Defense of Urianopolis
Wrote this after making a sort of "urban war map", and seeing the results, decided to become even more of geek and write about it. Here's the result. Continuance depends upon how it is received.
May 14, 1113 A.D.
Vasileios scratched at the stubble that grew on his face, nothing but concentration written upon it. His face, that is.
"These reports are accurate?" He asked.
"Yes. An Englishman, and a few of the new recruits came in this morning with the information."
"We only have three Englishman left after those invasions from Antioch. Which one?"
"Morcar, you son of a b--," Loefwine was muttering. Morcar Eadwulf grinned.
"I told you, Loefwine." Morcar continued. "'Listen to the Roman,' I said."
"Shut up" Loefwine said, gazing darkly ahead.
"Eleni Cantacuzenus."
"Yes sir."
"Anninos Macrembolitissa."
"Yes sir."
"Aiakos Dalassena."
"Yes sir."
The newest additions to General Vasileios Rhigas Vardakastanis' Varangian Guard detachment watched as he paced along, staring at them, then the roster sheet he had in his hands.
'Not as tall as he's rumoured to be.' Eleni thought. Rumoured to be somewhere around eight feet tall, Vardakastanis was in truth a few inches under six feet tall. He kept his hair moderately short and his facial hair trimmed as his colleagues, but Vardakastanis' facial hair was kept around his mouth and chin, and was not a full grown beard. He glanced back at the parchment.
"Gondikas Calaphates."
"Yes sir."
"Varazes Ioannou."
"Yes sir."
Vasileios studied the nineteen year old a moment. "You aren't Greek." He said simply.
Varazes nodded. "I'm Iberian, sir. Not too sure whether I'm Spanish or Aragonese."
Vasileios smirked. He understood the rest of the story all too well, as it had happened to him as well. Slavery was hell under the Muslim scum. After another moment of study, he asked: "Is this your first assignment?"
Varazes shook his head. "I was in the Kiev Garrison, with Ianaurios."
Vasileios nodded. "Hm. Good. Tzannas Bessarion."
"Yes sir."
"Aiolos Saraphis."
"Yes sir."
To the newcomers (excluding Varazes and Ianaurios) Kharilaos Markoulides was older than time itself. A veteran of the three invasions of Lesser Armenia by the Saracens of Egypt, he was twenty-four. A large man of Anatolian peasant stock, he was a towering six feet three inches tall, with chestnut brown hair to his shoulders, and little facial hair. His brown eyes only reinforced his already serious demeanor.
"We sleep in tents around the three squares, and during the day we drill, drill, and then we patrol. After that, we drill some more. Got it?" He led them through the maze of tents and men, mostly foreign northerners, who were nonetheless orthodox, nominally, to say the most. "Make sure to get to know you fellow soldiers. They all know passable Greek, so it shouldn't be too hard." Markoulides turned to face Varazes and Ianaurios, who were already pitching their tents. Having a good time of it, too, it seemed. He sat down right outside their tent flap, and waited until they were finished putting it up. "Are the stories about Kiev true?" He asked.
Ianaurios raised one eyebrow. "Tell us the stories, and we'll tell ya if we know or not." Kharilaos laughed, somberely.
Loefwine leaned back as some young Greek tended the fire. He stared up at the sky, noting the differences between the sky of his homeland and this sky. He listened as the Greek softly hummed a tune. 'Boy has a good voice.' He thought.
(Inset hymn)
"What's that called?" He asked, fumbling with his Greek. Aelfgar was the speaker of group.
"Hymn to the Archangels. Eleni taught me."
"Sing it again. Sounds good."
Anninos smiled. "Sure."
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