In the Lands of the Faithful: BC Hotseat Story Thread

[The Lemongate]

Konstantinopolis, Autumn of 1174

A man is standing on a balcony in the Blachernae Palace, the greatest city in the West sprawling before him. He takes a deep breath inhaling the scent of metalworks smelting iron casts, fisheries fresh from the Sea of Marmara, honeys and spices from Anatolikon being traded in the great markets and wines from the Frankish kingdoms and Italia. The scents of a thousand lands that have all known the touch of Rome, eternal Rome...

He chuckles.

Rome. What was Rome? This city was founded under the name Nova Roma; it’s inhabitants had soon came to refer to it as Roma Konstantinea, Constantine’s Rome. The founder of the eastern half of the roman world had wanted it to become a central capital from which his successors would rule a united world under the peace and protection of Christ. In Hoc Signo Vinces.

It had been ages since that dream had been shattered. Bad imperators in the West, a bickering Senate, lack of virtu, that quintessential roman quality: the valour of a warrior and the wisdom of a philosopher. All had conspired to bring Rome down to its knees, bleed it white of men and women capable of producing a new generation of Romans. Yet here it stood. Rome.

Oh the city had changed. It wasn’t even called Rome anymore. Most people referred to it as Konstantinopolis, Constantine’s City. But the dream that was Rome was still there. The man could feel it in the air, see it in the eyes of the people when he walked in the streets, hear it in the toll of church bells. The Komnenoi had begun to return to the people of Graecia and Anatolikon their pride. Maybe one day the chi rho cross and the eagle would once again float over the old provinces of the East. Maybe one day, the dream of Rome would come back to walk with mortal men and a glorious peace would settle over the world.

But there was still much work to be done until then. The Normans, the Pechenegs and the Hungarians had been pushed back, but Sicily had eluded the Basileos’ grasp. The Popes of Rome had long taken their distances with the Empire, and the warriors they had sent forth into the Levant had their own kingdoms with little regard for imperial authority. Even the Kings of Cilicia dared to refuse roman protection. And then there was the Turks.

“My lord?”

The man turned from the bustling city to look at the courier he had just summoned. The Emperor and his council had at last decided of a course of action in Anatolikon. One that, if played right, would return all of Asia Minor to Rome. He smiled at the thought of Rome.

“You are to bring these orders to the generals in Nikomedeia, Nikeia and Smyrna. They are to assemble their troops and march East. The Basileos can no longer suffer rebellion in his lands. You will then sail to Nikoseia and tell Megas Dux Kontostephanos to take what men he has and recapture Ammoxostos. Tell him he should preserve their strength. The Basileos will not tolerate another fiasco like the one in Aegyptus.”

The courier saluted and left immediately. Leaving the balcony behind, the man walked into his office. On a table lay two sealed parchments. He would have to convey those messages himself. The Basileos counted on his discretion to bring those messages to their respective destination: Tbilisi and more importantly, Jerusalem.