Background
In the great years of Emperor Alexius the Empire flourished and grew ever stronger. Islands were conquered and Romanized into the proud traditions of the Byzantines. Treaties and wars were fought for the protection of the Empire. At his death Emperor Alexius had united his people and have made them ready for the beginning of an era of rebirth. Back to glory, back to power, back to feeling the respect of other factions and most importantly, back to being feared for its people’s valiant morale and decisive military strength. After Emperor Alexius the Chivalrous of the Commenus had died in 1118 AD, he left the Byzantine Empire with yet another great leader of the Empire’s people, Emperor John the Saint.
A smaller yet stronger Empire, than the time before the Manzikert, is now emerging under the reigns of these two extraordinary figures. Their reigns are lifting the Empire above the shades of decade, mistrust and corruption, which had hit the morale and once proud spirit of the Byzantines, since the Battle of Manzikert in the summer months of 1071 AD. Though young at age, at the mere age of 44, Emperor John is still wary of the future of his people. This is due to the fact that when he is gone, the black sheep of the Empire is sadly also the one to be the heir to the throne.
This disgrace, under the name of Prince Anthes, will one day be the Emperor of all of the Empire, if the provinces will even remain loyal to such a fool….
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The plot is set
At present time…
It is a raining day in the midst of March and the Emperor has retreated to his palace outside Constantinople to seek solitude from the eyes of the public, the nobles and his generals. The rain is the only sound going through the almost empty halls of the palace. In the royal chamber the Emperor sits alone very saddened of the future. Half a sleep, half awake the Emperor is, when the door is suddenly opened with such a noise that it feels like an earthquake has begun beneath the Palace. The Emperor jumps up with drawn sword, while grumbling:
“Nooo! You shall not have my throne, your catholic scum! I shall wrest you of your savage claims!” while swinging his mighty sword and almost cutting down a small palm in the middle of the room.
“Sire, I am sorry for the intrusion, but this is very important…” says the man in a leather robe standing in the door.
The Emperor, annoyed but now more calm, answers “Why have you come? Is it to help me seek an honourable path out of this crisis?”
“Not I, Sire, the Council of the Bishops of Constantinople have decided to order your heir on a sui…adventure, which will make him fit to rule…”
The Emperor, now intrigued, answers: “What have the Council found fit to mature that fool, who thinks he is worthy of calling himself a Commenus?”
“Yes Sire, the Council shares your feelings for this…But then again he is the heir so it must be dealt with without showing our true intention to the public”
“Why not? Everyone hates him as much as I.”
“Though he is very unpopular with the commons, he still keeps allies close by, who could be seen as trouble, if the word gets out...”
“How bad would it be..?”
“We might be talking civil war…”
“Prosperous!! How?
“The Council has tracked his list of traits and by his less honourable deeds; he has made quite a bit and might already have Generals and maybe even Governors on his payroll.”
“What is the Council’s solution?”
“The Council wants him sent with the smallest army as possible to the castle of Trebizond, ruled by the vile rebellious Anatolians.”, a small moment of silent filled the room with intensity, “When he arrives he will have a little deposit of gold to spent on finding subjects to rule and to lead to the walls of Trebizond, where he will either find his bravery or face death by the hands of wretched barbarians.”
Loud noises are now coming from the passage leading to the royal chamber as the sound of tramping feet hitting the marble floor. A man storms into the chamber with eyes staring nervously behind him, like he was followed.
By the man’s outfit, which is a leather uniform, he is clearly coming from the spear militia.
The man: “Sire, I must have a word with you!”
“Rest first my brave soldier, you look absolutely exhausted”. The Emperor summons a servant, who brings the soldier water and freshly baked bread.
After the man has regained some of his strength, he speaks up:
"Thank you sire, but the dire news is left to be told and the plot to be unfolds. As we speak the Hungarians are marching towards us with a remarkable pace, and this is while the untrustworthy Venetians are trying to block the Strait of Bosporus by a large fleet coming from the South.”
The Emperor quickly response by sending the servant to the military building and find his friend, and family, Andronicus Commenus. As Andronicus enters the chamber, the Emperor says:
“Andronicus! Send an envoy to Admiral Foteinos at once,” he orders Andronicus, “and tell him to make ready to burn down the warmongering fools of Venice! After that, come back here and we will ride out to meet the Hungarians”
Andronicus Commenus: “Yes John, I will go with haste.”
The meeting was done and the plot was set. The path of the Empire was yet to be decided by the outcome of all of this.
The Long March
“Fools! Force me off to this forgotten outland of Civilization! THIS want be the end for me!” Prince Anthes loudly out bursting his discontent at the present of his loyal guards and the few mercenaries, he had been able to find before the Council and the Emperor’s deadline, while marching eastward.
Small sand storms came and went, while the terrain changed from the lustful plains, close to Nicaea, to the rocky and cold mountains of the region Halys.
The cold became too much for the Prince, so he was forced to alter his path, which led him to the shores of the Black Sea. He was beginning to accept his exile, in a way, which would be same as saying that he stopped with the aggressive roars and out bursts.
After 2 years of marching, in the year 1124 AD, and only half way to Trebizond, word reached his ears of the great conquest of Bran by the Emperor John and the magnificent heroic victory by Admiral Foteinos against the Venetian fleet.
“Aarrgh! Will my horrors never end?! Oh why, was I cursed to take this path to my own doom?!” yelled Anthes, while slicing the envoy’s arms off bit by bit.
The poor man fell on the ground, while Anthes went from using his sword to kicking him repeatedly until the man was soaking in his own blood until his breathing stopped. What a grim sight. The dark red coloured blood, not dripping, but flushing out of his body like the water down a steep river in the mountains. The mercenaries found the cruel Prince much more of their taste, and they almost accepted him as one of their own by the looks of their devil like smiles, while the guards of the Prince felt uncertain about the sanity of their leader. 