Stories Thread

Anatolia 1226

A cold wind bits through the air as Nevoulas ek Philadelphuis rides through the mountains in central Anatolia. He walks proudly with his long serving bodyguards along a well mark road, recalling the rough trails he had to come scurrying up the other way in his youth.

The last ten years had been long and uneventful, however as expected Nevoulas' short time in the Capitol had been far from it. He shakes his head at his own confusion of the debacle and often baffling practices of his fellows who practice politics in the main cities. Now, Nevoulas is happier riding through the country even if it is somewhat risky.

There was some concern amongst his elite bodyguard at the journey from Smyrna in the west the lack of any known villages or watchtowers along the route had concerned them and rightly so - there was still the threat of large Turkish Jihad armies lurking on the peninsula.

Upon cresting another the endless hills, Nevoulas eyes narrows as he sees a large army to the North. Shouting back at his troops he urges them to prepare themselves to flee - his small bodygaurd would be no match for an organizing many man Jihad. Steeling himself he turns to a to take a look at the army and try to decipher its size and direction.

Nevoulas hidden away on Rhodes for some time is unfamilar with the current set-ups in the Turkish army but he cannot believe what he is seeing - the set-up seems western in structure - almost Northern European. He gasps - surely, the Turks cannot have extended their realm that far. He had heard of ludicrious ambitions that the seljuks might travel north and around the Black sea but he could not have imagined.

Shaking, he considers the alternatives and suddenly it becomes clear - he had heard of the crusading movement declared from the Catholic pope. Eben further he discussed the rumours that some of the crusades had made it as far as Roman soil. This could perhaps be such an army - doubts form in his mind perhaps it is a trick by the Turks?

Wishing to inspect for himself - Nevoulas determines that he himself will go for a closer look instructing his army to continue on the road to Iconium, Nevoulas strikes out toward the great army.

Riding up to the army confirmed with some relief to Nevoulas that this was indeed a western crusade and not a Turkish Jihad as he first feared. Dismounting and calmly approaching them Nevoulas was greeted hostilely, these barbarians spoke Latin with fierce almost indecipherable dialect. He made out the words Alexandria and Levant quite clearly and despite trying to explain the more striking threats of the Turks conversation seemed to reach an impasse.

Resigned but relieved Nevoulas rode out to rejoin his bodygaurd, further down the road looking forward to meeting up with his friend Zigavinos in Iconium.

Adana, 1125

Iakovos dreamed peacefully in his bed, his wounds finally starting to heal. He dreamed he was in a field of flowers, his mother, father, and eldest brother there, waiting for him, happy to see him. The air smelled sweet and was pleasantly cool...it was so inviting...Iakovos thought he might just stay forever.

Evdaemon despised working like this. Poison was for the coward, an honest man used cold steel and iron! He shook his head as he watched Iakovos fade from the world as the fast acting poison silently and painlessly killed him, as ordered by his lord. Evdaemon turned to leave, only to meet the terrible gaze of Lady Veronica. He clutched his throat, now torn open by Veronica's lightning quick attack. Evdaemon sank to his knees gasping for breathe as blood poured out past his fingers. He gazed desperately at the blood as it dripped from his hands and pooled upon the stone floor. He felt the impulse to reach down and try to gather it all back up, felt as his body screamed for air. His world slowly blackened as his vision faded. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable, as if thousands were staring at him and laughing maniacally...and the laughter would never end.

Veronica felt her anger boil over as she used her concealed dagger to slice open Evdaemon's throat. As the pitiful man died a most slow and painful death, Veronica rushed to Iakovos's side. Her rage turned into sorrow as she felt his fading puls in her hands. "Please, Ike, not you...please, stay with me...you did not deserve this, please, oh please...stay with me...". Veronica held onto Iakovos, tears streaming down her cheeks, praying Ike would come back to her. She held him for the most of the night, held him even after the physicians were called, held him even after the last bit of life faded away from Iakovos. Veronica looked down, her eyes now red and her face stained from tears, at Iakovos, who seemed at peace. She smiled sadly at him, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and whispered softly to him, "I will always love you my Ike...now and forever...".

Antioch 1126:

Makedonios sat in bed surrounded by correspondence, paperwork, and troop orders. An aide pushed a cart into the room with more paperwork. The job was one gigantic exercise in writing. Writing letters. Writing troop orders. Writing construction approvals. Writing, writing, writing.

Sometimes he wondered if his hand would be raw from holding the pen so much. But, when your stuck sick in bed, you have nothing but time. Odd that his illness could make him uniquely suited to the job of Megas.

Pausing to sip some tea, Mak saw an aide come in with yet another letter. Wondering who this letter was from, the Grandmaster noticed the aide was wearing Iakovos's livery. Curious, he undid the seal and looked at the letter.

Guards rushed in when they heard the tea cup shatter on the floor. With swords drawn, they entered to see their lord doubled over on the bed as if in pain.

The rushed to him. "My lord, are you ok?"

Makedonios roared, "LEAVE!!!!!!"

Despite not knowing why, the men were too well trained to disobey. They ran out of the room and closed the door. On the other side, they could hear muffled sobs.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This story was a co-op between TheFlax, YLC, and myself.

Constantinople 1126:

Makedonios took a break from the Senate to go to his Chambers. Walking down a hallway, he saw the small library the Order kept to help them do Senate business. As he often did when he saw the library, he thought of Iakovos. The man had been a driving force towards developing the Order's libraries and Makedonios could almost picture the man sitting in a chair with some book or another on his lap.

When ever he thought of Iakovos, he thought back to the past. He tried to think of things he should have noticed. Warning signs he should have picked up on. There was something that happened before the 1125 Senate Session and it was just coming to him now.

Antioch 1124:

A small family makes it's way through the streets of Antiokheia. A man in the colors of the Order of St. John, a woman of raven hair in modest dress, and two children, a boy and girl, the boy holding on to his mothers hand and quiet, the young girl bright eyed and eager.

"Chara, please, don't touch!"
The little girl looks up at her father with pleading eyes.The mother looks at him warmly. "It is only an apple Iakovos, let her have it." Iakovos looks down at Chara with a defeated smile, and reaches into his coin purse to give the vendor the required amount. The mother looks down at the boy with a smile. "Demetrios, do you want one too?" Demetrios looks up at his mother. "I guess so..." Without missing a beat, Chara slides up and out of her dress pops another apple. "Here ya Demy!"

Iakovos seems shocked. "Chara! I told you...oh, Veronica, she listens to you so much better then me." Veronica knelt down and brushed away Chara's long brown hair as Iakovos apologetically handed over yet more coins to the agitated vendor. "Chara, what have we discussed about taking things that don't belong to you?" Chara seems dismayed. "But All I did was get one for Demy because he never asks." Veronica shakes her head. "You still shouldn't take without asking Chara, it is not polite." Chara looks defeated, but while Veronica is not looking, Demetrios gives Chara a wink and a smile.

Taking both children in hand, Veronica and Iakovos make there way to Makedonios usual spot.

Makedonios sat at his normal table in the market sipping mint tea. The day was beautiful. Warmth from the sun helped him feel a little better physically. The pneumonia was a constant companion now. He wondered if he would ever be well again. But for the moment, sipping on the sweet bitter tea with the sun shining made him happy.

He saw a familiar figure walking up to him with his family in tow. Makedonios smiled and offered the family a seat at his table.

"Sergeant Iakovos! Good to see you on this fine day." He nods to Veronica. "M'lady, good to see you again as well." He kneels in front of the children and smiles warmly at them. "And who might these two be?"

Chara runs forward and bows before Makedonios. "I'm Chara m'lord! And that over there is Demy, he's my brother. He's really quite and doesn't talk much, and he's afraid of everything." Demy seems to want to say something, but instead he closes his mouth and stands in the shadow of Veronica. "It's okay Demetrios, that is the Grandmaster of the Order of St. John."

Makedonios was fast approaching forty these days and his face was lined. His lines wrinkled as he smiled big to Chara while sitting on his haunches.

"Hi Chara! It's very nice to meet you! I see you have an apple. And thank you for telling me about your brother. But lets see if we can get him to talk."

The Grandmaster turned to the small boy and smiled even wider. "Hi Demy! How are you? It's ok. You don't have to be afraid. Your parents are here and will keep you safe. You have to learn to act even when your scared. One day you'll have to do things without mom and dad. And it will be scary. But you'll have to it anyways." Having talked enough, Makedonios waited to see if Demy would say anything.

With a little urging, Demetrios stepped forward. "I'm not afraid...I'm just as brave as my dad...I'm going to be a knight one day, just like my dad."

Chara giggled. "Sure Demy...and I'll squish all the spiders for you."

Makedonios kept his smile.

"Well everyone gets scared sometimes. Even Knights of the Order of St. John. I still have nightmares, do you know that? I have them about the day I got this..." With that, he points at the scar on his face.

"Everybody gets scared. And if they don't then they are either crazy or lying. What matters is what you do while your scared."

Chara looks back at Makedonios. "Well, I'm never scared. Nothing scares me at all, except mommy when I pilfer something..." Chara blushes as Veronica gives her a look. Veronica looks at Makedonios with an defeated smile. "She seems to have a knack for theft we are trying to get out of her, but so far it seems irrepressible., and all she does is get better at it. Demy here though has already started to show a scholarly streak. We hope he may start attending schooling here at Antiokheia soon."

It is Demetrios's turn to blush. He seems ready to hide back in his mothers shadow, but hesitates. "Grandmaster, you think a Knight can be smart and strong?"

Makedonios looks up at Iakovos as he answers the young boy.

"Well your father sure managed."

He looks back at Demy. "I'm sure you'll follow in his footsteps. I can already tell that you make him proud."

He turns to Chara with a mock-serious look on his face. "And you know stealing is not nice. You hurt who ever you steal from, you know that?"

Chara looks dismayed. "I don't hear them say ow...but if you say so." Chara pulls out another stolen apple she had hidden and hands it over to Makedonios. "Can you return that to the guy daddy paid so he can stop saying ow?"

Demetrios on the other hand brightens considerably from Makedonios's words. "Really? Dad says he's gonna teach me how to fight when I get to be seven...can you teach me to?" Veronica sighs at Demetrios enthusiasm. "Forgive him Grandmaster, he has grown enamored with the stories we read to them at night, and Demetrios here has taken a liking to Belisarius...and Ike has a tendency to compare you with him as well."

Makedonios said gently to Chara, "well if your daddy paid the man, then you having this does not hurt him."

He turned to Demy, "Do not worry, your training will come in time. You have a couple good teachers here already. I do not know what I could teach you that they can't but I will try."

The Grandmaster's thighs were hurting from being in a squatting position for so long so he stood up. He replied to Veronica lightheartedly.

"Comparing me to Belisarius eh? Well, the part about lacking support from the Emperor is certainly accurate. Don't know about the rest." With that, he chuckled. He then waved to the table.

"Please come and sit. I told the others that we would be here. If any of them wish to join us, they should be here soon."

Cutting a swat through the marketplace throng, a large group of armed men bearing the livery of House Asteri made their way toward Makedonios. As they approached, they fanned out, surrounding the small group and letting way for the wife of Ioannis Kalameteros. As usual, she was dressed in an exquisite ornate tunica, her hair covered by a heavily embroidered palla of matching pastels. As her gaze drifted to Makedonios, Anna’s cold expression was replaced by a warm smile, highlighted by the light rouge on her pale cheeks.

“Grandmaster, it is, as always, a pleasure.” She nodded curtly to Iakovos and Veronica.

Makedonios nodded to the Princess.

"As always, the pleasure is all mine. I'm glad you were able to make it. Please, join us for some tea."

He gestured towards the table and waited for Iakovos to introduce his family.

Iakovos smiles warmly and bows, while Veronica raises an eyebrow. Iakovos gestures to Chara and Demetrios. "These are the children, Chara and Demetrios. Chara, Demetrios, say hello to Princess Anna."

Chara seems taken by Anna at first glance. "Wow, thats a nice dress you have, mommy doesn't have one like that. Do you like apples? What's your favorite color?"

Demetrios hung back though, eyeing the guards around Anna.

Anna pursed her lips in mute dissaproval, before answering in a gentle tone.

"I fail to see the relevance of your questions, but I will indulge you. I do not dislike apples, or any fruit for that matter. As for a specific color, I must admit it depends on varying factors."

Satisfied she had given pointless answers to irrelevant questions, she continued.

"If you truly appreciate my tunica, perhaps you should visit our great capital, where you will be able to find the finest tailors in the Empire." Anna appraised Veronica's clothing before adding, "Your mother verily should consider it."

Turning her gaze on Demetrios, the Princess gave him a reassuring smile.

"Worry not, the presence of these men is merely a formality my husband insists upon, there is no need to be shy."

Chara's faces became a picture of puzzlement. "So your favorite color is 'factors'?" Demetrios giggled but stifled it before whispering something to Chara. Chara suddenly blushed, before bowing and taking a step back and muttering. "Oops" to herself.

Demetrios smiled back at Anna. "But why do you need so many? The Order will protect you here. You don't have to worry at all."

Iakovos took a seat next to Makedonios while watching the kids, while Veronica bowed slightly to Anna. "Thank you for the suggestion, but as a wife of an Order member, I prefer to keep inexpensive tastes."

Anna nodded slightly toward Veronica before answering the little boy.

"One rarely errs by being overly cautious in such matters."

Makedonios simply sipped his tea and enjoyed watching the interaction of the Princess and the children.

Demetrios seemed to only catch half of what Anna was saying, but at least got the spirit of it.

"So, your h-u-s-b-a-n-d worries about you? Like mommy does me and Chara?

Meanwhile Iakovos motions to Makedonios, mouthing silently "We need to talk."

Constantinople 1126:

Makedonios was still standing there outside the library. He now remembered that day well. Iakovos had come to him and needed to talk. But with everyone around, Makedonios had simply brushed it off and said they could talk later. But the Senate Session had become busy with the election. And when Ike was attacked, Mak forgot about the fact that they were supposed to have a conversation earlier.

With a shake of his head, Makedonios avoided the library and continued walking down the hall.

The lead in to the story.

Constantinople, 1128

The sound of hundreds of men marching rang throughout the city. Much of the Imperial Army had left its barracks in various quarters of the capital and began to converge on the Patriarchal Palace. The citizens of Constantinople, having heard dark rumors from the Senate, quickly cleared the streets.

The army established a cordon around the residence of the Patriarch as the Basileus approach on horse. Mounted Varangians were with him, as well as the Patriarchal Represenative, bound to an ass and still spluttering his outrage.

Aleksios and his bodyguard dismounted at the gates of the palace. The Basileus grimly nodded as he surveyed the situation. He signaled one of his men and the Represenative's fetters were cut. The man dropped from his mount into the dust cursing.

"What treachery is this!? You dare move against his Holiness? Is there no heresy to which you will not sink?"

Aleksios glanced back at him, "I seek to speak with Nicholas. I've heard he is notoriously hard to see in person. You, his lickspittle, will arrange an audience with him now. That or my soldiers will."

The Represenative glanced around nervously, "But. . ."

Aleksios interrupted, "You have ten minutes to do this, at that time I'll be coming in, with Nicholas's leave or no."

Harald roughly pushed the Represenative toward the gates. Panicked the man began to run to the palace.

Aleksios spoke again, quietly, "Give his Holiness my regards."

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

co-op with Ibn-Khaldun

Alexandria 1128

After a long march across the Nile delta, Laskaris finally approaches the eastern gate of Alexandria. Soldiers are lined up all atop the battlements. Their armour shining in the hot noon sun. Glaring down from the wall is Solomon, his crimson cloak blowing in the breeze.

“Ah, Laskaris! I see you’ve finally grown a spine and have come to face me in battle!”

"Open the gate, you baboon. I am here with the orders of Megas. Me and my men are here to garrison the city and to keep public order in check. And because you can't do the job then Methodios' have pointed me as the governor of Alexandria."

Efstathios smiles when saying the last sentence..

"And now open the gate!" he yells.

“Garrison the city! Governor! No, never! This is just another one of your plots. Well I’ve heard enough of your lies! This ends now!!”

Solomon attaches a rope to the battlements and repels down the wall in dramatic fashion. Once at the bottom he unsheathes his sword and charges, yelling "Sol-O-Mon!!!". He only takes a few steps before realizing that something is wrong. Looking around, he realizes that not a single person followed him.

A soldier on the wall yells down, “According to the charter, we can’t leave the city without Methodios’ permission. Sorry.”

Noticing the gleeful look in the eyes of Laskaris’ soldiers, Solomon makes a hasty retreat back to the rope and scurries up the wall as fast as he can. Still panting from the exertion, he yells down to Laskaris, “Fine, gasp but I still don’t have to gasp let you in!!! gasp”

The previously mentioned soldier coughs loudly. “What is it now?” Solomon demands impatiently. The soldier replies, “According to the charter you have to let him into the settlement.”

“What!!! There has to be some loophole you oaf. Find me a #%@# loophole!!!”

“Sorry sir, but I’m afraid that you’ll have to let him in. On the bright side, the extra soldiers will help...”

Solomon cuts him off, “Fine!!! Let him in. But I know he’s here to cause trouble, regardless of what he says. Make sure to keep a close eye on him.”

Unable to control his rage any longer, he storms off yelling obscenities about charters and regulations.

Efstathios and his men laugh when they see Solomon leave.

"This will be interesting," he says smiling to one of his bodyguards.

"Forward men!" he says to his men and rides in front of the army towards the city.

Reluctantly, the soldiers inside the walls open the gate and let Laskaris’ army in. The men who crusaded with Solomon look nervously around at each other. They know that this can’t end well...

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This is a co-op between myself and TheFlax.

Constantinople 1126:

Time ambled by as Anna poured over a plethora of texts, if only to keep up with current events and her duties in the University of Constantinople. Nowadays, when she was not reading some missive or report, she found herself busy writing a score or so. Yet, she relished the challenge and could not be more content, if only more time could be spent with her children.

With a sigh, she lifted her gaze of the scroll and noticed most of the candles on her simple wooden desk were nearly depleted, signifying she had once more spent most of the day in her study. Anna decided she would read only two more letters before retiring for the evening meal, as always it had been an exacting day.

Makedonios walked through the halls of the university. He saw a plaque on the door and knew he found it. Opening the door, he saw her sitting at her desk. As always, his heart fluttered a little and his breathing changed. For the first time in weeks, his features softened.

"Greetings Your Highness."

Recognizing the familiar voice, Anna ceased writing and lifted her gaze to him, a friendly smile across her features. her pampered face had changed little since her youth, yet her eyes had lost their past glimmer.

"Makedonios, I am glad you could make it. I understand how busy you must be these days."

He nodded and came in. But since he had not yet been invited to sit, he kept standing. He had aged much in the past few years. His eyes had circles and his face had more lines. As always, a napkin was at hand if his sickness caused him to cough.

"It's a busy job Your Highness. I see why so few people run for it. But I'm still glad I did. Gives me the chance to do some good."

He paused for a moment and looked at her. To him, she hadn't changed at all. He suspected he would see her as he did then. Before the pause became awkward, he spoke.

"I appreciate the invitation to talk. The past few weeks have been... hard."

The smile faded from her face.

"Yes... Iakovos will be missed."

Any possibility of a smile creeping onto his face died at the mention of Iakovos's name. His death had weighed heavily on Makedonios. He stared at some invisible point on the wall. With a quiet voice, he said, "He was the first one of mine that I lost you know. I had a couple people retire but even with all the battles I had never lost one." He looked up at her. "He was my responsibility."

"Yet you were not responsible for his death." Anna motioned him to sit. "You cannot be expected to watch after every one of them incessantly. Casting blame on yourself is woefully unfair."

He sat heavily. "But these people joined me because they believed in what I was doing. And he didn't die in battle. He was killed in his sleep by a coward. I knew people were after him. He almost bled out on the Senate floor last year."

His head shook as he realized he hadn't actually made a point yet. "Bah, I'm just rambling. I apologize."

"No need." A faint reassuring smile appeared on her lips. "You can speak freely here."

He thought for a few seconds before speaking. "It was that Organization that did it. I just know it. One side or the other, it doesn't matter. I'm convinced they are all bad. His own brother created a monster and it finally killed Iakovos."

"We always knew they amounted to no good, but we are poorly equipped to fight them." She sighed. "Somehow, I always expected you or I would be their victim... not Iakovos."

His head nodded. "I always worried that they would finally get to you. For some reason you've always been a magnet for crazies. But Iakovos... he was always so innocent. He had this naive idealistic view of the world. But it was refreshing. You stay in politics long enough, and it is easy to get cynical. But for some reason, the stench of the Senate never touched him. We are truly the worse off without him."

Anna nodded in understanding. "Now all we can do for him is to bring his killer to justice."

He grunted in agreement. "Oh that we will do. I am tired of people bickering over which side of the Organization is 'good' and which is 'bad'. I see both sides trying to fan the flames of conflict in the Senate. I am certain that Iakovos was killed by one of these men. And, despite what side they claim to be on, both factions in this group are responsible for the current situation."

She rose and passed Makedonios. "But, I am certain you did not simply come here to hold such a dreary discussion." The door closed, locked.

His heart skipped a beat when she moved past him. He caught a whiff of her scent and he swore that part of her outfit brushed his arm. He waited until she moved back around to where he could face her.

"No, I wanted to see you again."

"I also wanted to see you again." The words came out as a mere whisper. "I find myself continuously worried for your wellbeing."

He grunted. "Funny, but I've always been worried about your wellbeing. You've been threatened and attacked more times than I can remember. I am flattered that you are concerned about me Your Highness, but I am a crusty old soldier. I'll be fine."

"I wish I could share your certainty." Anna hesitated. "I hope your term as Megas will not give you more enemies."

Makedonios chuckled slightly. "I'm not sure if I could possibly have more enemies than I already do. No, once people see that I am fairly distributing the Empire's wealth, they'll see I am not that big bad bogeyman I am made out to be."

While saying the next, he flashed the Princess a small smile. "At least some of you have always been there for me."

She smiled lightly at his comment, but her features rapidly returned to a more somber note. "Do you think I have erred in naming Methodios as a scholar? I had no idea he would go against the law, whatever his motives may be. Somehow, I feel I should have known better, given my dislike of most of his previous actions."

Both his eyebrows went up in slight surprise at the subject change and in thought. "Methodios? Nah, I don't think you erred. He's not as bad a guy as people say. He just needs some of the snobby crust rubbed off of him. He should be punished but his head shouldn't be on a pike or anything. Your brother broke multiple Rules and nothing ever happened to him. Hypatios exterminated at least 6000 people and he is doing all fine in dandy in his new House."

Anna considered his words and sat down again. "I hold neither in higher regard than Methodios, as you surely know."

Makedonios nodded. "I know. I think I can safely say that Methodios is a cut above those two. So, how is it being Dean?"

"Constant preoccupations and responsabilities." She gave Makedonios a faint smile. "Although it permits me to make sure there is some sort of equity in the University, and for that I am glad."

He returns her smile. "And for that I'm grateful. I'm glad the position hasn't become blatantly partisan. Education should be for everyone."

Anna gave him a nod. "Hopefully that will be true for all of the Empire's institutions."

Makedonios laughed. "With your brother ascending the throne soon, that won't be likely." He chuckled for a bit. "Your Highness, thank you, I needed to laugh and talk for awhile. As always I thank you for your time and sympathetic ear. But I should get going back to my office. A pile of letters has probably materialized in my absence." He gets up to leave but pauses so she can reply.

"I fully understand." She indicated the stacks of papers on her desk. "I have to take care of these. Stay well Makedonios."

"And you do the same." With a smile and a nod, Makedonios left the office.

Cairo, 1128

There was chaos in the streets as the Crusaders occupied Cairo. The final battle had very nearly been an after thought, with the young, freshly crowned Sultan dramatically over-estimating the valor of his men yet again. When the relief force out of the south had attacked the Byzantine camp, he actually abandoned the walls to join the attack. Though he and a single man from his guard escaped, they were later found dead on the road, and Cairo was unheld against the Greek army.

Crusaders Ksiros and Amarinthou immediately struck out for the city center to assume control and try to restore order, taking most of the army with them. Vissarionas rode carefully towards the Christian quarter, hoping to find good news of his old stomping grounds. His men had explicit orders to harm no one in clearing a path through the swirling masses, and in general the people shrank back from the advancing soldiers and gave way. Still, progress was slow, and it took most of an hour to even reach the edge of the quarter.

Signs were not good. The streets had been blocked off with barricades, some of them obviously only recently abandoned, and there was no noise, no sign of life from outside them.

'Tear those down. Break me a way in. No, no, give me the axe!'

Impatiently Vissa tore at the wood, throwing his whole body into the work. A dozen of his guardsmen helped with pry bars and swords while the remaining soldiers watched their backs warily, and soon the path was clear. Rafi came forward to enter with Vissa, but Vissa waved him back with a curt gesture and went in alone.

...moments later he was back, gray faced and visibly ill.

'They burned it. Burned it right to the ground, with all of them in it. Coptics, Gnostics, Greeks... women, children... Hundreds of them huddled in the church, and the God cursed butchers just put it to the torch and left it there.'

Vissa abruptly bent double and emptied his stomach all over his boots. Many of the men looked uneasy at this display of weakness, but Rafi went to him and helped him straighten back up, and then spoke soothingly to him,

'M'lord some must have escaped! The whole quarter couldn't have been packed into the church together, it's simply impossible! Many, perhaps even most, got away, fled to the countryside.'

Grimly Vissa shook his head, 'More like the Sultan drug them out and killed them where their corpses could feed his crops. No, it's just like Antioch Rafi. I failed! I failed them all again! If there's a Christian alive in this city today it's only because he lied about his faith, and what sort of man could bear to do that?'

'We spared them! We came in peace to protect our own, and we turned the other cheek! For what?'

Vissarionas ek Lesvou threw back his head and screamed like a condemned man being flayed on the rack. The few citizens of Cairo who were still about drew back at the sound. Rushing out into the street beyond his stunned bodyguards Vissa siezed a young man, too young to serve in the military as yet, and roared at him in choppy Arabic,

'We spared you! Why, why was this done? We came to save them! WHY?'

The boy was shaken roughly, but made no resistance, no sound at all. At last Rafi pulled Vissa away and waved for the boy to move on. The young Egyptian fled quickly, but Vissa was dead weight in Rafi's slight arms, and he could not hold him up. Both of them collapsed in the street while the guards gazed on uncomfortably and kept watch. In a quiet, broken voice Vissa spoke for Rafi's ears alone.

'Why... why do we live this way Rafi? If God is great why does he not turn the hearts of the infidel away from their wickedness? If the temptation to evil is a test, then surely all men fail, and all are consigned at last to Hell, infidel, believer, heretic, and atheist alike... and the Emperor dodders towards the grave, leaving our Empire once more in the hands of an mad, destructive incompetent. Are we better? Was Alexandria a symbol of Byzantine superiority?'

'Is Cairo? These people, they... they've just seen our kind butchered by the hundreds, and we sought no vengeance. They will not respect us, they will not respect the need for order.' An angry sigh escapes from Vissa, and he begins to stand again, having regained his strength. First he whispers one last question for Rafi,

'What must I do to stop being a butcher Rafi?'

Shaking his head to clear it, Vissarionas begins to order his men to mount back up when a messenger arrives from the south gate, where the Crusaders entered the city. He roughly salutes Vissa before speaking,

'M'lord there's a pack of Bedouin askin' after you at the gate. Say they're friends. We nearly filled 'em with arrows when they rode up, but they were carrying this.'

So saying the man produces a crudely drawn replica of the ek Lesvou family crest against a white, cloth background. On one corner are written a few Arabic letters.

The change in Vissa is palpable. His stance strengthens, and his back straightens. He gestures imperiously for the messenger to be off, and then kicks his boots against an upturned paving stone to knock the worst of the vomit off before mounting. At his curt order the men fall in behind him, and they all ride back to the gate at a faster pace, roughly clearing any slow moving peasants from their path.

Waiting there, just inside the archway, are twenty or so Bedouins wrapped head to toe in loose, light cloth. None of them can be told from any other at a glance, but even so Vissa all but leaps from his horse and rushes forward to grab a slight figure in well made white garmets and hug it, no, her tightly. A single gesture from Vissa is enough to indicate that Stephen is to take command of the guardsmen and give his general some time. The Bedouin spits out some rapid fire Arabic to her companions and then the two of them adjourn, hand in hand, to the nearby guard house.

(...to be continued...)

:egypt:

Cairo, 1128, continued

Hours passed, long and dull for those without, short and sweet for those within the guardhouse. Words, having been unecessary for so long, came during one languid pause an indeterminate length of time into their meeting.

'You know, boy, you're going to regret going easy on these people. They've known only the rule of Allah and the strength of the sword for too long. You've broken their armies, but not their will to fight,' Aliya's voice remained heavenly, taunting, teasing, always dancing ahead of her conversational partners, though a certain natural thickening that came with age to the rest of her was now obvious absent her Bedouin garb. Despite being younger than Vissa by several years she insisted on referring to him in the diminutive.

'How could I put the city to the sword without knowing if you were still inside it or not? Aliya, how could I put any city to the sword after Antioch? I lived among these people.' Vissa's voice had roughed with age, and was less clear since he'd lost teeth on the voyage, but no one could mistake the essential innocence still present in him.

Satisfaction shone in Aliya's eyes at what Vissa had said first, but she hid it quickly, and her voice filled with sarcasm, 'Oh yes, of course, after your glorious exit from Cairo how could the Sultan fail to worship me even more? How could he resist elevating me to first concubine and building me my own palace in the city?! It isn't as though you were on your way to meet me when the wild hair took you to start a holy war!'

'It... wait... that's not at all what happened Aliya!'

'Oh no? Well, I suppose I should know that already from all the letters you've sent me over the years! The line of messengers stretching hand in hand right across the desert, and every merchant ship in the sea carrying your coin to deliver sweet nothings into my ear? Alas, I must report, every one of them failed to reach me. I suppose the Sultan had them executed as well, eh?'

'But... I... how?'

'At least, praise the gods, when you finally landed here in Egypt you sped to my side to rescue me from the soldiers of the Sultan like a hero out of legend, yes? Slaying the Sultan's armies with one hand while hoisting me safely into the air with the other?'

'Aliya, no... there... it...' Vissa sputtered like a fool, her accusations having chased away any semblance of rational thought.

'Oh, but there was a battle! You fought, not barehanded mind, but at least you drug down the Sultan in honorable combat, yes? Challenged him to a duel in my name and killed him like a man?'

'Well...'

'No matter there boy! I have a gift for you,' With that she tossed a small sack, stained brown at the bottom, towards him. Vissa, still struggling to recover from her verbal onslaught, jerked back as it flew and was struck in the chest by the bag, which then dropped to the floor.

Stooping to pick it up he promised himself he would stuff his tongue back into his mouth and be silent until she relented. He immediately broke his word, however, when a finger tumbled out of the bag bearing the Sultan's personal signet ring and seal.

'My God! Aliya, how did you come by this?'

She directed a coy smile at him, and gestured for him to close his mouth and gather his thoughts a moment. Then, relishing every word at the start, she related the story of the death of the Sultan of Egypt.

'After watching long enough to see that your battle was decisively won, my father's men and I made for the city. Neither side had taken note of us because we did not wish them to, and Bedouin are accomplished at concealing themselves in the desert above all others. We rode wide around the battlefield and made for the road back to Cairo, intending to reach the city with the news ahead of your men.'

'As fate would have it we were quickly overtaken by two men riding hard, one of them clearly wounded, refugees from the battle. I gave my companions firm orders to allay all suspicion of our loyalty, and so we presented ourselves as sons of the al-Rashaydah tribe, late coming to serve the Sultan. The wounded man, throwing back his rough covering, revealed himself to be none other than my former son-in-law, the current Sultan himself. He had a rather serious cut, and there was blood all down his leg, which made riding difficult for him.'

'The fool imperiously demanded that we dismount and surrender our fresh horses to him and his bodyguard. I immediately did so, leading my horse forward on foot and offering the Sultan a hand down from his animal. As the Sultan concentrated on the painful task of climbing down my men silently cut down his one remaining guard as that man left his horse, dropping the corpse into the dust.'

'When Sultan Nasir looked up from his labors I drew off my hood. I will give him this, there was no fear in his face. Though it pained him he straightened up without looking around and gazed directly into my eyes.'

'I was thankful for that, it made putting the dagger in his throat that much easier. Afterward I took his finger for proof, and to offer the seal to the next governor of Cairo.'

At no point during the tale did Aliya's voice quaver, nor did her eyes give up any sign that it might have been difficult to kill the King whom she'd known, if briefly, as a boy. Vissa shook his head, and gathered her into his arms nonetheless.

After a moment she steps back and regards him carefully, 'What will you do now Vissa? How will Cairo fare?'

'Why you and I will govern the city together Aliya! I will be Duke of Cairo for the Byzantine Empire, and you will be my mistress, my wife if you wish!'

At this the first, brief, cloud of darkness flies across the beautiful face of Aliya, and she looks away just for a moment before speaking, 'Vissa... I am already wed.'

It is Vissa's turn now to be gathered in for a hug, as the diminutive figure of Aliya is forced to support his weight. After a moment he regains control of himself, and pushes her away gently. There are no words, but his eyes ask her the question in his heart.

'When the Sultan expelled me from the Palace he gave orders that my tribe be hunted down and destroyed. My father needed allies, places to hide, free reign to move through the lands of other tribes. Your people have nations and borders to keep them apart, mine have tribes that move around each other as a society. The tribe must come first. It has always been so, will always be so, and so it is with me. When my father found me a husband with the necessary connections, I submitted myself to him willingly, and so the tribe survives!' This last she said with a hushed fervency, as though to convince even herself that it was paramount and true.

'But now...' Vissa began before she cut him off.

'But now you have nearly thirty thousand angry Muslims living in Cairo, and ten thousand more nearby in Alexandria. Your lands are surrounded by your enemies, and you have no friends among the tribes. No, not even my father, and do not so much as ask!'

'Vissa, I wish you well, I hope for your success, but... the tribe comes first. As when I went to the Sultan in the first place, so now I go to my tribal husband, leader of a great clan of the southern deserts. I will not see you again barring some unforseeable accident of fate.'

Anguish overwhelmed Vissarionas. Bonelessly he slid to the floor, crushed by fate for a third time in less than a day, a day that should have been a glorious celebration of victory. Through a haze of black indifference he heard her whisper her final words.

'I love you, boy.'

And she was gone.

Hours later Vissarionas ek Lesvou emerged from the guardhouse alone. The Bedouin were long gone, but his guardsmen were still there. In fact they were overseeing the arrival of a fellow Crusader, Methodios Tagaris, known as The Chivalrous. Soldiers and citizens alike whispered as he rode into the city, none of them taking note of Vissa standing silently by the gatehouse door.

'Look, it's the butcher of Alexandria, come to kill us all!' came a low voice in Arabic.

'There, chaps, goes a true hero! I heard he threw a hundred infidels from the walls himself at Alexandria,' related a Greek soldiers in loud, proud tones.

'The Grandmaster himself invited Methodios to help keep order here,' these words came from one of Vissa's own bodyguards.

It was the last straw for Vissa. Something in him broke, opening a jagged, unwholesome hole inside his churning guts and swallowing up every rational thought. Darkness overwhelmed his mind, and he could think of nothing but Vissarionas the Butcher, an accusation his dreams had hurled at him for decades. His jaw tightened, his eyes hardened, and as soon as Methodios' guards had passed he called to his men in a cold voice,

'Mount up. Bring nothing but your swords. Our work is not yet done, we must secure the Holy sites of Orthodoxy as demanded in our Crusade charter. Methodios will administer Cairo while we see to this task.'

And so Vissarionas ek Lesvou, Crusader, Duke of Cairo in name if not in fact, beloved of Aliya al-Badawiyya, and knight of the Order of St. John rode off into the desert on the day of his greatest victory with no plan but to ride until he couldn't ride any further, until the pain came to an end, until, perhaps, everything came to an end.

:egypt:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Note: This story takes place after Aleksios surrounds the Offices of the Patriarch and the subsequent events.

Constantinople, 1129

The scroll made its way to the Patriarch's hands. It was snatched, read, and hastily discarded as its most recent reader rose from his desk and strode out of his office. "The Basileus has called an Emergency Session and has plans to discuss the future of the Patriarch later in the deliberations."

Patriarch Nicholas III, whether of Alexandria or Constantinople, strode from his office with rare purpose and determination. He was approached by several Patriarchal Guards, but waved them off as he continued walking, easily making his way through the labyrinthine corridors of the Offices. The common criticism of the Patriarch was that he never got out and met people. This was about to change, but a pit stop was required first.

Motioning three hooded Patriarchal Guards over to him, they all climbed in the waiting carriage and it set off.

The initial destination was towards the Patriarchal Vaults, a moderate distance away from the Offices. It was safely located away from the church district, so another part of the city would feel the full majesty of Orthodoxy, but not on the other side of town so the journey was not overly arduous.

Unlike the Offices, which towered over the majority of structures in Constantinople, the Vaults were fairly unassuming. The architecture was ornate, yes, but the size of the building was modest. It was, in the simplest of terms, a glorified warehouse, a storage room where anything from trinkets to confiscated material to even corpses of enemies were located.

The carriage arrived. The Patriarch, nodding to the two additional Guards stationed at the front entrance, took a lit torch and proceeded inside, alone. As the door shut behind him, leaving the leader of Orthodoxy in near-total darkness, the five guards could only look at each other and contemplate. Unauthorized access to the Vaults and its contents were strictly forbidden, of course, but over the years the guards snuck peeks at what was inside, marvelling at the displays they could see and dreaming about the ones they could not. Only the utmost of discipline prevented them from actually venturing inside the Vaults and exploring its full assortment of treasures.

Inside, the Patriarch waved his torch and walked, not pausing at all to admire or examine what his guards outside only dreamed about. At least a dozen identical copies of the beautiful armor he had given to Makedonios Ksanthopoulos sat unadmired, as did piles of silver and gold. Rare texts were left undisturbed, as was the centerpiece of the Vaults: a giant, gold statue of the Crucifixion, sculpted in the Classical style.

No, the Crucifixion was just a distraction. The true treasure was tucked away in a the Vaults: a smaller, ivory sculpture of Christ in a holy pose. The Patriarch finally paused from his march, pacing in front of this statue again and again, mumbling to himself. After a while, he stepped directly in front of the sculpture and genuflected.

Instantly, the ground sunk. A perfect circle a few feet in diameter, the Patriarch contained in it, slowly started moving down to a secret, underground level.

For all the lore told about what lay in the Offices or the known part of the Vaults, there were no stories about this level. Inside contained the true treasures of Orthodoxy and Christianity, unbeholden to any man except for the current Patriarch of Constantinople. The knowledge of this place was transferred via letter; the current Patriarch, before his health would inevitably take a turn for the worse, wrote of the Lower Level and put it with his will. Upon his death, the new Patriarch would read the letter, learn the secret, and then promptly burn it.

Because the Lower Level was probably the greatest-kept secret in the world, there was nobody to maintain its upkeep. The air was dank and stale and also unplentiful. The Patriarch coughed twice upon breathing it. His torch was fast eating the oxygen as well. This was another security system designed to maintain the secrecy of the Lower Level: You had to know what you were getting and you had to be quick about it. If you did not follow these two rules, then you were dead.

Keeping this in mind, the Patriarch quickly moved through the unmentionable holiest of relics and records of prophecy, leaving them, as usual, hidden to the world. Of course, his desired item was near the back, for its value was great even among the objects hidden in the Lower Level.

He spotted a gold glint and snatched it, already moving back to the entrance while carefully inserting the object into his robes. There was no time to examine it, not down here. He would do so in the relative light of the main Vaults, make sure he removed the correct artifact, and then make his way back to the carriage. He hoped that nobody would notice the dirt on his shoes.

After riding the genuflection platform back up to the statue of Christ, the Patriarch walked back to the giant golden Crucifixion statue. That plus the torch light was ample enough to illuminate his artifact, which seemed to glow on its own.

It was a beautiful dagger, perfectly balanced, with the point sharpened to perfection. It would cut skin at the slightest brush and had a very good chance of doing the same to harder objects. The Patriarch had little doubt that the point would stay sharp for an unnaturally long time. The hilt was pure gold and had religious marks expertly carved in it: the Crucifixion, of course, but Old Testament scenes as well, the kind where God's Will was fulfilled at the cost of thousands of heathen lives.

Then there was the jewel set into it, the jewel that shined even brighter than the golden hilt. A ruby, otherwise flawless aside from a dark smudge set into its very center. This smudge was actually blood, dried blood, dried blood scraped off the True Cross some time after the Crucifixion. There were no tools that could possibly have inserted it into the ruby without leaving a mark, leaving only one explanation as far as the Patriarch was concerned.

He wasn't certain if anybody knew of the dagger's existence, or even if anybody had heard its legend, but if there were any that did, surely the very blood of Christ residing inside the ruby would leave them all in awe.

The time had come to act, and Patriarch Nicholas III had a perfect instrument in which to assist him. While containing the substance of the hero of the New Testament, the dagger would assist in Old Testament work: righting what was wrong by force.

Once again slipping the dagger into his robes, the Patriarch exited the Vaults and, with his three hooded guards, climbed into the carriage. This time it departed in the direction of the Magnaura.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Co-op between myself and OverKnight. This story takes place immediately following Part One.

Constantinople, 1128

The Representative, having been unceremoniously booted into the Offices of the Patriarch, started sulking all the way to his master's office, not even pausing to explain the situation to the shocked (and heavily outnumbered) Patriarchal guards. Dirtied and angry from his journey from the Magnaura, several curses that had probably never been said aloud in the heartbeat of the Orthodox faith were muttered. Each time this happened a look of horror appeared on a passing clergyman's face, followed by scolding. The Representative ignored it all, even swearing loudly when he realized that he had made a wrong turn and needed to double back.

Finally, with seven of the Basileus's ten minutes having passed, the Representative opened Patriarch Nicholas III's door without knocking. The two men, Patriarch and Representative, stared at each other for a moment, and then the Patriarch made ready to speak.

"You're dusty."

"The Basileus wants a word," the Representative said abruptly. "Oh, him and about two hundred soldiers. I just got dragged from the Magnaura, bound to an ass, and dropped to the ground because he felt that now was the proper time. Right when the Caesar was being mauled in there too, of course. But he gives you his regards, so it's all okay. And by the way, I have about two minutes to get back down through that maze of yours and tell him that you can see him, or otherwise he and all of the guards are going to barge in here and probably wreck everything."

"Are you finished?"

"Yes, Your Eminence."

"Good," the Patriarch said. "Now, what is it you wish to do?"

"Grant the Basileus entry within his time limit without further humiliation to myself while making it difficult for him to reach this office at the same time."

"Then do it."

"Right," said the Representative. "Parchment, pen, and seal, please." After the Patriarch handed him all three items, the Representative quickly jotted down the words "Enter, Basileus", embossed it with the Patriarchal seal, and made for the window, where he opened it, dropped the parchment into the wind, and closed it again.

"That should buy us some time to think," the Representative said. "Good luck to the Basileus getting up here, especially with the guards stationed at the main entrance not knowing the location of Your Eminence's office."

"It is that reason why it would probably be in your best interest not to be present when the Basileus finally does reach here," the Patriarch said. "I suggest you hide yourself in your office or someone else's until this meeting is concluded." The Representative bowed and, still wiping the dust off his clothes, exited.

Ten minutes later, the Basileus entered the room, flanked by Harald. Aleksios's gaze took in his surroundings and the Patriarch. With a curt nod he dismissed the Varangian, who closed the door on his way out.

"Good day, your Eminence, I felt it was time we stopped dueling through proxies and spoke face to face. Though you have tried to make it difficult."

The Patriarch looked up at the Basileus for a long while, stroking his beard. "Difficult is a relative term," he finally said, "especially when you have never attempted it before now. After all, I, as you know, have always been here, sitting in this office, watching over my flock. Despite the various efforts to get me out in public, coronating the unimportant or meeting the unenlightened... or even to get me moved to an entirely different continent... here I have remained, awaiting your call, Basileus. You have just never made it until now. Although I do admit, dragging my poor Representative out of the Magnaura and using two hundred of your finest soldiers to bang on my humble doors does make for an impressive first call indeed. Clearly, you have something on your mind, and that something is obviously not my demise, considering the way in which you have announced your presence here. Speak, then. Speak, my son."

Aleksios glanced around the room, "Humble door? Indeed. Let me cut to the quick, you and I have have opposed each other for years. Your represenative in the Senate and your lackeys in the street speak out against me and my family. I have investigated you; the origins of the Crusade, the plan behind your slanders and plots within plots. I nearly lost my man Apionnas in Egypt to your agents, and there's been a knifing in the Magnaura."

The Basileus threw down a sheath of papers onto the Patriarch's desk.

"And yet, while I know much more than I did, I don't have it all. I don't have enough solid evidence to burn you safely without fear of reprisal. I could remove you as a threat, but by doing so I would trigger even more instability in the Empire."

The Basileus leaned forward on the desk staring at the Patriarch.

"Let these facts not comfort you however. The men in shadows you've been relying on aren't as reliable as you envisioned. Your man Symeon has been watched and Apionnas has survived. Both he and Aleksander have passed on information to me. The Egyptians initiated their move against the Christian due to an outside influence and you may use a fake assasination attempt, coupled with the fervor of the Crusade, to try to reshape the Empire into a Theocracy. If you move against me or my son, this information will come to light. And the legacy of the Crusade and your legacy as the man who called it will be sullied."

Aleksios drummed his fingers on the desk.

"Now, you could excommunicate me, threaten not to coronate my son when he assumes the Throne and probably set a good portion of the Senators against me. However, I will soon have my own Patriarch of Constantinople, one who's view of recent changes in Church hierarchy will be more orthodox. You would be excommunicated in turn, and as the Empire would be split, so would the Church.

"So, we can destroy each other, however neither of us would likely survive to enjoy it and the Empire would be irreparably damaged. It wouldn't matter what vision you or I have for it, they would both be impossible to achieve then."

"And yet, I am the only one in this office who is not blameless," the Patriarch mused. "'The Patriarch' this, 'the Patriarch' that. Naturally, you know of my actions so there is no point in denying them, but each one of them was done for a reason, and yes, the reason does extend beyond the simple goal of creating a theocracy where my evil Orthodox priests maintain an iron grip on the helpless Byzantine citizens for all time. How simplistically black-and-white of you."

The Patriarch allowed himself a minor chuckle, but upon glancing up and seeing the Basileus's facial expression, returned to his usual seriousness.

"As the leader of the Orthodox faith, no matter where my official title is located, it is naturally in my best interests to serve Orthodoxy's best interests. These past years, there have been many threats to Orthodoxy's best interests, so I acted." In contrast to the Basileus's stack of papers currently residing on the Patriarch's normally tidy desk, Nicholas produced a single scroll. It appeared to be a list.

"First of all, Apionnas. Yes, my men intercepted him. In Egypt. Cairo. The target of the Crusade. The man is a former Mohammedan, Basileus. He is still a Saracen, and he was talking to Egyptian soldiers while the Crusade was bearing down upon the city. My agents were frightened beyond belief that he had turned traitor and was informing the enemy of the Crusaders' plans. Now, you tell me that Apionnas was your man going down to Egypt on your orders, but consider the fact that my agents knew nothing about this, and I believe they weren't alone in this lack of knowledge, either. They definitely acted accordingly.

"Secondly, the Caesar. A bumpy transition of power seems to be your greatest fear, judging by your actions and that letter of yours originally proposing the Edict to ship me off to Alexandria. Ioannis, however, is the most controversial man in the Empire. He willingly pursues civil war and you know that as soon as he inherits the Throne he will stop at nothing to destroy the Order of St. John and gain absolute power for himself. Considering that the Order is the most pious of the Houses and the fact that Ioannis was against the Crusade even before there were whispers that I had somehow influenced the Caliph's move against the Gnostics and Coptics, I am once again acting in Orthodoxy's best interests by planning to block his succession. You, as Vice-Regent and undisputed ruler of all things secular in Byzantium, should be concerned as well, for if the Caesar has his way, there will be extreme turmoil, whether I am involved or not - but that's a conversation for another day. Before you condemn me for opposing the Caesar and seeing what madness it would bring, think about what universal acceptance of his unjust rule would bring, Basileus. Think on that.

"Thirdly, and I will not dwell on this point long. You speak of appointing a new Patriarch of Constantinople who will have a more 'orthodox' view of Church hierarchy. I find it interesting that you feel it is so, after you made a blatant move to increase your religious power and upset the traditional balance that has been observed."

The Patriarch made a long pause, repeatedly clearing out his throat.

"So yes, there would be a split, probably even greater than the one you described, for I would have credible defenses even to your unproven accusations. Naturally, I would be against a war the same as you, for all that it accomplishes in the end is the death of Orthodox citizens and a questioning of the faith. Is the eternal struggle, fruitless for both of us old men, what we are destined to do then?"

The Basileus leaned back, his eyes gone narrow and looking down on the Patriarch. He smiled then, coldly, "Of course, we could choose another path. . ."

"Ah, the crux of the reason for your visit," the Patriarch said. "This I am interested to hear."

The Basileus spoke quietly, "Despite our posturing, neither of us will get exactly what we want. Do you think I am blind to my son's failings? I had hoped to groom him to be a wise ruler while making sure there was an Empire for him to inherit. Both, it seems, are in doubt.

"You conspire with Symeon against me, and I conspire with Aleksander against you. Do you see the common thread? It is the Organization, whatever factions there are in it, they are playing us against each other. If we continue on this path, we will destroy each other, and the only ones who will benefit will be them. Men in shadows only have power, if poweful men, such as you and I, give it to them.

"As you said, you and I are old, and while you are a threat to me, if we allow the Organiziation to continue in their conspiracies, they will be a greater threat to both the institutions we represent long after we are dust. Do you think you will be rid of Symeon and his men once you no longer have use of him, or I of Aleksander? The latter takes a familiar tone in the Senate, and I'm sure his counterpart does the same with you. Aleksander's report mentions Symeon employing spies and sabotuers in the Houses and army. To get that information Aleksander probably has his own agents in place in this very Palace. In aiding us against each other, the Organization worms itself into Church and State. If left unstopped, they will eventually subvert both. The damage they will eventually do to each, far eclipses what we could do to each other."

Aleksios moved his sheath of papers and the Patriarch's own scroll together on the desk.

"What I propose is this: We unite against them. You have information on them, as do I. You know some of their agents, and I know most of the rest. I will call an Emergency Session, and we will jointly propose an Edict calling for the eradication of the Organization, enforcing your previous Proclamation for real. With what we know we can wipe them out. We'll both be heroes, and our past. . .disagreements. . .were just a public ruse to draw the Organization out."

The Patriarch chuckled once again, this time longer due to his knowledge of what the Basileus's visit was for.

"A bit melodramatic with the symbolism by joining the papers together, Aleksios?" He allowed himself one final chuckle, and then continued. "But yes, you have made it perfectly clear that the Organization, no matter how fracticious, is playing both sides in this conflict. Unfortunately for us all, even if they should triumph, they would still not bring stability to the Empire and Orthodoxy because they would still continue fighting with each other. I would half prefer a secret Order that's organized and disciplined to play both sides and then assert its power in a decisive battle, for at least then the fighting would be over, even though there would be a result that few desired. With this case, we are denied of even that.

The Patriarch now breathed a huge sigh, as if his next words were to cost him a great amount of effort.

"Very well," he said slowly, "I concur with your opinion that the continuation of this conflict would wreck too much, and that we all - both us personally, and the people we represent - have far too much to lose. You have desired stability, I, increased faith. You stand to lose stability in the fact that the Organization's perpetual in-fighting will continue to escalate until it swallows the Empire whole. I stand to lose Faith because I now see that the Organization is not inspirational, only chaotic. Therefore, I agree with your plan."

Aleksios waited, knowing there would be a caveat.

"However," the Patriarch said, "An Emergency session to kill the Organization will not be that simple. I am not content to simply act as your diplomatic conquest and then be shipped off to Alexandria. I must have your assurances that you will revert me back to Constantinople - I dislike the use of my modified Patriarchal seal and wish to return back to the old one.

"Now," he said, "I assume that this concession will come with a price."

Aleksios nodded, "I will fulfill the Edict I proposed at the last Session by appointing you, after your brief stint succoring Alexandria, as your own replacement as Patriarch of Constantinople. In return you will cease undermining myself and my son publicly and when the time comes you will crown him. I stop meddling in your affairs, and you in mine. Status quo ante bellum."

"Ah yes," the Patriarch said, 'status quo ante bellum', as my Papal friends would say. Although technically, the war hasn't started yet, so it would be a status quo ante ante bellum. But I digress. I do see serious problems with the Caesar ahead, and I have every right to block his ascendence. He has demonstrated time and time again that he is unfit to rule."

"We shall see, he deserves a chance at least. An intercepted letter, no matter how inflammatory, is not a declaration of war. However, he requires a harsh lesson in restraint and humility. During the same Emergency Session, I will propose to remove the right of my son to automatically assume the office of Megas Logothetes during his reign. If he wishes to rule, he will have to do so through cooperation and. . ."

Aleksios grimaced, ". . .compromise."

A smile creeped over the Patriarch's face. "I quiver to see what will happen with the Caesar after both of us are enjoying ourselves in the next life, but for now, a case of 'Father knows best' seems appropriate. I do hope Ioannis will take it the right way."

The Patriarch paused, and, for the first time during the meeting, there was a lull in the discussion.

"I believe we are done here then, yes?"

Aleksios replied, "Almost, Aleksander is already in my grasp, and I can have men ready to arrest the other agents I know of as soon as we give word, but Symeon. . ."

"I thought you'd never ask," said the Patriarch, still grinning. "I can personally deliver you and the rest of the Magnaura Symeon himself."

Aleksios nodded, "Good, I'm glad we could reach an agreement. . .your Eminence."

"The feeling is mutual... your Majesty."

Both men stared at each other, and laughed in only the way that two old men who knew all the tricks could.

Constantinople, 1129
One day before the return of Ioannis Komnenos to the Magnaura.

Having slept through most of the Emergency Senate Session, Isaakios Komenos awoke once the moderated bickering had ascended to shouting. He yawned loudly.

"Food," he thought.

He looked around, saw nothing of interest, and left. He walked briskly out of the Magnaura. Each step brought him closer to food. However, his thoughts about lamb were interrupted by a voice coming from behind.

"Hail, son of the Great Basileus!" said the voice.

"Huh?" Isaakios said, stopped, turned around, said "Oh," then took another step and stopped again. "Hail, uh..." he continued and paused. Who was that? It was a Senator. The new guy. What was his name? Nikolaos something... Nikolaos Lambios? No, that probably wasn't it. Still, he needed to continue his previous statement. "... good Senator."

The Senator, who shall for the moment be known as Nikolaos Lambios, ran up to Isaakios, and said, "Mind if we take a stroll down to a nearby Tavern? I'd like to talk about things with a son of the Basileus."

Aha! This man's sudden coming into existence was not fundamentally anti-food after all. That was good. "Yeah, alright, I'm starving," Isaakios said.

They quickly made their way through the crowded streets to a nearby tavern. You could describe this tavern using ornate and descriptive prose, but as far as Isaakios was concerned: food. It was here. There was strong evidence to suggest its existence. His thoughts drifted again to lamb as Nikolaos found them a table and called over a barmaid, at which time the thoughts of lamb had permanently vanished.

"Woman," he thought.

"Drinks for two!" said Nikolaos, "What have ye, Isaakios?"

"I'm not sure," he said and turned to the woman, "perhaps, a recommendation?"

"I like the Ionian wine myself," she said.

"Ionian, eh? Yes, very interesting. I've not had it before, I mostly drink Crimean."

"Crimean?" she asked.

"From Crimea. It's pretty rare, but we have quite a lot of it," he said, and added "you know, I'm the son of the Emperor" as an aside.

"Uh huh," she said.

He parted his cloak a little, just enough to show the tunic embroidered with purple patterns.

"Oh my god," she said, "sorry, I.."

"No, no, no problem," he reassured her, "we'll take that Ionian. I'm sure it's very good. Bring us some food too. Surprise us."

She left and as they waited, Nikolaos struck up a conversation again. "So lad, what you think of the talk in the senate, eh?"

"I've slept through most of it, to be honest. Seems like most everything is being blown out of proportion. Much talk over little action. And everyone could stand to relax a little."

"Aye, I agree, I slept through most of it too! What would you see then? What would you have be done or said?"

"I--" Isaakios started and was interrupted by the arrival of the barmaid with the order. "Thank you," he said to her with a smile, "thank you so much. I am eternally thankful. Well, maybe not that much. I mean, thank you in a sort of a moderate amount. You know, I mean, I appreciate it, but it wasn't that big of a deal. I don't want to overstate it, and mislead you. I would never do that. So yeah, thanks, in a sort of an average, normal sense."

She laughed and said, "you're welcome in a sort of an average, normal sense."

As she left, Isaakios turned to Nikoalos. "She laughed, and that wasn't even funny." He raised his eyebrow and grinned.

Then he turned to look at her again, and in an extremely distracted way he said, "Yeah, I just want to see the Empire be stable and prosper. Carry on with what father started, and what have you. I don't know how much I'll be able to do, but we'll see. There is certainly tension between some of the factions, but I think peace and cooperation will prevail. And besides..."

His speech sort of trailed off at that point, as he continued to follow the woman in the distance. There was some noise coming from the direction which was previously known to be occupied by Nikolaos, and which perhaps still was. Something about Caesars, Grandmasters, and Emperors. Isaakios got up, said something, hoping it was something that made sense as an answer, and walked to the woman.

She smiled when he got to her, and he smiled back. "I think you will soon be done with your work for today," he said.

"Sorry," she responded, "not until sundown."

"Oh, but," he said as he put his hand on her shoulder, "I think the Imperial government disagrees. Let's go talk to your boss."

They went to a shortish, balding man in the back of the tavern, who screamed, "Hey! You can't be in here!"

"Hi," Isaakios said and showed off his purple tunic again, "I'm Isaakios Komenos."

"Oh! Sorry, sir. We are very, very honored to have you in our establishment. I hope--"

"Yes, it's great. Listen, this lady is done for the day, is she not?"

"Uh, I guess, I suppose that's not a problem. If--"

"Excellent. Love the place by the way. I'll tell all my friends."

With that they left. As they walked down the street, she asked, "Why did you do that?"

"Well, I had to," he said and put his arm around her waist, "after getting such a good wine recommendation. I still prefer the Crimean, though."

"Is it that good?"

"Well, no. I won't lie to you. It's not really that great. It's mainly that it's rare. You know, it's pretty cold up there. But don't tell anyone."

"Your secret is safe with me," she said and giggled, "I'm sure the rarity makes it taste better."

"You can try it if you'd like," he said coolly, "I have a small cask of it in my room."

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Nikolaos by YLC

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This story is a co-op between Ituralde and myself. It is set after "lettergate" and before the emergency session.

Constantinople: 1129

Makedonios sat in a spare chamber in the Magnaura. The building was large so there were many alcoves and spare rooms. He had received a message to meet here and he had arrived on time. He sat at a table and waited for the other person to show up.

Pavlos enters the chamber and bows slightly. "Megas Ksanthopoulos."
After this small introduction he advances towards the table and takes a seat. His face seems to be set in an especially grim expression today.

Makedonios nods. He has never really spoken to the man before. Pavlos was considered to be something of a recluse. Not really seen in the Senate. But able to achieve power in a House not known for being generous. The Megas knew he had to tread carefully. He returned the greeting, "Antypatos."

They sat in silence for a moment. Neither seemed to know where to start. Finally, Makedonios asked, "You wanted to see me?"

Pavlos begins to speak slowly as though he weighs every word. "Are you a loyal man?" Before Makedonios can answer he continues. "Well I am. I swore two oaths. One to protect the Basileus and serve the Empire. The other to serve my lord Caesar Ioannis Komnenos. I never thought they would one day stand in conflict to each other." Pavlos is quiet again and chews his cheek absently.

"I am no great talker so I'll make this blunt. You wanted my help, I'm here to give it to you."

Makedonios knew he had a habit to say three words when one would do. So he sat and pondered how to be short and to the point. "I'm loyal to the Empire and to my people. So far, those two are not in conflict. I'm sorry to see your two are."

He took a drink of water. He used the time to think of what to say next. "Why? I can think of plenty of reasons but I would like to hear it from you."

Pavlos eyes flash hotly for an instant. "Why? Civil War of course! Isn't that bloody obvious?"

The Megas kept his cool. "Obvious? Oh I had hoped it would be obvious. It should be obvious. But it is clear to me that it is on at least one person's mind right now. A person you swore to. You and those in your House have done quite well at our expense. So, I assumed you guys would follow him anywhere. So yes. I want to know why. I want to know why you wish to avoid civil war. It is important to me."

"I have only ever asked my lord for one thing and that was for an army to conquer Pontus. After that I followed his orders loyally. I don't care what you assumed. If I swear an Oath I'll keep it! Civil War will not serve the Empire. Especially not in this dimension and with those consequences."

Pavlos forces himself visibly to calmness. He looks the Megas up and down: "You remember Manzikert, you're bloody old enough to have been there. Well I was there and I can tell you that it wasn't the Turks that got us that day. It was us and our joy for Intrigues. Our constant struggle for more power. I will not let this happen again!"

"That should be enough explanation for the Basileus himself. Do you accept my help or not?"

Makedonios nodded. "I was at Manzikert. It was where I got this." He pointed at his scar. "I apologize but you have to see where I am coming from. I do not know you. All I know, is that you have opposed me in the Magnaura and in votes on every single issue since the Magnaura reopened. So, I wanted to know who it was I am dealing with."

He paused to take another sip of water and to cough a little into a tissue. "My apologies, my illness never really went away." He took one more sip to clear his throat.

"The last thing I want, is a civil war. The second to last thing that I want is to waste the rest of my term preparing for a civil war that I pray will never come. So yes, I would like your help."

Pavlos nods slowly then waits for Makedonios to continue. "Well what did you have in mind?"

Makedonios held up a hand. "Three things. One, he can not be harmed." He extended a finger. "Two, the position itself can not be altered." Another finger. "And three, he quite simply can not ever be allowed to be Megas again." The third finger went up. Makedonios looked at Pavlos intently as he asked, "How does that sound to you?"

Pavlos once again chews his cheek in thought and glances upwards. "How do you intend to achieve these things?"

Makedonios leans back. "It's short and simple which is the way I imagine you like plans. When the Caesar ascends the throne, and takes his automatic Megas term, we impeach him. As long as one of us can call a session it should work. With your help, I doubt we'll have any trouble finding the votes."

1129, Sofia, Midwinter

Nikolaos Aristenos was a bear of a man, easily standing a head taller then anyone else on the streets, and his girth was that of two men. Needless to say, Nikolaos hard a hard time fitting into most buildings, and had a hard time not being spotted. Most people were easily intimidated by his bulk, and it was working well for him today.

"I am sorry, but I do not have the payments you requested, please, understand."
Nikolaos shook his head at the Innkeeper. "I am sorry, but the City of Kiev has forwarded the bill through me only, so it is not me you must pay, but them. I would be more then happy to let you get the money, but I cannot so sadly, because I'd like to keep my head. Thus, I am will have to put in yet more paperwork, and we can work on your debt getting paid off. I am terribly sorry."

Nikolaos sighed. He really liked this Inn, it was well kept, had great food, kept excellent company, and that warm hearth made it very comfortable compared to the snowstorm outside. Nikolaos watched the Innkeeper begin to protest, but Nikolaos eyed him as he pulled out the paperwork. Rolling it out on the lovely wooden counter, Nikolaos spoke to the Innkeeper. "Sign here, and we can begin this terrible, necessary, yet hopefully with little pain, process. If we are lucky, we might save much of the Inn." The man was hesitant, yet a quick look at Nikolaos, and he hurriedly signed his name.

A few minutes latter, and Nikolaos walked out of the Inn with the signed papers in hand, pulling his winter cloak over him a little more tightly. The poor Innkeeper had lost almost everything, but Nikolaos had shelled in a few coin to make sure the man would not be out in the cold. Nikolaos looked over the contract again, and chuckled. At least he could keep the man at the head of his Inn, even if he would now answer to Nikolaos.

Turning to make his way to a blacksmith shop that was late on payments, Nikolaos knocked over a woman in a heavy overcoat, sending her flying into the snow. Nikolaos was used to this and quickly offered his hand to the poor woman. "I'm sorry m'lady, please forgive my-" He is immediately entranced by her eyes, riveted in thought and in motion. Even with the bitterly cold wind, Nikolaos is as warm as if he was dancing in a fireplace.

"Easily forgiven. I should have been looking where I was going, not a bit of it was your fault." Lady Veronica pushed herself up, ignoring Nikolaos's hand and dusting herself off. She looked back up at Nikolaos eyeing him before speaking. "Aren't you the senator from Kiev? What are you doing in Sofia?" Nikolaos smiles. "Oh, just some small business matters. And you?" Lady Veronica considers. "I came to visit someone close to my late husband, and I was on my way home until you bowled me over."

Nikolaos chuckles. "And I am deeply sorry for that. Do you wish me to escort you to-" Veronica waved her hand. "No, I am fully capable of finding my own way. Thank you for the offer though." Veronica turns and makes her way down the street, as Nikolaos watches her go. After she rounds the corner, Nikolaos shakes himself from his stupor and growing coat of snow. He had a blacksmith to see.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This story is a co-op between OK and myself.

Constantinople 1129:

His cane clacked on the tile as he walked through the massive hallway. Makedonios had been down this way before many years ago. But that was for a very different reason. He wasn't nearly as nervous this time. For one, things were different now. For another, this conversation would probably go much better than the last. Time was short and things had to be said.

A guard flanked either side of the door unmoving like statues. An aide scurried up to him and checked his name against a list. Makedonios guessed that he was probably the only name on that list all day. But still the aide had to scan down the mostly blank page in order to look official. Bureaucracy...

The doors opened and the Megas walked in with his cane hitting at alternate beats. He was older now. His long blond hair was streaked with gray. While he needed a cane, his movements were steady. His demeanor had changed since the last time he had been in this room as well. No longer desperately pleading for a woman's hand in marriage, Makedonios was confident without being cocky.

The Basileus was speaking with a metal worker, both men in front of Aleksios's desk. Resting on the desk itself were two large blocks of plaster, with a mallet between them. Aleksios looked up as Makedonios approached and spoke to the metal worker, "I will view them myself, and then you can do the detail work. Wait outside, I do not wish to keep the Megas Logothetes waiting."

The two men were soon alone. Picking up the mallet, Aleksios casually spun it in his hands as he greeted Makedonios, "Welcome Megas, my apologies for the delay, but I have just received an interesting gift from my men."

The Basileus made his way behind the desk to sit, "How can I help you?"

First, the Megas bowed properly. Then, when it was clear he had an invitation to sit, he sat down gently and rested his cane against the chair. Mak's curiosity got the better of him and he eyed the thing on the Emperor's desk. "Your majesty, I'm curious. What is that on your desk?"

Aleksios replied, "Business before pleasure, Megas, what do you wish of me?"

Makedonios replied with a small smile. "No business Your Highness. I wanted to take this opportunity to say some things that needed to be said. But it can wait. I'm curious. Is the plaster part of the sculpture or was it what the mallet came from?" His eyes twinkled with curiosity.

The Basileus's lips twitched with a small smile, "Very well, I will indulge your curiousity. The blocks are plaster molds. Best shield your eyes."

Standing, he brought the mallet down on one block and then the other, sending chunks of plaster and dust flying. Two bronze heads were now visible underneath: One's face, what was left of it, was a rictus of pain, the other looked almost surprised.

"May I present to you Sultan Burak and Crown Prince Mehmed," said the Basileus, "These are their death masks, casted from their severed heads after they fell in battle. My men have honored me with a memento from Adrianople."

The Basileus layed down the mallet and sat again, wiping dust from his hands.

"So, what brings you here?"

The Megas looked at the grotesque display for a moment. While not exactly what he had in mind for a memento, it was clear the Emperor was pleased with it. I guess we're just different men, he thought. He kept his face impassive at the morbidness. Finally, Makedonios shrugged and looked up at the Emperor.

"I wanted to thank you. I've never really done that before. We've had our differences. And I've certainly asked for a lot. So... before it is too late, I want to thank you Your Highness. For a lot of things." Knowing he had the bad habit of monologuing, Mak left it at that and waited for the Emperor to reply.

Aleksios raised an eyebrow, "Isn't this a day of wonders?"

He resumed, more seriously, "I myself could not have foreseen the events of the past few years. However, I acted as I did to prevent the loss of what we have regained. After Manzikert, the internal strife within the Empire did more damage than the battle itself. I will not have anyone. . .anyone. . .bring about those dark days again."

The Grandmaster nodded and pointed at his scar. "Like a good number of the Senators my age, I was there. We learned the enemy within is worse than the enemy without." Pausing for a second to erase the memories that still gave him nightmares, he changed the subject back.

"You could have left us on Nicosia all those years ago but you didn't. You could have voted for Savvas again but you didn't. And you could have let the Caesar go through with his plans for me... but you didn't. You've ended up being the closest thing to a patron we in the Order have had. Ironic given our earlier differences."

Aleksios nodded, "Yes, irony tends to accumulate the longer one lives. I did what I thought was best for the Empire, and though opinion on what exactly that is varies, it worked out more often than not."

The Basileus sighed, "Though it is all still balanced on a knife's edge. One push and the Empire could still fall apart."

It was Makedonios's turn to nod. "Yes it could. I've tried to do what I can. I gave your son an 'out'. I've tried to administer my duties fairly. Sometimes I wonder if we will ever be 'stable.' There seem to be so many competing visions that all swear they are the right path."

He takes a quick pause while he thinks. "Besides thanking you, the other reason I wanted to see you is to ask if there is anything you want. I guess it could be related to what we were just talking about. I'm sure you've had plenty of us, myself included, begging you for one thing or another. Well, I now have a little more than half a term left and I have a small measure of power. So... what do you want Your Highness? I always found it funny that you didn't really ask me for anything when you switched your vote. So, here's your chance after the fact."

The Basileus again raised an eyebrow, "'Small measure of power'? The position isn't quite what you thought, is it Megas Logothetes? You can't really understand that until you've done the job."

He leaned back, thinking, "I am content. I have addressed most of the pressing matters at hand. However. . .the Walls of Theodosius need to be renovated and enlarged, but that would be quite expensive."

The Megas allowed himself a small laugh. "Oh I'm not complaining. I'm the one that asked for this and I'll do it the best I can for 15 years. The hard part was realizing that no matter what you do, you'll never make people happy. They will always assume that their part of the Empire is severely neglected. At least you didn't have to deal with 'private armies' during your term..."

With another chuckle, he composed himself before addressing the next item. "As for the walls, I've looked into it. Unfortunately, now that the Crusade is no longer self-funding, the Empire only takes in between seven and nine thousand florins a year. Those walls cost twelve. I have 6 'turns' left. I might be able to sock away two grand a year and start them before I leave but I can't promise anything."

Aleksios shrugged, "That is why I did not prioritize them. As for making Senators happy, I gave up on that a long time ago. One man's happiness is usually another's misery. The best that can be hoped for is that they are content, or at least not rebellious."

The Basileus stood and walked over to Makedonios.

"In lieu of the Walls, there is one thing I will ask of you."

Believing it would be rude to stay seated while the Emperor stood, Makedonios got up with the aid of his cane. He faced the Emperor and stood straight. He said nothing and waited for the older man to speak.

Aleksios looked about, despite the room being empty, and then whispered something quietly to Makedonios.

Normally stoic, the Grandmaster's eyes go wide. Wondering if the Emperor was joking, Mak just stares at him for a moment. When he notices that the Basileus is quite serious, he lets out a whistle. "Remind me to never get on your bad side Your Highness. I'm not sure how I can help, but if I can, I will."

Aleksios turned and picked up the bust of Crown Prince Mehmed, examining it for a moment, before responding.

"Good, you have my thanks Megas. Was there anything else you wanted?"

He answered quickly, "No Your Highness I know we're both busy so I will get going." With sincere respect in his eyes, Makedonios had one last thing to say. "I just wanted to tell you that years ago, after you denied me your daughter's hand, I was furious with you. I even took a small amount of selfish pleasure whenever you had a hard time politically. But, time passes, things happen, and feelings fade. I just want you to know now that I can't imagine an Empire without you. And I truly believe we will be the worse off for your passing. It has been an honor to serve you Your Highness."

Aleksios set the bust down and turned to face Makedonios again, "Thank you, but there will be an Empire without me. Above all else, faction, creed or House, good men like you must make sure of it."

He extended a hand, "Good fortune, Megas Logothetes."

Makedonios grasped the older man's hand. "Go with God Your Highness."

The Megas gave his Emperor a respectful nod, turned, and left the room.

Thebes, 1129

There had been no blood spilled in the Senate, and that was the remarkable part. A war had been declared, a war that Vissarionas ek Lesvou had, in his heart, been truly delighted to see begin at last... but the Caesar had recanted and sworn peace. He would now become a weak Emperor, with his power openly challenged and reduced by the Senate. Likely he would be all the more vicious for it when he came to power, but that was for the future.

For now, Vissa faced a very simple problem, he was cut off from the Empire. Stranded in the south by the abrupt rebellion of 'his' city, Cairo, of which he had not yet informed his soldiers. No supply lines, not even any reliable lines of communication, and he with only his bodyguards. Their tour of the Orthodox holy sites was long complete, but Vissa had not yet found what he was actually seeking in the desert. There was no peace of mind for him, not even in his sleep, and though he had, perforce, attended the emergency Senate session to see the Caesar humiliated even that had not improved his grip on himself. Something inside Vissa had just spun out of control and nothing he could do seemed to make it stop spinning. Thinking itself was difficult, and those befuddled thoughts sometimes simply seemed to erupt into words without any reason to them. His guardsmen were distraught, and Rafi was beside himself, but their efforts never actually penetrated the mental haze surrounding Vissa.

And now they were 'laying siege' to Thebes, all twenty one of them. In essence this meant camping east of the castle, where there was a well, and placing scouts along the north and south roads so that supply trains could be headed off. There was no way Vissa's men could forcibly enter the castle if the men inside chose to hold out and hope for reinforcements, but given the arrogance the Egyptian armies had shown so far it seemed quite likely that there would be a sally, and soon.

The northern scout reported a supply mission on the road. Without needing orders the men assembled and walked their horses north to block the road, but this time Vissa positioned them to intercept the supplies in clear view of the castle walls. Let the hungry men within see their food taken, and perhaps, just perhaps...

A horn sounded within Thebes, and the gates were drawn open. The garrison, which Vissa had been unable to judge from without, now revealed itself to be two companies of hardy javelin men and a solid company of Nubian spearmen. Those javelins were the real danger, they could drag a man down off his horse even if they didn't penetrate his armor. Vissa's guardsmen destroyed and fouled whatever could not be carried off of the supplies and sent the Bedouin dressed cart driver running towards the castle with his camels while the Egyptian companies assembled. Then, as soon as they sent the driver inside and began to march forward, Vissa rode away.

He had Rafi hurling stones at their pursuers with his sling, and he deliberately slit one of the bags of grain to slowly spill it's contents across the desert as they rode off with the enemy infantry in pursuit. The captain of the Thebes garrison was visibly in a fury, screaming at his men and whipping them up to chase the Greeks. Vissa's men rode just ahead of the Egyptians all the way to an outlying farm where the fields had recently been heavily irrigated and were thick with clinging, sandy mud. Placing the field in the direct line of march between the enemy foot and his men, Vissa sat back and waited. The two companies of javelineers marched around the field, but the Nubian spearmen and the garrison captain waded out into it.

At which point Vissa and his men galloped back to the castle at Thebes and in through the open gates. The cart driver, in truth Vissa's guardsmen Stephen, removed his Bedouin head wrappings and pulled himself up onto his mount behind Rafi before locking the gate behind him. Thebes was taken without even a battle. At the castle square Vissa dismounted to discuss matters with some irate representatives of the local government in rough Arabic.

The local spoke first, obviously angry, 'Captain Rashid will be back you know! He'll lay a true siege and recapture Thebes, slaughtering all your men!'

Vissa erupts in a hollow, unpleasant laugh, 'No, I dare say Rashid will not be back. His men are just discovering that the well out there is fouled and there are no supplies left in our camp to sustain his three hundred men. Indeed, if Rashid is very lucky he may still be alive at this moment, but I would not care to bet on the matter, and after they deal with him his men will return to their homes and regular meals just as quickly as possible. No one is coming to save you.'

The local man was obviously taken aback, but he looked around and drew courage from the swelling number of citizens in the square before replying, 'There's a lot of us here, Greek. What makes you think we'll live under you? We'll no more welcome you than Cairo did.'

Rafi, whose Arabic is better than Vissa's, looks anxious at these words, and watches Vissarionas carefully. A grim look falls over Vissa, but his speech is still emotionless, 'There will be no riots here. Do you hear me? No riots! Rioters will be put to the sword.'

The local sneers. There are now close to three hundred men, with a smattering of women as well, in the square and more can be seen coming down nearby streets. He retorts, 'What swords? There are twenty of us for every sword you carry. I'm the governor you know, I'll call up the militia and we'll put your men out ourselves you fool!'

At that, the governor of Thebes turns his back on Vissa and opens his mouth to shout at the crowd,

'Give these Christians their due! As the Caliph commanded at Cairo, make it so here and leave none alive!'

In a flash Vissa has ridden up behind him and split open his head. His guardsmen are momentarily shocked to see their general kill an unarmed man, but the mood of the crowd immediately turns ugly as stones and rotten produce begin to plink off Vissa's armor. Rafi looks on in horror, trying to shout to Vissa above the noise, but only one clear, empty voice can be heard.

'Clear the square men! Give them the fear of God and Byzantium! No riots in Thebes!'

It is Vissa. He swings his sword wildly through the crowd as they press close, and blood flies in the air. Instantly his guardsmen in their heavy armor press forward and an unimaginable slaughter begins. At first the people seem to be holding their own, but this is an illusion of sheer numbers. They carry no weapons to injure the guardsmen, and are not trained to tear men down from horses which kick, scream, and bite in their own right. It takes less than a minute to clear the space around Vissa, and costs the lives of dozens of broken civilians. There is a momentary pause for breath, into which Vissa says,

'This is the battle for Thebes men. Go out and win it.'

Their commander's black mental haze takes hold of the well trained men, and even as the crowd at last shrinks back of it's own accord, realizing their mistake, the Byzantine guardsmen advance. The crowd continues to struggle for a moment, but when one of the war horses bodily hurls a screaming woman through the air with it's mouth the mob breaks and tries to flee, a thousand or more terrified Egyptians scattering and trampling one another in the streets.

Rafi, having leapt from Stephen's saddle during the discussion, rushes up and clings to Vissa's sword arm as his master attempts to join the fray,

'Stop them Vissa! You cannot do this! Remember Antioch!'

There is a glimpse, the briefest glimpse, of shock and pain on Vissa's face before the blank void descends over his visage again, 'Remember Cairo Rafi. Word arrived this morning. The city rebelled, but before it did so estimates are six thousand citizens and two hundred soldiers died in the riots.'

'Does their blood count less because I did not stain my hands with it? How many more will die when we must lay siege and take the city again? There will be no rebellion here, no riots. Now, leave me to my work!'

So saying, Vissarionas ek Lesvou rode off among the screaming civilians of Thebes, killing all he could reach.

...

Hours later Thebes is quiet. Vissa's exhausted guardsmen are resting, but Vissa himself still sits in the governor's office examining papers and trying to organize a detail of locals to clear the streets and count the dead. The number will likely approach seven hundred. In the midst of sorting through these piles of documents in a foreign language a squinting Vissa realizes that Rafi has come into the room. The young man looks... scared.

'I'm leaving Vissa. What you did today... who you've become since Cairo... I can't stay Vissa.'

There is again an instant of pain visible on Vissa's face before the mask overcomes it, but his voice is perfectly controlled,

'Where will you go Rafi? Cairo is gone, and the roads north are held by rebels. We're alone here. We need every hand here. I need you.'

'Tell me then, Vissarionas ek Lesvou, in whose service I have honorably counted myself for decades, why? Why were the people here killed? Why was Thebes taken?'

Vissa shakes his head before answering, 'Why? I have set aside the question of why Rafi, because I have decided it has no answer. Why were the Christians of Cairo butchered? Why was the Crusade called? Why did God let Cairo rebel? Why did Cairo reject me? Why did Al-'

Vissa's voice rises on the last words, and then breaks off before resuming in a flat, dead tone, 'I have given up on why Rafi, and so now I stick to what. What could I do to help Byzantium and the Order when I was unfit to govern Cairo? Secure the Holy Sites and capture Thebes. What could I do to prevent riots at Thebes? Sack the castle. So, tell me, what can I do to keep you here?'

Despair and tears fill Rafi's eyes. In a small voice he repies, 'Nothing.'

Vissa nods once, 'Then go and God preserve you. Do you remember the last time I asked you why Rafi? Why, if God is great, must we live this way? It has occurred to me, here in the deserts, that perhaps God is not great. Perhaps he is cruel, and vicious, as the ancient Greeks thought of their gods, and maybe he selects his favored servents for just such qualities, and rewards them where they work his will. Perhaps I have pleased God here, now Rafi, when all that I have done before did not.'

'Consider this, my friend, at Cairo I spared the people the sack of the city and preserved my own innocence. Yet, despite this, blood ran in the streets every day for three years until the rebels threw Methodios out. I was blameless, my hands were clean! But the price of my innocence, of my immaculate hands, was six thousand dead civilians and three years of misery for twenty two thousand more. If I had sacked the city five thousand might have died and my soul would have been stained once more, but order would have held and riots would not have blackened the lives of so many for those years.'

'The total cost of my innocence, then, was exceptional misery for nearly thirty thousand human beings, and death for over six thousand. Look at my hands now, Rafi. I carry the blood of many today, at least dozens, more likely hundreds, but tomorrow those who remain will awaken and be content under my rule. There will be no riots, no misery, and no more death. I cannot help but think that this is what God wants, and I must put what He wants ahead of what I want, ahead of my innocence and bloodless hands.'

'Have you ever wondered, Raphael, what happened to the God of the old days, who would destroy a people so that he could give their lands to his chosen tribe? I think that God still works among us, and my question now is simple; What can I do to please him? I will give why unto his hands and trouble myself with it no more.

'Go with God Rafi. You might want to leave your ek Lesvou garmets in case the rebels are checking people on the road. I will pray that God guides you safely out of here and back to the Empire.'

Vissa's blank eyes then fall back to the documents he was examining. He has trouble enough reading Greek, and puzzling through badly written Arabic sometimes mixed with loan words from the local dialect is giving him a terrible headache. When next he looks up, Rafi is gone.

No reliable word reaches the Empire of the fate of distant Thebes other than the brute fact of it's capture.

:egypt:

Constantinople, 1140

A pin drops out of the clothing of a Varangian guard, and its impact on the marble floor echoes through the Magnaura. All the Senators turn in his direction. Embarrassed, he quickly picks it up, and again stands at attention.

The doors open. In walks in Basileus Ioannis Komnenos. The doors close and he makes his way to the Imperial throne. He sits, looks over the Senators for a moment, and begins to address them quietly, but plenty loud to be heard.

"First of all, I would like thank all of you who have attended father's funeral and expressed condolences. He was a great man and a good Emperor, and will be missed by all, even his opponents, few in number that they were. He will not be forgotten, but we must move on. Forty days of mourning have passed, and it is time to reopen this Senate session.

"Prior to opening the Session, I would like to announce my first act as Basileus, which is the appointment of a handful of new Senators."

As this announcement is made, a quiet murmur spreads through the crowd. A scribe hands a piece of parchment to the Basileus. He clears his throat, and begins to read.

"The following are now Senators of the Roman Senate, in order of seniority: Lucius Tarqinius Superbus, Appius Claudius Crassus, Servius Aemilius, Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica, Lucius Cornelius Sulla, Lucius Sergius Catilina, Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, Gaius Julius Caesar, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus, Marcus Antonius, Tiberius Caesar Augustus, Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus, Titus Flavius Caesar Domitianus Augustus, Caesar Lucius Aurelius Commodus Augustus--

"Ah. Well it goes on," he said and dropped the parchment, "there's like fifty more. No need to read all of them. So, with that, I declare the Session of 1140 open."

Isaakios chuckled. His brother did have a sense of humor after all. Wait, no he didn't.

"I would like to propose a Charter Amendment," said a toga-clad gentleman who looked suspiciously like Julius Caesar. "The following will be added to Section 2.7, powers of the Basileus: (20) The Basileus may disband twenty units per turn from any army."

"Second," said Nero.

"Second," said Appius Claudius.

"I will propose a Charter Amendment myself," said Catiline, "The--"

Isaak ran out of the Magnaura. He stood outside, pale in the face as if he had just seen a large number of ghosts, which it appeared was exactly what happened. He was approached by another man wearing a Roman toga.

"Isaak Komnenos," said the man.

"Who the hell are you?" Isaak asked him.

"I am Lucius Qinctius Cincinnatus."

"No, you're not. He's dead. He's been dead for centuries."

"Well, yes, that's not really important."

"How is that not important!?" Isaak screamed. "It seems important to me!"

"Look, just come with me. We need to talk."

How do you argue with a dead Roman politician? Isaak followed him.

"It is sad to see," Cincinnatus began to rant, "the Roman nation in this day. All its leaders hungry for power, worse than any we have seen. You know, back in the day, twice they called me from my farm, twice it was that they named me Dictator. What did I do? I fought the enemies, and went back home. 'You can have your lictors back,' I told them. Just like that. Would you ever see it today? No! Give any one of your Senators an army, and he will fight you. Give him a dagger, and he will stab you. Turn your back to him, and he will kick your children."

"Well, what I am supposed to do?" Isaak asked.

"Stop them!" said Marcus Porcius Cato (the Younger), who had joined them with a number of other prominent Roman statesmen. "Stop them from tearing the country apart!"

"Return to the old ways," said Marcus Tullius Cicero, "restore the Republic."

"Kill the tyrant!" yelled Gaius Cassius.

"Wait, what? He has done nothing, uh.. yet." Isaak said.

"But he will," said Cato, "he has armies, he is powerful. He wants more power. Same goes for the House leaders. They are powerful and bloodthirsty. There will be blood."

"Well, look, they need those armies to defend the people." Isaak argued.

"The Senate defends the people," said Gaius Marius, "armies whose allegiances lie with private individuals are dangerous."

"Wait, aren't you Marius? What are you doing here?" Isaak asked.

"What?" Marius said in surprise.

"Didn't you try to seize power?"

"What, me?" Marius muttered, "No, I just... I wanted to be Consul again. Sulla was the one who marched on Rome first."

"Well, maybe he wouldn't have marched on Rome if you hadn't been such a @#%$." Isaak told him.

"Hey, all I ever wanted was to ensure all my soldiers and people had land..."

"Yeah!" Tiberius Gracchus exclaimed in support.

"... and be Consul again," Marius continued. "To fight! To fight Mithridates in glorious battle!" he yelled and shook his fist.

"You know, you're not doing a lot to convince me," Isaak said.

"Yeah, can we get somebody else in here, please?" Cincinnatus requested.

"Uh, ah, yes. Here I am," Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus said as he stumbled to the front of the crowd to speak. "Those who look to turn their swords on the Roman people are no friends of Rome. You must fight the enemies of the Senate and the People, not fight for your own power and glory!"

"Uh huh, yeah," Quintus Fabius Maximus said sarcastically.

"Ok, look," Isaak argued, "I'm sure Ioannis will do fine, and the House leaders won't let the power go to their heads."

"Kill the tyrants!" Cassius yelled again.

"I'm not going to kill anyone!" Isaak screamed, "I'm not going to restore or reform anything! I'm leaving."

"You must put the good of the nation ahead of everything else," Cicero said, "even family."

Isaak wasn't listening and forced his way through the crowd, but stopped when he came upon Marcellus Aemilius holding a dagger.

"Oh, is this supposed to be dramatic?" Isaak asked.

Marcellus nodded dramatically.

"Well, you didn't kill Servius, now did you?" Isaak told him.

"What? Hey, I tried," he pleaded, "what do you want?"

"Oh, whatever," Isaak said dismissively, "At least Brutus killed his friend. That would have made for a much better example."

"No, I never did kill Tarqinius, and wasn't all that fond of him to start with" said Lucius Junius Brutus.

"Ah, no, I meant Marcus Brutus and Caesar," Isaak corrected him.

"Yeah, I #@$&ing killed him," said Marcus Junius Brutus.

"Right, of course that's who you meant," Lucius Brutus said, "everyone always does. No one remembers me, and I'm the one who got rid of the real tyrant."

"Oh, so Caesar wasn't a tyrant now?" Marcus asked.

"Hey," Lucius responded, "all I'm saying is that it's arguable. You could make the argument either way. His overthrow wasn't even caused by the death of a young girl. What kind of a proper Roman tyrant is that?"

Lucius Verginius nodded in agreement.

"Oh, please! Like you gave a flying #@$& about Lucretia, it was just an excuse--"

"Hey, #@$& you! I'm not taking this--"

By this point, Isaak had quietly slipped away from the crowd, which was distracted by the argument between the two Bruti. He quietly and carefully walked along the street away from the Romans.

"Hey, he's getting away!" Cicero yelled. "Get him!"

Isaak started running, and they started chasing him. "Go away!" he screamed.

Constantinople, 1131

"Go away!" he screamed and leaped out of bed. "Bah, stupid classical education," he said.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

(This is a coop with PK and I)

Antioch, 1134

Rafi, longtime companion of Vissarionas ek Lesvou, had arrived in Antioch destitute, starving, and ill. A kindly old woman, recalling his master, had taken him in off the street and spent a few days nursing him as far back to health as could be managed. Now he insisted on leaving, though his strength was not yet fully recovered. Walking through the streets of the city Rafi was impressed by the improvements that had been made since he was last present, but he had little on his mind but reaching the Grandmaster.

The door to the Order of St. John's headquarters in Antioch was guarded by two pleasant enough looking men who, nonetheless, had no recollection of Rafi and were forced to completely refuse him entry. Desperate Rafi asked one of them if he could simply wait until someone who would know him entered or left, and the guards agreed.

The Megas strolled down the street with his usual guards and aids in tow. Moving remarkably fast for a man with a cane, he strode up to the front doors where the guards immediately opened them. Out of the corner of his eye, Makedonios caught a familiar face. Recognizing him as the boy who was with Vissa on Nicosia years ago, Mak stopped.

"Excuse me, have I seen you before?"

Rafi jumps up from his spot beside the door and rushes towards Makedonios, giving the guards a good start, but clearly the spindly young man is hardly a threat even with the Grandmaster using a cane. Rafi kneels rather embarassingly at the Grandmaster's feet before speaking. His desperation is written all over his thin face.

"Please m'lord, if I could have a moment of your time, Vissa is in trouble! I've been his page for years, and I've never seen him like this, not even the first time in Cairo! There has to be something you can do!"

Makedonios looks down at him. "Please, you don't have to kneel before me. Get up and come inside. You can tell me all about it."

"Of course m'lord, lead on. Where can we speak privately?"

Rafi looks nervous, but he follows Makedonios willingly.

The megas moves his head in the direction of the front doors. "Follow me. We'll go to my chambers."

Inside the chambers of the Grandmaster Rafi looks even less comfortable than he did outside, but before Makedonios can even sit down the words start to spill out of him.

"Vissa is in trouble. Not that he's going to be attacked or driven off by Egyptians, but he's getting lost in his own head. This whole business of the Crusade just gutted him, and..."

Rafi hesitates, looking Makedonios directly in the eye as though to weigh his words before continuing. He looks down at the floor again, and says,

"...and there was a woman. There, in Cairo, before he brought back word of the trouble. She somehow comes into it as well. And the Patriarch. Lately there's been a lot about him as well, and Cairo, and blood, and he calls himself Vissarionas the Butcher."

Abruptly Rafi breaks off and his gaze again rises to meet the Grandmaster's eyes. This time he doesn't look back down.

"But I'm not making the slightest bit of sense am I? It's his dreams, of course. They're the key."

At this Rafi pauses expectantly, as though Makedonios should know what he's talking about.

Makedonios looked away and it seemed as if he was staring into a far off place. "Every soldier has nightmares."

He turned back to Rafi. "Your lord was on his own in an enemy held city for years. The strain he was under would have affected anyone."

Rafi replies, speaking quickly now, "Oh I'm sure, but I mean, well, I thought you might already know... Vissa talks in his sleep. Constantly. Serving as his page and his bodyservant I've slept in his room for years, and you can always tell what's on his mind by what kinds of things he talks about after he's asleep."

Rafi looks back at his feet, uncomfortable with this line of discussion.

"After Antioch his dreams disturbed him, made him cry out, night after night. While we were first in Cairo his dreams were direct and purposeful until he met the woman. Then they were, ahh, private. During the Crusade he rested well, peacefully, for the most part. After we took Cairo, however, things turned ugly."

"Vissa began sleeping less, and when he did sleep he... he cursed God in his sleep. Out there in the desert his mind turned in on itself, and even without getting much rest it was obvious that something was eating away at him. Viewing the Holy sites just turned him deeper into himself. I believe he planned the siege of Thebes as a test."

"Then there was the emergency Senate session. Vissa came back from that with some letters from another senator about the Patriarch that obviously disturbed him. He read them over and over. Soon enough we captured Thebes without even a battle, just outwitting the hungry men guarding it, but afterward, inside the walls..."

Rafi looks despondent.

"There was this governor, you understand, and he was trying to get the locals to riot. I would've expected Vissa to talk to him, to bring him around and earn his trust. I was wrong. Vissa and his guardsmen, they just slaughtered them. All of them. He didn't shrink from it, or hold back when they started to run. Hundreds of dead, and the castle itself sacked."

"The worst was afterward. I would have expected... regret? Shame? Something. Yet he was content. Sorting through paperwork with blood still on his clothes. His eyes disconnected and empty. When he spoke it was clear that he believe he'd found some sort of new place in life. A new purpose."

"M'lord he said that God was cruel, and that God chose his servants for that capacity. If something isn't done he may just ride away south, into the desert, and never come back."

Makedonios listened to Rafi closely.

"Vissa always seemed to take on guilt that never was really his. I'm not surprised that he became consumed by it."

The Grandmaster's demeanor became stern.

"But that does not excuse his actions. If what you say about Thebes is true, then he has turned down the wrong path. He needs to get on the right one. I have authorized a small chapel for Thebes. Hopefully, the presence of Orthodoxy will bring Vissa some comfort. I'll make sure a priest gets assigned to the area."

Rafi's reply is deeply grateful, "Thank you m'lord. I know you are a busy man, I will try not to take up any more of your time. A priest is hopefully just what Vissa needs! With Cairo retaken my journey back to Thebes should be easier."

"M'lord, if you could, ask the priest to be... discreet. I would not want Vissa to get a reputation as a madman or a heretic."

Mak nods.

"Go with God Rafi and watch over Vissa. He's a good man but he has his demons. And some of those are of his own invention."

Rafi caught passage on one of the last merchant trains to escape Antioch ahead of the Templar siege. As they rode south he found himself wondering why there were so many Catholics on the road, but his thoughts quickly turned back to his master.

Thebes, 1134

Vissarionas ek Lesvou stood on the low walls of Thebes watching the sun set over the desert. It had become his constant daily habit; there was something extremely pleasant to him in seeing the great fiery orb swallowed up in the heat haze which it had, itself, spent the day creating. It gave the impression that the sun might be dropped into a hole carved just for it and never rise again, leaving the world in darkness.

In his hands were the letters Apionas Vringas had given him after the emergency Senate session. It had become his habit to read those again and again before the sunset as well, drawing out their meaning as the light failed around him. 'Here,' Vissa mused in his thoughts, 'truth can be had at last. God's own right hand working God's will in the world, to the Almighty's obvious and infinite delight. I am a poor servant, Lord, but I shall walk where you lead and fear no evil, for thou art with me. Amen.'

There, off to the north, the dust cloud of a rider could be seen, drawing ever closer. Vissa began winding his crossbow. A rider in Greek garmets, with a purple saddle blanket, befitting a messenger. As he drew out a bolt Vissa's eyebrows quirked, and he thought, 'Quick work Methodios. You are favored even above what I had expected. God knows, you do not lack the will to do what must be done.'

With only the slightest, most imperceptable hesitation Vissa fitted a bolt into his crossbow, keeping it below the wall, where it wouldn't be visible. When the horseman drew up at the gates and prepared to announce himself Vissa raised the crossbow and shot him in the throat. The corpse spilled into the dust of the road, still hold the horse's reins.

Climbing down without obvious haste Vissa opened the man sized access way beside the main gate and walked out onto the poor little road. The rider's tabard was the only thing that made him obviously Byzantine, so Vissa cut it off and tucked it into the horse's saddlebags. With no water or food the beast had poor odds of making it back to civilization. Still, it didn't pay to be careless. With the animal watching him cautiously Vissa removed his dagger and drew a thin, bloody line along it's right flank, which set it off running back the way it had come. With a quick search it became clear that the message had gone off with the horse, so Vissa left the body tumbled down in the dirt there and walked back inside the castle.

Just off the main square a light scaffolding showed that tomorrow the work crews would be putting the finishing touches on the artless chapel the Megas had commissioned for Thebes. 'Past time to be gone on both accounts,' Vissa thought. A street deeper the quarters he had taken for his guardsmen were quiet. Striding inside, Visa announced,

"We ride tonight. Get ready."

:egypt:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This story is a co-op between TheFlax and myself. It takes place a couple days before this battle.

Antioch 1134:

With the afternoon sun still high in the sky, a small group of worn travelers leave the relative safety of the Templar camps surrounding Antioch, heading for the city's gates.

Through the gates, the travelers could see hundreds of spearmen turned out and in position by the entry. A guard looked at the group and was not going to allow entry until one produced an impeccable document bearing a certain seal.

They are let in. Walking through the streets, the travelers notice the city is quiet. All citizens are taking shelter in their homes while all able-bodied men are in gear and assembled at the gate. The group knows the way to the Order's Chapter-House.

While one walks in, the rest stand guard outside. Because of the coming battle, most of the Order's men are out in the city preparing. The Chapter-House is pretty much empty. Makedonios is in his chambers looking over reports.

Relief overwhelms Anna as she spies Makedonios safe and well, for now. Ignoring all protocol and formality, she moves swiftly to embrace him in silence.

She felt light in his arms. While in shock at her show of affection, Mak had the presence of mind to swing an arm and knock his door shut. Not wanting to spoil the moment, he just holds her for awhile.

"Makedonios," Anna held him more tightly as she spoke his name. "I feared for the worse."

He moved a hand up to stroke her hair. Tired of using dry formalities by this point, he spoke her name for only the second time ever. "Anna, it's ok. I'm right here. I'm not even ill anymore." His illness had faded just a few months ago. His napkin and cane were gone. His voice was strong and lacking the usual coughs and sniffles. He stood straight and held her against him with ease.

Lightly, she moved from him with a step. Her previously radiant features were now downcast, she dared not meet his gaze.

"I failed. They told me God has abandoned us..."

He took a half-step towards her and put his hand on her forearm. "It is not your fault. Things have changed within the Templars. Iakovos's Uncle was high up in their ranks and he was our biggest proponent. He just passed away. With him gone, the papal bull giving them more privilege, and Adana being taken by the Turks, they had the perfect situation. I had the Order's forces spread out across the Levant and Antioch was open. They simply took advantage of us being distracted."

"I had thought that, if only I could be here, I could somehow alter your current predicament." Anna kept her eyes low, her soft voice holding a hint of shame. "I now realize something else than my misguided beliefs drove me here."

Keeping his hand on her arm, Makedonios waited for her to speak.

The room remained silent as Anna mustered the courage to continue. She was tempted to avoid the topic, yet she knew that if she wavered now, she might never get another opportunity to reveal the truth of her feelings to Makedonios. Anna knew she would be consumed with regret for the remainder of her life if she didn't follow through with what she had started.

"I know you mean the words you wrote me, and I share those feelings. I have struggled with my feelings for most of my life and I am wary of that impossible battle. The fear of losing you for eternity made me realized I could not simply ignore my heart as I have in the past."

While Makedonios leaves his one hand on her arm, he rubs her cheek with the other. "I always knew you felt that way. But it is very nice to hear it."

Anna places a hand over the one on her cheek and her gaze rises to his. For an instant, she seems to have regained the innocence long since lost in her youth. "I am sorry about that."

He smiled at her. "You have nothing to apologize for. You had your duty. I didn't understand that at first but I do now. You fulfilling your duty didn't change your feelings towards me. You've always been there for me. And it got me through the tough times." With that, he steps closer, leans in, and kisses her forehead.

"Tell me," She whispers. "when do you expect to face the Templars?" Anna wanted to ask how much time they had together, but this was as close as she got.

Makedonios looks up and thinks for a moment. "I have reinforcements on their way. They're on horse so it shouldn't be too much longer. A day, maybe two."

"I take it you will sally when your reinforcements arrive?" With the change of topic, Anna has regained her composure and it seems as she is back to her old self.

He nods while still holding her. "Yeah, the sooner I can break the siege, the better. But that won't be for a day or two. The preparations that can be made, are made. So, for tonight, I'm all yours."

Anna's features brightened noticeably, she gave Makedonios a warm smile. "I assume then you will join me for the evening meal?"

He liked seeing her smile. "Of course. We can do what ever you like tonight. And, with everyone out in the city preparing and resting, we'll have some privacy."

"Good." She moves a few steps away and then turns. "I should get myself ready then."

Early the next morning:

As a young man, Makedonios held up his sword. To his left and right were comrades but they were few in number. The Turks came streaming down the mountain like a wave. Someone yelled behind him that one of the supporting armies had abandoned the field. Cut off, the small group braced for battle. A cloud of arrows came in and blotted out the sun. The young man hunkered down behind his shield and heard the sounds of the arrows hitting the ground. When the sound stopped, he dared to look up. A Turkish cavalryman was charging at him...

Makedonios sat up in bed in a panic. His breathing heavy, he felt his face. Instead of a gaping wound, there was just the scar. It was the same nightmare he had every night since the battle at Manzikert. The breathing calmed down a little. Dawn light was just starting to leak through the windows. Out of the corner of his left eye, he noticed the light illuminate a shape under the covers. Grinning at the thought of what had happened last night, he saw her stir a little. Leaning over, he ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her sweaty cheek.

The kiss moved her to a wakeful state, as she gently opened her eyes and blinked a few times. With one hand she rubbed lightly her sleepy eyes, before lying in silence with her gaze lost in the ceiling, as if deep in reflexion.

He looked down at her and smiled. He moved his hand to her shoulder and let it lie there. "Good morning."

Anna tilted her head in his direction and attempted to return the smile, but her features were unmistakably etched with concern.

"What's wrong?" As he asked, he came back down to her level and leaned on his elbow while still keeping his one hand on her shoulder.

"We..." She hesitated, trying to find the right words. She gave up and answered flatly. "This."

The smile faded from his face. "What about this?"

"The consequences..." Anna once more opted to revisit her reply. "Do not misconstrue my words, I do not regret what we have done, yet I worry about the future now that it has been done."

His features lightened and he nodded. "I don't regret anything either. As for the consequences, we will deal with them as they come. I went into this with both eyes wide open." With his next words, he smiles more. "And you certainly didn't seem to be worrying about consequences when you pushed me onto the bed last night after supper."

She smiled lightly at the memory his words brought, yet her voice remained somber. "Nevertheless, I am thinking about them at this moment. I don't want to see you hurt in anyway by this."

He stroked her hair. "You're assuming anyone will find out. And even if they do, I don't care. Last night was more than worth it."

Anna's gaze returned to the ceiling. "They will, they always do."

He simply shrugged. "Who's going to tell anyone? I'm certainly not. This place has been empty all night since everyone is camped outside. And even if someone finds out, I'm not afraid. Things will be ok. You just need to have a little faith."

She turned her head away. "I could not face Ioannis without telling him. I have broken the oath I made before God, I doubt blind faith will help me now. Makedonios, we can't leave this up to chance. This is serious."

Mak grunted. "Ioannis is the last man I have sympathy for. If it wasn't for him, we would have been happily sharing this here bed for years and you know it. He took advantage of the political situation at the time and got you forced into a marriage for his own benefit. Something tells me God would understand, considering the circumstances."

He pauses while thinking for a moment. "But if you have to tell him, I understand. Your the one that has to live with him. I'll deal with whatever fallout that comes from this. With the coming battle against the Templars, I have much more important things to worry about than his hurt feelings."

Anna replied with a muted sigh. "Of course. That was inconsiderate of me. You cannot even be sure of what the next few days hold for you, and here I am prattling about political repercussions." She shifted herself in order to face and beamed a comforting smile. "You fight your battle and I will fight mine, I will take care of my husband."

His hand touched her face as he returned her smile. "I'll understand if we can never do this again. But I'm glad we finally did."

She nodded slowly, still deep in thought, nevertheless, it was obvious she was in agreement with Makedonios' statement.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

I know what I am about to say is assumed with every story. But, due to the nature of this story, I will make it very clear. Absolutely no one has IC knowledge of this story unless one of our characters gives it to you. :yes:

Antioch 1134: A couple of months later:

Makedonios read over the latest letter he had received. Staring at it for a moment, he thought fast. The Megas got up, opened his chamber door and called for his shieldbearer and veteran warrior to come in.

"Nick, Ioannis! I need to see you."

The two men walked in and shut the door. Nick was a massive hulking dark skinned Greek who had guarded Mak for years. Ioannis was a grizzled middle-aged vet with a serious air about him. Both would do anything for Makedonios.

"Nick, you have a family right?"

The big man smiled. "My wife Maria and I have 8 kids. A new one seems to appear 9 months after I appear home on leave." With that, he grinned wider.

Mak nodded. "Alright, I need her help with something. Can you get her family to take care of the kids for a month or so? Maybe more?"

"Sure. She'd love to help. What do you need her to do?"

"Just bring her to our back-up rendezvous spot in the capital."

He then turned to Ioannis. "I need you to travel to Nicosia. Go to the Kykkos Monastery and speak with Esaias. Tell him I sent you. He owes me a favor. Tell him I'm bringing him a visitor and to make preparations. He'll know what it means. Then go to Constantinople to meet us." He looks at both of them. "I'll take the rest of my guards and make my own way to the capital on official business."

"Clear?"

Both men nodded. They knew better than to ask for details that did not have to do with their specific tasks.

Iconium 1137

The party was in full swing - the celebration resounded all around the fine buildings that Zigavinos had build in the centerpiece of Anatolia that was Iconium. The mood of the populace was happy enough too, it was true their governor had spent a great deal of time helping reshape the local area and so they had come to respect him. A young lady approached Nevoulas ek Philadelphius now, wine drenched here cloth clinging them close to her well rounded body. She had clearly enjoyed the merriment of the occasion and was seeking to please the clearly distracted nobleman.

The lady stumbled into Nevoulas sloshing wine down his rather plain toga, shaking himself out of his thought trail, Nevoulas thought ... why not? I have earned this. Grabbing the wench he kissed her firmly suckling the sweet wine that she had been guzzling. After a short time, Nevoulas let the clinch go softly eyeballing the girl. Clearly somewhat giddy that one of the mysterious powerful visitors had taken a shine to her the girl passed out.

'Pah' came a voice behind. 'Nevoulas, even in party you cannot help but sweeping all aside'

It was his lead bodyguard. Nevoulas simply turned and looked expectantly, he didn't care these days to bother with idle chit chat with his sub-ordinates. A consequence of his recent command experience, Nevoulas now had respect of his fellow men and now he aimed to keep it.

The bodyguards face changed when he noticed his masters fiery look.

'Your matter, commander. I request you follow me, I think we have found the man you are looking for'

Nevoulas knew it was poor form to leave the party, but some matters were more important to him than some Roman protocols. Following the successful recent battle in the field, Nevoulas had asked that the prisoners be processed before being sent as a ransom demand to the Egyptian command. He was acutely aware that the Fatamid Sultanite was in flight and barely capable of keeping themselves alive let alone pay an extravagant demand. They strange order to interview each man before they were executed had frustrated his men, who wished to finish their business. However it seemed Nevoulas instinct was correct, there was one who he wished to see and certainly not expire his life.

Months earlier he thought he caught a glimpse of the aged looks of his brother at the Hippodrome. He who had long ago who had turned to fight with the Seljuk Sultanite after they had killed his and Nevoulas' father.

As Nevoulas turned to see a sad sight in the holding room opposite him now he smirked at the irony, how wrong you were my brother. Here he was though, praying in the fashion of the Islamic belief, chanting in the foriegn tongue. Frustrated, Nevoulas pushed past the guard and forced his fallen sibling to his feet.

'Stop it, Makedonias. Please'

Makedonias wrestled back fiercely however his starved frail nature allowed Nevoulas to pin him down soon enough.

'Please sit down and listen'

As soon as Nevoulas released his grip, Makedonias cocooned up in a fetal position and started that damned chant again.

'Please if you have any memory or respect for mother and father listen to me know else I swear to you I will...'

'Will what my brother?' Makedonias shouted in response practically spitting out the words my brother. 'You will kill me barbarically, slaughter an innocent man is that your Roman way?'

Progress, Nevoulas thought. He would not debate with Makedonias now, that would be saved for later, at least there was debate to be had. Nevoulas was interested as to why his brother a Seljuk Sultanate captain was in an Egyptian Jihad. Was this linked with the Moorish Jihad, could the parties be working together as one? Which followed that if as seemed likely that they were working together had they shared intelligence.

Those questions were for later, that was not the cause of the tear in Nevoulas' eye. Finally after all those years of setting out, Nevoulas ek Philadelphius had some inner peace, his father and mother now in the after life would be looking on with relief no doubt. Nevoulas looked forward to showing his brother the complete error of his ways, and reforming him whilst he gathered information. In the meantime, he had a party to get back to and perhaps a spot of womanising ....

Turning to the guard, Nevoulas instructed that the prisoner was to be fed and washed and kept under watch.

On the road to Constantinople 1138

The last couple of months had been good to Nevoulas ek Philadelphius , he had enjoyed the company if his Asteri hosts and grown to know and like this young Nikiphoras. It had not been all partying for Nevoulas, it had been a time for his family and a time for reflection.

As he rode on his trusted steed right now he looked back to see his caged brother, now looking somewhat more respectful but still rebellious. Over and again he had tried to escape, likewise he had resisted the logical arguments they had had about the new Roman empire under the Komnenus reign.

The Komnenus line, Nevoulas mused had delivered on their promise to restore the empire back towards its former glories and then some.... Say what you like about the current Caeser and soon to be next Basilues he knew how to fight and even now the house that he set up continue to hunt the Seljuk leadership now far out of Anatolia and into the lands from whence they came. Not that his allies were the only people to have done the empire great service, the crusade to sieze the riches in Egypt had almost wiped out the Fatamid Caliphate and the Order continued to wield its might in the holy land.

Nevoulas shook his head out of the daze, and looked around at the sizable army he had seized for himself. Good fierce men who knew the battlefield well, he had handpicked the best troops to travel with him on his quest. Leaving his fellow noblemen behind, leaving vague directions as to his plans Nevoulas had struck out alone. He calls a halt to proceedings now, and orders his men to rest as he dismounts and wanders back to the cage where his brother sat cross-legged.

'Is this supposed to impress me Nevoulas' spat out Makedonias. 'These roads, these clothes, I know where you are going and even that will not impress me, your capitol is full of decadence'

'and you would know about that wouldn't you Maka' Nevoulas replied quickly 'Yes, you have been there before'

'sure back when we were young' answer Makedonias '...come to think of it probably before you were born.... yes when father took me....'

'No' Nevoulas cut in angrily. It frustrated him to hear Makedonias speak of their father so. 'YOU were there recently, and I intend to find out why'

Makadonias glared at his younger brother 'Don't you see Nevo, you and your empire will never wipe us out. The more you tighten your grip, the more it will slip through your fingers. Why I wager even now their will not even be a Capitol when we get there' he smiles smugly. Then looking up at the sky he proceeds to start chanting.

Nevoulas let him, he had grown to accept the ritual now, his brother could believe what he wanted to believe and Nevoulas knew he was in part correct, he had heard reports of a large army of unknown warriors was now approaching the capital and even now the nobleman left there were scurrying to prepare their men. How many of these cursed Jihads did they have to kill? Nevoulas sat at the side of the road alone and proceeded to look at the map he had acquired off of a merchent in Iconium. One which pointed to a land from whence this new threat had come. These 'Moors' were not from the east but rather from within Christendom it seemed... Nevoulas intended to find out the nature of this threat and fully combat it.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This story is a co-op between TheFlax and myself. It is set, not coincidentally, 9 months after this story.

Constantinople 1134:

The small party made it's way through the storm sewers below the capital. Coming up a ladder, they arrived in a cellar. Leaving men behind to keep an eye on the sewers and cellar, the rest quietly made their way through the vast estate with the aid of perfect directions.

Arriving at the right room, Makedonios knocks and then opens the door, leaving the rest out in the hallway.

In the room, Anna was lying asleep in an expansive and luxurious bed. Even in her rest, she seemed weary and completely spent. Nearby, there was a crib with a newborn baby also sleeping for the time being. Overlooking the infant was an older woman than Anna with a severe expression. Her graying hair was pulled back into a bun for practicality and her sharp eyes immediately turned to Makedonios as he entered.

The Megas looked at the midwife and jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. She scowled at him in return. He put a finger to his mouth to signal her to be silent. He then pulled out his seal of office, gave her a stern look, and again jerked his thumb towards the door.

She relented and left. A couple of his guards took her down the hallway and sat her in a side room. Orders had been quietly changed to make sure no staff were assigned to this part of the estate on this night. No one would know Makedonios or his men were here.

Makedonios walked over to the crib to see his son. He remembered when Anna had snuck into his bedroom decades ago and he smiled. Quietly walking back over to her bed, he bent over, laid a hand on her shoulder, and gently woke her up. "Anna..."

Anna mumbled something inaudible as she slowly opened her eyes, blinking several times her vision finally focused itself on the origin of the voice who had called her name. She gave him a tired smile.

"Makedonios... thank you."

He lovingly brushed hair from her forehead. "I'm the one that should be thanking you. He looks wonderful. For obvious reasons I can't stay long. But there are a couple things we need to talk about. Would you like to hold him while we talk?"

She propped herself to a sitting position and looked at the infant. In hushed tones she answered Makedonios. "Best not wake him if you want to be discreet."

He nodded and sat next to her on the bed. "Alright, we haven't spoken about this stuff in letters for obvious reasons. But I hope you understand that I quite simply need to take him with me tonight. He isn't safe here. I admit I have been beside myself with worry ever since I got your cryptic letter."

The new father glances over in the direction of the crib. "You know how these things play out. Someone in the family tree gets afraid and seeks out all those who might have a claim to the throne. I fear by creating him, you and I put our son in grave danger. He needs to disappear. I hate to take him away from you but I would hate even more to think of what might happen if your husband, or even worse, your older brother started getting paranoid."

"Yes, you have to take him." Anna glanced once more at the newborn. "I only ask you write to me about him, whenever you have the opportunity to do so."

He nods again. "Of course I will. But keep in mind that he won't be with me. For his own safety, I'll have to stay away from him as well. I'll know where he is, and I'll keep an eye on him, he will have to go through his whole childhood without knowing us."

Makedonios looks at her and allows himself a small comforting smile. "Do you have any questions?"

Exhaustion increasingly apparent, she shook her head lightly with her eyes downcast.

He looked at her sympathetically. "We're almost done. I know you need your rest. There is just one more thing to figure out. What do you wish to name him?"

"I thought you would want to name him." She chuckled. "My husband dislikes most of the name I've chosen for my other children."

He smiled. "I feel singularly inadequate to the task. Plus, he might never meet you. I think it would be nice if he had something from you. It won't be the name he has in public of course. But it will be his 'real' name."

"Very well." She paused a few moments to reflect upon an appropriate name. "Constantine, yes, he shall be our little Constantine. I trust you will make sure he is baptized soon?"

Mak nodded. "I like it. A good strong name. Shame no one will ever know it. And yes, I'll get him baptized. I have it all arranged. Oh yes, you get to be the first to know. I've decided I'm going to retire as Grandmaster. And I'm not running for re-election as Megas." He looks over at the crib. "I have other things I have to take care of now."

He stands up. "I know your exhausted so I'll take my leave." He leans over and kisses her on the forehead.

"May God watch over you Makedonios." Her features voiced a sadness she could not express in words.

The Megas walks over to the crib and gently picks the baby up for the first time. Little Constantine stirs a little but doesn't wake up. He walks back over to Anna while gently bouncing. He speaks in almost a whisper. "One last thing. He has to die. It's the only way we'll keep him safe. When my men let the midwife back in here, I need you to tell her the baby didn't make it. Tell her I took care of... the disposal. I don't expect everyone to believe it but it might throw people off enough. If we want this little guy having any sort of future, he simply can not exist."

He pauses a moment to see if Anna wants to say goodbye to her child.

Anna only gave a simple nod of understanding.

Taking the queue, Makedonios left the room.

1140, Constantinople

Nikolaos climbed the steps of the Magnaura in the red and white of his House, his robes flapping in a light breeze. He quickly made his way towards the entrance, which was a set of magnificent doors, each elegantly crafted, with an attending Varangian at each side. Nikolaos's thought suddenly drift back to when he was once a member of their ranks, and the day it had all changed...

---------------------------

1126, Constantinople

Nikolaos moved nervously from foot to foot, standing in the Imperial Palaces halls in his uniform and ceremonial armor, both scrubbed so clean as to look brand new. He had been summoned from his duties guarding the Magnaura by the Basileus himself, for a purpose beyond him other then "appear your best". He had waited almost an hour at this point, and when a page had come out, he had rushed over to ask if it was time. Nikolaos's huge size easily dwarfed the poor man, who was taken offguard by the Varangian, but he quickly recovered.

"I am sorry, the Basileus is in attendance with a noble at this moment, discussing state business...please be patient." The page turned past Nikolaos and announced another name, something about a Genoese Merchant.

Nikolaos continued his pacing, waiting patiently. When it seemed that even the normally calm and collected Varangian was about to lose patience, the page returned and nodded. "It is time."

Nikolaos was ushered into the Basileus's office, the doors closing quickly and quietly behind him. Sitting in a most regal chair with Captain Harald standing off to his right, Basileus Aleksios looked over tented fingers at Nikolaos, "Please sit."

Nikolaos obeyed without question, hesitation foreign to him, training drilled into him, and loyalty demanding it of him. He sat quietly, as seconds began to tick by, counted by an exotic water clock on the Basileus's desk. Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, and Nikolaos was beginning to wonder if the Basileus was going to speak at all.

As the tension reached a climax, Aleksios spoke with an even controlled tone. "You are Nikolaos Bjorn Aristenos?"

Nikolaos quickly responded in crisp military precision. "Yes, your Majesty."

"You have served for the last four years as a Varangian Guard, alternatively serving at the Magnaura, Hippodrome, as personal bodyguard to my sons, my daughter and her husband, and assisting in the arrest and execution of Organization members. Your work has not gone unnoticed." Aleksios reached across his desk for some papers and laid them in front of him, before returning his hands to their normal, tented place in front of him.

Nikolaos would have swelled with pride had not respect and discipline been drilled into him. "Indeed, I have done what you said, but I have done nothing more then any member of the Varangain Guard should have", was the clean-cut answer Nikoalos gave instead. His eyes were drawn to the paper between him and the Emperor.

Aleksios noted Nikolaos's gaze before continuing. "Do not be modest Nikolaos, it is unbecoming for a man of your talent. I wish I could have a man as loyal, obedient and...level-headed as you, but alas, your kind seem in short supply. I hope to rectify that, by rewarding you with a promotion to Strator and Senator of the Roman Empire."

Nikolaos training failed him for the briefest of moments as shock played over him, Captain of the Guard one day, but this! This was beyond Nikolaos's wildest dreams.
"Your Majesty, I thank you! From the depths of my heart I thank you I tha-".

Aleksios motioned for him to be still, and Nikolaos quickly returned to his normal disciplined self. "Do not be so hasty in your thanks. As a Senator, you will not be allowed to be a member of the Varangian Guard. I will not have the most loyal and trusted men under my command tainted by politics, I know my history too well. If you agree to this, then you will resign from the Varangian Guard effective immediately."

Nikolaos was to overjoyed to argue. "Anything your Majesty!"

Aleksios pushed the papers in front of him forward. "These are documents legitimizing your claims as Strator and Senator of the Roman Empire. I will have you sign them, and then you may be on your way. I will keep a copy for myself."

Nikolaos quickly signed all the papers with a speed that would do a court scribe shame. After signing them, Nikolaos held out his hand in expectation.

Aleksios let Nikolaos hand hang in the air as he reviewed the documents, insuring their legality. He then set them aside, and looking back from Nikolaos to his hand, reached out after a few seconds and shook it, his hand engulfed in Nikolaos's.

Nikolaos smiled as he vigorously shook the Basileus's hand. A smile broke out across his face, and after a crisp salute, let go of Aleksios's hand and marched out. As the doors shut behind him, one could hear him whoop for joy.

After the newly promoted man had left, Aleksios turned to Harald, "Make sure he is watched, I want to ensure that he does indeed sever his old ties. The last few years have convinced me that even some of the Varangians are suspect."

Harald look troubled, but nodded, "It will be done, your Majesty."

------------------------------------------------------

Nikolaos shook himself from his reverie, and making his way past his old friends, entered the
Magnaura.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Done with permission, editing, and help from OK

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This story takes place a couple months after this story.

Nicosia 1134:

The past few weeks had been a blur. After leaving Anna's temporary quarters, Makedonios handed little Constantine over to Maria, the wife of his shield-bearer, Nick. The small group had made their way back to the storm sewer. Surrounded by his most trusted men, the Megas led them through the catacombs to a port. A non-descript craft waited for them and they were off. Being Megas had it's perks. One of them was that it was quite easy to issue naval orders that looked very innocent and procedural. Being Megas also gave Mak knowledge of naval patrols. After a few switchovers, they were finally on a private craft owned by Nick's family. Anyone who later looked at naval orders would only find a routine personnel transfer from Constantinople to somewhere in Greece.

Sailing the private craft themselves, and able to avoid naval patrols, the small group arrived in Nicosia just in time for the new year. Finally on safe ground, the group relaxed a little. Cyprus was Mak's island and Nicosia was his private castle. No one found it odd that him and his men were in town for the new year's festivities. It also allowed him full control over security. If they had been followed, he would know about it.

After the festivities, Makedonios left his guards and retinue behind. Carrying little Constantine himself, he rode off across the island. The island was his home and he knew every road, trail, militia patrol, and local bandit. He knew exactly what route to take to make sure he wasn't noticed or followed. Finally arriving at the Kykkos Monastery in the dead of night, Mak knocked on the door of the one in charge, Esaias.

Esaias quickly opened the door and ushered the father and son inside. "I'm glad to see you made it Makedonios." The two men were old friends and used the other's first name while in private.

Makedonios took a seat and accepted some tea. Constantine was still sleeping in a harness around Mak's torso. "I see Ioannis visited you. I can't thank you enough for doing this."

Esaias sipped his own cup of tea while taking a seat. "It is not a problem. While the Emperor might have signed off on the funds for this place back in 1081, I know it was you who lobbied so hard for it. No one but me knows who the boys father is. I'll simply present him to the monastary as a 'left on doorstep in the dead of night' orphan. Lord knows we have plenty of those. No one will think twice about it."

Makedonios's tone turned stern. "I won't get into particulars, or into who the mother is, but I'll just say I have my share of political opponents. Some might dig into things. If anyone were to look into things here, I expect to be notified."

The older man nodded. "Of course. But I wouldn't worry. Strangers stand out around these parts. But I won't take any chances. I'll treat him as I would any orphan. He'll grow up here and learn the ways of the Order. He'll be a young boy and he'll grow up into a man. I take it that at that point, you'll have plans for him?"

Another sip of tea. "That will depend on my talk with him. I'll drop by from time to time but I will have no contact with him until he hits adulthood. It's for his own safety. When he becomes a man, I will speak with him. What he does at that point will be up to him."

Esaias nods. "Alright, now that is settled, you should probably get going while he is still sleeping. I will go and 'find' him at the monastary's front door. Go with God Makedonios."

The Megas nods. "And God go with you as well Esaias." The father slowly took off the harness with his son, gently kissed the boy on the head, and handed him to the Head Monk.

First Interlude

On Leadership

Despite the strict feudal limitations placed on them, the endless claims that they alone cannot accomplish anything, and our political system in which abuses of power are being heavily checked, the fact remains that our leaders are the masters of the world. They themselves may have forgotten that, but for all of their power they are but a small fraction of the Byzantine population as a whole. The majority, the people that toil for the benefit of these nearly-mythical figures in order to create a decent living for themselves, have not forgotten. They see men, glorious men in shining armor and riding majestic horses, men leading armies of thousands to the far ends of the earth, and marvel at the unlimited scope of their power.

For, compared to the masses, the scope of their power is indeed unlimited. To the child that has to get up well before sunrise every morning in order to go to church and work on his father's farm to make sure that the year's crop is a success, the notion of leading armies into the field is the stuff of dreams, if it is even that. But yet, the Senators of the Magnaura take this awesome right for granted, even complaining if their forces are understrength. Would that the average farmer had even two hundred peasants, a paltry amount not even fit for garrison duty according to most Senators, at his command and ready for him to lead them to the next life, for better or for worse!

Yes, our leaders are, to a man, able to shape the entire world's destiny at will. They are all powerful, that is not to be disputed. The thing that sets these titans among men apart from each other, however, is how they use the power that is granted to them. Amongst the peasantry, each general, each leader, is equally great; infinitely above their comprehension. However, in the Magnaura, where the opinions of fellow Senators are nowhere near as lofty as the rest of the Empire's, the situation is very different. Should a Senator want to mount the pedestal and be regarded as a standard of greatness even among their fellows, a sort of Zeus among Olympians as our ancestors of two millenia would say, then he must act as a leader and not just be one.

On a smaller scale, this is done through personality. People will respond in different ways to different traits; chivalry vs. dread is an easy example of this, as is piety vs. impiety. While the great balancers, those who attempt to reconcile the two opposites, are notable in their own right, the greatest of men usually take the extremes; either as an incorruptable man of God who refuses to bend his moral code, or as a master of terror who strikes fear in the hearts of all who have heard his name.

However, the greatest factor, perhaps somewhat influenced by personality, is a leader's decision-making. How he chooses to utilize the vast resources at his disposal affects the lives of all and changes the course of history. Does the general decide to push on with an army despite it being understrength and the odds being long? He could fail and endanger the entire front. He could succeed and bring another city into the Byzantine embrace. Or, should he choose the safer option, he saves the lives of countless peasants and artisans but fails to conquer new land. These are decisions that leaders are tasked with every day, and yet they still complain about their lack of power!

The time will come when the decisions become more difficult. Whether the leader acts in the name of the betterment of the Byzantine people, or for personal glory. Take the probable example of a Senator who desires more land, and thus, influence and power. There is a large foreign army guarding the nearest enemy city, just daring the Senator to come and attack. On the other hand, the unguarded inner territories of a political rival lie just next door. When the time comes for that Senator to make a decision, the world, including its rulers, will know exactly what kind of a man he is through his leadership. Is he noble and dedicated to the Byzantine Empire, no matter how he personally feels about it and seeks to advance its glory, or does he put himself above all else and seek to advance his name at the expense of the Empire?

Make no mistake about it, that time will eventually come, perhaps multiple times. And when it does, the future of this great Empire will be determined totally by the actions of its leaders and what they do with the enormous power they command. It is, then, up to proper leadership to ensure that Byzantium continues to reign.

Ilias Papaspyrou, University graduate
Undated essay

Makedonias ek Philadelphius taps on the bars of his cell loudly. In comes one of his brothers precious bodygaurd, one of his trusted captains that had been left on charge on keeping an eye on him.

Well, has my brother's folly been exposed. I am sure it will be as I said, these Romans look after themselves a simple man from Athens can never be allowed important offices he is but a vassel to these men....

Makedonias continues to rant and rave for a short time.

The bodyguard waits for a moment and simply announces....

My lord Nevoulas ek Philadelphius is winning the election.

With that, Makedonias looks dumbfounded. He falls to the ground in disbelief looking this way and that for some support from the unforgiving cell. His brother, that runt Nevoulas ... Megas. He put his hands to his temple a screamed in jeolous forklorn rage, this was wrong... this was not as it should be. His eyes closed all he could see is the smug self assured look of his brother looking down at him mockingly.

Venice, 1140

Theo raised his head slowly. He had a headache. The worst hangover ever. Trying to get up from the chair he finally noticed that he was tied to it. After couple of minutes later when his head became much clearer he looked around in the room. Besides the chair where he sat there was nothing in it.

"Now this is weird! I know that the Varangians don't like me drinking in Magnaura but I doubt that they would put me in jail because of that!" Theo thought himself.

The last thing he remembered was that he came from a small gathering after the end of the Senate Session. There were some "female friends" and a lot of wine. After he left from that small "gathering" he had walked around the city trying to get sober enough to go to the Orders quarters in Constantinople. He remembered some noise behind and a hard punch against his head. And then he woke up in here.

Suddenly he heard some noises behind the door. He listened more carefully and heard some Italian words. Prigioniero, fare parlare di lui, ucciderlo were the only ones that he understood and he really didn't like to hear them. From what he remembered those meant prisoner, make him talk, kill him. The last part made him a bit nervous. He heard the key in the lock and the door were opened. Four man stepped in.

"What is this? Who are you? Do you know who I am? I am a Senator and a Knight of the Order!" Theo said with an angry voice.

"Correction. You are just a Sergeant. And now shut up you bastardo" said one of them.

"What do you know about the lettera? Who has it? Who knows about our piani?" asked the second one.

"About what? About your piano?" asked Theo while raising his eyebrows.

"No! About our piani you bastardo! Piani not piano!" said the third one with an annoyed voice.

"Oh.. About your P-I-A-N-I?! Well.. what should I supposed to know about it? Four badly dressed Italians are playing weird games with a person who is tied on a chair? Did you meant that?" Theo asked with a sneer.

"Bastardo! Io uccidere te!" yelled the man who had asked questions from him. The man stormed and punched against Theo's face. Others were quickly upon him and dragged the man out of the room.

Theo heard some heated argument but things were said too quietly for him to understand the words. Only couple of times he heard bastardo and egli è morto but that was all. During that time he had tried to free himself but without a luck.

Two men entered the room again. There was something familiar in one of the man. Almost like Theo knew him.

"You angered the wrong man cane! Now you will face the consequences! This man here will make you talk!" the man who said that smiled with disgust. Turning around he left the room and closed the door. Silence took ground. Theo looked at the torturer and the torturer looked at Theo.

Suddenly the torturer started to talk...

"When I heard the name of the prisoner I just couldn't believe it! I know only one man with that name. Only one man had a drunk enough father to give this name to his son. Don't you recognize me, Theophylaktos Petzeas" said the man with a smile.

"Georgi? Is that really you? You little son of a .. What are you doing here?" asked Theo with a cheerful voice.

"I thought that being a mercenary is too risky so I took this job instead. Have to say that the Venetians like to play a lot to a man in my position, to a torturer!"

"Venetians you say? What do they want from me? I'm just a Knight of the..."

"Correction. You are just a Sergeant!" said Georgi and started to laugh.

"Yeah.. yeah! Laugh as much as you want! By the way.. Could you untie me? Or you can't help an old friend?"

"Oh.. sorry about that! Here you go." Gregori untied Theo who stood up.

"Now. Could you tell me what the hell is going on? I really should notify the Varangians!"

"Varangians? Here in Venezia? I didn't know that you can find them here too?" said Gregori with a raised eyebrows.

"Venezia? How did I got here? Oh.. and what did they meant with that letter?"

"Sry.. I don't know exactly but I'll tell you what I know. You were drugged and they brought you here in one of their ships. It's been almost a week from the day when you were kidnapped. About the letter. I shouldn't know this but... in that letter there were written everything about the Byzantine defenses, about how two mayor Houses are rivaling between each other, about how Cesar wanted to start a civil war, about how defenseless is the Empires western half. And now one of the copies of that letter is missing. They think that one of the House leaders have it but they are not sure who."

Theo looked stunned...

"To be honest.. I did not expect .. that! And did they really know that a Kni.. Sergeant of the Order would know something like that? But still.. I don't understand why this letter is so important?"

"Because it was written to the Dodge of Venezia and to the... Pope." said Gregori.

"To the Pope? So he is part of this? No wonder that this letter was important! By the way could you help me out of this place?"

"Have to say that I already started to hate them bossing me around. So, if you have an open place ae one of your bodyguards then I would happily join you." said Gregori with a large smile.

"If you can get me out of this place I'll consider you as a brother!" answered Theo.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Couple of hours later, outside of Venice, two men were riding east. It would take some time before they get to the Empires holdings. But they have to make it. A big war was approaching. War that could end all wars...

It had been a nervous few days for Nevoulas ek Philadelphius, whilst waiting for the long election process he had taken it upon himself to read through the administrative functions of the empire and also taken a great deal of time to study parchments of various details of the finances of logistics of the empire.

However in recent hours his studies had stopped, something else was on his mind and for once it was not his brother.

Then, why did he find himself down in the dungeons of the Asteri quarters of the Capitol now facing his brothers cell as he slept. The truth was he still found comfort in the fact he had found a member of his family.

He was concerned at first that Maka may seek to take his own life, but it seemed something had held him back from his threats. Indeed in recent times they had talked freely of their youth, back when there was no responsibilities, no pressures at all. Now here sat Nevoulas hoping to take the greatest responsibility of all.

But for all the encouragement or the voting patterns at the start of the election, Nevoulas knew celebration was premature. In reality all hinged on the votes of the Basilues. Aleksios Komnenus was a wily old man who had run the empire quietly with careful consideration, he was not a man one could predict easily and this was why running against his son was always going to be difficult and somewhat of a long shot.

His brother stirred in sleep, Nevoulas wondered what he could be dreaming of, his bodygaurds had talked of Makadonias asking questions of current affairs events and he could only wonder what he had made of all this. He had not talked of this to his sibling, he knew it would be greeted with yet more contempt and that he could do without.

His bodygaurd approached, his face a mask, there was nothing he could tell from there the soldier was well trained at least. He reads the parchment that has been handed to him and the truth is revealed - the Basilues has backed his son Ioannis' application for Megas.

Nevoulas smiled as he looked up at his bodyguard.

So, it looks as if my gamble has not paid off I shall not be needing all this after all

Nevoulas motions to the paperwork.

That is unless....

Nevoulas suddenly rises with some urgency. Turns to his guard and says:

I will be some time, I need to run some errands, be sure once more my brother is looked after.

Patting his faithful bodyguard on his soldier, Nevoulas leaves, walking quickly and breaking out into a trot up the stairs.

It had been a busy few hours and now Nevoulas ek Philadelphius rushed back to check on the current situation in the Magneura.

He rushed up the steps, and then halted before he let himself in, he knew that the Komnenus family may well be waiting having made their decisive votes to announce the winner of the contest. Nevoulas knew that he needed to compose himself and take a victory like a man.

As Nevoulas straightened his suit and walked in he caught a glimpse of a man exiting the main hall into the Orders private sanctum. Initially thinking nothing off it, he waltzed over to his retinue. Once again the Magnuara seemed strangely quiet of life, Nevoulas wondered again about the Moors and the damage they were causing to the senetorial session.

Isakkos my sage, has the Caeser, his house and family voted yet.

Nevoulas' long time keeper of administrative affairs looked up from his notes with a broad grin on his face .

My lord it seems you have gained yet more votes.

Nevoulas sat down beside the old man, perhaps he has miscounted, but no there as clear as day Nevoulas' count had not gone up one but two more votes. But which two men was their left in the city to vote for him.

Armatos ek Naksou, Nevoulas exclaimed as he clenched his fists in delight.

Isakkos looked at Nevoulas.

Isakkos, the estranged new leader of the Order of St.John has made it back after all.

Nevoulas resisted to urge to let out a whoop of delight, he knew that there was still enough senators to turn the vote yet. He looked at his watch and decided it was high time he started trawling through the books of the economies of the empire. Nevoulas had grown to like the idea of becoming Megas and it seemed more and more likely that he may just realize that dream.