s still green, fresh from the Academy. He’s never seen real battle yet, but he may get the test of his life soon enough.” Comnenus chuckled in response to this. “You, my friend,” he said, “Gave a lot of people quite a fright when you led your entire army by boat into Toulouse. Word couldn’t get back for months, and rumors started to spread that there was no longer an Emperor on the throne. The provincial governors had to take drastic steps to prevent any uprisings, especially in our new holdings. It was a good thing you managed to link up with us the following year.” “Yes Comnenus,” Alexius agreed, “I know I took a risk. But look what we’ve accomplished The English are reeling from the blow we dealt them. This strike into Leon is the last desperate gasp of a dying Empire. Their coffers are empty; they can’t raise any more troops. They couldn’t afford to lose the men trapped in the castle there, and besides, their only remaining hope is to retake the rich lands they used to hold in Iberia. But in making this thrust, they’ve cut off the last potent army from their empire, and exposed it to capture and utter anhihilation if it’s defeated. And we will defeat it,” he added confidently.
“Yes, I suppose your invasion of Toulouse was well worth it,” said Comnenus. “I’m still impressed that our navy was able to make such a landing possible, when they had both the Italian and English fleets to deal with.” Alexius nodded in agreement. “Most of the credit for that goes to Andronicus Ducas, our most experienced admiral, and his protege, Basil Angelus. Between the two of them, they’ve managed to clear out almost all the Italian and English ships from the Mediterranean. I don’t think Andronicus has lost a battle in all of my memory. But for now,” he pointed back to the map, “Here is what we must do. The English advance threatens Cordoba, where we are weakest, and I believe that that is where they will strike next. We will order the Duke of Morocco to move from his post in Valencia and meet the English in Cordoba, if they strike there. He will join forces with your troops that retreated there from Leon last Spring, and he will have plenty of Varangian Guard to deal with their knights. He is a fine commander; he aquitted himself well in the North African campaign, and I have no doubt in his abilities.” “Neither do I,” agreed Comnenus. “But we must also counterattack soon.” “I agree,” nodded Alexius, “And I’d like you to lead our forces into Leon once the Enlish army there is somewhat reduced. You have the best knowledge of the terrain, and you are the most skilled attacker we have.” Comnenus did not respond to the latter part of Alexius’s statement, but agreed that this was the best course of action. “At the same time,” Alexius continued, “I’ll send troops to Aquitaine. This will cut off one of England’s best sources of income. After that, we can easily seize the remaining English holdings on the continent.”
The Legacy of the Ancients
Battle plans laid, the two generals and friends sat back to finish the last dregs of their ale. “You know, Alexius, this situation is not altogether different from the Defense of Constantinople.” Alexius laughed incredulously at this. “You can’t seriously mean our present situation is anywhere near as dire as the one our ancestors faced, Comnenus?” he said. “No, the situation is not as desperate,” replied Comnenus, “but we face a powerful army that outnumbers ours, and while a victory could destroy them forever, defeat could mean the loss of many valuable lands to us. It’s a sort of do-or-die situation.” Alexius nodded knowingly. “Except in our case,” he said, “it is not the very existence of the Empire that is in jeopardy. Which, of course, I’m certainly very glad of,” he added. “Nevertheless, it would have been incredible to be alive during that age, when Emperor Constantine himself had made his stand outside the walls of the City, with the invincible Mongol Horde bearing down on him and his army.” “Yes, everyone hears the those tales of glory at the Academy these days,” replied Comnenus. “Except, of course, it didn’t begin with glory at all.” “No it didn’t,” Alexius responded grimly. “Until the Khan arrived, our armies had not yet had serious trouble holding back the Mongols. They had only attacked with substantial numbers of horse archers, and our men had found shelter in the trees, while our archers from Trebizond returned what fire they could. That was before the Khan arrived with huge numbers of heavy cavalry and struck at Trebizond.” At this point, Comnenus picked up the retelling of the story. “I suppose Prince Romanus should be forgiven for his errors in that battle,” he said. “We simply hadn’t tasted the full fury of those warriors up until that point. I probably would have tried the same thing - deploying on a high hill in a strong defensive formation, with both flanks guarded and huge numbers of archers to kill the Mongols from a distance.” He paused, his expression grim, then continued. “They say that even when his line collapsed from the pressure on all sides, and his entire army broke into flight, Romanus kept fighting like a madman. Every one of his bodyguards was dead before he realized the battle was lost. Still, he managed to extract himself from the fight and leave the field without panicking. I wonder if I could have done the same.” Alexius nodded, “None of us could know this for certain, when we have never faced the same situation. Nevertheless, your courage is legendary, and I am certain you would aquit yourself well.”
Since Comnenus did not respond, Alexius continued. “Even though he was beaten, Romanus hadn’t given up. When the entire Mongol army picked up and continued westward several days later, he led his men out of the fort and followed them secretly. Perhaps he knew he would be needed later. He even managed to get messengers to Constantinople with news of the defeat. They turned out to be just in time, too.” Comnenus was listening, so Alexius continued. “Constantine had left the city virtually undefended; he was holding Bulgaria against the Hungarians at the time. His army was the only one that could reach the city in time. Also, the messengers brought news of the Mongol tactics, so Constantine knew what to expect.” He shook his head. “Without that information, all would have been lost. Constantine had learned not to face the Mongols in a head-on engagement on open terrain. His entire army was deployed in the forest, in a way that would not provide the Mongols with a single weakness in his line to exploit. Even so, if not for the arrogance of the Khan, Constantine would have failed. After the Battle of Trebizond, the Khan was so confident that he boasted to his men that he could break the Romans with only his own detachment of cavalry.”
Comnenus finally broke in, laughing. “And he came surprisingly close to it, didn’t he?” he said. Alexius nodded. “Those horsemen were some of the finest warriors in the world,” he said. “In the end, the Khan had some support from his own infantry and horse archers, but the rest of the heavy cavalry stood back while the Khan led his own unit straight into the woods and attacked Constantine’s army. It was a desperate fight, and Constantine was forced to lead his own horsemen around the enemy flank and attack from behind. Even then, the Khan and his men fought like devils, killing a lot of Romans. All of Rome breathed a sigh of relief when the Khan finally fell with Constantine’s sword in his flesh.” Alexius paused in his retelling, having reached the climax. “When their Khan never returned from the forest, the rest of the Mongols weren’t sure what to do. Eventually evening came and they were forced to leave the field. They tried to return to Trebizond, but Romanus and his men were now guarding the passes they planned to return by Trapped between the Emperor and his son, the entire lot had no choice but to surrender.” Comnenus shook his head. “It didn’t save their hides in the end, though,” he said. “The Khan’s motivation for attacking our Empire had been money; his warriors had simply exhausted their plunder, and they needed more. Fortunately for us, that had been their last significant army. The whole lot of them was killed; but out of respect, Constantine gave them a warrior’s death.”
Eternal Glory
Alexius breathed a heavy sigh. “In some ways I envy them, Comnenus,” he said. “I’ve always imagined I would have a warriors death as well. Not a slow, painful decline into old age and uselessness. The thought of it has troubled me many nights in Constantinople. Nevertheless, it is not for a man to choose his own hour of departure; we must each simply live as wisely as we can, for all the days laid out for us in the Almighty’s plan.” Comnenus chuckled. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “Nevertheless, if you keep doing what you’re doing now, you may yet receive that warrior’s death.” Comnenus lifted his almost-empty mug. “To eternal glory” he said. “For as a wise Roman once said, ‘What we do in life, echoes in eternity.’” Alexius lifted his mug in response, and together they downed the last of the liquid. “Now,” said Alexius, “Let us have one more drink, and speak of more joyful things.” They refilled their mugs, and as the night dragged on, they spoke of their families, their closest friends, their frivolous pasttimes, and all the insignificant things that sometimes seemed to be the only things of significance in the whole world. By the time they left the tavern and retired to the local inn, accompanied by their guards, both had completely forgotten the endless troubles of their lives, and were completely at peace. For one night, they were able to enjoy untroubled, dreamless sleep, their worries drowned in an endless sea of forgetfulness...