So I remembered that I had written a first person vignette set in Basil II's time for the previous iteration of the TL, and it is a piece of writing I am a tad fond of. Copy-pasting it here to see what people think (it has been reworked to be consistent with this version of the TL):
An Anatolian Interlude
Ἀνατολή: The Greek word for East or Sunrise.
June 1022, a hamlet a day's ride east of Smyrna, Roman Empire
Smoke rose from the chimney of a little house far away from the rest of the village, as the first lights of the invincible sun shone on the foremost province of the Roman Empire. The land of the sunrise would soon be bathed in the golden light of the new day, as its inhabitants would rise from their beds to head to the fields without any worry of being mauled by a marauding horde. This region of the Roman Empire had only known peace for the last two centuries, being even spared from the Armenian raids during the last war. People could now afford to live far away from the village center proper if they sought the solitude, secure under the protection of their Basileus. There was no reason for the inhabitants of the village to believe that this day would be any less peaceful than its predecessors.
Until the first yell tore through the calm like a knife.
“You have done what?!” yelled a tall, burly man sitting in the kitchen of the house.
The thin younger man looked pale and nervous, but still firmly spoke “I enlisted, father and I ho---”
“After I explicitly told you not to! What did your mother and uncle think about this?”
“I did not tell them before actually registering with the recruiter, as I knew they would react this way.”
“Any sane person would! And I cannot believe that you would dare go behind my back to try to do this!”
“Well, I have and there is nothing any of you could do to stop it! The law says so!”
The older man stepped forward and it seemed like he was about to strike the younger, who still defiantly stood. A muffled sob came from the other side of the room, where a small woman sat, dabbling her eyes with a piece of cloth. The older man turned to her, his face softening briefly. It hardened again, but he stepped back from the other man, and took a deep breath. It was a while before he spoke again, but his voice was calmer this time.
“Why did you not tell me yesterday?”
The woman was the one to reply this time. “Because we knew you would react like this! I wanted you to have one night of peace after coming back from Egypt.”
True, and the older man was grateful for that. It had however not softened the blow one bit when it finally came.
“Do you realize what you have done?” he said, turning to face the younger man. “What will happen to the fields now? Were you planning to abandon your mother and brothers to till it alone?”
“Uncle spoke with the recruiter, and he agreed that I would only join next year. Stephen will be sixteen then, and he could be the man of the house. That does not matter now that you are back though!”
This was true, and the older man knew that his wife and children would be materially fine even without their eldest. The people were decent hardworking folks and predatory dynatoi had not been able to sink their claws in this region, afraid of what the Basileus might do to them. Yet, that did not change the fact that he had never desired a military career for any of his sons. He briefly considered forgiving the boy, after all he was unlikely to be killed in battle now that the Empire sought peace. But he remembered the younger ones, so willing to follow in the footsteps of their older brother and hardened his heart.
“I won this land through service to the Emperor. You will not inherit any land you refuse to till. You may remain here as our guest till the time comes for you to leave for Istanbul, but you will give up your inheritance then. This shall all go to your brothers who will not be as foolish enough to follow you in your folly.”
The younger man looked like he had expected it, and in fact even looked relieved that it was the worst that could happen.
“That's fair, but the recruiter said that they would give me land in Egypt when I will be done. So this works out better for all of us,” said he, shrugging.
The older man wanted to laugh, tell the naive boy how much tagmata recruiters tended to exaggerate in order to tempt young men to join. But he knew that these stories had not been lies, not with the hordes flooding into Egypt when he was still there. Romania was no longer fighting wars with uncertain rewards but had triumphed over her foes. That had resulted in more fertile land than people to hold it, and so the Empire could afford to dole out large chunks to military recruits without fear of running out in the foreseeable future.
In fact, he darkly thought, that's why they still need a large army. But he forced himself to stop heading in that direction, for it would inevitably remind of him Egypt. Where the boy will probably be sent.
Pent up anger rose within him and he lashed out before realizing it was a bad idea. “You know nothing you fool! You will not be winning any glory or treasure by enlisting, and be merely reduced to a glorified town guard!”
“Why?” the young man said angrily. “Because I am not you? An elite member of the Orphans? The great Peter? I know that you never felt I measured up, and that's why you tried to stop me from joining to avoid sullying your reputation! But guess what, father? I do not care what you think. You are a fine one to talk about leaving the family behind, seeing that you spent most of the last decade in Egypt! We grew up without you, and I dare say that I no longer give a damn about your opinion!”
He wanted to yell back, remind John that they’d be lucky to be a beggar if it was not for him serving in the Orphans. But he could not yell back at the boy, not when memories of scenes from Egypt flooded his head. Not after cutting down so many children of his age, begging food and pleading for mercy. I promised I will not be that man anymore, but I do not trust myself to remain in control.
A decade ago, John ran out of the house to hide in the countryside after being reprimanded. Yet he was the one to now stand his ground, and Peter was the one to leave, hoping that the air would clear his mind enough for a rational discussion.
Before he stepped out of the house, he heard a contrite voice calling back
“Father, I did not mean to-”
“It's fine, you are a man grown and can make your own decisions. We will discuss the details regarding your departure later.”
It was most certainly not fine, not when his son was going to waste his life after so much effort he had put in to prevent that. And lost him in the process, I am a stranger in my own home. He no longer truly had a right to chastise John based on only ties of blood, not when he knew so little about his firstborn. But those dark thoughts did not have to be spoken of in their home, and he wandered about the countryside instead, hoping to calm down.
He looked up to see that his feet had taken him to the village church, and Father Paul was standing outside in the sun. The priest looked at him and smiled, and beckoned him inside. He briefly debated whether it was a good idea to follow or not, but ultimately decided to go ahead. After all, maybe confessing my sins will make God help me forget. Hellfire was a given, he knew---but maybe his remaining days could be a bit more peaceful.
“I had planned to visit yesterday, but thought you would like some time with your wife and children first”, spoke the priest after they were both seated in his chambers.
“I wish you had in fact come along. Might have helped me keep my temper with John”, he said, failing to keep the accusing tone out of his voice.
“I tried Peter, but he chose to run out to the village when I was visiting your wife. It was difficult for me to catch up”, replied the priestly sadly, looking at his feet.
The anger evaporated from him as he remembered that day in Kallinikos, watching helplessly as the soldier smashed Paul’s leg. Now I am blaming him too, after I swore to protect him from harm. “I’m sorry, I should not have-”
“Don’t worry about it, I was quite unhappy about the situation too. Besides, I know that you are on the edge. War does that to you.”
“You know me too well, brother.”
“Well, I have certainly known you longer than anyone else.”
“It was terrifying, it felt like Syria all over again but worse. We were not starving in that blasted city at least, but here in Egypt there were so many hungry people. Children too, you could see their bones even if they were alive, and the smell, the smell of death that filled everything…”
“I thought the situation had improved since the early missteps?”
“It has, after Lord Komnenos took charge from that bastard Xiphias. But it is still terrible. There are hundreds of villages just filled with bones and not a living soul. The newcomers are just trampling on them, taking over their houses to make farms without any regard for those who lived there once.”
“Worse than Syria?”
This he could not honestly say. “Perhaps. Not for my person, but it seemed like that.”
“Good. The Saracens deserve it.”
He looked up into the fire smoldering in his brother's eyes, and hesitated before adding more fuel to it. Had anyone else in the village had said such things, he’d have dared them to actually first kill a man and then repeat those words. But not to his brother, a fellow sufferer of the horrors of Kallinikos.
“Many were Christians though. Heretics, but Christian nonetheless. No different from our parents.”
The priest stood up and walked to the window. “May the lord have mercy on their souls. But it could not be helped.”
Could it not? He had once thought so too, once upon a time. But now he was less sure. Intellectually he understood what the government was trying to do, but he could not bring himself to agree to it.
“For the record, I do agree that killing outside the battlefield is improper, even if it a Saracen”, added Paul. “But criminals receive no mercy.”
“We were criminals too, by that measure,” he whispered, as the memories flooded in again.
Their father had been a prosperous merchant at Kallinikos (then called Ar-Raqqa), a Syrian Christian who straddled the Roman and Islamic worlds while trading between them. He had high hopes for his three sons, believing that the Emir would have to give more power to non-Chalcedonian Christians in order to halt the seemingly inevitable Roman advance. Then, he reasoned that his eldest, John could inherit the business, Paul in the middle could become a soldier and young Peter a priest. But Basil had sacked Baghdad, and there were very few people in Kallinikos prepared to defend the rich merchant from the mob. Peter had been the only one to escape without permanent damage, and Paul had escaped with only the cost of his leg on account of their elder brother John appearing and attacking the soldier “playing” with him. The poor fool had lost his life of course, but his brothers had made it out alive, to hide in the streets. They had begged and stolen food to survive, while desperately trying to find a caravan willing to take two penniless kids to Antioch, where they could hide under the purple cloak of the Empire.
They never got the chance. The Empire came to them before that, with Kallinikos’ doors being forced open by the Emperor’s men. They were too late to save the remaining Christians of the city though, as the Saracens went on one final preemptive strike, fearing what would happen to them once the Romans entered the City. Ironically, the Jewish district proved to be the safest place for people like the brothers who merely wanted to hide and sit out the conflict. Things did not get better after the Roman victory though, despite Paul’s hopeful belief that their property would now be restored to them. They had even tried to petition the Emperor but had been laughed out by the guards before getting anywhere close. There was another riot soon after, and their house burned, along with their final hopes. Food was scarce in the City as the soldiers sucked most of it up, forcing them to steal from the Romans. They were lucky the first two times, but not the third.
“Well, well, well. Seems like we have two little thieves here. Uncircumcised too, trying to steal food from good Christian soldiers risking their lives for such miserable scum. You know what the Saracens do to people like you? Chop off their hands. Now, I might be a faithful follower of Jesus, but I think they had the right idea in these parts. Both your hands go off, and maybe your nuts too, so that filth like you don’t breed and spre-”
The crowd surrounding them suddenly broke apart as a man in deep blue rode by, stopping the soldier in the middle of his rant. Some quick words were spoken in Greek, and their persecutor turned as white as a sheet. Two other men had stepped forth, freed the boys and took them to a small tent. An Aramaic speaker came in soon after with some food, and told the boys to get clean. Apparently they had caught the fancy of the Autocrat of the Romans, and they were ordered to be present in his tent after dinner.
Their first encounter with the Emperor would be one that they would never forget, with those cold blue eyes boring into their heads. Peter’s Greek was too poor to keep up with the Emperor, and Paul, ever the arrogant fool, had refused an interpreter. This however had impressed Basil somehow, although he did not realize it then, helplessly watching his brother try to debate the Emperor over the ethics of starving people stealing food. Paul’s despondent face in the end indicated that their fate was grim, but the Emperor had finally turned to him and asked him what he thought about the whole situation. He did not know what had come over him at that moment, but his lack of sophistication compared to Paul shone through as he muttered in broken Greek that he was not stealing military supplies since he intended to join it in the future. It had been a thought in his mind ever since their family had died, a desire to have enough power to be safe from Saracens, like Basil’s men.
Basil clearly looked taken aback at that statement and asked him in slow, broken Aramaic if he had understood what he was saying. That was the only time Peter had shown defiance to the Emperor, replying in Greek that not only did he understand what his statement, but also felt that he could be a better warrior than those who have hidden from the Saracens in Anatolia for centuries. Paul’s horrified shriek made him realize that he had probably committed a capital offense with his disrespect, but he could not bring himself to care, as he demanded that either the Emperor put him to the sword or give him one.
The Emperor however stood up, and summoned the Aramaic speaking man from earlier, charging him to look after the brothers. He then turned to Peter, and told him that he would have the opportunity to earn their keep if he still wanted to be a soldier. He could even be sent to Constantinople for training if he did well.
“But what of my brother,” he had whispered, suddenly afraid for poor Paul.
Basil turned around and let his gaze linger on Paul for a long while before asking him he if he could run at all. Paul however did not reply, choosing to look down at the carpet. But the Emperor’s next question shocked both of them.
“You are literate, are you not?”
“Yes, Kyrie. But not well in Greek.”
“You’ll learn. For you will also have to do your duty to the Empire. As a man of cloth, not steel like your brother. But your role will be just as important in ending the Saracens”.
Thus he, the designated priest became the soldier and Paul, the chosen warrior became the priest. They had remained Kallinikos for two more weeks, as more and more children were brought in. Finally, they were all sent to Antioch where he met the little Lord Komnenos, and they had all sailed to Lesbos, in an old Church complex that the army had taken over. Lessons in Greek and Bible studies occurred after sunset, while they trained to be soldiers during the day. Paul was the exception on account of his disability, studying with the old priest throughout and assisting the other children with their night lessons. And thus were the Orphans born, to take up the sword for Basileia and Basileus.
For the longest time, he had tried to not forget Syria, believing that it will give him strength to do what was necessary. That resolve had lasted till he had to lead troops into the house of a Syracusian Saracen merchant, to purge the household of all its members. While the rush of battle had seen him through that incident, he had been barely able to function for a week afterwards, haunted by memories. He was only stirred by a reminder that the orders had come straight from the Emperor’s mouth, having been in the room when Basil gave his command. He had wondered how the man who had saved him had turned into a monster who acted the same way as the Saracens, only to realize that there was no difference. It was all a part of the Grand Strategy of the Emperor to restore the Empire to its rightful place in the world. He, Paul, their parents and the victims of Syracuse were only pawns in a century long chess game between the Lords of Constantinople and Mecca.
But he was not ungrateful. He was raised Greek and had married a Greek woman, tying him to the Empire. The ties of being saved from certain death by the Emperor however were far stronger, and he swore that night that he would follow Basil to the end for that alone. Even if the price was his soul, for no cost was too high to finally end this game, which could only happen if one side prevailed. Paul understood that too, leading to his cold pragmatism. But his soul was never at risk. Unlike the Emperor, Peter was not God’s viceregent and could not expect to be treated any different from the murderer he was on judgement day. It would however be enough if his children could be spared that fate.
Except your son will not be, spoke the treasonous voice in his head. He will be a part of the peacekeeping forces in Egypt. I wonder when the next riot will break out…
Paul however interrupted his reverie by turning around and finally choosing to reply back.
“We were. And I would have us executed for that if I were there. But tell me dear brother, did any of the people you put down shown even an iota of the courage you demonstrated to the most powerful man in the world?”
He had to admit, the answer was no. Never an attempt to join, only pleas and assaults. But a recruitment offer had never been made too, and he wondered how many would that have been swayed. Probably not that many. Xiphias wanted to kill as many Egyptians as possible. Even Komnenos wants land for his resettlement plans and so is trying to starve them to death. Any fool could see that.
Their discussion however was broken up by frantic knocking on the door. Must be John, he thought, coming to say sorry, as he headed to open the door, seeing that he was closer to it that Paul.
It was not John however, but a villager by the name of George who was panting, almost as if he had run there.
“Some folks are looking for you”, he told Paul. “Looks rich, and I thought you might like an advance warning, if this was about the recruiter for young John. Although I suppose his father could handle it now”, he added turning to face Peter.
The men in question walked into the space behind that very moment, and Peter’s eyes went as wide as possible. It cannot be, he thought as he prepared to kneel.
“Now, now, I am no longer your officer and you can drop all these formalities”, spoke the old man clad in brown. “I was passing by this village for business, and thought I would drop by to meet your brother, who you mentioned so often in Egypt. I am quite glad to see that they let you return home as well”.
He felt faint in the head, and he almost missed Paul’s whisper
“Business?”
“Oh dear, I see that your brother has not mentioned who I am. My name is John Lekepenos, and I was his superior in the Orphans. I retired a few years ago, and own some warehouses in Constantinople. This is Alexios, a fellow soldier of Peter who is currently serving as my guard”.
“Thank you for leading us here,” he added, turning to George. “Here is some compensation for your trouble”, he said, handling a solidus to the farmer who clearly could not believe his luck. “I think Peter would be able to help me from here”, clearly dismissing George, who quickly vanished, whistling at his good fortune.
“What do you think you are doing?” hissed Peter as soon as George was out of hearing. And why on earth are you playing along, Alexander?
“Visiting your brother. And don’t worry, we do have other men with me at the inn.”
“Not exactly the most inconspicuous of things to do!”
“They think I am just a rich merchant with associates.”
“Well,” Paul noted, stepping into the conversation. “Not if you continue to call it Constantinople instead of Istanbul.”
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“What truly brings you here, Basileus, Megas Domestikos?”
“I was touring the countryside, and realized that you and Paul live here, prompting me to drop in for a quick chat. Alexander of course volunteered for the unfortunate role of being my guard.”
“I thought you were needed in Constantinople.”
“So did I.”
A heavy silence followed, as the brothers tried to parse the entirety of his his statement. He would not be alive if there was a coup.
“What happened?”, asked Peter, perhaps a bit too roughly. “If you need assistance, I am sure I can raise some people to he-”
“It's not like that. Don’t tell me you have to not felt it already.”
“He has,” Paul noted. “But is unable to come to terms with it.”
“Terms with what?”, Peter snapped, turning to his brother.
But it was the Emperor who replied. “Acknowledged that you are no longer necessary.”
It almost felt as if Basil had stabbed him, but he could not deny the truth in those words.
“You too?”, he whispered, turning to face the man.
“Yes indeed. I thought I was needed in Constantinople after Stephen died, only to see that the government moved on without me. Oh sure, they listen to me, rush to follow my commands and look at me with worshipful eyes. But they do not need me to rule, not like the way they needed since John Tzimiskes died. The cogwheels of the Empire may run smoothly without me, as they did in Egypt under Alexander-although I was too vain to see that.”
“But surely you can find something to do?”
“Do what?,” the Emperor hissed. “I was raised in the Palace as a harmless princeling, to only watch Phokas and Tzimiskes in their glory in envy. I could have perhaps spent all my life idling away thus, if there had been a succession of generals who needed a symbol to legitimize their own power but lasted for too little to actually dispose of me and Constantine. That was not to be , and the Fates demanded that I play this Game of Thrones-my damned lot since the day I was conceived. The only way I could win in the Romania of my youth was through war and by being damn good at it. I did what I had to in order to survive at first, but it is intoxicating you know, being brilliant and well respected for something. Especially when it also meant glory for the Empire. My whole career had been been driven by ambition, with the Empire as foil. I fought even when it might have been in the best interest of Romania to not to, yet I kept on gambling with high stakes, and each victory made me more willing to risk more.”
“ Why not keep gambling then? Be a second Alexander or Trajan?” interjected the priest.
“Because I am weak! I have finally hit a wall. I cannot risk this all now, by moving to the table one more time. The peace and prosperity you see is ephemeral, a house of cards that needs to be carefully supported-not jeopardized by war! That is why I am not in Constantinople but touring the countryside, reminding myself what I will risk if I fight again.”
“That’s not it” , Peter said, something about the Emperor finally becoming clear. “No matter what you want us to believe about us being pawns in some game of your ambition. I know that you love Romania, Basileus! You would not have fought for the poor farmers at a tremendous personal risk otherwise! And even if you might have forgotten, I do remember your sleepless nights in the Palace, trying to find some way to keep the soup kitchens running, even if it meant cutting down on your personal expenses. And you did not do it because you feared God. You did it for the people, no matter what you thought of them.”
“You would of course believe that, puppet. I had you raised well.”
“You want us to believe that, Basileus. But I think I finally know better. How old was Kaisar John when we first met?”
“Yo-you bastard!”
“I saw you at your weakest. You did it for her.”, he said, hitting now that he knew he had the Basileus cornered. “You could not have gone back to Antioch to face her if you let us die that day. That’s why we were spared, and it must also be why you took him in," he noted, pointing at Alexander Komnenos. "Oh, it was an elaborate game you played, trying to act hard and merciless to two scared little children. But you never intended to harm us at all, you would not have given us shelter if you did. You came up with the Orphans afterwards, and that gave you a convenient excuse to save the children without having to appear weak. But I see you now!”
“When did you realize?”, whispered the Emperor, suddenly looking every bit the broken old man that he was.
“Egypt. I was on guard duty the night you heard that the Empress had been injured. I saw you change right before my eyes. Previously you were casting out the enemy to the Saracens, but after that night you ordered to slaughter anything that did not yield.”
He had not been on the site when Cairo fell. But he had heard the stories of the frenzied old Emperor swinging a sword alongside his guards, even when the adversaries had been mere children-boys too young to have facial hair. And he had seen the slaves working on the memorial, while the Emperor’s hard glare fell on their backs, every bit as harsh as the Egyptian sun. Something had broken in the Emperor after his wife was hurt. Previously he was bright as a flame, but it grew too bright, and consumed everything it touched. And now it was dim, barely burning in the blue eyes of the man in front of them.
They had nearly burned too. Many had in fact, been caught up with the murdering frenzy that their Emperor had sanctioned at first in Egypt, knowing that their basest desires could be satisfied by Copt or Muslim without their officers intervening. Some of the officers had indeed been concerned, and Alexander had begged the Emperor to let them rein their men in, only to be spurned. He had learned more about his colleagues than he had cared to, seen how low man could sink. And his hands were just as drenched with blood. Through inaction mostly, but the bloodlust had gotten the better of him at times too.
“All for the Empire” Paul noted. “However base were the motives, it has given us a strong Empire and God shall be grateful for that.”
“Not the reassurance I was looking for,”, Basil smiled weakly. “But thank you nonetheless.”
“Why did you come here if not for absolution?”, wondered the priest.
“That is between me and God, Paul. I appreciate the offer nonetheless. The real reason is that you will be leaving this village soon.”
“For?”
“Kallinikos. As bishop,” spoke Alexander Komnenos for the first time.
“The Megas Domestikos does not handle these rout-”
“For military districts, yes, Kallinikos will be placed under my direct command , to watch over the desert with the Saracens who are allied with us to keep others out. The city will finally be rebuilt in order to conduct operations in both the Levant and Mesopotamia as required. I need a local hand to help with that, one who understands the army and the need of discretion. One who knew Harun’s old city well”, said Alexander Komnenos.
“This, this is an enormous promotion.”
“Hardly. The Emperor was convinced you'll refuse, which is why he tagged along for extra persuasion."
"It is big step up, for one so young as yourself", interjected Basil. "Antioch might even be within reach, if my successor wills. But I have faith in your ability to ensure that the Saracens do not fall into their earlier ways, and to bring the few remaining Mahometans to our side.”
“Successor? But Basileus, you still have years left?”
“Not in Romania.”
“Where then?”
“The East. Andronikos Doukas told me all manner of things about Cathay. That is a worthy goal for one such as myself. And the Empire will not have to suffer for my latest adventure.”
“Kaisar Michael has accepted his new role then?”
“A hereditary Duchy over Mesopotamia and Armenia was all a suspected Nestorian could hope for, despite protests to the contrary. He did associate too much with the Assyrians to be a valid candidate for Constantinople.”
"I know you disagree, Alexander," Basil added, looking at the visibly uncomfortable Lord Komnenos. "But trust me in this, this will give him a safe avenue to release his bloodlust without harm to the Empire. Mesopotamia is big, and it has defeated far greater men than Michael. I would not let it become the graveyard for Romania a second time, but I would not be opposed to using it to achieve my means."
“Romania will not tolerate two crowns.”
“There is no alternative as of now. Which is why your role matters, Paul. I want you to understand that you must secure the loyalty of the tribes to Constantinople, not Nineveh. Kallinikos will be needed to defend Syria and Egypt if Michael or his sons go rogue. All manner of heterodoxy will be tolerated, as long as the desert dwellers understand that service to Romania is service to God. If all goes well, Constantinople will settle this matter in the next few generations.”
Paul nodded. “When will I have to leave?”
“Within a month of the official letter, which may take another three months. The Church will handle the details. Apologies for breaking up your family,” said the Emperor, with actually a slight apologetic tone.
“No worries, we are all breaking up now. Peter’s son is enlisting.”
“Is he?” the Emperor said. “Do you know where he will go?”
Here is your chance. The Vice-regent of God can stop your son, if you would ask him to.
“I do not know. Hopefully not Egypt.”
“I wish him the best.”
“Will you be here for long?”
“Just the night. We intend to be in Trebizond by the month ends. Which reminds me, you promised Alexander that you will treat him to your wife’s cooking if he ever visited you. I think I will take advantage of your proposal.”
“Ex-excuse me? It is plain fare, and certainly not-”
“Any worse than barrack food. Come on, you have seen what I eat.”
That was true. “Will your men be coming?”
“Oh, no. I will not impose them on you.”
He turned to his brother now, “Will you be joining us, Paul?”
“Later perhaps, I have duties I still need to attend to. I’ll visit you at the Inn later, Basileus, should you require anything of me.”
Basil nodded, and then strode to the exit, with Peter rushing to catch up.
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“I was sorry to hear about Kaisar John,” Peter said, trying to make small talk as they started walking back towards his home. He did not really feel sorry for the spoilt brat who had grown up to be a drunkard, but he was still Basil’s son. Another loss. No parent should have to bury their own child.
“It was expected, he always drank too much. Luckily he had the decency to die before setting Italy aflame with some folly.”
Dismissive as ever. It was an open secret that the Emperor hated both his sons, and Michael’s exile East might have been forced less by the Patriarch than the Autocrat of the Romans himself. And he is probably too stupid to see it, with his hero worship and the honeyed words his father must have sung onto his ears. John at least knew, and despised that fact. Which is why he hated us so much, for we probably got more attention from his father than he ever did.
Still, he had expected the Emperor to have felt some sadness over the death of a child, but he supposed that Basil would not now show any more weakness, after the very public mourning of the Empress. I’d feel terrible if it was my John though…
There was however another matter that was of urgency, which had been gnawing on him as soon as he had left the Church. Why exactly did Basil want Paul? They must have had other alternatives, less heretical ones even….
“Why did you actually come here?”
“To convince Paul to return to Kallinikos. I honestly admit I did not imagine that you’d be back.”
“But why him? You could have probably found better men in Constantinople.”
“Objectively yes, but probably not as loyal.”
“You might not be aware, but he has certain unorthodox views.”
“Regarding separation of Church and state? I am aware, I was warned.”
“And yet you-”
“That played in his favor actually.”
Peter froze. That was not the reply he had expected.
“You hate priests. You despised having to rely on the Alexandrian Patriarch for anything, and ranted about it in private to us.”
“That has not changed at the very least.”
“What did?”
“My personal preferences are irrelevant in face of what the Empire needs.”
“The Empire”, Peter hissed, “does not need more theokratia”.
“I wish you were right on that front, and I would have concurred if it was an ideal world we lived in.”
“The Syrians, Copts and like had been living under the rule of priests for centuries, surely you will agree the right thing to do is free them!”
“And replace it with what? They do not trust the Empire, and Basil wishes to look inwards. Without the constant presence of the Emperor in the East or the threat of Islam, who will tie these people to Constantinople? Certainly not the tax collector”, intejected Alexander.
“So you want the current state of affairs to continue?”
“I wish it was not necessary. But I cannot reverse the first Yarmouk, not even after winning the second.”
He understood what Komnenos meant. Christians in the Caliphate had few secular political figures left after the Empire’s collapse in the face of Islam. We were ruled by churchmen, who exploited us for their corrupt purposes, using God as an excuse, remembering his own early years and the fat priest who sucked his father’s money. Tearing up the Church in the East would be impossible, it was the symbol of free Christian people under the Muslim yoke and was their real basileus. And future Emperors would have even less clout in dealing with them than Basileos Soter, especially if they were as bureaucratic as Basil’s grandson. Slowly replacing it with Orthodoxy on the other hand will be simpler, than trying to end it in one fell swoop. Constantinople has money, and they don’t, and so they will lose a peaceful battle for the souls, especially if they are bribed right to look elsewhere. But for Orthodoxy to compete, it needs to take over the political role of the Church as well. Be the state itself, which is unpalatable for a trained theologer from the Aegean. Hence someone like Paul, who understood what the flock in the East wanted, and could sell it right. Someone to brainwash people into submission.
“So you will damn those people to the darkness of ignorance?”
“For now. Theokratia will end one day, when someone stronger than me faces it.”
“You better hope it does not take over the whole Empire by then.”
“It will not. The Aegean will last, and we will always return as long as we have the Sea.”
He was not convinced. Basil and Komnenos were playing with fire, and he hoped it would not burn them all. However, he realized that the Emperor could not be swayed, and so let it be.
“You are welcome to join me you know,” Basil suddenly said. “To Cathay. It will be very interesting. Lots of things no Roman has seen in centuries.”
“But you do not intend to return.”
“You may if you want to, but I will not-assuming I make it there in the first place. You are young, and may not feel the same way.”
“Plenty of risks along the way. Storms, pirates….”
“Indeed. But I knew some men who said they would follow me to death if it needed be.”
“This is not death though, what you are asking is far worse. Every man I served with would have willingly given their lives for you at Yarmouk, Alexandria or Italy. But to ask them to abandon their lives and families…”
“I know. Hence it is an offer, and not an order. If you think you can make a positive difference here, remain. If on the other hand you are weary of this world that does not need you anymore, you might in fact not mind an adventure. You have almost a year to decide, for the winds will not be right until next year.”
The Emperor’s further observations however drowned out by screams of “Father!” as he saw Stephen and Alexander run towards him, with John hanging a bit behind, looking ashamed. But Peter could not remain angry at his eldest anymore, and beckoned him too, being rewarded by a huge grin and an acceleration in pace.
“Boys, this is Kyrie John Lekepenos. He was my superior officer for many years, and currently works in his family business in Istanbul. With him is my friend Alexios, with whom I had served in Egypt.”
He saw Basil wince from the corner of his eye at the name, and resolved to poke later. The boys however did not disappoint and tried to salute the Emperor, who was visibly struggling to keep a straight face as he returned the gesture.
“It is a delight to meet all of you, and I look forward to meeting the rest of the family as well.”
“John here is the one enlisting,” Peter added, dragging the eldest forward.
“Is that so? Well, I am sure you will have an interesting time in the frontier.”
Alexander, ever the youngest, piped up. “But you were my father’s superior sir, and must have seen glorious things!”
“Indeed, I had been in the army for a while. Since Baghdad as a matter of fact, and I can tell you some interesting stories over food.”
It was strange, Peter thought, that the lowly tax collectors and bureaucrats showed such arrogance, when the Emperor of Romania and the Megas Domestikos laughed and joked with three village boys, sharing tales of glory in the past, without a care about social status. But that had always been the thing that made Basil truly Great, and what had earned Komnenos undying support from his men.
Basil will not be forgotten. Songs in his name will be sung till the end of the last Christian in Romania. The man who saved us all, Basileos Soter. And the People will save his achievements, even when the mighty cannot.
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“I am confused by something,” said the Emperor as Peter led him back to the inn. “Why do all of you insist on calling it Istanbul? That sounds so terrible and inelegant. Constantinople is the right name”.
Poor man. This is probably something he never learned despite all his time.“Well, the people in this part of the world have not known another City save the Queen of the Cities itself. So we tend to see it as simply The Polis, and call the road eis tin polis, which got bastardized to Istanbul.”
Basil froze. “That's what it means?”
“What did you think it meant?”
An embarrassed chuckle came from the Emperor, as he turned to glare at Alexander Komnenos. “Someone told me many years ago that it was actually Armenian, standing for Islam-bol- as it resisted the Saracens for so long.”
“Uh, the little Armenian I know would suggest it means nothing of that sort.”
“It always felt incongruous, but oh well. Now I see the problem. Seems like we need to invest more into schools these days. I am deeply unsatisfied with what your children are telling me.”
“You are being unrealistic Emperor. Peasants do not need to learn Homer, and be educated in the manner scholars are.”
“Therein lies your mistake. The dynatoi, Saracens and like can take all from you. Your land, money, family, limbs. But as long as you are alive, your education will never leave you. Without education, you will be cheated by moneylenders, merchants, nobles and anyone with it. Knowledge is the most effective form of power there is, which does not care if you are rich or poor, strong or crippled, Roman or barbarian.”
That was very eloquent.
“In another life,” continued the Emperor, “I think I would have preferred to have been like my grandfather. A scholar who lets others bear the sins of the world. Stephen taught me that much at least.”
“But,” argued Peter, “What difference will that name make? Constantinople or Istanbul, the City remains the same.”
“We should not forget our past. Children today learn the name of a filthy backwater in Italy as their identity. Yet, though we may call ourselves Romans, we are in truth the children of Byzantium and Constantinos Megas. The future of Romania will be bleak if our children do not know who we are. Thus, I hope that they will at least be able to properly name the foremost City of their Basileia. Without that, we will crumble to dust when the adversary comes.”
“Yet,”, argued Peter, “names are not everything. By simply calling it ‘The City’, we commoners show a devotion to it that Constantinople does not conjure. Names have power, but we ought not to make dynatoi of them”
And so they continued to banter, heading east towards the Inn, while the sun continued its descent behind them, bathing the City in question with its final lights. Constantinople might be stained red by the stuttering curses of Sol Invictus, but its streets will not be filled with blood and fire today, and hopefully not for the centuries to come either.
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The Emperor had retired to his room but Lord Komnenos had not, and was looking a bit uncomfortable. Peter had noted with some satisfaction that Komnenos was extremely silent throughout the day, loosening up with only the children. Marriage apparently does that to people.And now he has forgotten how to speak.
"What is it Alexander?"
"You don't want your son to join the army right? And you realize that I have the power to prevent him from-"
"I don't think he will forgive me if that happens. He'll know that someone pulled the strings because of me and resent me for it. Let him go where ever the office decides."
"Nonsense. The least I could do is to have him join my staff at Trebizond. He is quite behind on officer training, by most metrics-and some time with me could help with that."
"Well, I never wanted him to be one. But I suppose that will mean a better lie than just an enlisted grunt. Thank you."
"This is the least I could do. What is the point of having the second most powerful man of the Empire as your former boss if you can't get some favors?"
"Is that what they are calling you now? Congratulations on the marriage by the way."
A blush spread across Alexander's cheeks. "Thank you. Euphrosyne is expecting, and we will hopefully have one more mouth to feed by the end of the year."
"So you are the backup?"
"Unfortunately. The Emperor trusted no other man-not after the examples set by Phokas and Tzimiskes."
"How does it feel to be married to a Porphyrogenita?"
"Tiring. I have a feeling she wanted better for herself-the hero of Yarmouk is a good catch, but not as much as the Emperor of the Romans. She'd be scheming against little Basil if she was attached to someone else."
"I'd watch my back if I were you."
"Trust me, I do-all my servants are trustworthy and know I can outbid her if needs be. We all knew it was a terrible risk, and hence the Emperor ordered me to marry her. There are not enough of their family left, just Theodora, little Basil, Michael's lot who will never inherit, Zoe married to that Provencal Frank and Euphrosine. Leaving any of Constantine's girls unmarried would have been stupid, and the Emperor trusted that I would not move against Basl without just cause."
"Just cause?"
"Both of us have worried that he might have been a bit too affected by Egypt-to a point when he may be reluctant to go to war. Not the finest quality needed in an Emperor of the Romans. Hopefully it will not become an issue."
"And if it does?"
"We will endure. Perhaps not in Syria or Egypt-but Anatolia will stand-till the day Christ returns. Besides, no mortal man can take Istanbul anyways so it is all hypothetical."
"To Istanbul then!"
"To Istanbul! Now, you should stop wasting time with old comrades and head back and spend some time with your family, since you are going to follow the old man across the water. "
"I have not said yes."
"I know you too well. I wish I could go, but this Empire still needs more service from me."
"Farewell then, for now-I hope we meet again."
"I'll try to be in Istanbul when the Emperor leaves. If not, we'll meet in hell anyways."
"Nah, I am sure you'll be further down than I am, Lord Komnenos."
"I am sure I can persuade the devil to drag you there as well, but it wont be for a while now. Too much work needs to be done."
"Indeed. Keep Paul under control will you? His zealotry could get problematic."
"I was planning to. You can sleep well in your ship bunk knowing that much at least."
"Farewell then, Kyrie Komnenos."
"Farewell, Petros."
The Phillipines are an obvious base for dealing with China but the Romans are a long way off from that. I am also not letting the Angeloi anywhere close to the throne (that'll meet the dystopia criteria, but go in a direction I am a tad opposed to). Same with the Laskarids (unfortunately in this case). The Empire has internationalized beyond the old names, and the Makedonians may well be replaced by Suleiman Burji (I mean Solomon Bourtzes) or Roger (I mean, Rogerios) Hauteville 
