Kilikian coast, summer 1191, near Juliopolis


The waves gently rocked the Roman fleet anchoring off the Kilikian coastline. Even at a distance, the wind brought the acrid smell of burning bodies like a blanket over the ships, remnant of the previous day’s battle. From the deck of the flagship, Romanus Sophianos observed the freshly recaptured city of Juliopolis. The war with the Seljuqid was nothing more than a series of never-ending skirmishes. Except when surprised in their fortifications, the Turks had refused every opportunity for battle. They moved their soldiers inland to escape from the Roman naval assaults and sent raiding parties to capture vulnerable settlements which the Romans retook in the following months. In a single season, Kilikia had been stolen from Rome only to see Sophianos’ armies march all the way back to Flaviopolis. The strategos had even devoted a fraction of his forces to chase the Abbasids out of their last Syrian hideouts. He had no illusions that the current borders were anything but temporary. Large enemy forces were holed-up in Seljuk Valley and further East within the immense borders of the bloated Seljuk Empire. Still, for Sophianos, money always filled his pockets and mercenaries flowed in great numbers to his banner. If anything, his armies were even more experienced and battle-ready then when he had been hailed a hero for repulsing the barbarous Hindi from the siege of Attaleia, not to mention more numerous. He had even managed to be awarded the command of a few true Roman soldiers, a rarity in the army these days.

When the captain of his ship approached to inquire about their next destination, the strategos sighed:

“We’ll pick up some western mercenaries in Kyprus before returning to Megas Antiochia. And I imagine we’ll be back for a winter campaign in Kilikia…”

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