The Mauricians: A Medieval Roman novel
- Thread starter Pururauka
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Chapter 8 -I-
“Ave Chlotharius Rex!” went the acclamation in Latin, from the courtiers and clergy lined up on both ends of the chamber, once he reached the foot of the stone dais. “My lady” he said softly, acknowledging the Queen with a soft nod. Ah, I finally won…you old hag.
When the embassy from Burgundy first arrived, he had thought it a ruse, a trap to lure him out, and get rid of him. The offer had sounded too good to be true; nevertheless, after a month of exchanging ambassadors, he had agreed. In his opinion, the old fox was indeed raising some good points. Young Sigebert was King alright, but Theudebert had just lost his last war to Sigebert’s father, Theuderic, before the later departed to his death in Italy. The Austrasian monarch had motives to attempt revenge; to strike at the Burgundians now when they were at their weakest. Although it was common knowledge that Brunhilda was no fan of his, it seemed logical to realize that he had the strength necessary to protect the child King and to keep Theudebert at bay. By the same token, the additional requirements she had insisted on were rather modest; for him to name Sigebert as his heir in Burgundy, and to defeat the Romans, and their Lombard vassals, who had been crossing the Alps to raid the kingdom. In exchange, he would become the uncontested ruler of almost all of Francia. Pragmatism had forced his hand.
Brunhilda stood and proclaimed in Frankish: “Here stands Clothar, rightful King of all the Franks, and protector of our lord Sigebert!” A round of applause followed, before she added, “my lord, please join us at the dinner hall to celebrate your safe arrival.”
“I will be most obliged, my lady” he replied. He had to comply with all the formalities, all the niceties, of the royal protocol. All that bunch of shit.
As the attendants began to lead the line into the arched doorway to the left of the dual throne, Clothar continued to ponder. The preconditions were not hard to deal with at all. He could launch a small foray into Italy as a way to avenge Frankish honor, dealing with that portion of the bargain; maybe even profiting some from it. And Sigebert, well, he could always be dispatched to meet his father in death at a later point before reaching his majority, once his own rule was secure and unchallenged. Furthermore, and perhaps most important to him, he was now in a position to complete that longtime goal of his own mother’s, to kill Brunhilda. The old Queen was no longer in a position to oppose him, even if she had wanted to; he had marched into the realm at the head of large army, “to combat the Romans” of course, and the following day after mass, he was to be crowned as the sole King of Burgundy and Aquitaine, ensuing the abdication of his great-nephew.
The seat at the head of the table was now his; on sitting down, the chair creaked under his heavy weight, since he was no slim man. Sigebert took his place to the Clothar’s right, led by a domestic; Brunhilda to his left; the mayors of the palace of Burgundy and Neustria, Berthoald and Landeric [1], followed further down. The rest of the local nobility took their respective seats shortly afterwards.
Once the servants began serving the refreshments, Clothar turned to the four year old sovereign to his right. “Sigebert, it’s good to finally meet you son. Have you been behaving? Listening to what your grandmother says?”
The child assented eagerly, his golden hairs and the little crown on his head reflecting the dancing light from the candles. “Yes uncle.”
“Good, good then,” he answered in a jovial tone, before turning to Brunhilda. “It’s also great to see you in such good health, my lady…” No sooner had he finished uttering those words, a young brunette approached him from his left side, and filled his goblet with some of the sweet smelling wine she was carrying in a pitcher. Clothar glanced at the beautiful maid for a moment, forgetting about the Queen. The girl’s face was round, with a thin and elegant nose, and adorned with two wide, green eyes. Nor did he fail to notice the feminine curves under her dress, as his gaze involuntarily dropped lower. All right…
“Thank you” he said mechanically.
“My lord…” she replied shyly, somewhat surprised, before moving on to serve the mayors.
“It’s good to see God has kept you safe as well, my lord” Brunhilda responded aloud, recalling his attention abruptly.
“Yes…I… I beg…please enlighten me with regards to the extent of the damage that the Romans have caused. It was such a blatant example of bad judgment for Theuderic to get involved with them…” he petitioned, grabbing ahold of his cup. But his eyes continued to follow the damsel, as she left the room.
“He was a hotheaded youth. What could we have expected from a teenager?”
With the focus of his manly attention gone, he turned his head, only to realize that the Burgundian regent’s piercing blue eyes were now on him. That cold stare unnerved him; this woman was the cause his mother Fredegund’s death. The decade old feud had consumed her, and she finally had expired cursing her enemy’s name. It might have seemed trivial to some, how the whole affair had started. But it had been this bitch’s sister that dared to take my mother’s place at Father’s side. Until Fredegund took care of it all, and did away with Galswintha [2], anyhow.
This witch killed her, I know she did. Now, I’ll have her pay. “It is a real shame. Some young men have…what’s the word? Vision, yes that’s it. Foresight!” he replied, slapping the tabletop softly, and taking a sip of his drink shortly after. He could notice that she had not taken the comment lightly. Clothar was not an old man himself at twenty one; he had taken care of pointing that out.
“That is true, my lord” she answered finally, breaking eye contact.
That’s right. I’m your King now.
The food was served, and the rest of the afternoon was spent on casual conversation until the guests began departing. By the time everyone was gone, and Sigebert had been sent to bed, it was well past dark. Only Brunhilda, Berthoald, Landeric, and himself remained in the ample hall. Leaving the long table behind them, they walked over to the couches by the massive fireplace, and sat down before the twirling flames in the firebox.
“Well… now that we can talk at ease, tell me about the Roman problem” he demanded.
“My lord, since last year’s campaign, we’ve had to endure about two raids a month. At first the Romans themselves took part in them. But lately they’ve let their Lombard dogs off the leash. They’re the ones attacking now” Berthoald informed him.
“And you haven’t been able to manage that?” he inquired, sardonically, and making a face. “What strength do the Lombards have left?”
“Ahhmm…”the mayor mumbled, at a loss for words.
“We’ve had to guard the border against Theudebert. We do not possess enough strength at the moment to address the needs of both fronts” Brunhilda cut in.
“Perhaps, all we need is to chastise the Lombards. Give them a good bloody nose; that ought to keep them quiet for a while” Landeric proposed, crossing his arms.
“If you want partial results, take partial measures” the Queen declared, in a patronizing tone. “Besides, the Roman army is gone. And we’ve caught word of some interesting developments which should greatly ease your task in Italy, my lord…”
“And what would that be?”
“The Lombards have revolted against the puppet that ruled over them. They are in a war against the Romans themselves now” she announced, triumphantly.
Ha! Possibly, there might be more benefits to this raid after all…
“If that’s the case, why don’t we just let the problem take care of itself?” Clothar teased.
“Because whoever wins will have all of Italy and its resources, making it much harder to deal with in the future” Brunhilda snapped.
“I guess you’re right then. That surely does make things much, much easier, my lady” he retorted, amused. I can always deal with you when I get back, weighed down with Roman gold..
“I am glad we concur. I am afraid that is all the information that I have to share with you; Berthoald here will be able to brief you more extensively on any details you might want to know about” she offered, getting up from her seat. “If you would excuse me now, it has been a long day, and I would like to get some rest before tomorrow’s celebration.”
“By all means, my lady” Clothar answered, waving a hand before adding, “I’ll retire to my quarters myself. We’ll have enough time to discuss this later.” Both mayors stood up, but he remained seated, staring into the fire.
“Goodnight then.”
The Queen exited the room first, followed by Landeric. Yet, when Berthoald walked past him on the way out, he grabbed the Burgundian mayor by the arm and looked assertively into his eyes. “Just thought I would remind you; you work for me now. Is that clear?”
The older man nodded in silence, narrowing his own eyes slightly, “yes, my lord.”
“Good” Clothar said, letting go. “Now find the girl serving the wine at the table earlier, and send her to my room. I’m a widower [3] and tomorrow, I’ll be King of this land. Let me learn about its people.”
_______________________________
[1] Landeric, Neustrian Mayor of the Palace (c.604-c.613)
[2] Galswintha (b.540–d.568.) Daughter of Athanagild, King of the Visigoths, and sister of Brunhilda. She was married to Chiperic I of Neustria, but was murdered at Fredegund’s instigation, which aroused Brunhilda’s hatred and gave way to their long feud.
[3] Clothar’s first wife, Haldetrude, had died the year before in 604. Some sources claim that she passed shortly after the birth of her son Dagobert I, OTL’s Clothar’s heir.
Thanks for the comment.
The problem is, that there isn't much of a Roman army in Italy anymore. Only the principal cities are garrisoned (Rome, Ravenna, etc.) with nothing more than a "town watch," as well as some small sized contingents keeping things calm in the former duchies of Beneventum and Spoletium. Other than that, Theodosius needed every man he could get to go with him. He was not counting on the Lombards turning on him, at least so soon; and worse still, he had already written the Franks off after their defeat. Italy was supposed to be "safe."
It remains to be seen what successes Gisulf can achieve while he's unchecked, and how much of a commitment in Italy Clothar is willing to make.
Pururauka
Just come across this and fascinating read. Don't know enough about the history of the period to comment much but very interesting, although the way things are going it could even end up worse for the empire with the amount of chaos going on.
Italy and the west look very vulnerable. Not only thinly defended and with a rebel Lombard lord attacking but with the Franks also due to turn up. Furthermore there is the loss of Syracuse, the imperial fleet responsible for that threatening Italy's own grain supply and the planned attack on a virtually undefended Carthage. All with a 13 year old in 'command' and the Lombards and probably the Romans deeply split.
Its not really much better in the east with an increasingly unpopular and unstable emperor beset by enemies, far from all of his own making and the wheels coming off.
As someone else asked has there been any contact between Theodosius and the Iranians? Especially since the latter are officially invaded in support of his claim to the throne. By now he's probably experienced enough to take that with a pinch of salt [one about the size of Italy] but would expect there would be some correspondance between the two of them. If nothing else if Phocas is defeated, apart from anything else there are going to be sizeable Iranian armies on large tracks of the empire and I doubt Theodosius believes they will just leave without a word.
Love the assorted character viewpoints, especially from some of the ordinary people seeking to just survive. Rather hope the Iranian soldier will make it home to his family for instance. Also intrigued to see what will happen to the fish seller in Constantinople.
Anyway, subscribing so as to keep in touch with this excellent TL.
Steve
Just come across this and fascinating read. Don't know enough about the history of the period to comment much but very interesting, although the way things are going it could even end up worse for the empire with the amount of chaos going on.
Italy and the west look very vulnerable. Not only thinly defended and with a rebel Lombard lord attacking but with the Franks also due to turn up. Furthermore there is the loss of Syracuse, the imperial fleet responsible for that threatening Italy's own grain supply and the planned attack on a virtually undefended Carthage. All with a 13 year old in 'command' and the Lombards and probably the Romans deeply split.
Its not really much better in the east with an increasingly unpopular and unstable emperor beset by enemies, far from all of his own making and the wheels coming off.
As someone else asked has there been any contact between Theodosius and the Iranians? Especially since the latter are officially invaded in support of his claim to the throne. By now he's probably experienced enough to take that with a pinch of salt [one about the size of Italy
] but would expect there would be some correspondance between the two of them. If nothing else if Phocas is defeated, apart from anything else there are going to be sizeable Iranian armies on large tracks of the empire and I doubt Theodosius believes they will just leave without a word.Love the assorted character viewpoints, especially from some of the ordinary people seeking to just survive. Rather hope the Iranian soldier will make it home to his family for instance. Also intrigued to see what will happen to the fish seller in Constantinople.
Anyway, subscribing so as to keep in touch with this excellent TL.
Steve
Pururauka
Just come across this and fascinating read. Don't know enough about the history of the period to comment much but very interesting, although the way things are going it could even end up worse for the empire with the amount of chaos going on.
Italy and the west look very vulnerable. Not only thinly defended and with a rebel Lombard lord attacking but with the Franks also due to turn up. Furthermore there is the loss of Syracuse, the imperial fleet responsible for that threatening Italy's own grain supply and the planned attack on a virtually undefended Carthage. All with a 13 year old in 'command' and the Lombards and probably the Romans deeply split.
Its not really much better in the east with an increasingly unpopular and unstable emperor beset by enemies, far from all of his own making and the wheels coming off.
As someone else asked has there been any contact between Theodosius and the Iranians? Especially since the latter are officially invaded in support of his claim to the throne. By now he's probably experienced enough to take that with a pinch of salt [one about the size of Italy
Love the assorted character viewpoints, especially from some of the ordinary people seeking to just survive. Rather hope the Iranian soldier will make it home to his family for instance. Also intrigued to see what will happen to the fish seller in Constantinople.
Anyway, subscribing so as to keep in touch with this excellent TL.
Steve
Ah, a thorough comment. These are always a treat!
Your overall assessment of the Roman Empire is good. In the West, the Lombards are not likely to stick by their child king and his Catholic mother; besides she’s already fled to Ravenna. Although they themselves are not in the best of shapes, having been almost crushed by Theuderic, the numbers they can field will still surpass whatever the Romans manage to muster, since practically every male from his teens on would be drafted.
Clothar, at this point is indecisive about committing to an actual war; at the most, he’d launch a large raid. His real focus is in Francia; but the news presented by Brunhilda about the instability in the south might change his mind, should he choose to cross the Alps after all.
And Domentziolus, well, he’s due to show up sometime soon.
In the East, the Iranian advance into Anatolia has been temporarily halted. But Phocas’ hopes there hinge on a single man, Bonosus. Syria’s been given up, with the Mauricians advancing from the south, and the Sassanians from the north.
With regards to communication between Theodosius and Khosrau; there hasn’t been any. Theodosius has been busy in Egypt, and the Shah is not in a hurry to let his pretext get in the way of his advance. Nevertheless, their respective forces are about to run into each other in the Levant; and the next update (8 -II-) will finally address this point.
Glad you enjoy the other characters. Trust me, they all have a role to play in the story, but their journeys there, are illustrative of the times and the circumstances.
Thanks for the subscription, and I hope to keep you entertained!
Chapter 8 -II-
He had not been there when it happened; but he could always replay it in his head during his dreams. That’s my curse. The pagarch and his thugs ride into his lands “to collect taxes.” His father Apollos sees them coming and runs to try to stop them; the slaves and farmhands scramble to grab whatever valuables they can hide; Maria, furious, watches from inside the house, through the half open doorway. Horses neigh, ducks quack and geese honk.
“Proterius! You know fully well this is unnecessary!” Apollos calls out, stretching a hand in front of him.
The Imperial official ignores him, as some soldiers spread out into the fields, others enter the house. Yet again, Proterius throws the scroll at Dioskoros’ father’s face. Apollos does neither pick it up nor open it; he knows the contents. The Imperial decree adorned with Maurice’s monogram in purple ink, ordering all new, higher, taxes to be collected on time. With no excuses. And the pagarch loves his job, to the degree of collecting in advance.
Damn! Why couldn’t I just leave on time!
But money had gotten in the way. Business had gotten in the way. His profession had gotten in the way. And so, he stayed in Antinoopolis an additional day. And that had been the day it had all happened.
He sat up on the side of the bed. Outside the reverberant sound of the wooden semantron from the neighboring Church of St. Mark began to summon the early risers to the day’s matins. He ran a hand over his face, and scratched its side, letting his fingertips be rubbed by the beard along his jaw. Better get up Dioskoros; you’ve got things to do, places to go. But inevitably, his mind wandered.
The soldiers load up what they can, and begin to converge near the entrance. Their leader will not wait for them to finish; accompanied by two guards he starts back for Antaeopolis. This is the only occasion in which he is not present when the vultures swoop down on his lands. Accustomed to their searches, he always even set aside some money to let the pagarch pay the men off, men whom he would not have personally blamed as they lacked steady employment, and the damage was contained. God damn it Maria, why didn’t you just stay put! If she had, she might have been there when he got back. But then again, that was not like Maria. Timidity had not been one of her virtues.
Proterius continues up the dirt road, only to find his path blocked by a pregnant woman. Dioskoros could not help but wonder if he would have even stopped to try to dissuade her. Does it matter now? … Did it then? The result had been the same; the bastard had ridden over his wife, and his unborn son. And when he finally made it back to Aphrodito, they were both dead.
Getting up, he walked over into the adjacent room, and grabbed an empty wooden bowl from the small shelves. Mechanically, he placed it on the table, and poured some water into it, from the neighboring amphora. Cupping his hands together, he scooped up some of the cold fluid, and splashed it on his face. He had wanted to kill the motherfuckers. He had wanted to kill Proterius, the Duke of the Thebaid, and the Emperor Maurice. He had wanted to tie them to his horse’s tail, one by one, and ride into the Libyan wastelands, scorching their backs and chests with the burning sands of the desert. He dipped out some more cold water, and resumed washing his face.
Apollos had had to confine him to one of the rooms of the house, guarded by a slave at all times. “Let me go!” he had yelled, screamed like a madman, deep into the night. But his father had not relented. For three months he had been locked inside, with his nightmares and his ghosts. Surely, the pagarch must have taken advantage of his absence; once he was finally allowed to step out, he realized how many heads of cattle were missing, how many more cottages had sprung up in lands that he had considered his own and were now sold off, and how the numbers of servants had considerably diminished; all to pay for Proterius’ greediness.
I might as well go to Mass. It’s no use going back to bed now, he thought drying his face with a rag.
Leaving isolation had done little to assuage his mind and help him forget. His release had brought him face to face with the developments which had engulfed the Romans; Maurice was dead, and their country was now being fought over by Theodosius and Phocas. At the same time, the Persians were advancing from the East. The whole world was going to shit. Staying would have not done him any good. He quit Aphrodito, and moved to Alexandria, and gave himself over to his occupation, in an attempt to forget. Arranging the distribution of incoming spices from India, and gold and silver from Constantinople, he soon made a name for himself in the capital of the Diocese. For two years he traded, haggled, and gained wealth. But nostalgia and memories would haunt him constantly. Once he could not take it anymore, he returned home to face his demons.
The proud abode of the descendants of Psimanobet, had by then reached its lowest point. Only ten slaves lingered by Apollos’ side. The only animals that remained were the geese and the ducks; while two thirds of the remaining lands that had not been sold, had been rented out to tenants, as they could not have been worked by the handful of slaves. His father had even been removed from his official position as contributor [1], having lost his status as Protokomitis [2] long before. Although happy for reuniting with his progenitor, Dioskoros then could not help but feel incensed at the enduring family misfortunes.
Having put on a clean tunic, he fixed a white chlamys on top, and stepped out onto the already warm street. The first rays of sunlight made all rooftops of Pelusium orange, and the copper dome of the Church shined with a heavenly glow. It seems the Lord is in. He knows I need his advice.
“You have to go. You have to meet him! We could never have afforded the trip to Constantinople before, but now Constantinople has come to us!” So much had Apollos insisted, that on he had gone to meet the son of Maurice at Alexandria shortly after his arrival. The son of the man who had commanded Proterius to sack his home, and responsible for the death of Maria and his child. Perhaps, this was his chance to finally settle things; he had not really cared about the rule of Phocas, under whose authority Egypt had remained, since problems, his problems, had continued unchecked. But, Theodosius could certainly pay for the sins of his father.
What had motivated him at that time, to leave behind the dagger he had brought with him, in the room where he had been staying? He did not know then. He thought he did now; maybe he had wanted to provoke the young ruler. Maybe I wanted to reunite with Maria. But after a day of hesitation he departed for his meeting without the blade. Had they found it on him when he was seized after Eulogius’ pawn was killed, he surely would not be breathing at the present. But an overpowering disdain, or perhaps bravery, had allowed him to speak his mind in front of the Emperor, making the knife irrelevant in his mind. Careless about death, he could at least speak truth to power. And after an initial surprise, and resentment, Theodosius had liked that.
“Welcome brother” greeted him a monk by the Church steps.
“Thank you brother” he replied, stepping into the house of worship.
Why did you warn him? Why did you tip Theodosius off? He could have been dead by now…someone else could have done what I wanted to do…could justice have been done?
Proceeding into the ambulatory, the large rotunda of the Church’s nave opened before him, awing him with the divine glow of its golden mosaics, as the morning light penetrated through the high windows. The archangels, the Apostles, and above the iconostasis, Jesus Christ himself stared down at him, all with an overpowering glare. No, not justice… forgive me Lord. Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. He decided to remain standing, leaning against one of the pillars sustaining the dome, as the priest began the service.
Eulogitos O Theos imon pantote, nyn kai aei kai eis tous aionas ton aionon…
Theodosius had questioned him personally on the nature of his impertinence. Without reservations, he had told him everything. John, the Comes Excubitorum, had slapped him a few times, but since he had stuck to his story, corporal punishment did not get worse. They took him to one of the makeshift prisons of the Duke of Aegyptus’ palace, and there he had stayed for two weeks. On the fifteenth day, he was dragged back out before the Emperor, questioned one more time, and finally released. By then, Theodosius had had his revenge: Eulogius had been unceremoniously seized and quietly executed, while the Monophysite Patriarch Damian was allowed back into Alexandria.
But just as Dioskoros had been preparing to return to Aphrodito, the excubitors had seized him once again and brought him back to the metropolitan mansion. “The Roman Empire needs your assistance,” Theodosius had informed him pompously. Shrugging he had refused, arguing about his incompetence, and his ignorance of the world at large.
“You are a blunt man. You are an honest man. You detested Us, and could have kept quiet as We were killed. But you didn’t. And for that, We thank you.” The price of his cooperation stared at him with its cold, dead eyes from the basket placed at his feet. Justice. During what had seemed an eternity, he stared at Proterius’ head; at its once proud features, which had turned into purpling wrinkles on a decaying bag of flesh. He had felt nothing at the time: no relief, no satisfaction, no peace. Just emptiness. The hate that had sustained him for so long had been deprived of its nourishment. Before he had realized it, he was an imperial ambassador, tasked with encountering the Persians and presenting Theodosius’ peace offers, ahead of the Emperor’s own advance into Palestine. Escorted by a handful of guards led by the Kouropalates Heraclius, he was to set sail later in the day from Pelusium, to Berytus.
… Amen. Agios O Theos, Agios Ischyros, Agios Athanatos, eleison imas…
He crossed himself. An unwilling participant in the war, he was now knee deep in it. For years, he had asked God for a diversion, for his mind to be distracted from that tormenting past, to be removed from painful memories. And God had finally listened.
_________________________________________
[1] One of the Contributaries (Syntelestai.) A group of village officials responsible for Aphrodito’s tax collection.[2] Village headman. A position first held in the family by Apollos the Elder, in 514.
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Now we see if they Persians will keep their facade up or not. Were they in a better position OTL at this point in time?
An excellent update: glad to see that "my" character is flourishing so well!
As a note to readers: the hometown of the Psimanobet family, Aphrodito, had the right to raise its own taxes and present them directly to the provincial authorities of Antinoopolis, rather than going through the "pagarchs", an office that can perhaps be equated with something like "sheriff". This was because until the fourth or fifth century, the village had enjoyed Polis status, before this was taken away in a reorganisation. To sweeten the blow, Aphrodito was allowed to retain considerable civic independence, and it was therefore unusually large for a "village", with a population certainly numbering upwards of two thousand taxpaying men alone.
This status, and the ensuing prosperity, became a cause of resentment and jealousy from the neighbouring villages, especially Phthla, part of the Nome (county) of Antaeopolis. Incursions happened into Aphrodito's land in the 540s and again in the 560s, which Dioscorus of Aphrodito (the famous one who I did my dissertation on, and the grandfather of the Dioskoros of this story) vigorously complained about, petitioning first Justinian and especially Theodora, and then Justin II. Aphrodito's special status seems to have been guaranteed by the Palace itself, and it's not impossible that Theodora had direct links with the village linking back to her reputed Egyptian "exile" in the 520s, when she found God. Certainly, the Dioscorus of OTL refers to her as "mother" of the community, and later reminds Justin II that Aphroditans are "men of the imperial house".
So, when Maurice was short of cash, I felt a village like Aphrodito, to which he had precisely zero connection, would be a tempting target for him. He duly revokes Aphrodito's privileges with one sweep of a bureaucratic pen, and the pagarchs descend upon a helpless target.
I liked this update a lot, although I think perhaps it could benefit from having all of this made a little bit clearer. Young Dioskoros' views of the fairly arrogant and precocious Theodosius III made me smile, and it's a realistic touch: I'd imagine that Theodosius, brought up his whole life to rule, really would be rather arrogant and lacking in the common touch. Hopefully we can see him grow into his rule, although equally it'd be a fun twist to have him die on the point of an Iranian spear at the moment his victory seems most assured. Maybe I'm just too influenced by a certain George R.R. Martin scene? In any case, Theodosius' demise could see a host of new pretenders spring up, and of course thrust power unexpectedly onto the young Tiberius, who'd be competing for power in the West with his infant nephew. It'd be such fun I see no reason for you NOT to do it!
How old is Dioskoros now? His grandfather was born in 520, and his father Apollos (a character briefly mentioned IOTL, I think, named for his own grandfather) would have been born in the early 540s. So, I'd imagine Dioskoros Junior is maybe thirty, perhaps a little less? He'd have some memories of his illustrious grandfather, I'd imagine, so perhaps those could be reminisces for a later chapter?
One small critique: Alexandria was the capital of the Diocese of Egypt. For Dioskoros, the "Province" would mean the Thebaid, which, as you've correctly stated, was administered from Hadrian's foundation at Antinoopolis.
So many ways you could take this: I remain entirely hooked!
As a note to readers: the hometown of the Psimanobet family, Aphrodito, had the right to raise its own taxes and present them directly to the provincial authorities of Antinoopolis, rather than going through the "pagarchs", an office that can perhaps be equated with something like "sheriff". This was because until the fourth or fifth century, the village had enjoyed Polis status, before this was taken away in a reorganisation. To sweeten the blow, Aphrodito was allowed to retain considerable civic independence, and it was therefore unusually large for a "village", with a population certainly numbering upwards of two thousand taxpaying men alone.
This status, and the ensuing prosperity, became a cause of resentment and jealousy from the neighbouring villages, especially Phthla, part of the Nome (county) of Antaeopolis. Incursions happened into Aphrodito's land in the 540s and again in the 560s, which Dioscorus of Aphrodito (the famous one who I did my dissertation on, and the grandfather of the Dioskoros of this story) vigorously complained about, petitioning first Justinian and especially Theodora, and then Justin II. Aphrodito's special status seems to have been guaranteed by the Palace itself, and it's not impossible that Theodora had direct links with the village linking back to her reputed Egyptian "exile" in the 520s, when she found God. Certainly, the Dioscorus of OTL refers to her as "mother" of the community, and later reminds Justin II that Aphroditans are "men of the imperial house".
So, when Maurice was short of cash, I felt a village like Aphrodito, to which he had precisely zero connection, would be a tempting target for him. He duly revokes Aphrodito's privileges with one sweep of a bureaucratic pen, and the pagarchs descend upon a helpless target.
I liked this update a lot, although I think perhaps it could benefit from having all of this made a little bit clearer. Young Dioskoros' views of the fairly arrogant and precocious Theodosius III made me smile, and it's a realistic touch: I'd imagine that Theodosius, brought up his whole life to rule, really would be rather arrogant and lacking in the common touch. Hopefully we can see him grow into his rule, although equally it'd be a fun twist to have him die on the point of an Iranian spear at the moment his victory seems most assured. Maybe I'm just too influenced by a certain George R.R. Martin scene?
In any case, Theodosius' demise could see a host of new pretenders spring up, and of course thrust power unexpectedly onto the young Tiberius, who'd be competing for power in the West with his infant nephew. It'd be such fun I see no reason for you NOT to do it! How old is Dioskoros now? His grandfather was born in 520, and his father Apollos (a character briefly mentioned IOTL, I think, named for his own grandfather) would have been born in the early 540s. So, I'd imagine Dioskoros Junior is maybe thirty, perhaps a little less? He'd have some memories of his illustrious grandfather, I'd imagine, so perhaps those could be reminisces for a later chapter?
One small critique: Alexandria was the capital of the Diocese of Egypt. For Dioskoros, the "Province" would mean the Thebaid, which, as you've correctly stated, was administered from Hadrian's foundation at Antinoopolis.
So many ways you could take this: I remain entirely hooked!
ImperatorAlexander
I think I can guess what Khosrau's reaction will be, although it will be politically a bit more awkward given that Theodosius is a clear heir to Maurice rather than OTL Heraclius, who could be dismissed as just another usurper. He might try and hide the situation by making demands that he's confident Theodosius will have to reject.
The Persians are in a better position than OTL I think simply because things are happening earlier. However simply the anti-Phocas camp is much stronger earlier, with a blood heir to Maurice and already in control of Egypt. Since the Persians are rather between the two Roman factions they can't really afford at this point to end up fighting both of them so not sure what he will do.
It could be that Bonosus is going to end up being one of the most important characters in the empire. If Phocas's position continues to decline but there is a clear break between Theodosius and Khosrau you might see some agreement for him to join the imperial camp. Although this would be risky as he would then be caught between two fires so I think it would require he gets substantial support from Theodosius. It also assumes that, now reinforcements have arrived for the Persians he can still hold them in Anatolia.
Steve
The more I think about it, the more likely I think it is that Theodosius is going to meet a sticky end for the demands of the story. So, calling that outcome now!
If thats what it takes to decide a characters fate, then I call for Theodosius' survival and an early assassination of Khosrau, as he is more successful earlier, his noble types get uneasy and his son wacks him, also would be a completely(except by me) unexpected plot twist.
On another note entirely, great update, pairing Dioskoros up with Heraclius is pretty cool, though, i wonder at sending Theodosius' right hand man to the foreign invader is a smart thing to do, on the one hand it signifies respect but, again if the Persians get all treacherous and murdery then he loses his best general, or at least one of them.
Just wondering about Heraclius' brother Theodore, what has he been doing this whole time?
On another note entirely, great update, pairing Dioskoros up with Heraclius is pretty cool, though, i wonder at sending Theodosius' right hand man to the foreign invader is a smart thing to do, on the one hand it signifies respect but, again if the Persians get all treacherous and murdery then he loses his best general, or at least one of them.
Just wondering about Heraclius' brother Theodore, what has he been doing this whole time?
Andristan
Damn it. I was so concentrating on Dioskoros I missed that Heraclius was sent alone as well. That could be costly as assassination might be an option Khosrau chooses. Not to mention it sounds like Dioskoros is formally in charge which might not go down too well with Heraclius, who is just in charge of the guards.
Steve
As stevep has already said, they are in a better position ITTL. IOTL, Khosrau did not successfully seize Mesopotamia until 608-9, the invasion of Armenia did not begin until 608, and Antioch did not fall until 611.
I would have thought him in his early to mid-thirties, having been born around 570. Most definitely, Dioscuros the Elder will have left an impression on his mind, as he was the last “powerful” man of their house. Surely he’d have memories of him, and you know what that means: a PM!
Noted, and corrected!
Indeed. Phocas did mention the need to prepare a second force to be sent into Syria once Bonosus stabilized things in Armenia. But until then, the East depends solely on him.
I am aghast at your disregard for our young protagonist! I command you to put down the Martin books at once!The more I think about it, the more likely I think it is that Theodosius is going to meet a sticky end for the demands of the story. So, calling that outcome now!
And, have you no faith in ‘Khosrau, Greatest of the Gods, and Master of the whole Earth’ either?
Let’s remember that Theodosius, by all means would trust Heraclius more than Dioskoros, so perhaps he’s been sent with a mission of his own…
And pray that the Iranians don’t lose their cool and go on a murderous rampage.
Theodorus has remained as part of the Imperial party, as such we can imagine him enjoying a good time, for the moment, along with the Goths at Alexandria.
Chapter 8 -III-
“When can we expect the equipment?” Eugenius inquired out loud, as they continued riding.
“My Lord, the arrival will be delayed until tomorrow” Arioald, one of his guards, informed him.
“Not to worry. We can go ahead and start setting up a perimeter around the city. Gather our men on the south side, by the lagoon” he ordered him. The faster we get this over with, the better. The soldier assented, turned his horse, and quickly galloped away.
Rebelling against the puny wife of the dead King had been necessary to restore the virility and strength of the nation. They had been forced to observe calmly how their brothers in the south had been wiped out; then to support the Romans in their civil strife; then to be caught in the crossfire of yet another Roman war; then to surrender their rightful conquests south of the Po; and finally, most ignoble of all for him, was the submission of the dukes to a Catholic woman and a toddler. Holy God, thank You for delivering us from that evil…
Now, his advanced age notwithstanding, Gisulf had called on all of the Lombards, and they had rallied to his banner; old and young, warriors and nobles. Most of them must have felt the same way Eugenius had. And the former Duke of Friuli was about to show the Romans that the Lombards had come to Italy to stay.
The faraway female cries reached his ears, like a sweet, enchanting melody. He spurred on his mount, and reached the end of the wooded patch they had been traveling through; the open plains surrounding the marshes of Ravenna spread out before him. A large part of the light horsemen had already made it there, as they were raiding the small hamlets surrounding the Italian capital. Some of the huts were on fire, while several of the women captured had been dragged towards a guarded spot nearby. But the greater part of the Romans were trying to flee through the causeways leading into the city; and from the distant walls he could distinguish a few of their soldiers already preparing to face them. Overhead, dark clouds and rumbling thunder, announced the approach of a nearing storm. Ah…sweet battle…
“Lord Eugenius, the King calls on you” announced the voice from behind. Turning his head slightly, he noticed another of their soldiers. “He wants you to present the terms to the Romans.”
Scoffing, he answered, “let’s not keep them waiting then.”
Eugenius was one of those “oddities” that had sprung up since the creation of the Kingdom with the arrival of the Langobardi, almost half a century before. Though he had been born to a Roman matron from Mediolanum, he liked to consider himself a Lombard, like his father. He had been raised in the prevailing Arian faith, had been trained in arms since his teenage years, and had only learned to read and write recalcitrantly, at the insistence of his annoying mother. The overtly pro-Roman policy of the former King had made him reject his widow and heir once Agiluf passed, and support old Gisulf, when the Duke raised the flag of revolt. Thanks to his brilliance and eagerness, in the space of a month, he had become an indispensable secretary to the new monarch, and his fluency in both Lombardic and Latin, had made him a vital asset to keep close at hand.
Although confident in their ultimate success, he knew fully well where Lombard limitations lay. They suffered from an almost complete lack of cavalry, and even their infantry needed to be kept together, in concentrated numbers, in order to be effective. As a result their movement would be slow. Similarly, the dugouts that were on the way were not those titanic ships that the Romans had. Pondering on these shortcomings, as he detected the nearby King’s guard, he noticed that the city gates had been shut, while the movement of troops on the parapets had become more apparent. In spite of their own problems, he knew that the garrison could not be such a great obstacle; Theodosius had barely left anything but downsized town watches throughout Italy. Ravenna at best, being the capital, would count on around five hundred men. Should Callinicus choose to arm the populace, the outcome would still be the same. He also knew that the larger part of the enemy navy was at the other end of the world, in the East. With the siege towers and ladders they had manufactured, paired with the fleet that would arrive to cut off any help from the sea and block the port of Classe, the ring around the Italian metropolis would be whole.
“You called my Lord?” he asked, riding up to the royal entourage.
“Yes” Gisulf answered, “I want you to translate the terms for me.”
He assented hastily. At a distance, the two riders that had notified the city about the King’s intention were returning, and further back approached a group of ten Roman soldiers, on horseback. Eugenius, Gisulf, and the royal guards rode up to meet them halfway. Their leader was a fair-haired man, attired in a fine bronze cuirass, and apparently of a higher stature than his retinue. “I am dekarchos Rodoald, of the Emperor’s armies. I am here on behalf of the Exarch Callinicus” he declared sternly, pulling on his steed’s reins. “And who are you?”
“I am Eugenius, captain of King Gisulf’s armies” he answered calmly.
The Roman officer chuckled. “And with a name like that, what are you doing fighting for the barbarians?” he asked him, brusquely.
“And with a name like Rodoald, what are you doing fighting against them?” countered Eugenius. There were a few nervous seconds of silence, before Gisulf finally started in Lombard, “Enough. Tell him that we can and will destroy this city and kill everyone inside it, if they do not turn it over now. I will give them the opportunity to do so only once.”
Eugenius translated this into Latin, but the dekarchos would not let up. “We do not surrender; the soldiers of the Empire always fight to the death” he ended, staring at Gisulf dead in the eyes.
After he interpreted this, Gisulf broke into laughter. “Like the capitulation of Milan? Of Pavia? Of Friuli when we rode in with Alboin? Please!” he refuted.
Rodoald’s brow stiffened. “Do you think that we need to even hear you, fucking dog?” he retorted in Lombardic, surprising Gisulf and the rest. “You thought I did not know your barbarous tongue? These negotiations are over. Go fuck yourself.” Concluding the derogatory remarks, he turned his horse and returned to the city, surrounded by his men. The Lombards sentries, Eugenius included, had unsheathed their own swords at the ambassador’s affront, but Gisulf stopped them, stretching hand out. “Save your energy, there’ll be plenty of time to find that loudmouth in the city… later.”
And with some luck, we’ll find Theodelinda and Adaloald as well. All around them, the first squadrons of infantry had begun to arrive, and proceeded to take their places at the edge of the bogs. The orders by their respective commanders indicated the men where to set camp, where to march to, and where they were to be posted when the call for the assault was finally given.
“Tasso [1], you will take the lead in the northern wing. Coordinate the placement of at least thirty ladders on that section of the wall” the King indicated to his eldest son, and heir, there present, while studying the battlements of the Exarchal bastion.
“Yes father” the prince acknowledged.
“Kakko, you will remain at my side, until the final assault’s been launched.”
“But father…” started new Duke of Friuli, sitting on the horse next to Tasso’s.
“But nothing! You will do as I say, and that’s that!” Gisulf snapped at his younger son, without facing him either.
Easy boy. There’s going to be plenty of opportunities for you to kill. The country is wide, long, and unprotected, Eugenius thought to himself. The situation was indeed bleak for Theodosius’ loyalists. Once Ravenna fell, the royal armies would not encounter another “well-defended” city until they approached Rome itself. Should they choose to bypass it, in case the defenses were more formidable than here, which he doubted, the Lombards in Beneventum and Spoletium would welcome them with open arms and boost their numbers. The possibility of total victory for the new King seemed at hand; and for the secretary of the Ruler of All Italy, things did not look so bad either.
As he continued to contemplate that future, the shriek of man pierced the air. Turning his gaze in the direction of the noise, he realized that the Roman defenders had begun to discharge their arrows on the most daring Lombards, those few who had approached the walls on their own, to survey the terrain; and one of them had been hit. Seconds later, following a blinding lightning bolt, a soft rain began to fall on the contenders.
“Well then…” Gisulf mumbled, looking up at the Imperial banners waving on the towers, and taking a deep breath, “…so it begins…”
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Yeah, me too. Why do I have the feeling the Lombards are going to get exremely bloodied (and repulsed) whilst attacking the small section of wall they can actually reach (due to the marshes) and then fall back when word reaches them that a new enemy has crossed the Alps ?
Yeah, I get that feeling too. The defenders of Ravenna seem intent on giving the Lombards a run for their money.
A feisty one, isn’t he?
Ravenna is a tough nut to crack. But sadly at the moment, an undermanned one, with no hope of immediate reinforcements.
@Magnum: You might be right; if the Romans manage to hold for that long, Gisulf might pull back, to cover his own bases. But let’s remember, that Clothar isn’t intervening in support of either side. If he does invade, north Italy will degenerate into a free-for-all battlefield, with everyone against everybody.
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