Stories Thread

On the road to Smyrna 1142

With the exception of the night watch there was but two men awake at this hour, the worker and his watcher.

The administrative duties of the Megas would tire and frustrate most men, but for Nevoulas ek Philadelphius it enthralled him and gave him purpose. He attacked each issue with vigour, only this morning a third letter had arrived from outposts in the far east with a request for a larger garrison.

The watcher was fascinated by the workers purpose, it was filling him with pride that he thought long since vanished. Nevoulas journey from a young lad, to quiet, reluctant senator to leader of an army to this the Megas has been quite a story. He longed to go over and help but alas he was in fact chained here, a prisoner of sorts. Now it made him think of his own journey and it immediately sank that pride away and filled him with shame. For he was Nevoulas' older brother, Makedonias traitor and murderer of countless Romans. He put his head into his arms hoping they would swallow him.

Nevoulas looked up at the rattle of chains in the corner, thats right his brother was still here, watching him as he had grown accustomed to doing over the past months. It is almost time for him to start his journey, Nevoulas thought, he hoped his brother would find redemption in his plans. He decided to stop for a moment and go over to him.

Over the past few months, Nevoulas following his election had noticed changes in his brother, his loyalty to the Islams had faded and he would now speak freely to Nevoulas and his bodyguard. As he reached his brother he noticed his face was full of tears, he put his arm on his shoulder and was surprised and his brother hugged him forcefully and now wept freely.

Nevoulas Makedonias exclaimed What have I done, how can I live myself here and what will become of me after death.

Maka, I went to Trebizond all that time ago, in truth those men there were less of me then perhaps even the Turks. They greed and incompetence led you down a dark path, I hope to give you chance of redemption. Nevoulas responded.

Redemption Maka questioned...

Suddenly there was a commotion outside, and suddenly a dark skinned man burst through the door carrying a dagger blade.

Nevoulas darted for cover beneath his desk, but the man turned towards Maka. Nevoulas suddenly realised his brother was chained to his chair in the corner. Nevoulas quick kumped on his table and leaped at the attacker as he plunged his dagger into Makadonias side, screaming for help from his guards.

Nevoulas fell backward ripping the invaders blade out of the fiends grasp before he could do further damage as men rushed in to the tent.

As his guards rushed in the man managed to wrestle the dagger back into his control and to everyones surprise stabbed himself firmly through his throat killing himself instantly.

Nevoulas turned to his brother slumped over his chair. No, thought Nevoulas, not now just as I have him back. The wound was deep, and Maka looked on Nevoulas now.

I guess I find out now how forgiving our god is... Maka gasped.

Nevoulas could see his brother was fading as medics rushed in to help, but he recognized they work, they looked as if they could fix this. Turning to his brothers would be killer.

He screamed Who is this man, what was is issue with Maka....

Suddenly Maka pushed off his medic

Brother...

Nevoulas rushed over...

That Nevo is what you call a Moor.

With that, Maka slipped into unconsciousness as the medics continued to see to his wound.

On a hill near Athens 1146

Makadonios ek Philadelphius had not seen his brother since crossing the Aegean Sea. It had been an emotional journey for him, the closest that he had been to his birthplace, since he had left all that time ago. His thoughts had been on the Moorish attempt on his life, he knew all too well what they were worried about. Makadonios had learned much during his time in the Seljuk army, including the levels of collusion between the great powers of Islam. He knew more of the Moors then most in these parts and he suspected his brother knew this and perhaps that would be his last act to reveal his secrets before his unavoidable execution.

He was now being led on a strangely familiar uphill path lost in his thoughts of the past and as the edged toward the summit of the climb, he recognized where it was that he had been taken. This was a place where he and Nevoulas came countless times as children from here you could see the lands all around and they would often spy the traffic going from Athens to the Castle at Corinth. He fondly recalled these days, wondrous hours whiled away before the terrible black cloud of his armed days in service of initially the corrupt Roman corps and then the Seljuk horde. At the finest viewpoint he could see his brother Nevoulas ek Philadelphius awaiting back turned to him.

Maka, come your time for retribution has come. Nevoulas called out.

Steeling himself Makadonias shuffled forwards.

Halt. Nevoulas suddenly shouted still facing away from Makadonios. Guards release his foot chains.

This was duly done, if this had been a few months previous Makadonios would have instantly attempted escape. But now he realized there was nowhere to go, indeed nowhere else he wished to go, he was prepared to face his death well.

Striding forward he stopped some metres short of his brother.

Lord Megas Makadonias awkwardly said and went to one knee.

Makadonias, I must soon depart for the Capital. As you know the Emperor is dead and as such I must travel to pay my respects. In addition there will no doubt be some issues with the ascension, I will need to stay for whatever coronation follows. Before I go, this seems a fitting time for us to conclude this. I will offer you a choice.

I have made my choice my brother. Makadonios cut in. I will meet my death with honour whatever you wish to know of the Moors I will tell it.

Nevoulas smiled, resisting the urge to chuckle. Maka still believes us barbarians, even now after living among us for some months. I guess the chains and living amongst the enemy can do that. He walks forwards and unlocks the chains that bind his hands.

Maka, it is not necessary for you to die, while it is true that many Romans are dead at the hand of your sword everyone in this empire is given a second chance and so it shall be with you.

Look my brother at the lands around us, these belong to the House of Asteri, you may join in the harvest return to our cousins and old friends and help in a low level capacity.

Makadonios looked stunned. My brother I would love to...

However I do have another option, one that I dearly hope you will take up. I made a promise when I took up this position as Megas to the late emperor. This was not a promise that he compelled me to take or one that he even requested, still it is one that now upon his death more than ever I intend to keep.

With our most finest commanders chasing the Fatamids and the Seljuks into the east, the Moors continue to sit smugly far away in the west. I do not care of the near impossible logistics of the task I will bring the fight and fear to them on their lands, with the ultimate goal of their sultans head to return some day riding into the streets of Constantinople. I wish you Makadonios to come with me on this quest and serve as part of my bodyguard.

Makadonios looked thoughtful and met his brothers eye.

Brother I have seen much killing, more than my lifetimes fill....

Nevoulas cut in... Maka i stood here and watched you and father ride away and a returned here daily to watch for your triumphant return. Only you never came back... instead I travel continents to find you only to be enslaved and humiliated. By some miracle I managed to escape... I know you arranged my escape and that is why I have given you the chance to redeem yourself here. I will understand if you wish to stay here as a farmer, but I hope you use the oppurtunity I have given you to take the time in my absence to train and prepare for my no our quest.

Maka still stood stunned. This was his chance to finally redeem himself, he looked around Nevoulas' now familiar bodyguard nodded approvingly.

My brother I will do it, I shall help you lead a vicious attack on the Moors.

Constantinople 1144

Apionnas walked slowly from the death bed of his late master. Basileus Aleksios Komnenus had passed away peacefully with no sign of foul play. That was the last dying duty and the wish of his Godfather. At least he could confirm that to his new master and remove any doubt about succession.

Taking a small package wrapped in thick paper covered in wax he withdrew to a small chamber where Ioannis Komnenus stood in solemn silence with his trusted man Pavlos Chrysovergos.

Apionnas walked directly toward the new Basileus, knelt, held up the package and paper laying on top of it and finally spoke;

"My Lord Basileus,

I, Apionnas Vringas, gave my eternal service and life to your father, his family and the position of Basileus of Byzantium. I wish to state at this time that your father has died with no sign of foul play or evil intent. I now pass this solemn oath onto to you and your family.

The papers here are a collection of all the work I have conducted on behalf of your father over the last decade. In addition, there is his "Will" in which he included me."

While Apionnas waits for the new Basileus to react he glances briefly towards Pavlos to gauge his reaction. He could never work the man out and his rise to prominence was now going to be accelerated dramatically. His opinion and thoughts would have to be factored into most things from now on.

Pavlos was staring rigidly ahead, arms folded behind his back he seemed almost unaware of the proceedings in front of him. As Apionnas speaks he glances at him briefly then at the papers that are handed over to Ioannis. His face is as always set in a permanent scowl.

Taking Apionnas' hand, the new Basileus gently pulls him to his feet.

"Senator Apionnas, you have been most devoted to my father, and there is no one more that I would trust with the affairs of our family and that of my personal safety. I accept your oath most willingly."

Gesturing to Pavlos to come closer, he turned again to Apionnas.

"This is Pavlos Chrysovergos, my trusty second and faithful leader of the Komnenodoukai. He has shown his loyalty many times over, and you can fully confide in him. He will also be part of the Privy Council."

"My Lord Dux, it is a great honour to meet you finally. The House of Komnenodoukai will be a great asset in the years to come. With it's strength the reign of our Baselius will be well supported amongst the nobility."

Extending his hand in a warriors grip, Apionnas's blue eyes assess the man that will influence much in the coming years.

The small burly men had stepped forward at the signal.

"Comes Apionnas Vringas! You are a loyal man, I respect you for that. The Basileus trusts you and so will I. The Komnenodoukai will continue to serve the line of Aleksios."

He grips the other mans arm firmly and watches him with a steady gaze.

The grip was vice like in its strength. Excellent thought Apionnas. The steel in this man would be needed in the years to come.

Breaking both hand shake and eye contact each man seemed satisfied with the other. Apionnas turns back to his new master, an intense look in his eyes.

"My Lord, I believe we need to move as quickly as possible to have your coronation completed by the Patriarch.

Then we must move to address oath swearing in the Magnaura as a formality. This should include all House Leaders AND unaligned senators. Once that is completed we need to deal with a quick solution with Constantinople's ownership and Vissa.

The unknown noble your father willed the Capital must be identified immediately and his loyalty confirmed via public oath. Once that is done then some "arrangements" will need to be agreed upon."

Nodding, Ioannis buckles on his sword.

"We must make haste to the Patriarch's office. The sooner all the arrangements are concluded the better."

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Co-op with Igno and Ituralde

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Co-op between myself, Ignoramus, and AussieGiant with a tip of the hat to OverKnight for the will.

Constantinople, 1146
The Hagia Sophia

The giant domed cathedral in the heart of Constantinople was packed to the brim with Senators, soldiers, foreign dignitaries, religious figures, and the like, a fitting way to mark the ascendancy of Ioannis Komnenos to the throne of the most powerful country in the world. Not only were representatives from every corner of the Empire there to witness the event, but those from the entire world - even the lands which were not under Byzantine control and were at war with the Greeks, for the Hagia Sophia had been built in another age, the time of Byzantine glory. Stone from Syria, Egypt, Thessaly, and even Rome made up the massive church. Even one of the ancient Seven Wonders would witness this moment, as columns from the long-gone Temple of Artemis were present. This was all to Ioannis's liking, of course. Let the entirety of the world and even time itself pause to pay tribute to him on his day.

Ioannis had spared no expense for this moment, having the finest musicians from the Empire converge and serenade the crowd, the finest chefs serve a massive meal after the coronation was completed, and the finest artists take their places throughout the cathedral to paint a variety of perspectives of the glorious event. A larger-than-life mosaic of the soon-to-be Basileus in regal attire, seated beside the Virgin Mary and the Christ Child adorned one of the far walls. The man himself, attired in full ceremonial robes on a golden throne in one of the Hagia's apses, sat, taking everything in.

To his immediate right, the Patriarch of Constantinople, Nicholas III, stood, slightly hunched over. The Patriarch had outlived his old rival Alexios, but not by much, if Ioannis was to take a guess. His long beard had turned white and he was turning pale, creating a stark contrast with his black robes. Out in front of him was the crowd: well-dressed, standing, and observant. The exact placement of persons in the crowd, like the rest of the ceremony, had been fastidiously planned. In the front rows were members of Ioannis's inner circle, his close relatives, and the dignitaries whose position demanded it. Farther back were the lesser Senators, most high-ranking members of the clergy, and less personal friends. Almost mingled in with the crowd were particular Senators that Ioannis had issue with and the lesser dignitaries. To Ioannis's immediate left stood his wife, who had already been crowned Empress, and the executor of Alexios's will, who had just finished speaking and was preparing to head back into the crowd. The previous ceremony was just a formality, of course, for Alexios's will had been made public some days before and Ioannis had already redistributed certain titles. The Varangian Guard, armor polished thrice over, had a commanding presence, flanking the main stage and its entrances. Finally, Ioannis mused, the endless preliminaries were over. Now came the moment why everyone was here.

The figure of Apionnas Vringas detached itself from the group of nobles surrounded by the imposing Varangians. Those standing in the front rows could see the heavy circlet of gold hanging from his neck signifying him as the new Lord High Chancellor of the Basileus. The ripple of murmuring voices passed this piece of information quickly to those standing at the back of the massive Cathedral, those who were not in the know about the information.

Apionnas bowed his head in acknowledgment after making eye contact with the Royal Princess Anna, her husband, and Methodios Tagaris, the new Caesar. Taking the dais summit in measured strides the hall became silent once he turned to address the gathered nobles.

"Lords of the Realm," he began,

"You are all gathered here today to witness the coronation of our new Basileus and the selection of the new heir apparent and Caesar. Before our beloved Patriarch Nicholas III does this however I wish to say a few words.

"Our new ruler, Ioannis Komnenos the Second, Basileus of the Roman Empire, Vice-Regent of God on Earth, and former Megas Logothetes is about to guide us with his firm hand for the next several decades. I am sure we all know him well.

"It would be inaccurate to describe Ioannis Komnenos as anything other than a polarising figure.

"While this has been true for the most part, it is also true that with great responsibility comes a great sense of duty and from this great men rise to the occasion.

"It is this very characteristic that will hold us in good stead for the future. Ioannis Komnenos has been born to rule and having known his father, the late Basileus Aleksios Komnenos, I know that this family has the capacity and strength to guide us into the next age of our Empire.

"While men may disagree it is the Basileus that rules us all. It is our duty and our honour to serve our Basileus until we die, for bickering and internal strife will do nothing but eat this Empire from within. Our enemies will have to do nothing but stand and watch us rot from our own venom and bile.

"So I ask you, the assembled noblemen of this glorious Empire, unite together, for with a new Basileus comes a new age and a renewed chance at glory.

"The Basileus is dead! Long live the Basileus!"

"The Basileus is dead! Long live the Basileus!" the crowd responded. As Apionnas stepped down, his heavy circlet of gold gleaming, a great wave of applause went up among the crowd, cheering Ioannis's ascendancy. Clearly pleased by this reaction, Ioannis grinned and shot a look at Apionnas, who returned it and resumed his place next to Pavlos Chrysovergos.

The cheering slowly died down as the crowd waited to see what would happen next. As they saw Patriarch Nicholas III slowly making his way to center stage, the noise built up into a crescendo, saluting the leader of Orthodoxy for the past decades. The Patriarch, whose appearances had always been infrequent, had shut himself away from the world even more over the past few years, only presiding at the Hagia on the most important of occasions. The cheering went on for some time, but the Patriarch soon raised his hands for silence and the crowd abided.

"Stability," he said in a thin, weak voice, and then cleared his throat.

"Stability," he said again, this time stronger, "stability is a blessing which we should all recognize and be thankful for."

The crowd was deathly quiet. The Patriarch's voice, while having been easier to hear after he cleared his throat, was still thin.

"Without stability, there is anarchy and chaos. Without stability, people fend for themselves, forgetting all that is good and light in the world. Aside from a few bastions of faith, most will feel the Lord's loving touch as foreign and flee for it, instead preparing to increase their temporal welfare in times of trouble at the cost of their eternal place in heaven.

"This example has been seen time and time again throughout history," said the Patriarch, pausing for a moment to gaze out into the nave of the monumental, glimmering structure that he had called his seat for longer than he cared to remember. "The greatest was at the close of Christ's time on earth. Until then, those who had followed him had been a mass of disorganized fellows who were easily conquered by their enemies. And then, as recorded in the Book of Matthew, Chapter 16, Jesus told Peter: 'Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church', and thus Peter became the first Pope and organized Christianity was born. Stability, in other words, was established, and as a result it allowed the fledgling religion to spread and become dominant throughout the world. Millions of souls have been saved because of stability.

"Those of you old enough to remember life before the previous Basileus may relate to what I am talking about," the Patriarch said. "Rulers changed with the seasons, and those that were not captured by the heathen enemy were assassinated, or deposed, or were simply too ineffective to be of note." The crowd, especially the aged members, pondered this.

"The Komnenian Dynasty has been established, though, and praise God, for it has been a stable one indeed," the Patriarch continued, his voice dropping a level. "Here, we have processes in which we can all agree upon. Here, we have checks and consensus. Here, we have the security to worship the One True Lord and not be executed for heresy by some foreign ruler. Here indeed, we have a Godly society, and we have the Komnenian Dynasty to thank for that. May its reign and its commitment to the Lord continue forevermore. Thank you." The Patriarch ambled back to Ioannis's right in a fit of coughing as the crowd cheered, picking up an ornately decorated box as the Basileus rose to address the crowd.

It was an awesome sight to behold. Ioannis, in his full glory, stood at the front of a huge and important crowd at the largest cathedral in the world, his arms outstretched, taking everything in. He let the applause and the "Long live the Basileus!" chants go on for a good while, savoring the moment. For Ioannis Komnenos, this was forever. After decades of waiting, fighting, taking abuse in the Magnaura and having to work in private, his moment had arrived. Although he had yet to be crowned, he was now Basileus, and he was very much enjoying the feeling of being so. Finally, though, he made the motion that he was about to speak, and the crowd slowly died down.

"My father was a noble man," he began. "He ended the inept leadership of the empire, and returned our failing state to her former glory.

"As the second Basileus in the Komnenoi dynasty, I will continue in the same mold as my father. I will expect absolute loyalty from my nobles, and I will give of myself absolute selfless devotion to the needs of the empire.

"For those of you even thinking of plotting a coup - forget it. You have seen the chaos before my father's reign, where the title of Basileus was changed at the whim of a select group of nobles.

"I will bring structural reorganistion to the empire, mainly in the area of defensive responsibilities.

"Finally, I will bring back the Roman empire to her former glory and the opulence of Rome will be ours once more!"

It was done. The crowd was back to cheering, Ioannis once again surveying them all. He thought he saw some not-too-happy faces among the "difficult" Senators farther back, but paid them no mind. They were nothing. Now there was one thing left to do.

The Patriarch was now back at center stage, carrying the ornately decorated box. It was open, and the Basileus, the open part of the box facing him, gazed. It was the crown, the crown in all of its shimmering glory. Already resized to fit him, it was just waiting to be placed on his head. For Ioannis Komnenos, it was finally here.

The Patriarch now had the crown out of the box, was now standing right beside the Basileus. Ioannis noticed a slightly pained look on his face, interpreting it as internal conflict. Nicholas had never been a fan and was now probably regretting the deal he had made with Alexios those years ago. Never mind him, he was an old man. If he tried anything, those Varangians would be all over him. Besides, who would dare challenge Ioannis's right to rule? Look at the ceremony, after all - the cheering crowd, the opulent cathedral. He had all the legitimacy in the world right here.

It must have been something else, though, as all proceeded to plan.

"By the power vested in me as... Patriarch of Constantinople..." Nicholas began, "I hereby crown you... Basileus... of the Roman..."

He slipped and fell, hitting the cold floor hard. Out of pure reflex, the Patriarch had managed to slip the crown over Ioannis's head before he went down, or maybe it was as he was going down; the timing was too close for anybody to determine. In any case, there was to be no argument about it: Nicholas III had gone through with his duty and fulfilled his end of the bargain forged with Alexios Komnenos many years ago.

Over the crowd's singular, horrible gasp, Ioannis leaned in close.

"...Empire..." the Patriarch managed to mumble, and died.

The reign of Ioannis Komnenos II, Basileus of the Roman Empire, had begun.

Constantinople, 1146

The Basileus was dying, Tiverios could see that as soon as he was summoned into the Imperial bedchamber. A wasting disease had taken Aleksios, and the once hale man was reduced to an invalid, yellow flesh stretched over frail bones. It was a disturbing sight, for Aleksios was the only ruler Tiverios had ever known. The Basileus had always been there, taking him into his service, promoting his career, and keeping a steady hand on the Throne. His death would bring forth a new, uncertain future, not only for Tiverios, but for the entire Empire.

Calming himself, the young Senator approarched the bed. Aleksios looked up, his gaze still searching and intelligent as ever despite the betrayal of his body. Even in illness, the Basileus was proped up by pillows and perusing papers.

"Ah, Tiverios," the Basileus said, his voice a whisper, "Please have a seat, there is much we have to discuss."

Bowing, Tiverios took a seat at the head of the bed. No doubt the Basileus had been seeing many people.

"You have served me well these past years. Yet I must ask a favor of you."

Tiverios nodded, "Anything your Majesty, I owe you my position, I am at your service."

It was true, Tiverios's father had died in one of the many campaigns to restore the Empire, though he did not remember him. A fatherless son from a minor family could not have expected much from life, but he had been raised in the capital by his mother. A pension had ensured a proper education and his mother had enough connections remaining at court to secure Tiverios a position. Somehow he had caught the eye of the Basileus, and for the past few years he had assumed much of the responsibility of administering Constantinople. He had even fought at the walls when the Basileus had destroyed the Moors.

Aleksios's reply broke his reverie, "Good, it is a delicate matter, when I am gone, I wish you to govern the capital."

Tiverios raised an eyebrow, "But your Majesty, the Caesar will expect to inherit Constantinople directly. He will be. . .disappointed, to put it mildly."

Aleksios waved his hand, "Yes, he will be, which is why it is a difficult thing to ask of you. You might suffer the ire of the new Basileus. Yet, I believe to be necessary."

Tiverios leaned in, "Why is that, my Lord?"

Aleksios sighed, "I have taken steps to ensure that Ioannis will have a smooth transition to the Throne. But once seated on it, I can guarantee nothing else. I will be dead, and I cannot control the future, much as I would like to. There still might be a civil war; By placing Constantinople outside the direct control of Ioannis, I hope to spare it from attack in such a case. Whatever else happens, I want the heart of the Empire preserved from internecine conflict."

The young Senator nodded, "Just so, but why me, your Majesty? There are others more experienced."

The gaze of the Basileus bored into him, "Why indeed? What do you think?"

Tiverios paused for a moment to think and then spoke, "I am familiar with the city. I have served you loyally. Most importantly, due to my youth and lack of status, I am unaligned with any of the factions at court. A more experienced or powerful man might already have divided loyalties, endangering the city in case of a civil war."

He left another possible reason unsaid.

Aleksios nodded, a trace of a smile on his face, "Very sharp of you, you'll need to be clever. By assigning you Constantinople I am giving you status and power. There is danger in that for you. You will have to tread carefully. I hope you have learned some of what I tried to teach you."

Tiverios grew thoughtful and drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair.

"I have learned a great deal, even more so today. . .your Majesty."

The Basileus nodded and spoke weakly, "Good, you're dismissed. Send in Apionnas if you would."

Tiverios stood, bowed and made his way to the door where he paused for a moment. Glancing back at the bed, he almost asked another question of the Basileus, but instead he opened the door and strode out of the room.

Nicaea, 1149

The new Basileus and his family were gathered together in the palace in Nicaea.

"Ioannis, it is time you accompanied me on campaign." began his father, "You must prove yourself to the nobles that you are worthy to succeed me on my death."

His son looked puzzled, "But Father, Comes Methodios is now Caesar. The nobility would never abandon him as long as his long list of victories over the infidel continues."

"Ah, but you forget that Methodios is older than I am." responded his father, "In normal circumstances, he will die before me and then the nobility would have no excuse but to accept you as my successor. Now go and get yourself ready; I will be riding to the capital this afternoon and I will be taking you with me."

As Ioannis left the room, the Basileus turned to his other son, Sophronios and handed him a book.

"I've brought you Caesar's De Bello Gallico. It will help you with your Latin, and at the same time sharpen your mind concerning military matters."

"Thank you very much, Father. I shall start reading it at once."

As his younger son left the room, the Basileus embraced his wife and walked towards the stables.

Port of Thessalonike, 1150

Ferro stood next to the great trading ships in the port of Thessalonike. It was raining and the sky was black with constant cracks of thunder. Men hurried around in the distance, picking up crates of various products from all over the world. In front of Ferro stood his only son, Efthymios, small and weedy, but loved all the same. Recently he had been promoted to the rank of Senator, a fine position for him and ensured a better life for his family. His shoulder length black hair was soaked and clung to his skin, drowning out his face.

‘Son, promise to visit me soon,’ Ferro shouted over the boom of thunder and waves.
‘Father, I will come as soon as my military and political matters have been sorted in Alexandria,’ Efthymios exclaimed sternly. Ferro sighed, once again his son was been his formal self, trying to hide his emotions. Bloody typical of him, at a time like this, thought Ferro.

‘Tell me why you are going to Alexandria instead of staying here in Thessalonike? This city is perfect for you, not to far away from Constantinople and very profitable. Why not stay here awhile until you are set up. Then move to some exotic land to the south.’

‘I’m going to Alexandria father and that’s final,’ proclaimed Efthymios stiffly. ‘You know as well as I do why I am going Northern Egypt father. I am to become a Legate of the House Ilios Korakas and soon I will have my own city, just like this one and your doubts will be cast from your mind. Also you know I how I feel about fighting fellow Christians, which I am sure to do in Greece, no matter how pompous they are. I wish to fight the Muslims and spread the true word.’

His father sighed again, once more wishing that he hadn’t given his son works of Caesar to study. From a small age Efthymios had become obsessed with military writings and his heroes consisted of Romans and Greeks such as Scipio and Alexander. He had a burning desire to become a mighty general like them, and fight for his country. The only problem was that his poor intellectual capacity for anything other than reading and logistics meant he never had the right flair or imagination to be educated in a military school. Thus he had a small knowledge of military matters but he had a lot to learn, including how to kill a man.

A shout came from across the dock for Efthymios; he quickly turned to his father and gripped him in a fierce hug.

‘Goodbye father, we will see each other soon,’ and before Ferro could reply Efthymios was off, onto the ship in a flash and sailing away to some distant land. Ferro ran his wrinkled hands through his white hair. He sighed for a final time a turned his back on the dock, slowly walking back up to his carriage to take him back to Thessalonike. As he reached there he climbed into the back and told the driver to take him home. He gave a curt reply and lashed his horses. At once they were off, at a slow trollop down the muddy road.

With the hour or so of uncomfortable bumping until they reached the main city, Ferro had time to reflect on his past. He had shoved it aside for the twenty years he spent raising his son but now with him gone, there was only himself to look after. 42 years had gone by since that dreadful event in Cairo, when Ferro had to flee the great city with the mighty general Vissarionas ek Lesvou.

Back then he was young, a meagre eighteen years old, but already a retainer of the promising Senator. He had escaped, barely, with his life. Once giving his report to the appropriate Senators and the like, he resigned from his job and moved into Greece with a small fortune. Quickly buying all the available land he was free to live his life how he wished. He fell in love with a woman and they lived happily for many years with only one burden. This been her trouble with producing offspring as many died during infancy or whilst still in her womb. She finally gave birth to Efthymios prematurely to Ferro’s great delight. But then to his horror worse news came, his wife, Helen, had died during labour. He had got his final wish, with great expense. Once Efthymios had lived past his first years Ferro began to indulge him, desperately trying to make God and Mary forgive him. He had lived the rest of his life happily.

Now his son, Efthymios, was returning to Egypt, where his father all those long years ago had seen such terrible things. Now he was going to return the favour, to beat back the Fatimid dogs to their last province, and their most holy one. Mecca. There he and other noble Senators of the Byzantine Empire would destroy any last resemblance that Egyptians had tried to rule what was rightfully Roman.

With that last thought Ferro succumbed to tiredness and fell into his bed, having already returned to his home. He was smiling while he slept; making an eerie site for the maids and servants, but all the same Ferro knew a storm was coming, and he was happy!

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Written with permission of Ramses II

Athens 1150

He sat across the table listening intently to the messenger, it was not what he wanted to hear. Summoning up all his patience he waited whilst the man went through other trivialities and gave the man his expenses.

As soon as the man left the building Nevoulas ek Philadelphius walked up to a nearby vase, calmly picked it up and hurled it across the room and watched as it smashed into smithereens.

Behind him came a slow hand clap, Nevoulas did not need to turn to know it was his brother Makedonios.

Nevo if only you could take on the Muslim hordes with the Athenian porcelain at your disposal. Crowed Maka.

Nevoulas turned angrily, about to remind his brother of his place and to call him by an appropriate title. But upon seeing his brothers chirpy face, he reminded himself that things were not so bad. He was having to remind himself of this fact too often in these latter years of his term as Megas, the news from the outlying towns was the tip of the iceberg.

Upon seeing his illustrious brother's glum face Maka's face also turned serious.

More bad news from the East? he enquired.

It would seem your former overlords have been regrouping out in the East. They are bringing hordes of horses with them. The eastern push is in danger of stagnating and if these latest reports are true some of our best men are in severe danger.

Maka pondered his next words carefully.

I am sorry my brother I do not know much of this latest Sultan, he was most adament to push most of us outsiders close to the Eastern extremes, this is how I ended up fighting for the Egyptians.

Nevoulas eyed his brother, this was the first time in years, Makadonios had mentioned anything of this dark time in his life as a virtual Mamluk. He waited as Maka looked away for him to continue.

It was almost as if he knew that the Seljuk hold on Anatolia was weakening, I heard rumours of lavish buildings in Baghdad. Those were strange times. Maka wiped a tear from his face.

Nevoulas went to put his arm on his brothers shoulder, but Maka suddenly straightened.

But onto the present, I come to report that finally the extra ships from the south have arrived. After the embarrassing logistical display of a year ago we can soon be ready to set sail.


Nevoulas smiled at that, indeed it was a farcical display as they had set sail the first time with too many munitions and troops for the vessels to support them. After three horrific and painfully slow months at sea they came back the Athens. It would be good to go on this campaign, he really could not wait for the adventure if truth be told.

Yes, once my megas term ends, we will have that to occupy our thoughts my brother. Lets go to the docks now and have a look at the fine vessels myself.

Constantinople 1150

Aleksios left the building site of the new city walls and headed to the Tamagata House to meet a man who had been a part of the retinue of the late Emperor Aleksios. This man he was meeting was a veteran of the Emperor’s Army and had now been assigned to Aleksios.

Aleksios rode from the building site in a coach, thinking it had been sometime since he rode a horse. He was a builder and his buildings and civil plans were in various government locations in the Empire. He came to Constantinople to defend it against the Moors and ended up designing the capital’s defences with the new walls. Why would the Basileus assign a soldier to him? He thought back to his early days in the creation of his House to defend the Basileus and the Empire but his campaigns were next to nil. He ended up designing structures by commissions and what can this soldier do for him now.

The coach pulled up to the House and Aleksios aide was waiting for him and assisted him to the door.

“Master, the gentlemen from the Royal Army is here and is waiting in the Hall. He seems to be a decent fellow I have prepared your afternoon refreshments”. Aleksios acknowledged his aide and comment. He immediately entered the hall.

A small meal and wine had been prepared the guest was already indulging himself. The striking figure rose from his seat and greeted Aleksios.

“Antipatos Aleksios, it is an honour to meet you finally! I have been looking forward to meeting you and have concluded my personal business and I am at your service”. The soldier made a formal bow. Aleksios was already impressed with this character.
“I am Kostaki, soldier of the Royal Army, from the Corinth Region and now in your service as decreed by the late Basileus Aleksios.”

“Corinth!?” mused Aleksios. “No finer of a region for a soldier to come from; some of the best are coming from there now. What I can’t figure is how you were assigned to me I need an engineer not a well trained soldier?” The two sat to eat and continued the conversation.

“My lord, men in this Empire are known for their campaigning then their civic contributions. Maybe the late Aleksios is telling you it is time to get away from the cities and make a name for yourself. The men that can defeat our enemies and capture their cities are the men obtaining influence and wealth……………..”

Aleksios reflected back to his campaigning and smashing the Rebel Army and the rush of the battle and glorious victory he felt. However, the feeling was short lived on his return to Durazzo and seeing the place in squalor and reorganizing the city to improve the living conditions and that brought another euphoria. He wasn't sure what was greater? His attention wondered back to his guest.

“………. I will assist you my lord and bring you up to the level of the other generals. You have the organizational skills that can be applied to the battlefield.” Kostaki had realized he was losing his new master’s attention and was praying that if he was not campaign that he would release him from his services. The thought of remaining in the city did not appeal to the veteran soldier.

The two men sat awhile in silence and ate their meal.

Aleksios took a deep drink and finished his goblet of wine. Looking at the veteran soldier for a moment he made his decision.

“Kostaki, we ride! I don’t know where the hell too but we leave this week!” The soldier let out a sigh of relief. “My business is done here and I should return to Corinth. The Army has been sitting to long the men have most likely forgotten how to fight. A good campaign is what we need but where?”

The veteran thought for a moment. “There are still Rebels in the Empire especially in the north. Why don’t we make our way to Corinth through the northern lands and destroy the Rebel Armies we find along the way. It will give the men some training before they meet a professional army of some enemy faction.”

“Excellent! Let make the arrangements and we ride out by weeks end.” Aleksios was not sure what he was getting into but it felt good to have a plan and be on the move. “More wine!
Kostaki let us celebrate this new collaboration and toast the Army of Corinth and too many victories.”

The two men feasted with other guest of the House long into the night.

Placeholder for Armatos' daring slaughter of the Turks outside Aleppo. :clown:

Near Medina, 1155.

The Senate was meeting. Vissarionas ek Lesvou once again would not attend, but that did not mean he had no unpleasant business awaiting him. Today, alas, he would have to tour the patch of dirt occupied by the ever present camp followers any army that ever marched inevitably collected. There was some sort of disturbance there, and there had been reports of stonings and strange rituals. The soldiers were disturbed, and since Vissa had never explained his own odd pronouncements to them some were starting to think this nonsense was at his behest. It was time to put a stop to that.

It would be a filthy business. The sweltering heat of the desert made everything living sweat, stink, and collect grime in a film. The lack of easy access to water also meant that already infrequent baths became nil, and these hangers-on had no discipline to dig decent 'honey holes' for their wastes.

No, instead they simply stamped out crude trenches beyond whatever scrap of fabric represented their tents for the moment and dumped anything they didn't want into them. Closer to the army, in the prized positions, there was some organization at least, some effort to keep a clear path, but Vissa's business would not allow him to remain at the edges today. Today he must penetrate to the depths, to the very heart, to discover what madness lay within.

He had ordered his guardsmen and the other troops to remain behind, and yet was well aware that some would shadow him, and some would already be present conducting whatever vile trade they had with the women of the camp. Women, of course, comprised the majority of the camp, though sundry other half-skilled laborers could be found as well. Unidentifiable meats hung from some strung up poles, while bundles of herbs hung from others. Anything that was banned from the army camp could be found in abundance, especially alchohol, but still mostly it was women.

Women of every size, shape, age, and state one could imagine. Some of them retained a battered, hectic sort of beauty, but the majority already had that used up look which generally came a few weeks before they fell behind in the march and were abandoned to their fates. The worst ones, the hardest to bear, were the ones with visible deformities, scars, or even fresh wounds. Vissa knew it was his men who did these things, knew that if he fought hard enough he could probably even catch some of them, but the army itself wouldn't survive spending it's time setting up trials over cruel treatment of whores, and the army had a larger purpose to serve. Vissa's purpose. The Empire and Order's purpose. God's purpose.

Still, deep inside him, it hurt Vissa when he passed a girl who couldn't have yet seen fifteen years but whose gaze from her one remaining eye was one of acknowleded indifference to her own suffering. A look which said, simply, 'I know only pain awaits me in life yet my path bears me ever onward to that fate and I cannot turn aside.' Sometimes the depth of God's cruelty still burned Vissa even as he fought to be the instrument of it's implementation.

Such thoughts held his mind while his feet unerringly guided Vissa to the place where he must resolve a threat to his army. Arriving near the back-center of the camp Vissarionas saw a zone where there were no smaller tents, just a crude design arranged from filth with a large, badly made, and yet oddly ostentatious, given the surroundings, throne had been set up under a sun shielding stretch of fabric. Astride this curious throne sat a bald man, nearly naked, with the tan skin of a northern Egyptian. He held a black twig about ten inches long with some sort of crystal tied to the end, and he was spouting off some gibberish in no language Vissa had ever heard. Around his waist a loincloth was tied, and tucked through it was a long, thin dagger.

Around him were twenty five or thirty camp followers, over half of them men, with patient, expectant looks on their faces. Vissa stood far enough back and to the side to keep from having to trod on the lines of filth or join the crowd. At last the bald man's air ran out and the stream of nonsense ended. Immediately he took a deep breath and launched into a diatribe in broken Greek, the gist of which was simply that evil had come among the faithful and had to be cut out before punishment descended on the whole camp. 'Well, punishment is here now,' Vissa thought absently before addressing the man aloud,

"What's the meaning of this?"

The bald man, no stranger to showmanship, executes a slow turn and pretends to just have become aware of Vissa's presence. He sketches an elaborate but shallow bow, as one might to an equal, before replying,

"A cleasing m'Lord! In God's name we have caught an iniquitous one and now prepare her end!"

With a crafty gleam he gestures the crowd to step back, revealing a woman buried, standing up, to her neck in sand. Her hair has been burned off, her eyes put out, her ears cut off, and likely she is dead already. Despite this Vissa feels a twinkling of rage in his gut, but effortlessly cuts it out of his voice,

"A sacrifice is it? An enemy to offer up to God? This is my way as well."

Just before the charlatan can speak again Vissa loudly cuts him off,

"May I join you?"

A certain tension dissolves in the air. The group around the bald man can sense that the proper obeisance has been made even if not quite on the terms their master had instructed them to expect. Their dead eyed gazes move off of Vissa and back to the bald man, who sagely nods his head and makes an inviting sweep of his arm.

Carefully avoiding the lines of garbage Vissa strides forward and without hesitation stands among the crowd, which shrinks aside deferentially and allows him a place at it's center, his feet mere inches from the buried woman. With no further ado the bald man throws his head back and gargles out some more gibberish, of a harsher tone. There's no mistaking the mood now, and the group becomes restless around Vissa, their gazes tearing from the capering naked man to the head protruding from the sand. Somehow each of them has found a stone, and no few begin to clench their hands spasmodically as the rough sounds from the bald man continue.

Once again he sucks a deep wind in after his flow of 'words' is cut off, but this time no pronouncement erupts. Instead, with a curious series of prancing, leaping moves, the magician dances foward while waving his wand about elaborately, each step bringing him indirectly nearer the woman in the sand and bringing the tension in the air a notch higher. At last, as he lurches forward to stand straddled nearly over the head, he raises his wand high in the air and looks directly into Vissa's eyes before speaking in a low tone,

"With this, Lord, together, we shall forge victory!"

Holding his gaze Vissa leans forward, preventing the bald man from lowering his wand, and whispers,

"You don't smell much like victory," before grasping the loincloth and lifting it with all his strength. Squealing, eyes wide with pain, the suddenly desperate magician drops his wand and tries to gasp out some command to the crowd around Vissa, but the general simply steps over the buried woman with the thin old man held half a foot in the air and turns about while twisting his grip on the tightly wound loincloth ever deeper.

Now, however, the bald man's fluttering hands have found his dagger, and he struggles to draw it from the binding cloth it is caught up in, cutting his own leg and pattering blood across the head of the buried woman, who abruptly opens her blood spattered mouth and screams as best a tongueless human being can before falling silent and slumping over. Vissa quickly lifts the man even higher and then slams his own forehead into the creature's jaw as he is released, shattering it and releasing a fresh flow of blood. The pagan magician, just now coming to realize how badly he has miscalculated his power, struggles once again to speak to his followers as he lies on the ground spitting out teeth.

Vissa, with the man's blood running down the scars on his forehead, smiles a tiny, effortless little smile at the pathetic crowd of camp followers, the dregs of humanity, with their collection of still deadly stones and... they turn their faces from him. One after the other those stones fall to the ground from unclenched fists.

That settled, Vissa turns his attention to the magician, who has managed at last to extract his dagger from his loincloth and is trying to find the strength to do something with it. With an easy grace Vissa kicks it out of his hand, breaking several of his fingers, and finding that motion quite satisfying then proceeds to kick the man again. And again. His steel shod boots shred flesh and rend bones. Bubbling, gurgling wails escape the magician for a few short moments before his awareness comes to an end, shortly followed by his life. For good measure Vissarionas draws his sword and destroys the absurd little throne and the poles holding the tent over it. On his way out he checks the buried woman, who is now unquestionably dead, and kicks through the lines of filth, destroying their pathetic symmetry. There is no trouble getting out of the camp and back to the army.

Back in his quarters Vissa turns his boots over to his serving man to be cleaned and retires to pray. In his prayers he begs God to let the coming slaughter of the Fatamids be enough, pleads with God to let there be an end to unceasing struggle, and goes to bed quaking with fear at what the next day may bring.

:egypt:

Constantinople 1155

While the position of Lord High Chancellor held very few real powers it did have one. Complete oversight of all legal proceedings in the Empire, plus complete control of the Royal Legal Office.

Apionnas, flanked by his usual administrators and Guardsmen moved quickly to that very location. The look in his eyes made every door and every question mute to those that would impede his progress.

Throwing the doors of the office open with a bang, he slammed a large tome down on the benches of the most learned legal practitioners in the land.

"Gentlemen, your top priority is this!! I need an answer by the end of the day."

The arrogance of the response was clear to everyone in the room. Not a single lawyer had even raised their eyes to the man now standing before them.

Apionnas took a moment to assess the situation and quietly spoke again;

"My apologies, gentlemen and scholars of this Office. I seemed to have incorrectly worded that request.

I would like a response to this issue on my desk by the end of today, if that is not the case, then you'll all have to find employment elsewhere."

Turning he left the room without another word. The lone administrator left in the room, who's sole task was to take the legal deliberations to his master as soon as it was complete noted that no one in the room moved until the door banged shut.

As soon as it did all hell broke loose.

From the back of the room one young lawyer shouted.

"What are we? Marriage advisors!!??"

1155, Constantinople

Nikolaos stormed into his private chambers, a look of fury upon him, with Demetrios calmly following behind.

"What in gods name prompted that! Do you actually think before you act? Or has your training made you all reflex?!" Nikolaos threw himself into a chair, which promptly protested being forced to hold such weight.

Demetrios slide onto a table with feline grace, and ran his hand through his dark brown hair, his eyes aglitter with delight. "You take things to seriously Nikolaos, honestly, it's a wonder stress doesn't kill you. Do you always have to be drunk to be jolly?"

Nikolaos eyes flashed with anger. "You are my subject, what you say reflects upon me, whether or not you intend it so! Just because you have an opinion doesn't mean you should voice it so foolishly! I am banned now! A House leader banned from the Magnaura! The shame upon my House!" Nikolaos quickly grabbed a bottle of nearby wine and popped the cork.

Demetrios rolled his eyes. "Again, you act like it would be the end of the world. If your going to be this fatalistic, then the plan would never wor-" A quick glare from Nikolaos told Demetrios to silence himself. Muttering something under his breath, Demetrios walked over to Nikolaos's desk and picked up an apple seated upon a small stack of papers. Demetrios grinned like a cheshire cat. "Seems Chara has been by, she left you some love notes again." Nikolaos started and ran over to the desk to look at the papers as Demetrios glided to the side, nibbling away at the apple.

Nikolaos scanned the papers, and a smile lit over his face. "Alright, go see Apionnas. If what Chara says is true, then we may salvage something from this after all." Demetrios scoffed with a smile. "Salvage?! Oh come now Nikolaos, you know I made sure there was something to even begin dream of salvaging." With that Demetrios spun on his heels, and made his way out into the halls to see the one man who could actually listen, as well as speak.

The Farmer And The Cranes

http://www.mikelockett.com/cp/we7/up..._the_Stork.jpg

Some cranes made their feeding grounds on some plowlands newly sown with wheat.

For a long time the Farmer, brandishing an empty sling, chased them away by the terror he inspired; but when the birds found that the sling was only swung in the air, they ceased to take any notice of it and would not move. The Farmer, on seeing this, charged his sling with stones, and killed a great number. The remaining birds at once forsook his fields, crying to each other, "It is time for us to be off to Liliput: for this man is no longer content to scare us, but begins to show us in earnest what he can do."

If words suffice not, blows must follow.

-Aesop

In light of recent discussion, it might be of interest to hear the story of how Isaakios got his bride.

Constantinople, 1132

Isaakios sat at a table in the palace. The table was covered with food: beef, lamb, pork prepared in the various styles. He deeply engaged himself in eating as much as he could, along with drinking copious amounts of wine.

The List had come in. His father, Emperor Alexios, had compiled a list of 15 most politically useful potential brides. He ordered them in order of descending utility. The list sat on the table, and Isaakios would occasionally glance at it, frown, then continue stuffing himself with food and drinking more wine.

Number one on the list was Alexandra Doukas. She was a good-looking young lady, but a completely and fully intolerable person. Talking to her for more than half a minute would cause you to be overwhelmed by a desire to rip out your own hair and eat it. Number two was her cousin, Zoe Doukas, a fairly ugly woman with a gigantic nose. Number three was the first acceptable one, and in fact one of the best: Chryse Diogenis. She was beautiful, sweet, wise, and charming. She didn't come from a very influential part of her family, and it was certain that she had climbed to such a high place on the list by her own merit. #4 was decent, #5 not so good, #6 was so-so, #7, 8, and 9 were all good.

Andreas, Isaak's best friend, came in and asked what was happening. "The list came in," Isaak mumbled with a mouth full of food.

Andreas took a look. "Ouch. Ugh. Well, Three's not bad, Four's nice. I like Seven--"

"Yeah, yeah," Isaak interrupted, "but One and Two are in places one and two."

"Yes," Andreas said solemnly, "sorry buddy."

"Oh, don't worry, I have a perfect plan, it's---"

"Wait," Andreas interrupted. "Stop. Don't do it. It's a bad idea."

"But I didn't even tell you what it was yet."

"It's a bad, horrible idea. Just don't do it."

***

That evening, there was a party in the palace. Everyone was there: all the influential families in Constantinople, the royal family, and many of the Senators. Just before it started, Alexios told Isaak that #1 Alexandra Doukas had been chosen and agreed upon. He asked if there were any objections, but Isaak gave none knowing them to be largely futile. Presumably, this arrangement was to be announced tonight.

Going perfectly to plan, Isaak was sick. He had eaten too much and drank much wine, the intoxicating effect of which had already disappeared, leaving behind the hangover. There was much milling about as usual, but soon Isaak found himself with his father talking to #1 Alexandra and her father, Nikodemos Doukas, along with some other people.

They started off by chatting about minor economic things, but old Nikodemos could wait no more. Knowing the answer already, he asked the question anyway. "So, Alexios, when are you going to find a bride for this young lad here?"

"I have, in fact," Alex said, "accepted your proposal that he should be wed to your Alexandra."

"Wonderful!" Nikodemos exclaimed. "Isn't it just wonderful?"

"Yes, father," #1 Alexandra said, "I am most honored and prepared." What? What kind of a person would say that? What a b#$%&.

"Yes, of course," Isaak said and burped. "Oh, excuse me," he added and then tapped his stomach, which only made things worse. The mighty tempest brewing in his stomach was reaching a climax. "Most wonderful," he said as he took her by the hand and brought her a little closer when--

"Gasp!" said everyone.

#1 Alexandra was covered from the forehead to the knees in partially digested food. Isaak stood pale-faced with a look of shock and... surprise. "I'm sorry!" he said, "I'm sick!"

Various attendants quickly descended on #1 Alexandra and took her away. Nikodemos looked a little mad. "Are we still on?" Isaak asked him.

"Ha! I think not! You uncultured oaf!" he said and walked away.

Excellent. Isaak looked around but could not see #2 Zoe anywhere. No matter. "Damn," he said, "now I'm gonna have to marry Zoe the Elephant."

"Gasp!" said the audience again.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I'm sick!" Isaak screamed, pointing to his head. "I feel so bad. I'm sorry. I'll have to go lie down! Please excuse me!"

With that he turned for the exit, and caught a glimpse of his father, who stood stern-faced with the rage of a thousand Hispanian bulls dancing on his forehead. No matter, he'd get over it. Isaak maintained a look of horror and shock as he was leaving, but when he saw #3 Chryse trying to contain a laughter, he couldn't help but let slip a smile.

Civil War - The Personal Diary of Nevoulas ek Philadelphius.

Constinantinople:


My head is a whirl. My emotions are up and down. I feel in my head, I have made the right moves. But alas, my heart is torn in two. There are a great many friends I have lost on the last few days, there is no going back. My smiles and confidence in the senate betrays a great sadness and sorrow at what I have said and done. I cannot keep all this locked up for I will go mad, perhaps that is the illness that we have suffered in recent months we have all gone quite mad!!!! I must write this down, the pen in this case may be greater than the sword.

My lords within the house of Asteri rightly feel that I talk out of turn, I should know my place. It is by Kalematros' side. His much loved sons are coming of age, what must they think of me their loving Uncle Nevoulas. I wish we had happier times, I remember the fun we used to have in Iconium, they were happy boys... and Zigavinos a man who has treated me well and proved a great ally in my times in charge of the administration. I fear I no longer have his respect either.

The grandmaster Armatos and my longtime friend his second Bart, their frowns will live with me the longest. I know now that I am unlikely to see them again until we likely meet on the battlefield, I dearly hope it will not come to that. When we were young men, I fondly recall exchanging correspondence with Bart on regular occasions.

Then there comes Tagaris himself, the conquerer, a hero among the people and my soldiers. I aspired to be like him a conquerer myself - extending our glorious empire on the battlefield against its enemies. It is he who I picture now enraged in Mecca with his young daughter and her suitor.

Tonight I drink to them, perhaps tomorrow I will return to the senate....

....later.....

There is no other option. The Caeser is a great man but he is not the Emperor.

Sea of Marmara: (on a merchents vessel)

How did it all come to this? Why was I compelled to declare war on a Roman hero?

Duty.

My duty is at first to the empire and to protect against its enemies. At one time, not so long ago when I was in office it was clear who those enemies were or was it? Come to think of it now it felt at times like I was a pivot with all the dignitaries of the empire pulling in every direction. Was it inevitable that it would collapse? Before I can think of the future I have to examine the past. So many have different ways of telling it, I can see the likes of Vringas and Theo even now going back and forth over it.

Duty was easy under Aleksios, it would surely be under leadership such as his that so many capable men would come out of the woodwork and work towards the common cause. Inspirational men like Ampules, Ksanthpoulas and the beloved Kosmas lived, breathed and died for him. There were grumblings for sure, but his steady hand guided us and molded us.

Then he died. By rights considering who ascended to the throne there should have been anarchy immediately. I recall when the news reached my desk I was tempted to sail back to Athens immediately - but whilst the news of the passing of one emperor fell away and another rose I guess the common cause of fighting the Fatamids and the Seljuks focussed senators minds elsewhere.

But the new emperor was determined to establish his control, he wanted absolution and respect as his father had once had. Respect that was in short supply, the contempt of many senators as they 'swore fealty' to him was all to evident. By rights many, me included should have been detained right there and then. But I guess, I was Megas - the politicians champion and Tagaris was Caeser - the peoples champion, the new emperor was fearful of his life in such a climate. He would be happy enough with the words and watch whilst we continued our mandate to fight our enemies in the East.

Whilst we fought, on the inside Emperor Ioannis gathered those loyal to him closest. Pavlos, Vringas and Andronikos became a privy council. But on the outside things carried on I guess as administrations do without any flicker of rebellion.

Then the Emperor started to issue commands. We saw immediately that there was no loyalty to this new emperor, I remember fearfully shaking as I dared to defy him in the senate halls. It is a wonder I am still alive, I feel at comfort with my statements on that day and was fully prepared to die for them. The emperor was once again trumped by the politicians and the people you might say - his command to make peace with the Fatamids was ignored. But this darkened his mood he surely knew now that these days were just a matter of time.

Now we come to the present, my term as Megas ended... the election for the new Megas passed smoothly in favour of Pavlos over a young man most of us barely knew, perhaps a puppet opposition who is to say? The election took second standing to events over in Mecca, in the courts of Tagaris his young daughter had come of age. I can hear Tiverios now the young governer of the capital bemoaning the fight over a 14 year old girl. The Emperor commanded that she marry his eldest brother, the Caeser defied the order and married her to another.

War was declared. The emperor commanded that his empire rise up in arms.

Duty.

The Aegean sea: (on a merchents vessel)

I need to think of how I am going to break the news to my soldiers. It is delicate, they are much taken with the young prince Isaakios, it is not often that they get to mix with royalty. Outwardly, there is not much inspirational about him apart from his bloodline that is enough for most men. But I have seen and dined with legends. Yet I respect and cherish Isaakios as I do others. Inwardly he is a most well spoken and thoughtful young man, I believe his apparent contempt for politics is a front for a far more deep person he is yet to reveal.

The soldiers, they are a promising bunch. I have several veterens of the battle we fought together in Anatolia against the Fatamid Jihad. My god that seems so long ago. The others have been trained in Markinople and Corinth and are some of the finest men from these parts. They are eager to fight the enemy, I was fearful of whether they would take to fighting the fellow Christians of Venice, let alone fellow Romans. They'd do it I am sure, but can I live with myself for forcing them to do it.

I keep telling myself - why fight for an empire that you do not believe in? If I am unwilling to fight for the emperor, then what exactly am I fighting for?

I see Ariantis now, me and him drinking in our younger days in the halls of the Asteri. The young bold adventurer, who became what he is today one of the 'traitors'. How can I call him a traitor? Why will he not answer the call of duty? Does he seriously believe that he can sit in this so called Neutrality? They fell over themselves to mention that word, over and over it rings in my head. What kind of an empire do they believe they are in? The emperor commands you obey or you disobey the matter is simple....

and yet.... here I am just a few days from having to talk to Isaakios, one of those that has been talking of neutrality. I hope he is comforted by the news I have from the Emperor.

Alexandria, 1156

Nikolaos staggered into his room, exhausted from running hither and yonder to keep the peace within the Magnaura the best he could. He sighed to himself, kicking off his boots, knowing that he had never been cut out for the power given him. He was a soldier, a Varangian, not the senator and House leader he was now.

"Damn it all...I wish Lady Veronica were here, she had the right mind for these things.” Nikolaos sighed, remembering the feisty woman who seemed perpetually at war with the world, and winning at that. Nikolaos thought back to the day when she had first ensnared him in her games...

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

“Of course, Alexandria's riches will be open to Milanese ships! We are allies after all, Lady Veronica.” Nikolaos stood perplexed, pouring himself a mug of mead as lady Veronica sat crossed legged, leaning back in her chair with her black hair tied back and in what seemed clothing more fitting for a man in the current Duke of Milan's livery.

“I am making sure Nikolaos, as you know I am on a diplomatic mission to insure that the Roman Empire's and Milan's interests remain...in accord.” Nikolaos turned sharply to give Veronica a hard look. “Careful what you speak of, you sound as if Milan you were trying to threaten the Roman Empire.” Veronica smiled coyly. “Oh course not, but proper wording is required for any diplomatic engagement, and to say in my Duke's stead that he is solely loyal to the Roman Empire would do him disservice. Honesty is a good policy, don't you think Nikolaos?”

“It is a good policy not many follow, and few even follow through. Veronica, you need not be so wordy with me, you know your wit would dazzle me any day. Speak plainly, please, we have known each other for sometime now, I have nothing to hide from you, why should you have something to hide from me?” Veronica pursed her lips and thought for a moment, before slamming her chair back on four legs to lean forward across the table and stare directly into Nikolaos eyes. Nikolaos flinches under her gaze and the unexpected move.

“I am in a rather tenuous position as a cousin of the current Duke, more specifically, my children and I are in a tenuous position. My children are a direct threat to my cousin Francesco's children, and as such I am liable to loose them at any moment simply because of politics. I can do nothing for Demetrios and Chara, and Riccardino has been adopted by Duke Francesco Rossi out of the...kindness of his heart. Riccardino has a chance as he is still young, and no real threat to the throne...”

Nikolaos raises an eyebrow. “How are Demetrios and Chara threats to the Milanese throne? I don't see why this Francesco can't take them in all the same...your not telling me something Veronica...as you usually do.” Veronica's eyes narrowed. “I'm not withholding anything.” Nikolaos planted his fists on the table and stared right back into Veronica's eyes. “You are withholding something, don't lie to me Veronica. The Duke should have nothing to fear from either Demetrios or Chara unless they could claim lineage to royalty from a nearby...Iakovos was German, wasn't he?” Veronica held Nikolaos gaze. “They are not Iakovos's children.” Nikolaos returned the stare. “They are not Hypatios's then, are they?”

Veronica flinched, and it dawned on Nikolaos. “They are Iakovos's children! Why do you lie about such things Veronica! And how is it that Iakovos is related to royalty!” Veronica turned away and started to leave, but Nikolaos grabbed her arm. “Veronica, this is not right! Why do you lie to your own children!” Veronica yelled past her tears at Nikolaos. “TO PROTECT THEM! TO KEEP THEM FROM THE LIFE I LIVED! I want them to live a peaceful life, away from all the bitter politics that consume all of noble blood!” Veronica broke into the tears and fell to her knees, slipping out of Nikolaos fading grasp.

Nikolaos grabbed his forehead and began trying to organize his swirling thoughts. “So, that would mean Iakovos's mother was-” Veronica finished his sentence, wiping away her tears but not getting up. “A Hohenstaufen. Francesco fears Chara and Demetrios because he thinks that if they ascend to the throne, it would unite Milan with the Holy Roman Empire. And the Hohenstaufen family does not wish to see to many competitors or unnecessary war with Milan, so I have been politely refused asylum. So...they have no were to go but here...where they can be safe...Nikolaos...I need you to be their Godfather.”

Nikolaos did a double take. “Uh, what again? The mead must be getting to me, I could have sworn you said you wanted me to be the-” Veronica laughed weakly. “Their Godfather? Indeed I did. Nikolaos, your the only one I trust that will take them in! You've already accepted them as if they were your own children, and they love you just as warmly.” Nikolaos stuttered. “Yes, true but...I mean, Methodios?! Armatos! Makedonios! Even Kalameteros!”

Veronica sniffled as she lifted herself up with the help of a chair. “All refused...oh, look at me, a grown woman crying like this...” Veronica tried to straighten her clothes, but Nikolaos grabbed her hands and pulled them away. “You are fine Lady Veronica...few women have I met that are as strong as you. To hide such a burden, most would have fallen apart. I gladly accept your offer...but may I ask why now?”

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

Nikolaos sighed. He had soon gotten his answer. Within a few months, Veronica had taken ill, and became bed ridden. It was heart wrenching to see her waste away, unable to do anything no matter how hard she tried. But Nikolaos had been there...

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

"But you'll be fine, right mom? Right? I mean, you can just tear through the bad guys like you usually, do, I am sure you can beat this!" Demetrios held his mothers hand as Chara and little Riccardino stood off to one side, Nikolaos in the doorway. Veronica smiled warmly at Demetrios, and reached up to hold his shoulder from her bed. Through bloodstained lips, Veronica's spoke with an unsteady voice. "Demetrios...you were always the hopeful one. I always wondered how you held onto it, how you always managed to inspire the best in everyone by your infectious hope." On the other side of the bed, the physician was finishing up. "Children, if you please. Your mother needs peace and quiet, and as much rest as she can get. She won-" Veronica turned on the physician. “Do not presume to tell my children what to do. I can get my rest when I need to sleep, I don't ne-” Veronica fell into a coughing fit, and in an instant, Nikolaos was at her side, lifting her up to help her.

Veronica waved away Nikolaos. “Please, leave me with the children...I want to speak to them.” Nikolaos obediently moved to leave, making sure the physician went first, shutting the door behind him. Out in the hall way, Nikolaos accosted the man. “tell me, how long does she have? Will she be better?” The Physician looked pityingly at Nikolaos. “She will die, there is nothing that will stop that. It will only be a when...I giver her days, maybe a few weeks. God has called her, and nothing I do will stop him from bringing her to heaven.”

Nikolaos nodded solemnly, and let the man go. After a few minutes, the door opened and the children filed out, clearly disheartened. Nikolaos ruffed the hair of Demetrios. “Why don't you take your brother and sister to the Library. There is something there for all of you.” Demetrios nodded, still solemn where as the others had brightened. As they walked away, Nikolaos puzzled...what had Veronica told Demetrios that would so sap him of his usual good humor?”

“Are you alright Lady Veronica?” Nikolaos ducked into the room and took his usual spot next to Veronica. “I am fine Nikolaos...thank you.” Nikolaos smiled warmly. “Tis alright Lady Veronica. I am more then happy.” As the hours ticked by, first Veronica, then Nikolaos, nodded off...

As the stranger moved to leave, having left his note on Veronica's stand, Nikolaos arm shot out, grabbing the man by his cloak. “Hold you! How dare you trespass! I should gut you, but I will give you a chance to explain yourself!” For a moment, everything was still, the only sound that of Veronica's heavy and ragged breathing. Finally, the cloaked man spoke. “You should know me Nikolaos, your the one who sent me away in disgrace and chains.” Nikolaos eyes widened in surprise. “Aleksander! How dare you show your face here!” Aleksander whisper shouted back. “Quiet you oaf! You will wake Veronica.” Nikolaos stood, lifting Aleksander clean off his feet, and held him out, dangling in mid air. “I should kill you for breaking Imperial Law! Exile!”

Veronica stirred from sleep, lazily groping around. “Nikolaos, why so loud? Who on earth are you talking to?” Her hand fell across the letter, and before Nikolaos could react, she had a candle lit and the scene was revealed. Veronica gasped. “Aleksander! I told you not to come!” Aleksander shrugged. “I've never been one for rules...but since your oaf of a guard woke you, might as well discuss this civilly, right? You wouldn't want to make an orphan, now would you?” Veronica nodded at Nikolaos, who then dropped Aleksander roughly to the floor without a seconds thought.

Dusting himself off, Aleksander began. “I am here to leave Sergios with you, as we discussed. Hungarian authorities have decided that I am worth capturing and sending back to the Empire for a hefty ransom. He will be safe here. His mother will be staying here as well. I trust you will not tell anyone of Sergios's lineage? Good. I am asking that they stay here until I can come back for them when it is safe, nothing more. If you need, I will-” Veronica waved her hand. “Although you presume much, I will take in Sergios and his mother Luca, and you need not worry about paying for anything. But if you appear without notice, if anything mysterious happens within the entirety of the Empire, when you come to claim them, I will run you through, and Luca and Sergios will serve this House, as slaves. Is this understood Aleksander?”

Aleksander chuckles. “Don't be so loving and generous Veronica, you might just outdo Jesus. Fine, I accept your proposal.” And with that, Aleksander left. Nikolaos sighed in relief. “What a godless and wretched knave...I am sorry for waking you Lady Veronica.” Shaking her head, Veronica leaned back onto her pillow. “No, it's quite alright Nikolaos, I am glad I was able to talk to Aleksander instead of having him force his conditions upon me. Nikolaos..go to bed please, I will be alright for the night.” Nikolaos nodded. “Yes Lady Veronica.” As Nikolaos walked under the door way, Veronica shouted at his back. “And stop calling me Lady Veronica!”

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

Nikolaos sighed, rapping his fingers on the book he had just picked up. His thoughts trailed to the day she had died, and Aleksander had come to claim his wife and child. He had gone in peace, and for once did not crack any jokes, and seemed genuinely sad at Veronica's passing.

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

“You've done more for her then I was ever capable of giving her...her last days must have been wonderful...you ever wonder Nikolaos, if you will be lonely at the end? I am lucky to have Luca and Sergios...I'd give my life for them, any day...no matter the conditions. I want more for Luca and Sergios then the life I have given them.” Nikolaos laughed and slapped Aleksander on the back. “First time in your life you give a damn about someone else other then yourself?” Aleksander rubbed the now red spot on his back and muttered, “Yeah, something like that.”

Aleksander stood up, and removed something from his sleeve. “When Sergios is old enough Nikolaos, give him this. It's the papers he needs to claim himself as my legitimate son. It will enable him access to my families money, as well as make him a Senator of the Roman Empire.” Nikolaos eyed Aleksander, then turned back to stare into emptiness muttering, “Why everyone dump their kids off on me?”, as he took another swig from his wine glass.

Aleksander looked up at Nikolaos. “You've been teaching Demetrios to fight?” Nikolaos choked on his wine, spewing it out upon the ground. Wiping it off his chin, Nikolaos continued laughing. “No, no, he teaches me! I've never seen anyone so young so skilled with a blade. He could easily beat some of the best men in the Empire...” Aleksander thought for a moment. “When Sergios becomes a Senator...could you send Demetrios to train him? I have kept the boy away from war and bloodshed as much as possible...” Nikolaos looks at Aleksander. “That's no good for a boy...but yes, that sounds reasonable.”

Aleksander nodded. “Thank you...I must be going, I don't want you to end up in trouble simply because I paid a visit...good bye Nikolaos.” Nikolaos stood, and in his drunken state grabbed Aleksander in embrace, nearly crushing him. “Good to see you too Aleksander. You have such a wonderful kid and wife. Don't let em go.” Aleksander fell to the ground once Nikolaos let him go, and unable to manage any words, simply nodded feverishly as he walked away.

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

Nikolaos turned over, closing his eyes. So many promises to so many people...especially that last promise he mad to Veronica as she died, a promise he hoped to make good on soon. Nikolaos shook himself. Sad thoughts would only trouble his dreams. Better to sleep now, and worry over breakfast...

Athens 1158

Following a short sermon on a hilltop over their family home, Makadonias ek Philadelphius raises sombrely out of his seat to deliver a Eulogy for his beloved brother Nevoulas. He steadies himself determined to not let his brother down as he had done so badly in the past.

I thank you all for joining with me today to bury my dear brother and Senator of the Empire Nevoulas ek Philadelphius.

My brother was not born of noble blood, he was born here in the countryside of Greece.

Looks around at the surroundings.

As young lads, he and I would run amongst these hills and dream of past glorious leaders of the Roman empire. Little did we know what battles and trials awaited us in the near future.

Nevo stood here and watched as myself and our .... father.

Makadonias spits the last word out like it was a dirty one. He wipes his mouth and simultaneously wipes the tears from his eyes.


He watched whilst we would ride away to our decadent destiny where we both were responsible for shaming the family.


Makadonias now looks down at his dead brother.

It was here that Nevo restored my pride and honour after a period of rehabilitation. It will always leave me with much regret that I will not be able to show you my loyalty my brother. I hope you keep a place for me in the afterlife.

Makadonias tears himself away from this moment and looks up at the audience.

I thank the many of you, who have played tribute to my brother. As you know Nevo was a loyal servant of the empire, he belived with all of his heart that he was born to serve it. It was in Crete that he paid the ultimate sacrifice, leading by example where other men hesitated into the breach. It was similar to the way he lived much of his adult life, committing acts that were above his station.

I had only been shortly reunited with Nevo when he was elected Megas, an honour that I never could have fathomed possible. In truth, he felt uncomfortable with being thrust into this position of power, he only did so when it was clear that no other suitable candidates were available. It was clear from the way in which his term was conducted that Nevoulas was a popular man and despite the death of the legendary Aleksios Komnenus he managed to be the glue that kept the empire together.

Let it be known despite the misgivings that I know some people have of him, Nevoulas is a loyal supporter of not only the empire, but its emperor. I understand that the feeling was shared, my brother and the emperor had become quite close by the time of Nevo's passing. I know that it hurt him to see, the empire bleeding as it is now.

Makadonias now turns to the delegates of the House of Asteri.

Despite Nevo's loyalties toward the emperor, he knew his place and spent much of his time in power consiladating and improving the provinces within the hands of the house of Asteri and its friends. In his death the reigns of Nevoulas' two Duchies pass on to Zigavinos Vasilakios.

Makadonias breathes uneasily.

I do not know if you are here Lord Zigavinos, but I would like to pass on a message from Nevo. He passed me a will before he passed away. One that does not carry the seal of authority, but nether-the-less believe me was his dearest wish. He knows your first love is Anatolia and you have patrolled your borders well. He knows that Markinople will be in safe hands under your stewardship. However with the province of Belgrade, it would be our families dearest wish if you would pass it on to his highness the Basilues Ioannis Komnenus. This was Nevoulas' wish, I hope you can respect that no matter what your ideological differences with his highness it.

Makadonias then looks up to the rest of the people present.

Finally it is with great honour to learn of Prince Isaakios Komnenus intention on renaming the settlement on Crete after Nevo. His name deserves to live on through the ages as a hero of the empire.

Makadonias exits the stage now, to retreat to a life unknown.

Outside Alexandria, 1164

"Aye, we found him Lord Aristenos! Had to chase him down though, for an old man he can sure run fast."

Nikolaos nodded to the captain. "Thank you captain, please bring him into my command tent. That will be all." With a sharp salute, the captain left the tent, and he returned quickly with a man dressed in clerical robes, although not of Roman origin.

Looking up from his paperwork, Nikolaos finally stood up, and the priest suddenly fell out of his chair as he tried to look up at Nikolaos. Nikolaos was already on one knee offering his hand. "I am sorry, I do that sometimes, here." The priest muttered something to himself as he brushed away Nikolaos's hand and seated himself with a bit of difficulty on his chair. As Nikolaos returned to his desk, the priest coughed into his hand.

Nikolaos looked up sharply. "Yes?"
The priest looked over at Nikolaos haughtily, and spoke with a an Italian accent. "May I ask why I am being detained and why I was so rudely forced by Roman soldiers to come here? I have a sermon to conduct!"

Nikolaos looked back down at his papers, rifling through them as he scanned each. Silence suddenly pervaded the room, and it's heaviness seemed to squish the air out of the priest again. He coughed into his hand again. Nikolaos looked back up. "Have you caught cold? I can fetch my physician if you need him."

The priest gave Nikolaos a stern look, and his voice took on a condescending tone. "I said I had a sermon to conduct. There are several hundred people waiting for me!" Nikolaos returned to his paper flipping. The priest turned scarlet. "Now see here! You have not given me any explanation as to-"

Nikolaos held up his hand. "Please, Father, I am looking for you on the rosters here and I cannot find you. I find it very distracting when you talk, and I keep losing my place when you do. If you are not on the roster, I cannot legally allow you to conduct your sermons." The priest stood firm. "Roster? I have heard of no roster! The word of God does not require a roster, it does not require "legality" to be spoken for those wishing it, it is above mortal law, God is above mortal law, and you sir are-"

Nikolaos stood up. "Enough, please Father! I am a Roman senator, and as such I must set an example by following the law, as should you. It is Roman law that requires one to be placed in line for the roster, for assignment! It has been so for as long as I have known, and I was told this by one of the priests from Antiokeia."

The priest sniffed. "I do not answer to 'Roman law', and I most certainly do not answer to to anyone else other then God and the Pope!" Nikolaos did a quick double take at the priest. "Excuse me? Say that again?"

The priest smirked at the dumbfounded look on Nikolaos's face. "I answer to no one, other then God and the Pope. So your "Roman Law", so you can go and-"

Nikolaos sat back down and pulled out his quill. "CAPTAIN!" A burst of fabric and with lightning speed, the captain was within the tent. Nikolaos cocked an eyebrow. "Where you outside the tent this whole time?" The captain shrugged a bit. "Ehhh, yes M'lord. I mean no M'lord, but yes M'lord." Nikolaos shook his head and began writing a note. "Please escort the Catholic Priest to the-"

"I am a Cardinal from Rome, a member of the collegiate! Not some backwater priest!" Nikolaos sighed exasperatedly as he fetched another piece of paper and began writing a new. "Please escort the Italian Catholic Card-" The Cardinal yelled again. "I am Sicilian! Do not compare me to those godless Milanese or Venetians, God save those poor and unfortunate enough to be under their reign."

Nikolaos sighed, picked up another piece of paper and began writing. "Please escort the Sicilian Catholic Cardinal to the-" The Cardinal moved to speak again, but Nikolaos lifted up his hand. The Cardinal grew indignant, but each time he made to say something, Nikolaos's hand shot up. When it was clear Nikolaos had won, he continued. "-to the docks, for deportation."

The Cardinal stood up, his face livid. "Now see here! I come from Rome to spread the true faith! You have no right to send me away, you heretical fool! I do God's work, even if I have to deal with such atrocious accommodations" Nikolaos did not bother to look up. "Continue to insult me, and I will send you to Constantinople to stand trial for sedition. As it is now, I am being awfully nice to you. Captain?" Nikolaos held out the letter, but before he could reach it, the Cardinal grabbed it and tore it into shreds with a smug look on his face.

Nikolaos began to grow angry, standing up with a start to his full height. "There was no call for that! How dare you interfere, I was saving your neck from the chopping-" A look of shock crossed the Cardinal's face, and he suddenly dropped dead. A moment of awkward silence fell upon the captain and Nikolaos.

"He's dead, isn't he?"
"Aye M'lord," the captain said, kicking the slumped over cardinal with his boot. "Sure of it."
Another awkward pause followed as the captain kicked the cardinal's body again. Nikolaos coughed uncomfortably. "Send a letter to the Sicilians informing them that their Cardinal has, uh..." Nikolaos looks over at the captain questioningly, "Lost at sea?" The captain nodded. "Aye M'lord, that should do it."

Nikolaos sat back down in his chair, and began writing his note. The captain waited a minute before asking. "And the body M'lord?" Nikolaos looked up. "Ehhh...do what you see best captain." Nikolaos returned to his writing. As the captain left with the body, Nikolaos inwardly reminded himself he needed to go to mass one of these days.

Italy - Bologna region - here and now.


Savvas set foot on Italian soil.

"Ah, Italy... A pity we are at war with the Venetians now."

He looked at his trusted bodyguard, Kristophoros.

"Did I ever tell you about the first time I was in Venice?"

Kristophoros smiled. He knew that this is how his old master usually starts one of his legendary stories.

"No mylord, I don't think you ever did."

"No? Well, well. I was still young at the time. I believe I was 29, right after I made it to the position of Strator of the Byzantine Empire. Allthough I was nominated to the position, it was still a year or so before the next session in the Magnaura, so I decided to make a few good investments with my first salary. A young woman with, eh, interesting qualities had told me that the best wine and women were to be found in Venice, so, that's where I went."

Savvas stared at the blue sky and smiled when the memories came back.

***

Venice, a long time ago.

Savvas woke up and realised that he was infected by the grandmother of all hangovers.

"You're not going to wake up soon, are you, darling? Want to go for another round?"

Savvas groaned. A few moments later, he felt a warm body lying up him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking at the ugliest teeth he ever saw in his young life.

"Oh no...", he thought by himself, the hangover mercilessly starting to manifest itself. When he looked closer to the woman's face, he also noticed a few hairs on her upper lip.

"Please, woman, leave me be. Can't you see I'm dying?"

The woman giggled. "Maybe you're already dead, "old man", and you're in heaven now..." The woman bit in Savvas lip.

"Heaven? You're overestimating yourself woman," Savvas said. "Get off me! Out off my bed!"

"This is my bed, fool, and you better be sure to pay me what you owe me or I'll go and get Tanathos," the woman angrily said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, do as you please, as long as I can stay in this bed. And I don't owe you nothing. You should be more then happy that I even considered spending the night with you."

That said, Savvas welcomed back the uncounciousness.

"Wake up, scumbag!" a raw voice said, followed by a fist in Savvas' face.

"Will this torment never end?" Savvas complained.

"Pay the lady, rich boy!" said the 7 feet tall collossuss.

"Lady? You call *that* a Lady?"

A few minutes later, Savvas found himself flying naked through the air.

"This is no way to treat a Senator of the Byzantine Empire!" Savvas shouted, shaking his fist at the etablissement he just had to leave.

He ran back to his home. Unfortunately, Apostolos, one of the messenger boys of House Tagamata was standing in front of his Venetian estate (in fact, it was pretty luxuruous and allthough he couldn't afford it, some smooth talking and false promises of paying for it on a monthly basis, convinced the owner, at the moment drunk as hell due to the company of Savvas, to sell it to the newly appointed Roman Senator). Not willing to show himself in this embarassing condition, Savvas decided to take a detour. While he was trying to sneak his way into his own house, a patrol just passed by.

"Hold it right there! Who are you and why are you sneaking in the surroundings of the estate of the Byzantine Strator, Savvas ek Militou?"

"Ehm, but I am Savvas. Please officer, let's keep this our little secret shall we? Just let me in my house and I'll give you a reward."

The guards laughed hysterically. "You are Savvas? You expect us to believe that some crazy guy wandering around naked in the streets of Venice, in the late afternoon, is in fact an esteemed Strator of one of the noble houses of the Byzantine Empire?"

***

Italy - Bologna - here and now.

Kristiphoros bursted out in laughter. "That's hilarious, Lord!"

"Oh well, luckily that messenger boy recognised me and was able to identify me. Needless to say, I never went back to Venice. Contrary to what I had been told, the women were not extroardinarily better looking then in Constantinople and the wine was just terrible."

Savvas kept staring before him, a meloncholic expression starting to show on his face.

"Those were the days, dear friend, those were the days. And what do we have now? Civil war, hatred and greed. Everybody fears or hates our Emperor. Ioannis is not a bad man, you know. Blunt, direct and a bit arrogant, yes, but not a bad person. In all his wisdom, our Basileus Aleksios made one mistake: he neglected his son. He should have given his son as much love as he has given his daughter, Anna. Did you know she never truly loved her brother? Sad, really."

Savvas took the bottle of wine he nowadays always had available in a sack attached to his saddle and emptied it.

He wiped something out of his eyes.

"And then my lord and dear friend Aleksios ek Ikoniou breaking our bound of fealthy because of politics."

Savvas face turned harder, the grim expression ruining his handsome features.

"Friendships that lasted for decades are now less important then short term political gain."

Savvas was now visibly angry. He drank some more wine from a second bottle and slowly calmed down.

"And now I am here with an army to burn and pillage the Venetians. If I'm succesful in my efforts, I might even end up burning the house I once owned in Venice and have my men raping the daughters of that teethless prostitute."

Savvas sounded bitter when he continued.

"What has happened to us, Kristophoros? Where did it go wrong?"

Savvas turned to Kristophoros and gave him a scroll.

"Go back to Constantinople and take this with you, Kristophoros. It's my last will. When the time comes, I want you to read it loudly in the Magnaura."

Kristophoros stared at Savvas, seemingly not able to understand what he was being told.

"But, sir, I should be on your side now. If I'm on your side, you won't die in this war."

Savvas moved his horse closer to Kristophoros' and gave him a hug. Still holding his trusted friend in his arms, he said :

"And that, my friend, is exactly why I don't want you to be on my side in this war."

"But..."

Savvas turned his horse and galopped away, yelling at his men:

"Move it, you lazy sons of ladies of questionable morality. I can already smell the wine and that famous sauce of those Bolognese. Your general is hungry and thirsty, so hurry up!"

The men, still exhausted from the boat trip laughed and cheered.

Nobody noticed the lonely soldier who was going back to the ships...

Nicosia 1171:

Makedonios’s death had been sudden, unexpected. Or at least, that’s what Armatos thought when he arrived to take account of the estate that had been left to him. This idea was reinforced by the fact that Makedonios, a private man, had not put his things in an order which made them easily accessible to others. Clearly he wasn’t expecting to go when he did.

It had taken him the better part of a week, but Armatos had been able to square away what he could and get things started on tying up Makedonios’s loose ends. But there was one more thing he needed to do, a request that Makedonios had left for him specifically.

Armatos couldn’t make heads or tales of it, but he had been instructed to deliver a letter to a man named Esaias, the head monk at Kykkos Monastery.

And so, Armatos set off. As he rode, he idly wondered if this was something important.

Cyprus 1171:

Kousinos Sophianos, a monk at the Kykkos Monastery, was just returning from an errand to a nearby town when the most tremendous thunderstorm suddenly broke out.

Desperately seeking shelter, he was fortunate enough to discover a cave within running distance. No sooner had he reached the shelter then he was stunned to find three hideously ugly, old women seemingly waiting for him.

“All hail, Constantine Ksanthopoulos! Hail to thee, monk of Kykkos!” exclaimed the first.

“All hail, Constantine Ksanthopoulos! Hail to thee, Duke of Tortosa!” echoed the second.

“All hail, Constantine Ksanthopoulos, though shalt be Basileus hereafter!” finished the third.

While trying to suppress his instinct to recoil in horror, Kousinos stammered “S-Still thy tongues, foul witches. I am not the man whom you seek, nor is there anyone at the Kykkos Monastery with that name!”

But the witches just smiled and continued onward

“The first, through the efforts of your father.”

“The second, from your benefactor.”

“The third, from yourself.”

“All gained from treachery!” finished the three in unison.

“W-What!?” said Kousinos. “Are you saying my father is responsible for my being abandoned here?”

The three witches then vanished into the air, their corporal forms vanishing as breath into the wind.

Stunned to silence, it takes Kousinos a while to realize the storm has stopped. With trepidation he continued onward back the monastery, only to be met by another brother who had been sent to meet him.

"Brother Kousinos, there's an important letter waiting for you back on the monastery!"

On the road west of Constantinople, 1182

The two rode side by side, taking in the beauty of the day at the head of their troop column.

Trial by ordeal, my lord? The other senators I should think might react and claim you mad for suggesting such a thing! These the words of Aleksios Bartosis, commander of the bodyguard for Ammonathas Kalameteros.

Replied Ammonathas I was interested in how only one man would react. This fellow Erotikos is a clever one. I felt sure he would submit to no such thing, nor would he have travelled such a distance to allow himself to be so easily proven a murderer. Truthfully Aleksios, I have no idea if he is innocent or guilty. But one thing's for certain, the man knows something. Lord Vartholomaios is not trusting of the man, and I think rightfully so. And how this other one he mentioned, Kousinos Sophianos fits into all of this, only God knows. In any event, with all of this now past comes the opportunity to move once more against the Venetians. I only hope that Magnentios.... Column halt!

His right arm thrust skyward, the troops readily stopped in their place. From the distance could plainly be seen a lone rider at full gallop. Within a few short moments, the man pulled up the reins, jumped from the steed and after a few steps, knelt at the side of Ammonathas.

My lord, I had hoped to greet you at the city gates of Thessalonike in celebration, but was forced by a dreadful turn of events to instead bring you news of tragedy. Your brother Magnentios is dead. Slain by the Venetians with whom he gave battle. He fought nobly, my lord, please know this.

But Ammonathas no longer heard the words of the messenger. His head bowed, deep in thought, fighting off the tears. He then looked towards the sky.

I fear, Aleksios.. I fear that the light of the House of Asteri is all but burned out. My father gravely ill, now Magnentios dead, no word from Sophronios, Zigavinos or Andreas. And Aleksios ek Ikoniou's thoughts must surely be far from this house while he manages an empire with a Basileus that drifts with the ocean currents. And now I must share this terrible news with the men who once served Magnentios so loyally.

Captain Bartosis wasted no words. These men, sir, are the army of Lord Ammonathas Kalameteros, and will fight to the death if necessary, at your side. As will I.

With those spoken words, Ammonathas became energized at an instant. Messenger, you have travelled a great distance and accomplished your task. Now I send you on another...

My Lord, excuse me, but there was another message, this from the Magnaura concerning a princess bride...

Ammonathas abruptly stops him- No more, do I wish to hear from you of any matter other than the one I now command that you be concerned with! I have a message to be delivered personally to the Megas Logothetes, if he will see fit to receive you. Among his great responsibilities, he commands Fortress Corinth. And by our law he can raise troops there as he sees fit. You shall tell him that Senator Kalameteros beseeches him to provide three hundred or so professional soldiers to be joined from Corinth with this army. We shall then march against the Venetians with any and all lords of our empire that will stand with House Asteri. Are you clear as to what I ask of you?

I understand sir, I ride on at once. the young lad replied

Very good, I thank you for your service to your empire. Aleksios, call the men together so that I may tell them of a proud and brave man, my brother, now fallen. We then resume our march at once towards the Venetians.

Ioannis Erotikas, raised just a year before to the office of Senator due to the abrupt death of his elder brother in a hunting accident, rode south out of Aleppo with his hollow eyed cadre of guardsmen in tow. The men had been up all night torturing some Turkish camp followers for the precise location of the enemy's nearby army. As often happened with non-soldiers the direct application of pain had proved far less effective than making the three men watch while the women were worked over. By the wee hours of the morning a few of them might even have still been alive, technically, when the Greeks hastily departed their camp.

Ioannis Erotikas himself rode with his head held high, the dry wind whipping through his his hair and a sublime expression on his face. His birthright as a Senator had proven quite disappointing; it seemed the Senate was little more than a lazily played game with the Magnaura as a backdrop and the priveleges of a Senator were not so very different from the priveleges of any nobleman. With life at the center of the Empire having been pressed to the very limits of taste already Io had at last determined that he would now try life at the edges of Empire to see if it had any more flavor.

Only there was something he needed first. Something without which his own, crucial, personal existence might be at risk out here.

An army. And word had it one of those could be found at Damascus, under the command of the former Grandmaster of the Order of St. John. The law demanded that he interview with the general before he could even join this force, bound for who knows where, but Ioannis Erotikas had found himself to be fate's happy fool often enough in life to smell an opportunity in the breeze.

So it was that Io and his exhausted men found themselves camped within sight of the walls of Damascus. With greedy eyes alight Io commanded his orderlies to set up his tent, summoned a fresh mount, and rode on into the city himself to seek an audience with the retired Grandmaster.

That same former Grandmaster was inspecting his army outside the city opposite of Ioannis's approach when a messenger ran up to him; stopping and saluting before he continued.

"My Lord, Senator Ioannis Erotikas requests an audience."

Armatos furrowed his brow.

"Who?"

The guard coughed nervously, then produced Ioannis's credentials. Armatos looked them over.

"Well, these *do* seem to be in order. Very well, inform him that we shall meet in the city's center square."

Having dispatched the messenger Armatos summoned a horse of his own, and began trotting towards the meeting site.

Io, arriving at the square first, surveyed Damascus dispassionately. The town was quiet this morning, just a few peasants moving about in the slowly warming air. To the east one could see all the way down the cobbled street to the gates that opened onto the road into Turkish lands, and Io turned his horse to face that way as he waited. As soon as he noticed the approach of Armatos Io arranged his face in a slightly deferential smile and slumped a bit in his saddle to let some of the weariness he had previously restrained show through in his demeanor, resolving to let the senior man speak first.

As Armatos closed the distance, he decided to speak as soon as he thought Ioannis could hear him.

"Senator Erotikas, welcome to Damascus! To what do I owe this pleasent surprise?"

Deference practically drips from Io's words as he raises his head to respond, "Grandmaster I am on a tour of the outer ranges of the Empire, but it seems I have chosen a poor occassion for it! The Turks and their rebel lackeys are everywhere. I do not consider myself a fearful man, but my guardsmen plead with me not to ride through the countryside alone any longer. So I must beg permission to join my guards to your cause when you depart the city...

Armatos nods. "Of course, you and your men are welcome to join us. Why, we were just about to set off to deal with the Turkish army to the east. Where are your men encamped?

A wide smile spreads across Io's face, and he bows his head a bit before answering, "We're just northeast of the city! The men will be ready to depart anytime, I assure you. In fact with your leave I will ride ahead, I believe I have an appropriate gift for you to celebrate your graciousness."

Armatos raised an eyebrow.

"A gift, eh? Very well. We leave first thing in the morning. Bring your men into the city; I will arrange for more suitable accomodations."

"Oh no m'lord, not necessary at all! Besides, to ask the men to strike the tents when I've just had them setting up will raise discontent. Best if I am your simple host at my tent before we ride tomorrow. I shall have your gift awaiting your arrival!"

Io then bows deeply across the back of his horse and without further ceremony rides away.

Armatos sighs, and rides over to the nearest aide.

"Tell Sigismund I have need of him."

***

A short time later, Armatos and Sigismund had arrived at Ioannis's campsite.

An orderly takes the men in hand and guides them to the site of Io's tent, where his guardsmen and servants are abuzz with action. Seeing the former Grandmaster approach every man among them bows briefly as he passes, but swiftly returns to action striking the camp afterward. The orderly silently pull aside the flap on the largest tent, towards the back of the camp, and indicates that the two men should enter.

Inside Io can be seen examining a large, hand drawn, map of the region. He glances over his shoulder to see who has entered, and then turns fully to greet Armatos with a bow,

"Ahh, well met again m'Lord! Your gift has been sent for, and my men are tearing down the camp so that we may march as quickly as possible. I trust the soldiers are assembled and waiting for us beyond the city..."

Io reads Aramtos' answer in his eyes and hastily continues with his speech, giving no room for a reply,

"Excellent, excellent! Such a body of soldiers as the center of the Empire hardly knows in these corrupt old days, but no matter, here is your gift!"

With a flourish Io throws the tent flap wide for two of his guardsmen to bring a trembling young girl into the tent. She wears no make-up, but her dress clearly distinguishes just what sort of gift she is meant to be; a whore. Her skin and features are exquisite except for two dark binding marks on her wrist, and also of indeterminate origin. She could well even be Greek.

She is perhaps twelve years old and her eyes are darkly blank, but wet.

"I've kept this slave apart from the lads just for you Armatos, and I've had my personal bodyservant putting food in her so she'll gain weight. I trust she is satisfactory? We took her just days ago from a stubborn family outside Aleppo..."

The scowl on Armatos' face is terrifying, perhaps largely because he has hardly ever so much as frowned in his life.

"Erotikos, you fiend! Of all the despicable-! Sigismund, help me with this poor girl!"

A remarkable series of expressions, rage, confusion, frustration, perhaps even a tinge of self pity, parade across Io's face as he realizes his mistake and the potential seriousness of his predicament. At last he hangs his head in shame and pulls his hands in against his stomach in a gesture of seeming contrition. Words babble out of him at a rapid pace, blurring together as he approaches Armatos where he tends to the girl,

"God forgive me! Armatos, please, forgive me! I had no idea... come, I will free her to your custody immediately... and have the men who took her flayed... and... we will depart...

Please, first, please brother... senator... Greek! Embrace me and absolve me of your anger so that I can go on my way through your lands alone in peace!"

With his head hanging low in apparent contrition Io moves to stand directly in front of Armatos, hands still moving convulsively, aimlessly over the front of his shirt.

"Yes, yes, spare me your apologies!" Having finished checking the girl to injuries, Armatos hoists her into his arms, stands up and turns to face Io.

"Be thankful that you are a Senator, for I would give no one else a second chance! I'm leaving to take this girl to safety, and if you truly want to travel in peace then you and your men had better pack up and leave before I return with my army!"

Armatos and Sigismund glare at Ioannis as they turn to leave the tent.

A look of utter panic descends over Io's face for an instant before it resolves into action. His hands cease their aimless movement as he glides silently up behind the departing form of Armatos, the right withdrawing a vicious looking dagger from beneath his shirt. Giving no time for a reaction Io takes advantage of the fact that Armatos is holding the girl to place his left hand on one side of the former Grandmaster's neck while the dagger in the right hand plunges brutally into his throat.

Holding Armatos under his chin Io then makes a sawing motion with the knife, tearing his neck entirely open before letting him collapse to the ground on top of the young girl.

The entire operation is nearly soundless, and before the abruptly blood soaked girl can even scream Io roars out,

"Guards!"

The sounds of armed men rushing to the tent are apparent as Io offers Sigismund a nasty grin while swiping his blade through the air to fling the blood from it...

For a moment, a mixture of pain and anger crosses Sigismund's face as he stares at the temptingly close Erotikas. But that quickly passes, and he lets out a mighty shout.

"Velezrada!"

He then quickly speeds out of the tent before Ioannis's men can respond and mounts his horse.

"Uspíšit, Edmund!"

Io's guardsmen rush into the tent as Sigismund flees, making certain their lord is safe before any thought of pursuit. These men know their leader well, so when the girl starts to scream and struggle her way out from under the corpse of Armatos one leans down to cuff her brutally into silence, which allows Ioannis to speak in a calm, quiet tone,

"Mark, Bart, you're with me. Have my horse saddled immediately. We must secure the soldiers Armatos brought onto the road with a tale of vile Muslim treachery. I'll have them on the march towards their imagined enemies within the hour, leaving no time for thought! Have the orderlies clean the body up so we can display it as necessary to get their blood up. If Damascus has sufficient supply we'll pack it in salt and carry it along. No pursuit of the one who fled. He's a westerner, he can't go back to the army with a tale that contradicts a Greek noble's own word."

As he marches out of the tent Io catches the sound of a whimper from the girl, still covered in blood and crouching on the ground. He pauses just long enough to say,

"Oh, and have her cleaned up and strapped across a pack mule for the march. I'll see to her when we make camp again tonight."

Setting off for his horse at his usual rapid pace Io can be heard to mutter, beneath his breath, "Praise God! I knew I smelled opportunity out here!"

Dearest mother,

I hope this day finds you well, as clearly some of the most recent seem to have been the darkest. The death of brother Magnentios has been a difficult burden to bear, but for the sake of my soldiers, I do all that I can to show no ill effects. In any other time, I would return for the funeral but of course you know that under present circumstances I cannot.

The news that father seems no closer to the end of his illness is troubling as well. I have heard that there are physicians who say he will never recover. Surely you know that in my evening prayers, I ask our God to restore him to good health. If he is well enough to receive any news, please assure him that I am doing all that I know to insure our house retains a meaningful place in Byzantium.

In your previous correspondence, you had asked me what my impression was of the Magnaura. I will tell you that there are no lack of good and honorable men there, yet as you would expect, some have their own interests at heart. In fact I dare say there may be those whose motives have little to do with the well being of our empire. One in particular is a Senator Erotikos from the holy lands. It has been suggested he murdered another senator, but no tangible proof exists that this be so. Yet his words seem so evasive, his actions equally suspect. He carries about as if he knows that he will not be touched in any meaningful way. But he now possesses a large army of his own, and given the senate’s reluctance to shed blood among members, perhaps this individual has good reason to feel safe. When I departed the Magnaura, I felt him not more than a questionable and unsavory character. Yet now with the reports I hear of his continuing behavior in the senate chambers, with every passing day I become concerned of a darker and more sinister purpose behind all this.

I must say that I was so pleased to have actually seen Methodios the Conqueror in the senate chamber. Although he has aged so, I can’t help but remember back to earlier days when his stories of triumph over our enemies were so exciting to me. And I remember not long ago being so greatly relieved when father felt compelled to declare war on him but at the same time said that he would do nothing to cause harm to one that I looked to as an inspiration in happier times.

I must end this letter now, as preparations must be made for the arrival of antypatos Vasilakios. I have made camp on the road between Constantinople and Thessalonike in order so that our two groups may come together as one and strengthen our position. We have still so far to travel before it is time to test my courage in battle. Until that time you surely know I will stay safe.

All my love,

Ammonathas

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Coop written with YLC

Apulia, 1182

A trio of mounted men made their way across the sparse field. Leading them was Markos ek Sinopis in full battle regalia. He wore an expensive lorikia under the customary klibanion made him more imposing and gave him added protection he thought would surely be needed in the pitched battle ahead; if it did came to battle. A thick kite shield was strapped to his left arm, while his spathion was sheathed in a baldric and hung at his left hip. Under his thick iron helmet, his normally gentle features expressed a certain discomfort, partly at the situation but mostly at all the armor he was wearing, even after the recent years of campaigning he was still ill at ease when in arms.

At his side rode a Frankish knight, leader of the mercenaries recently recruited, and one of his own bodyguards. Both heavily armored men glanced around nervously, for while the Sicilians were on friendly terms with the Empire, they would not take kindly to the two armies fighting on their land. The last thing any of them wanted was a Sicilian army joining the fray. When all three men had reached the center of the field, Markos’ bodyguard lifted a banner of the Byzantine Empire as a signal to their counterparts.

Helarionas noted the banner being raised up, and with a select few of his most trusted men and Chara came out of hiding from a flanking position, their bows at the ready. Helarionas smiled briefly at Markos, sheathing the bidenhander he wielded in his left hand, and extending his right hand in friendship.

"You wish to speak Markos? I know you hunt me, but your message indicated you wished to speak upon terms first. I will hear them, but be warned, I may not agree to them. And sorry for misleading you-" Helarionas points to the three mounted men in the distance, in the front of Helarionas's army. "-but a man in my position cannot leave much to chance."

"Perhaps, but I am a man of my word, you will not be harmed." Markos studied Helarionas for an instant and bowed low in his saddle to grip his hand. "Before I speak of terms, let me first say that I hold no personal animosity toward you. Unlike some I do not consider you a traitor, but you do have to be brought to justice for defying our laws. My terms are the following: You surrender the Princess to me, your men are to return to your holding and you are to accompany me to Magnaura to face the justice of your peers. If you do so without deceit, I will plead for leniency and defend you if necessary. You can still end this without bloodshed, if we do battle there will be no turning back."

Chara snickered off to Helarionas's right, but he ignored her. Looking back up at Markos, Helarionas returned the mans gaze with steely determination. "On what charges am I to be tried?"

Markos scowled slightly at the woman, yet replied in even tones. "Well for one, denying the will of the Basileus and the Ceasar in your union with the princess. That is assuming you did not kidnap her, I will give you the benefit of the doubt on that matter since you seem reasonable enough."

Helarionas's eyes narrowed. "Indeed, but if I were to go back now, I would be denied marriage either way. If I must live in exile with Aleksandra, then that is what will happen. I will hand over my senatorial papers, hand over my army, hand over my land and writes to my personal fortune - I will not let go of Aleksandra, ever. I do not care for the power or prestige marrying one of Tagaris' daughter would give me, unlike so many others, I curry favor for her hand and her love, nothing more, and willingly give of myself for her, not of any personal gain."

Helarionas began pacing. "If you wish, you may come to my camp, along with any number of men you desire, to see Aleksandra Tagaris with your own eyes. If you wish, I will surrender my forces to you - but under no circumstances will I surrender Aleksandra, and by proxy, myself, to your command."

"Even if I accept your offer, where will you go? The Basileus and an army greater than mine will be arriving in short time and unless you accept my terms I cannot prevent him from pursuing you. Furthermore, I would be neglecting my duty by doing so." Markos sighted. "We have reached an impasse that I fear neither off will be able to cross."

Helarionas faced Markos with a look of grim determination. "Then I will face my fate and die. Better that I be dead, and Aleksandra allowed to mourn and move on, then for me to live and us to be so far away yet forever close - which will hurt her more, dear Markos?"

"That is not for me to say." Markos paused, shaking his head in resignation. "I salute your bravery Helarionas, there are few causes worthier than love I suppose. Nevertheless I am deeply saddened at the loss of life which will take place for something so intangible." After saluting his counterpart in a military fashion, Markos continues. "May God decide the better man when we next meet on the field of battle."

Helarionas bowed deeply. "I prefer to place my fate in my own hands Markos, and I hope you may do the same. I regret as much as you that men will die today over love, but would you have them die over greed instead? Tis least a more noble cause. I salute you, Lord ek Sinopis, and bid you best tidings upon the field of battle." Helarionas bows one last time before giving a quick, soundless signal to his men for them to follow him.

As Helarionas walked back towards his army, he did so with his back straight, a smile on his face, and a feeling of acceptance in his heart. Aleksandra will kill me when I get back to camp...I will never hear the end of it...

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Coop written with YLC

Apulia, 1182

A few hours later...

Water is splashed upon the face of the unconscious Markos ek Sinopis, and as he stirs, he is hauled to his feet by two of Helarionas's bodyguards. "Oh, good, he lives. Helarionas will be pleased." Searching for the voice, Markos recognizes the voice from earlier, Chara, dressed in fully battlegear and looking smugly at Markos. "For a mere bureaucrat, you put up quite a fight, I am impressed. Now, if you will follow me, Lord Anargiros wishes to speak with you."

Without a word, Markos shuffles clumsily behind the woman, his expensive armor now teared or nonexistent in many places and covered in blood. Each steps seems harder than the last, yet he manages to stay upright in a slightly hunched position, dragging an injured leg.

Chara seems either to not care or is ignorant of it, and continues on in silence as the group finally makes it back to Helarionas's camp. There, the survivors from both armies are tended to, with both food, rest, medical attention, or in many sad cases, last rites. Markos' wavering attention is brought back by a sharp clearing of the throat by Chara. "M'lord, the command tent - Lord Anagiros awaits you inside."

Inside, Helarionas is speaking to his second in command and Lady Aleksandra sips tea off to one side in a most comfortable chair. "M'lord, if we head south from here, we may gain sanctuary amongst the Sicilians, and it will lead the Basileus farther away from the Venetian front - forcing him to choose."

Helarionas shook his head. "No, no, we must head north! See what assistance we can provide. Also, even if the Venetians are our enemies, there is likely priest among them that would love to-"

Chara yet again clears her throat, an action she has seemingly been growing tired of as lately. When Helarionas and his second turn to look, a warm smile crosses Helarionas's face. "Markos! Good to see you live! I feared you had died! Sit, drink! Chara, find him a physician, he is limping terribly! How are you good man?"

"What is this?" Markos croaks quizzically, his pleasant features now marred by a gruesome laceration across the left jawline. His sole visible eye, also on the left side of his face seems devoid of life, staring into nothingness as the other one is hidden behind a large amount of swelling. His light brown hair now caked in blood and sticking in disarray to his sweaty forehead.

Aleksandra gags on her tea as she caught sight of Markos and spits it out in pain. "Helarionas! Can you not see the poor man is injured! Help him!" Helarionas frowned as Aleksandra got up and lead Markos to her seat. "You are Markos I take it? Is there anything you would wish for right now?" Helarionas smiled at Markos. "Indeed, Aleksandra is right, you deserve whatever rest you can manage - I will have my chef cook you something and you may relax while we discuss your fate. It is poor of me not to treat my guests better."

The injured man sits down, still bewildered but too much in shock to show such emotions. Again, his voice, serious as always, comes out as a rasp. "Are you toying with me Helarionas? You have defeated me, there is nothing more to say save for me to ask you to end my life swiftly."

It is Helarionas' turn to look utterly bewildered. "Markos, what are you talking about, why on earth would I end your life? What point is there to that? I have no quarrel with you. No, I will have no more talk of killing, do not utter a word about it. Eat some food, drink some tea, and rest."

The loser takes a small sip from an offered goblet, his eye perpetually blank. "It's what I deserve is it not? I have brought so many to die today, should I not join them? What is to happen to me if you keep me alive? What purpose will THAT serve." He nearly spits the end of the sentence in disdain.

Helarionas and Aleksandra exchange glances with each other before Helarionas speaks tentatively. "Markos...you do not deserve death for this...if anything, you deserve rewarded. You did only what you saw was the best course of action in the face of a very stubborn man, and you loyal kept your oath to the Empire, and never wavered in your duty, and neither did your own men. You must be commended for your loyalty, honesty, steadfastness and determination, not executed for it."

"And I ask only that you that you return to the Empire and let those in it know of me and Aleksandra, and what my fiancee and I face, what we will do, for our love for each other."

Helarionas walks over and grabs a small stack of papers and hands them to Markos. "Here, these papers will get that fool of a captain on board those ships to transport you. The dead from this battle will go with you, and my army will escort you safely to them. There is enough salt in the ships cargo hold to preserve the bodies so that they make it. You can then set sail back to the Imperium with the rest of your surviving bodyguard, and tell our tale."

Markos grasps the bundle with a bloody hand, while taking another sip. "Perhaps you are the better man after all, Helarionas." While still gloomy, he regains some composure. "Very well, I will do what you ask. I pray that we never meet again, for that would mostly certain mean you have failed." With a wince, the injured man rises and then bows as best he can to the princess, his marred features contorting in a grimace of pain. "My lady." Without another word, Markos drags himself out of the tent and into the hands of the waiting physicians.

Epirus, 1185 AD

"Mein lord Basileus, you must not embark on these long expeditions." scolded his close friend and companion, Philipp Hümmel, as the Basileus wearily removed his armour.

Turning to his Germanic companion, Ioannis could not but suppress a smile.

"You speak of resting, yet you yourself are but 10 years younger than I, and have journeyed across Mediterranean. No, I am not too old for campaign, though I do own that I detest lingering on those foul ships where scurvy lays low many a good man."

"At least you might consider residing at Constantinople, in the luxury and comfort of the Imperial Palace, than worry about a backwater province such as Epirus." shot back Hümmel.

"My dear German friend," responded Ioannis, "as you yourself know, one must do these things to secure the family's power. Your nephew - Wolfgang isn't it? - I hear has been forced to take the cross for trying to increase your family's holdings in Lorraine. I am forced to make these journeys in order to secure the power of the Basileus and my family. Whether in the end they kill me through scurvy, or an imperial cold, it is my duty."

Crete, 1185

Like every morning, Isaakios the Lazy was up early and walked with his wife along one of the beaches on Crete. He had enjoyed a peaceful existence since 1161, when he was left without a way to get his army off the island, and refused to leave without it. There was little to do, and he rather enjoyed it; he had not actually requested ships from any of the Megas Logothetes. The convoluted politics of the Empire made their convolutions without him, and he liked it that way. He walked along the beach without a care in the world. Cool wind, the sound of waves washing the beach, sparkling sea at sunrise, beautiful Chryse. He was, indeed, happy.

An eagle lofted into the air from a nearby cliff and caught Isaakios' attention. Eagles fascinated him, and he followed their flight whenever he saw them; they were important, they were the symbols of the Komneni family and the Empire as a whole. The eagle flew directly overhead and circled around Isaakios' position. Once, twice, three times. Three times; like the trinity. Isaakios watched intently as the eagle flew out to sea a short distance and swooped down to catch a fish. However, it misjudged its dive and hit the water at high speed. It came back to the surface, but it was wet and unable to take off. Isaakios watched it struggle for perhaps a quarter of an hour, and then it disappeared below the surface.

"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm," Isaakios murmured a lengthy, deep, and thoughtful murmur. "An inauspicious sign. Dark days are ahead. Dark, dark days."

Later that morning, Isaakios drafted a letter to the Megas Logothetes, immediately requesting a fleet to take his army from the island.

Nikitas sat in the privacy of his study within the large complex that made up the City Hall of Sinop. Sure he had the big audience chamber, but he preferred the relative comforts offered by his smaller study. It was his first visit to Sinop and much of the past few days had been spent dealing with the local magistrates. His uncle, yes he even thought of him as his uncle now, Pavlos had never been long in Sinop either, so the magistrates were rather used to governing themselves and while the greeting had been formal it was clear that they hadn't been eager to meet him. Well he wouldn't stay long.

He had tried to get a little grasp of the affairs, just out of general curiosity. It always paid off in the end to have knowledge about what was going on, but he had realized fast that the duties of a governor were mostly dull. No, the matters that interested him now were two reports in front of him. One was a detailed written account of a story that was on everyone's tongue, while the latter came directly from Constantinople. With a sigh he picked up the first again.

As he began reading he grimaced a little. There was little point in reading the whole thing as he knew the words anyway, but he made himself go on. It told of an encounter West of the City itself. Bandits had started plundering the lucrative land route between the Bosporus and Sinop and had grown in numbers over time. Until, one day, a Senator from Constantinople rode up to them and challenged their leader to step forward. As the leader refused passage and asked for a toll, the Senator pulled out his sword and beheaded the man cleanly. Shocked at the sight the bandits dispersed and were never seen again. That Senator was supposed to be Nikitas Moschos.

Sometimes Nikitas wished it had happened that way. He could only remember all too clearly the grisly sights of that day. Fighting in an actual battle had shown to be much less fun than what he had heard before. The fighting had been fierce and he had lost half of his men. All young fools that had followed him because they knew his uncle or had sensed opportunity. He had tried putting a stop to the story that praised his deeds, but now they just added his modesty along to his bravery, it was futile.

Groaning he pushed away the report and instead fingered the second parchment. Now this one was much more interesting. It informed him that for his recent bravery and as a token for the service of Pavlos Chrysovergos he was to be elevated into the Imperial family. The thing made him a grandchild of Basileus Ioannis himself of all things. Nikitas could only shake his head. It truly was hard to believe. He had not only fooled the men in this backwater town, it seems he had even fooled the Roman Empire itself. Shoving the papers away he gave a quick prayer of thanks to the skill of the man that had forged him the papers necessary to make him the nephew of Pavlos Chrysovergos. Who knows, maybe his uncle would even be proud of him one day.