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#4681
August 10th, 2012, 06:50 AM
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As for Manzikert, he never told the monks he was coming (he never had any intention of going), so they're not wondering. As for his children, Andreas left instructions that he was not to be disturbed. And regarding Herakleios, this is what he has: Crohn's Disease.
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An Age of Miracles: The Revival of Rhomanion The Revival of Rhomaion Up to Part 12.1, 1517-1527 
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#4682
August 10th, 2012, 06:55 AM
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That is a truly horrific looking disease.
Not terribly dangerous, in the right situation, but .. . daaaaamn. Dark.
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#4683
August 10th, 2012, 07:33 AM
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As for Heraklios, how utterly incapable of taking the field is he when he isn't having a flare up? It seems that the disease does not prevent development of muscle tone, so in theory he could get strong enough to at least ride a horse, which would allow him to command, although probably not fight. I know it's a weird question, but I feel that his abliity to command in the field is directly related to his chances of ever having a potential chance of being emperor in his own right.
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Check out my TL, the Turtledove winning The House of Palaiologos, Against the Tide : An Eastern Roman TL Last edited by Avitus; August 10th, 2012 at 09:52 PM..
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#4684
August 10th, 2012, 09:45 AM
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B444
Clean diet,less meat, and probably Acupunture (Chinese practised that for bowel problems) that is if you like the young fellow;Byzantines new a lot about China then and someone could be found to treat the boy in Constantinople although he should live in a cleaner and more natural enviroment than a big city(in a farm villa outside the walls?) by the way,did you..search a lot to find that exotic horrible thing? what were the chances of that desease existing then?
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#4685
August 10th, 2012, 12:35 PM
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Poor Herakleios. Wasn't him also the one who had pneumonia when he was a kid? He just can't get a break.
 As for suicide, I don't know if the Orthodox are harsher or more lenient in comparison to other Christians but it is considered a sin and burial will not be permitted on "holy ground", the cemetery proper, but somewhere next to it.
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#4686
August 10th, 2012, 12:50 PM
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#4687
August 10th, 2012, 05:59 PM
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#4688
August 10th, 2012, 06:10 PM
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EDIT: Its less bad now but still gross.
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#4689
August 11th, 2012, 11:19 PM
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Hopefully this mini-update will help answer some questions. First a family tree of the Andrean Komnenids as of 1497.
 Thrace, Six miles west of Constantinople, April 23, 1497: Zeno squinted, trying to see the outriders of the ‘hostile’ Thracian army. The tagma was maneuvering on the flanks of the Athanatoi and Varangoi, trying to cut them off from the Queen of Cities, so far without success. “Here they come,” Nikolaios Drakos, great-grandson of the dragon, reported. Dust clouds were rising, thrown up by Zeno’s rapidly retreating light cavalry and the hotly pursuing Thracian screen. It was the last day of the war games, and so far Zeno had managed to keep the Thracian tagma away from the Queen of Cities. That was why they were coming so hot now; if they didn’t shove him aside, he would win. All that Zeno had to do to claim the prize was dance around some more, shielding Constantinople. But I don’t want just that, I want a victory. He squinted again, growling at the blur. He knew what the blur was, but it was still frustrating as his thirty-three year old eyes began to fail. Some of the Thracian turkopouloi were fanning out, probing potential ambush points. There were several available, and Zeno had squadrons in half of them, just waiting to be discovered. A volley of gunfire roared out from one copse of trees. The akrites hiding there were firing blanks, and several horsemen wheeled out of line as observers assigned casualties. Behind them, heavy koursores came up, dismounted, and started storming the grove, akrites spilling out the other side. Two droungoi of light koursores rushed forward to support the retreating infantry, the Thracians counter-charging. Zeno had no trouble hearing the crack of blunted blade against blunted blade. He also had no trouble hearing the horse whinny next to him. Kaisar Demetrios cursed his mount, trying to keep the skittish mare under control. The animal wasn’t normally so temperamental, but it could sense the nervousness of its rider. Zeno opened his mouth to suggest his half-brother return to Constantinople, but then snapped it shut. Let him embarrass himself. He had not forgotten being ordered from his wife’s side to inspect the eastern tagma, just because maybe, possibly, there was a threat to his precious Copts/Ethiopians. Demetrios was sweating, the droplets beading on his forehead. It’s not that hot. Andronikos Angelos, the new Master of Sieges, galloped up. “Strategos, I have four batteries on line and ready for action.” Damn, that was fast. I wasn’t counting on more than three. Then he smiled. Strategos. He was the new commander of the Athanatoi, promoted by Demetrios. Then he frowned. I still haven’t forgotten it. “How many rounds do you have?” Both Zeno and Andronikos swiveled to look at the speaker, Prince Herakleios. He was mounted on a small, docile gelding, just returning from defecating behind a tree. Although as summer dawned, his appetite returned (the Prince had stayed beyond the soup course at dinner in nine of the last twelve days Zeno had been at the White Palace), Zeno was still surprised to see his younger half-brother here. He rarely left the White Palace, and his constitution was far too delicate to tolerate rough army food. Even now Herakleios pulled a hunk of cheese out of a knapsack and nibbled at it. It was not an unusual occurrence in spring and summer, although he never seemed to eat much at regular meals. Herakleios saw Zeno looking at him, their eyes met, and Zeno saw the iron in his brother’s eyes. Three weeks earlier a priest had criticized Herakleios for his hedonistic ways to his face, particularly his gluttony. Their father would’ve arranged an accident; Herakleios had just punched the man.  Prince Herakleios Komnenos. Based on contemporary accounts, particularly that of his sister Eudoxia, historians believe that the Prince did not 'gain' his wasting disease until he was in his early teens after an early and large growth spurt, making him much taller than the usual patient with Herakleian Syndrome. Rarely leaving the White Palace, the youngest son of Andreas Komnenos and Kristina of Novgorod has spent much of his time reviewing his grandfather's notes on governance. His excursion to the war games comes as a surprise to the entire Imperial court, many of whom are worried that he is turning into another Demetrios. He has developed a sudden intense interest in Lycia after all. Image taken from The Komnenoi Ep. 90 "The Cat's Away: Part 1." The prince shivered, even though on this fine spring day he was still clad in thick furs and silk. Zeno didn’t wear that much even in January. Still, he wasn’t sweating nervously like Demetrios. His gaze was steady on the Thracians, who had cleared three ambush points and were now bringing up their heavy units. “How many rounds?” he repeated. “Five,” Andronikos grimaced. “Sounds like enough to me,” Demetrios said. Herakleios shook his head; Zeno saw him wince, but the expression lasted no more than a blink. “It’s lousy. The guns at Adana had thirty five rounds, were twice as numerous, and still weren’t enough to stop the Mamelukes. They’ll overrun the guns. Unless…” Herakleios stared off into the distance. “They’re bait, aren’t they?” he asked Zeno. He nodded. “The Thracians have cleared three ambushes, and scattered your screen. The batteries look like part of an ambush gone horribly wrong, but…” The prince was interrupted by a roar of trumpets. Kataphraktoi and skythikoi sallied out, aiming at the left wing of the Thracians. Herakleios coughed, a deep, wracking cough that shook his whole body. Zeno noticed. Demetrios was too busy keeping his horse from throwing him off. “That’s it, I’m done here,” the Kaisar said once he succeeded, and trotted off. Herakleios looked at Zeno. “So where is it?” “Where’s what?” “Your real ambush.” “When people think ambushes today, they think of mountain passes like Myriokephalon or tree groves like the dragon used at Lodeve. I used something older.” Herakleios pursed his lips. “Brush covered streambed? Trebia, Hannibal?” Zeno grinned. “Exactly.” And a sudden roar of gunfire swept across the field as the Varangoi sprang from ambush.
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An Age of Miracles: The Revival of Rhomanion The Revival of Rhomaion Up to Part 12.1, 1517-1527 Last edited by Basileus444; August 11th, 2012 at 11:25 PM..
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#4690
August 11th, 2012, 11:31 PM
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@B444 Good writing as always!
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#4691
August 12th, 2012, 01:00 AM
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Well, that answers my question about Herakleios ability to command. Even more significantly, Demetrios is still pissing Zeno off with his ignorance, while Herakleios is impressing him with his knowledge, and showing himself to be just a quarter step behind Zeno in terms of tactical ability. We havn't seen it yet, but if he's truly a son of Andreas and Kristina there is a good chance that Herakleios is hiding his ambition behind his disability, just like Nikephoros senior did with his youth and inexperience, only harder to detect. At this point I would also hazard a guess that Herakleios is the most well rounded son (or grandson) of Andreas, and since he is running the administration he is probably in the best position to get the nobles support.
Bon voyage Demetrios, its been borderline painful knowing you 
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Check out my TL, the Turtledove winning The House of Palaiologos, Against the Tide : An Eastern Roman TL
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#4692
August 12th, 2012, 01:45 AM
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Only thing holding back Herakleios is his health.
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#4697
August 12th, 2012, 07:34 AM
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We'll be seeing more from Herakleios, definitely.
It's an intensive training exercise. It's about as dangerous as a medieval tournament, so there are occasional accidents, some of which are fatal. The losses though are tolerated in the name of making the exercises as realistic as possible. Better to lose 3 men in war games then to lose 300 in the real thing. Got a creative spurt, so here's a section on what Andreas is doing. Hope you enjoy. Simena, Lycia, May 25, 1497: Andreas burped. “This is really good, Veronica.” “Thank you,” she replied, taking the empty plate and adding it to the pile she was carrying. “Join me when your shift ends?” “Sure.” She headed back behind the counter. The inn had an attached cookhouse that served dinner to the tenants. Andreas usually cooked his own meals when he was out hunting, but every time he ate here he’d spend a few hours with Veronica. There was nothing sexual about the meetings; they were entirely in the cookhouse. She was an attractive woman, and while there was a part of him that hungered for physical satisfaction, it was a small suggestion compared to the blaring demand of his youth. No, it wasn’t her body that he wanted. She was uneducated, barely literate, but she was smart. He smiled. And a vocabulary of curses that would make even a drill dekarchos blush. He blinked. There was a young man at the entrance of the cookhouse, arguing with a group of four other, shabbily dressed young men. That can’t be right. That’s me! The man was a mirror image of Andreas when he was twenty or so. “Hey, what are you looking at?” the leader of the four men said, glaring at Andreas. Andreas’ eyes narrowed, feeling the buzz of his three cups of wine in his veins. “I was thinking, you have that dull, vacant look, the look that says ‘hold my head up to your ear, and you will hear the sea’.” The man’s face twisted as the young man who looked like Andreas grinned. “I don’t like insults,” he growled. “Funny,” Andreas’ look-alike said. “With a face like that, I’d think you’d be used to it.” He sounds just like Nikephoros, Andreas thought. The man pulled out a knife. “Hey!” Veronica yelled. “If you want to fight, you have to deal with the bouncer first.” She pointed a loaded crossbow at the man. “This is him.” The man grinned sheepishly, putting away the weapon. “Go, go!” he said, pushing the rest of his gang out the door. A few seconds later they were gone. “Thanks,” Andreas said to Veronica. She glowered at him, setting down the crossbow. “You’re a damned idiot. Bar fights are for young men.” When I was young, I had to act old. So now that I’m old, I get to act young. At least for a little while. Besides, I could take him. He had his dirk under his cloak, and he’d spotted a blade on the young man, and the knife-man had, by his grip, clearly never been in combat before. He wasn’t dumb enough to say any of that out loud; he didn’t want to give Veronica a reason to dig into her repertoire of swear words. “He is a young man!” Ioannes yelled from his corner, scratching his head covered in white hair; Andreas’ was silver. Many of the men in the establishment laughed. Veronica rolled her eyes, clearly muttering something under her breath. Andreas ignored that, calling out “A jug of wine.” He wanted to know who this man was. He looked at the person in question. “Buy you a drink?” He smiled. “Certainly.” They sat down and a moment later Veronica thumped a jug down on the table. “Waitresses here are cranky.” Veronica muttered something else under her breath. The man quaffed a cup; Andreas sipped his. He had had enough for the night. “So what’s your name?” “Andreas.” Great. “After the Emperor?” Andreas Jr. downed another cup. I need to pass a law forbidding people to name their children after me. This is starting to get ridiculous. At least a fifth of the men here are named Andreas. “Yup. I’m Andreas Angelos.” “Angelos. Any relation to Tourmarch Andronikos Angelos?” Another cup. He’s thirsty. “Yes. He’s my uncle.” Meaning he’s the son of…Anna, that’s the name. His little sister. Strange, he never mentioned a nephew. “What are you doing here in Simena?” “Oh, traveling. On my way to Attaleia to visit some friends. And to get away from my mother. Her latest lover has a laugh that sounds like a screeching donkey.” “So, who’s your father?” “I never met him before.” “But do you know his name?” Andreas pulled out a flask, pouring a shot of ouzo into an empty cup and pushing it forward. Andreas the Younger drank that too, wobbling a bit. “I do.” Andreas gave him another shot. I never have more than one shot a night, and never when I’ve had wine as well. “So who is he?” Andreas Jr. leaned forward. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he whispered. “Oh, I’ve heard a lot of strange things.” Andreas Jr. smacked his lips. “My father…is the Emperor.” Andreas blinked. “Do go on.” “The Emperor got wounded in a riding accident, and was taken to one of my family’s estate, where mother was. While he was there…” he shrugged. “Nine months later…” Andreas felt the cool steel of his dirk’s hilt. He remembered the incident, and remembered, vaguely, making love to Kristina, even though looking back he knew it was impossible for that to have happened. He’d assumed that it had been the poppies, but now… His mind’s eye flashed away, away from Simena, from Constantinople, to a courtyard of Smyrna. A hot breath blasted his left ear. “Relax, boy. You’ll get your turn,” the Venetian sergeant said. I did get my turn. His palm hurt, and suddenly Andreas realized his right arm was shaking, the hilt of his dirk clenched between his fist. He let go. No. It’s over. The courtyard flashed again before his eyes, as if mocking him. He mashed his palm down on the pommel of his dirk, focusing on the pain. It hurt, but the pain was in Simena, not Smyrna, and right now that was all that mattered. “Are you alright?” Andreas Jr. slurred. Andreas looked at him, a voice howling in his mind to draw his sword and cut down this, this thing in front of him. No. Andreas blinked. He had not heard that voice in forty years, the voice of his father, Theodoros IV Komnenos. Again the courtyard. But this time it was different. The ground was covered in bodies. Andreas recognized the slain, the inhabitants of an Apulian village. My fault. “Yes, your fault,” Theodoros IV said. “We have both committed the same sins. There are villages in the Holy Land where I did the same thing. But those are my sins, not yours. Do not condemn the son for the sins of the father, or in this case, mother. Now debts, on the other hand…” Andreas chuckled. “Some things never change.” “Of course not. They still overcharge for things in heaven. Jesus charged me production costs for turning water into wine. Greedy bastard. Now that God’s on my payroll though, things will change.” Andreas could feel someone shaking his shoulder. “Looks like I’ll have to go now,” Theodoros said. He scrunched his face. “Or not.” “Why not?” “I’m a voice in your head. I can’t really go anywhere your head doesn’t.” “This is giving me a headache.” “Either this or the wine.” The shaking was getting stronger. “You should quit the habit. Crazy people usually spend more money.” “I’ll keep that…in mind.” Bad choice of words. Theodoros smiled. “Good. Just remember one thing.” “What?” “They’re overcharging you for the food.” And he and the courtyard were gone. Veronica was shaking his shoulder violently. “Andreas?” He shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Veronica looked at him skeptically, but turned to head back into the kitchen. Andreas looked at Andreas Jr., now asleep on the table. No, not his fault. He is innocent. And he is my son. That’s what matters.
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An Age of Miracles: The Revival of Rhomanion The Revival of Rhomaion Up to Part 12.1, 1517-1527
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#4698
August 12th, 2012, 07:40 AM
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Theodoros's sense of humor always makes me laugh.
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#4699
August 12th, 2012, 08:38 AM
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Two updates in one day, you spoil us Basileus
 Even from beyond the grave Theodoros IV is still my favorite TTL character. I wonder if God being on his payroll means the TL will turn into a wank after this Love Andreas' reaction, in part because it surprised me that he considered it rape in the same way as it had happened to Zoe, while at the same time it makes perfect sence for him to feel that way. Definitely a deep and believable way to turn a gender steriotype on its head. I also liked how he seemed to subconciously think that it was Jr's fault at first, in a blatant shoot the messenger mode. I am definitely curious to see what happens with this one after the tidbit you gave us about him gaining the purple at some point. So far he seems to be just a goofy kid, which is actually surprisingly unique for the imperial family.
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Check out my TL, the Turtledove winning The House of Palaiologos, Against the Tide : An Eastern Roman TL Last edited by Avitus; August 12th, 2012 at 09:33 AM..
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#4700
August 12th, 2012, 09:05 AM
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Double update! you're certainly spoiling us
.And so Andreas Angelos know about his father and Andreas knows about him, interesting times for Andronikos when the emperor comes back. Zeno holding a grudge against Demetrios is founded, but it's not good news. It was interesting to see how differently Demetrios and Herakleios fared in the eyes of Zeno. Too bad Heraklios is ill, that's could severely impede him to reach his full potential. Herakleian disease, let's hope he's not gonna be remembered just for that.
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