Stories Thread

[OverKnight]

The lead in to the story.

Constantinople, 1128

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[woad&fangs]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

co-op with Ibn-Khaldun

Alexandria 1128

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

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

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

Efstathios smiles when saying the last sentence..

"And now open the gate!" he yells.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Efstathios and his men laugh when they see Solomon leave.

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

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

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

[Privateerkev]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This is a co-op between myself and TheFlax.

Constantinople 1126:

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

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

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

"Greetings Your Highness."

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

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

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

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

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

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

The smile faded from her face.

"Yes... Iakovos will be missed."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I wanted to see you again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Ramses II CP]

Cairo, 1128

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(...to be continued...)

[Ramses II CP]

Cairo, 1128, continued

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Well...'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'I love you, boy.'

And she was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[GeneralHankerchief]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

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

Constantinople, 1129

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[GeneralHankerchief]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

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

Constantinople, 1128

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

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

"You're dusty."

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

"Are you finished?"

"Yes, Your Eminence."

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

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

"Then do it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aleksios drummed his fingers on the desk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aleksios waited, knowing there would be a caveat.

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

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

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

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

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

Aleksios grimaced, ". . .compromise."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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