The Mauricians: A Medieval Roman novel
- Thread starter Pururauka
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Chapter 10 -I-
He wanted to jump. Spring up, spread his arms out, and fly. The absurdity of the thought could not possibly hinder his impulses, nor his puerile fantasies. Was he in love? He was not sure. Maybe. But of one thing he was certain: he wanted to see her, and be with her, again.
“… exactly my lady. At the very least to prevent any misfortunes, Caesar, yourself, and young Maurice should relocate to Naples. I could stay here and overlook the organization of the counteroffensive…”
Anna. Was that really her name, or had she just given him some alias, a made up stage name, in order to please his insistent queries? No…Anna is a beautiful name. It suits her well. Too well. The concoction of emotions racing about his head, and his heart, overpowered him. He wished he could write those long poems that the Hellenic writers of antiquity had created, but in her honor. He struggled trying to find a way to swipe her off her feet. He made an effort to remember every detail of the day before; how they had embraced, lain together, and what he had learned. He thought of her face, her lips, her breasts…
“Caesar!”
“Sorry…”
“Are you feeling ill, Tiberie?” asked him his sister-in-law. “You have not touched your food.”
Feeling the hot blood rushing to his face, blushing terribly as if his intimate thoughts had been exposed, he replied briskly, “No! Not in the least…I’m fine…” Grabbing the nearby fork he stuffed his mouth full with the diced chicken from the plate in front of him, to avoid elaborating further. How embarrassing! He attempted to focus on the ongoing conversation, he could always fantasize later. The talk seemed to be on the war in the north, the Lombards, the newly arrived Franks, and something else.
“There are but five hundred men coming from the south. That’s all that can be spared Procopie!” Theodelinda, the Lombard Queen continued, before turning to Irene. “My lady, even with the forces loyal to my son, we will not be in a position to challenge Gisulf.”
“And should we draw more manpower from the southern garrisons, Domentziolus will have no one to fight, should he choose to land there!” added Procopius.
Tiberius observed the reaction of his brother’s wife. She sat back on her chair, and crossed her fingers in front of her face, allowing a few seconds to pass before she started: “And if we do nothing Ravenna will fall. Callinicus has been hemmed in for almost two months, his men starving and spent. Theodosius is about to move into the Aegean. What we have to ensure is that we are able to hold only for a few months, perhaps two at the most, to give him enough time to make it to Constantinople…Now our options to get this done are rather limited…Heraclius has problems of his own with Domentziolus. Any help that he might gather from the desert nomads will be for his own exclusive use. The Visigoths…all we have left to offer them is Spartaria itself. But, it will not be under my watch that the last Roman city in Spain is finally lost…”
To Tiberius, Irene was beautiful. Even arousingly so, but it was sinful to think of her in that manner. Kyrie eleison. Better to think about Anna; then he could face God with a clear conscience, as she was no one else’s wife. Slowly, his mind drifted once more from the discussion to his memories. The previous afternoon had been, well, unique. He had returned to his room earlier than usual, bored after “borrowing” some wine from one of the pantries. As he was not expected, one of the service girls was still busy cleaning and straightening out his chamber. He immediately noticed her, and as he timidly came into the room, the young maid apologized for not having completed her task by throwing herself at his feet. Tiberius had been puzzled. He did not think it so terrible to have a few of the couches dusty, but to her, apparently it was a life or death affair; only later would he learn of how severely they were beaten by the eunuchs for “negligence.” He tried to calm her by kneeling down beside her, and putting his arms around her shoulders, reassuring her that he would not accuse her before anyone. While doing so, he had a chance to appreciate the fine factions of her visage. Her reddened brown eyes were placed a pleasant distance away from a slender nose, which was balanced by a set of thin lips. Her skin, a little tanned, gave her an appealing complexion, which he set her apart from the other Italian women in the palace. She could not be more than fifteen years old. Overall, she seemed to remind him of the Empress Theodora [1], whose mosaics he had seen in The City before, and during his brief visits to Ravenna.
Once several minutes had elapsed, and she seemed to finally trust his affirmations, her sobs stopped, and her fear turned to gratefulness instead. The young Caesar, though he had previously looked at some of them reservedly, had never been in any sort of “direct contact” with a woman. As a result, when the dark haired damsel grabbed his face, and kissed him unexpectedly, he was at a loss; and allowed himself to be pleasantly lost in the moment. She, doubtlessly more skilled than he was, took the initiative and led the way. Stopping briefly, she stood up, walked around him, and looked into the hallway. Suddenly, she shut the door, and came back to him. Everything he experienced from that point on had been utterly new, and now he craved it anxiously. Her lips, her arms, her breasts, her hips…
“I don’t care!” Irene yelped in a louder voice, banging her open palm on the table. “Pack them up and send them south. But I stay here! I am not about to lose everything my husband worked for these past two years!”
Procopius relented by keeping quiet; so did the Lombard Queen, albeit with a protest. “If the Bavarians mobilized, they wouldn’t be able to field more than four thousand men. Clothar is invading with a force four times as large. He can wipe Gisulf, and us, out. Sincerely, I don’t think that Tassilo [2] will lift a finger to help us.”
“That’ll be for him and God to decide.”
The food he had just swallowed tasted bland. And no matter how hard he tried, he could not concentrate. He could not even pretend that he cared about the ongoing conversation, and said war, anymore. He preferred to continue with his reveries somewhere else or, better yet, to see if he could actually find Anna again.
“Excuse me,” he finally said, as he got up from his seat. “But I am, in all reality, feeling rather unwell. I think it better to go lie down.”
All those present stood up. “Will you need a physician, Domine?” offered Procopius.
“Not at the moment. But thank you for the thought; please continue discussing these vital matters. Don’t let my petty malaises get in the way” he told them, waving at them to sit back down.
It was something of a drag that his brother had left him in charge. His presence was required at all official meetings, but no important decision ever came from him. He was just expected to witness the debates, and then sign off on whatever was agreed on. The lack of any other activities allowed him to be present, apathetically, at all these conferences, but now that he had found her, he could care less about them. Conclusions and solutions could, and would, be reached without him anyway. What was the point of staying there?
Returning to his bedroom in a rush, he noticed that it had already been tended to. Damn. No one was around, but undeterred, he continued searching. He dared not ask anyone for her, as it would have been improper for a Caesar to ask for a chambermaid’s whereabouts, so he did it all by himself, through every hallway, room, and kitchen. Until he found her, about an hour later, washing clothes with other girls outside one of the smaller patios facing the Tiber.
He smiled shyly. She grinned triumphantly.
_____________________
[2] Tassilo I, King of Bavaria, 591-610 A.D. Although Bavaria was a Frankish duchy, at this point under Austrasian rule, it was still ruled by a king appointed by the Frankish monarch. Tassilo, seems to have been Garibald’s I (555-591 A.D.) son, and Theodelinda’s brother.
Delighted to see a Tiberius POV chapter. He seems a nice kid: Eirene is very forceful, mind you! I wonder if we'll start to see divisions between the two of them? Certainly from Eirene's point of view Tiberius is a distinct possible threat to her son.
Quite possibly. We shall see.
But hey! She got lucky, you can't really blame her...Pururauka said:
I would suppose they could all start turning on each other, should they lack a common enemy. For the moment however, they lack such luxury.
Apologies to all my cherished readers for the lapse. I spent a few days out in the Appalachian mountains surrounded by a gorgeous landscape by day, and engaged in massacring computerized enemy hordes by night. I have now returned victorious from a long Starcraft II campaign, ready to work.
Regular production should resume tomorrow.
Regular production should resume tomorrow.
Chapter 10 -II-
“Alright men! Time to eat!”
Facing away momentarily from the enemy encampments below, Sigibuld discerned the thin wretch tasked with delivering what had been their daily sustenance for over a month: a single loaf of bread, spiced up with woodchips. He snatched his bun greedily off of the distributor’s hand, and finished it off in four large bites. Accustomed to the same dull flavor, he could not even taste the saw dust in the food anymore, nor would his throat itch when swallowing it. Wiping his teeth with his tongue, he returned his gaze to his opponents, while uttering a mental curse. The foes on the ground, encircling the battlements all around, seemed to have been having a better time. At least they don’t look starved, and certainly, aren’t eating wood.
Lately, during the time he was on watch and not engaged in combat, or not having whatever little sleep he was allowed, he had begun to question his allegiance to the royalist party. He had stood by Agiluf’s side, and had lost his family and property. Now he was sticking by his widow’s side, and was starving to death, defending an abandoned Roman outpost. Why would I ever? Perhaps, inertia had gotten him to this point. He knew full well the apathy that had dragged him around for a few months; and frankly, he was still indifferent as to who should win whatever war he was in the middle of now. But it seemed his stomach was beginning to gain an upper hand over his emotions. Maybe, deserting to Gisulf like some of the men at the palace at Pavia had done, or even more recently, a group of loyalist Lombards had tried to do but were kept from doing, having been caught and hung from the walls by order of the Exarch, was not looking as bad of an option anymore.
In the meantime, with each new attempt on Ravenna, the attacking forces grew stronger, proportionately to the diminishing strength of the defenders. “Fuck this,” he muttered under his breath, without realizing it. He was shut in a trap again, like in Mediolanum years before, and Gisulf was not very likely to forgive “traitors” once the city fell. Especially after the death of his firstborn Tasso, who fell leading his men during the temporary capture of one of the northern towers. But then again, where could he possibly go? If he was caught by the Romans to the south, he would likely be killed as a “swindling” Lombard. If he went north, he might have a better chance, but first he would have to make it past the enraged besiegers. Goddammit! Why is suicide a fucking sin?
While reason told him that the Italian metropolis would not be abandoned and help would be sent from somewhere to relieve it, he was getting tired of hoping against hope. Little news had reached them from the outside, before the ring closed in with the arrival of the dugouts. Not much later, they had been entirely cut off after Callinicus lost a fifth rider following the incident at the harbor, well over a month earlier, in plain sight of the defenders to a Lombard arrow. Subsequently, unwilling to waste anymore men the Exarch decided to manage on his own, and delivered the surplus of weapons to the hands of citizens brought to man the calmer stretches of wall.
Unintentionally, and quietly, Sigibuld began to doze off, falling prey to absolute fatigue, while going through his reveries, which kept him from noticing the turmoil around him immediately, until one of the trumpets blasted its call a few feet from where he stood. Shocked, he straightened up, dropping his sword and shield to the ground. “Come on, you stupid motherfucker! Wake up!” growled someone. Glancing quickly to his side, he realized it was the dekarchos Rodoald, stationed nearby. Though momentarily embarrassed, his attention was quickly snatched by another source of distraction. Below, the Lombards were on the march one more time, but, more frightening still, he saw every man in the open field racing towards Ravenna. Up until now, each assault had seen wave after wave of soldiers storm the city; but to the distance in the horizon, one could always distinguish the Royal standard, as well as decent sized contingents of camp guards and reserves. Yet, not this time; now, Gisulf seemed hell-bent on throwing everything he had in the fight.
Another attack? Damn! They just launched one yesterday! The cacophony of battle in all its horrendous glory was played as the Romans released their defensive fire: the shouting cries of dying men, the trumpets and horns from both sides rallying their troops, the muffled thumping of arrows hitting shields. Lord God, have mercy upon my soul.
As he ended his supplication, the man beside him, a Roman, was shot down by enemy fire, his body falling backwards into the city, impaled by three bolts. “Shields!” went out the order, after Sigibuld, in a natural reaction, had picked his up, and had raised it blocking two more incoming projectiles. Intuitively, his gaze moved down towards the lower ground where, yet again, his compatriots swarmed like ants, ladders on their shoulders, towards the fortifications, under the cover of their own archers. Oddly enough, he felt a warm liquid on his left foot. Surprised he looked down, and noticed the puddles of piss, stretching his way, draining from the legs of two kneeling Roman civilians, who hid behind their own shields, trembling. If they were cowards they would have already run, he reasoned, switching his stare back to the front. Unable to move while the rain of arrows continued, he counted helplessly as the first ladders were raised some distance to his right. One, two, three, four, five…
The upper end of the fifth ladder reached the top of the walls just a couple of steps next to him. Shit. Lowering his cover he ran towards it, kicking hard on the timber, trying to knock it down. The missiles continued to pour into the city, whistling past his head as they did so. The wooden frame remained steady against the stones of the wall, informing him of the approach of the men already climbing it. He tried pushing it instead, with the same result. Exhaling loudly in frustration, he fell to his knees.
“Soldier, let’s try again!” he heard someone shout behind him. Soon enough, Rodoald accompanied by three Romans were pushing on upper ends of the ladder. He joined them, and shortly after, the thing had tipped over, sending five men screaming to their deaths below. Sigibuld breathed a momentary sigh of relief, before realizing the bigger problem at hand. Although the same attempt to knock the stepladders over had been made everywhere, he quickly noticed that not all had been as fruitful as his, since, in several places, the enemy soldiers were already engaging the defenders.
Not too worry, they’ve made it this far before, and we’ve beaten them… Closer to where he stood, four Lombards were cutting down the terrified citizens who dropped their swords at the first sight of the warriors, without putting up a fight. Seeing this, he instinctively charged at them, as did the rest of the garrison there present.
What followed was a repetition of the same drama he had lived through for the past two months. He fought how best he could; one of the Lombard adversaries had his stomach ripped open by his sword; another was pushed off the wall; yet another, had blood gushing from the jugular, as his throat was slit by a Roman behind him. For what must have been hours, he lost himself in the adrenaline that rushed through his body. The enemy continued climbing, the defenders continued fighting, and they all continued dying. On, and on the toll kept on rising, with each bloody passing hour. The battle had started in the morning; by the time he split the last skull open, it was well past noon.
Having finished, a cheer went out all around him, as they had miraculously beaten their attackers. This shit is really getting old, he thought to himself, dropping his sword on the ground, and leaning on the wall’s edge, panting, drenched in blood. Unfortunately, the break was destined to be short. Almost immediately after, the Roman trumpets blew their notes off to the south once again, where seemingly the battle still raged on. Tired, he looked in that direction, and saw the much larger body of infantry amassing at the foot of the walls, but the curvature of the fortifications kept him from fully seeing what was taking place above. That’s where the lagoons are at! Maybe a relief force arrived! Maybe food! And Gisulf’s trying to cut them off!
He trotted down along the length of the wall, following several other men, stepping over corpses, just out of curiosity. Hope kindled in him again; if this was the much cherished help they all awaited, there was to be no army that could stand in their way, as they would sally from the city to clear a path over the body of the new Lombard King himself if necessary.
While these encouraging thoughts were running through his head, a body of cavalry raced down, in the same direction, on the street below, parallel to the wall. Upon noticing the men high on up, one of the Roman riders pulled on the reigns and stopped his horse, yelling to them: “Hurry up maggots! We all need to get there before it’s too late! There’s been a breakthrough!”
Sigibuld’s blood froze. Because of their alleged impregnability, the battlements overlooking the marshes had been devoid of experienced veterans, and manned exclusively with raw recruits. This was the outcome he had feared so much; if he was seized, he would be branded a traitor, and dealt with as such. He quickly made up his mind.
Fuck Ravenna.
Yeah definitely Ravenna is "fucked", however I'm more interested in seeing how the Romans are going to respond to this.
Iiiiiinteresting. I had a feeling there that Priscus was going to turn up with an army of liberation at the last moment there, but apparently I was wrong. The fall of Ravenna is definitely going to come as a shattering blow to the Maurician cause: how will Tiberius deal with it, I wonder?
Can you give me a quick reminder about the various factions in the game at this point, and where they're all up to? I must confess I haven't fully paid attention to the Lombard and Frankish chapters, and anyway, details are slipping out of my head.
Can you give me a quick reminder about the various factions in the game at this point, and where they're all up to? I must confess I haven't fully paid attention to the Lombard and Frankish chapters, and anyway, details are slipping out of my head.
Vae victis!
The West, I'm afraid, we'll leave alone for a little bit, as the next couple of updates bring us back to the East.
Certainly.
With an approximate date of Nov. 605, we have:
The Mauricians: Theodosius is in Palestine, having secured Egypt and Cyprus. His original plan was to go onto Crete, and from there onto Constantinople. The letter from Bonosus however, might change things…
In the west, you have Heraclius the Elder still kicking as Exarch in Africa, and 13 year old Tiberius as nominal ruler of the west, with Callinicus, Pope Boniface, Procopius, and Irene as the real power behind him. Allied with them, is Queen Theodelinda, and her son Adaloald, the two-ish year old legitimate king of the Lombards. They are facing a triple threat from the north, against the Lombard dukes (see below,) the Franks (see below,) and Domentziolus from the south (see below.)
Also, you have Heraclius the Younger and Dioskoros the Younger, in a diplomatic mission to negotiate with Khosrau.
The Phokades: Phocas and his brother Comentiolus are in full control of the capital, the Balkans and western Anatolia. The last army under Bonosus was beaten in Cappadocia, and communication between the Comes and the Emperor was lost, possibly due to Bonosus fearing to return defeated. Nevertheless, the Emperor is mobilizing for a last offensive taking all of the European armies in an effort to crush the Iranians and at least bring them to the table, in order to focus fully on Theodosius.
Although, Domentziolus the Elder still controls Syracuse and its surroundings, the failed siege of Carthage, has forced him to reassess his situation. On hearing the news of the Lombard revolt, he decided to sail to Italy and attack the Mauricians from the south.
Priscus was until recently a member of this faction, but has since gone AWOL.
The Sassanians: Khosrau is riding high at this moment. Shahrbaraz has occupied all of Palestine and Mesopotamia, while Shahin controls Armenia, and has restarted the invasion of Anatolia. There seems to be no indication that the Shah wants the civil war to end, having been a convenient excuse for his own progress so far; but there are some who think he might be overstretching, his young son Kobad included.
The Jews: Still nominally serving under Khosrau, they’re divided on two camps: the Roman rebels, who want to make a mad dash for Jerusalem, and the more reserved Iranian-born party (who also would like to see a Jewish state reestablished.) Officially, they are to hold still in northern Palestine while the negotiations between Theodosius and Khosrau are ongoing.
The Lombards: Although not necessarily all Lombards have rallied to his banner, Gisulf, ex-duke of Friuli, has rebelled against Theodelinda and the Romans. At this point he controls the entire Lombard kingdom, and has just successfully seized Ravenna. The rushed assault which captured the city was made due to fear that the Franks might be marching to support the Romans.
The Franks: These guys are all over the place. The main characters here are Brunhilda, Clothar II, Theudebert II, and Sigebert II. Brunhilda rules, through her great-grandson the child-king Sigebert, Aquitaine and Burgundy. The defeat of Theuderic, Sigebert’s father, at the hands of the Theodosius two years before has left the kingdom in disarray. Fearful that she might become prey of Clothar (the son of her nemesis Fredegund, and king of Neustria,) she made a secret alliance with her other grandson, Theudebert II, king of Austrasia.
The plan called for Brunhilda to make peace with Clothar, and to offer him the crown of Burgundy-Aquitaine, provided he punished the, then ongoing, Lombard raids made with Roman supervision. Once Clothar was tied up in Italy, Theudebert was to invade Neustria, and annex it to his own kingdom.
In the meantime, Clothar has departed for what he initially considered to be a quick formality, but having seized Milan from the forces of Gisulf, his ambition’s been roused, and might stick around for a little bit longer.
The Avars: Phocas has invited them to invade Italy on his behalf so he can freely move the Illyrian armies around. Who knows what they’ll do…
I love the tangled web you're weaving at this stage: right now, I really can't predict who's going to come out on top! I'm personally still expecting Priscus to turn up in Italy at the head of an Avar army, but who knows, maybe he'll march on Constantinople instead and seize the crown from right under the noses of the other claimants, once Phokas and Theodosius have fought themselves to a standstill?
I cannot say anything for sure, and I love it!
Y'know, I once compared the last Roman-Sassanid war to Game of Thrones, but I love that this novel has just decided to run with the idea and make everything as much of a clusterfuck for everybody as possible, complete with a round of musical chairs in regards to the principle cities. Factions for everybody!
Also, I really kinda like the fact that the Avars have so far remained out of the limelight. They're kinda just this ghostly specter hanging over everything. Waiting...watching...
Also, I really kinda like the fact that the Avars have so far remained out of the limelight. They're kinda just this ghostly specter hanging over everything. Waiting...watching...
I love the tangled web you're weaving at this stage: right now, I really can't predict who's going to come out on top! I'm personally still expecting Priscus to turn up in Italy at the head of an Avar army, but who knows, maybe he'll march on Constantinople instead and seize the crown from right under the noses of the other claimants, once Phokas and Theodosius have fought themselves to a standstill?
I cannot say anything for sure, and I love it!
Well thank you both for your kind words!
Chapter 10 -III-
Alexander bowed slightly, and signaled to the guard of scholarians by the main doors of the Chrysotriklinos [1]. The golden gates were swung open, and in came an old woman, with snow white hairs, hunching over a short, but ornamented cane. Her expensive attire indicated her status; its rich embroidery indicated her provenance. Praejecta, matriarch of the House of Apion [2], had arrived for the scheduled conference with the Emperor.
The way Phocas saw it, the time to finally look for allies, wherever they could be found, had come. Though, the Avar Kaghan Bayan had agreed to march on Italy, his spies being seemingly omniscient, had promptly informed him of Priscus’ desertion, and the barbarian had briskly demanded Domentziola’s hand in marriage, instead of Theoctista’s. Nevertheless, he refused to have his daughter sent north, to cohabit with the animals he himself had fought against many a time. Thinking and pondering for days, he had arrived at the only possible solution and presented a private counteroffer to the Avar legates, which was finally accepted: Domentziola would be sent to their King, once the pacification of Italy was complete, meanwhile, the announcement would be kept confidential to avoid problems in Constantinople. In this manner, he hoped to have enough time to deal with the Persians in Anatolia, before returning to the Danube and renegotiating with Bayan from a position of strength. Yet, that still left Theodosius to be dealt with, and that was why Praejecta was there.
“Caesar, did you summon me?” inquired the old woman, after a grave nod, in place of the usual prostration.
“Indeed, Lady Praejecta. We are afraid We have some rather bad news. The Army of the East, in which your son Strategius served, under the command of the Comes Bonosus, was recently defeated by the pagans outside Thedosioupolis…”
He could barely notice the minor tremor on the woman left hand, which rested on the staff’s silver handle. “…nonetheless,” he continued, “your son lives; albeit in enemy captivity. We have called on you to offer you a chance to save him. The Empire needs your assistance; in return, the Empire will assist you.”
As if coming from a rusted windpipe, the softly, but raspy, spoken voice of the woman scratched its way into his ears. “It is a shame that the imperially appointed commander was so inept, to allow himself to be defeated by heathen peasants armed with sticks. Although I am grateful to God that my son’s life was spared, I would like to hear what the Empire asks of me, a mere subject, as I would serve it faithfully, whether or not my son’s life was at stake…”
Phocas had purified Constantinople of the decadent, arrogant, and snobby aristocrats that had clustered about during the last years of Maurice’s miser rule. Like flies, they had gotten fat off of the misfortunes of commoners, peasants, and soldiers like himself. But in spite of this correction, he had not had enough time to deal with the provincial aristocracy, due to the onset of the war. To their credit, the elites of Asia had closely followed the Imperial line he had traced, as had the Syrians, until the Jews backstabbed them and the Persians overran them. But the Egyptians had dropped to their knees like whores, as soon as Theodosius’ slaves showed up on the horizon. And Praejecta, belonged to that local nobility. They had proven to be, just like those from Constantinople, acquiescent and loyal when you had your eyes on them, and sly and scheming once you turned your back.
Yet in spite of their dubious reliability, the Apions were perhaps the most affluent clan in the entire Roman Empire, a fact that made them potential useful allies, or dangerous enemies if neglected. They owned property not just in The City itself, but throughout the prosperous Egyptian provinces, and their family practically controlled Oxyrhynchos and the surrounding nomes in their entirety. Maurice had also, at least initially, extorted money from them, which had quickly prompted Praejecta, and her grandson Constantius to come to the capital and seek redress with the Emperor. Somehow, Phocas was exactly unaware of the particulars, it worked and many of the taxes had been rescinded.
“We have decided to compensate your excellent example of loyalty and fidelity; a shining beacon of truth and love for God and his people in these times of chaos and darkness. We are planning to depart for the East to deal the fire worshippers a crippling blow before they can advance any deeper into the rest of Anatolia, and thus rescue your son.”
The old woman remained staring, unemotionally.
Undeterred, Phocas continued. “While We are engaged in this mortal struggle, the war against the heretic lover Theodosius continues. It is Our wish that you make the Egyptians come to their senses, through the network of clients that the Apions have in the Diocese.”
Praejecta persisted, unmoved.
Phocas knew full well that he had the Apions’ backing, should the old hag agree. Strategius, a tribune serving under Bonosus, could be made to reluctantly comply through military channels. His brother Georgius, a senator dedicated to the states of his House in Egypt, was a spineless coward, easy to threaten. His nephew, Strategius’ son Constantius, at age ten was only a child. Thus, it was truly Praejecta that had the reins of power in the family, and the extreme influence and authority that they yielded in Rome’s breadbasket. Furthermore, through diligent and meticulous work, Alexander had opportunely discovered that the Apions had lost some of their holdings at the hands of rancorous peasants, following Theodosius’ reforms. The flame was already lit; all he had to do was fan it.
“In return, We will restore all of your legitimate property, arbitrarily seized by the son of the dead tyrant.”
She grinned indistinctly, before replying: “The Emperor is caring to the utmost. But if I may be allowed to voice a thought; his focus should be not on petty land disputes that his subjects can deal themselves with, but in matters which concern the entire safety of the state. Things much, much bigger, which should be planned out, by those with education and upbringing…”
Someone unlike me. God I need a drink! He could hear the cold venom in her words. Here was a woman who looked down her nose at him, and everything he represented; who considered him little better than the savages that lived beyond the Danube. And she seemed to be enjoying rebuffing him. As much as he wanted to have the expecting scholarians seize her, and behead her at that very instant, he refrained. Bonosus’ defeat had made it imperative that the European armies put an emphasis on Anatolia, thus cancelling his previous plan for a swift recapture of the Diocese. He now needed the Apions to regain Egypt, and keep Theodosius busy while he finished Chosroes off. The time to be unmerciful was past; negotiation was the last option. And here’s my last shot.
“It might be of interest to you also, that We have deemed it proper to bring your family into the Imperial House, by the marriage of your grandson Constantius and Our noble daughter Domentziola. “
Possibly without wanting to, the white eyebrows of the matriarch were raised in astonishment. Now, that got your attention, didn’t it? he thought, almost salivating. It was time to seal the deal. “And through this union, Constantius will become Caesar, and Our successor as Augustus.”
Her reply was not long coming. “The Emperor is too kind on his subjects. He honors all Apions greatly, by selecting my humble grandson to lead Rome in his stead…”
Not just yet, bitch. “We take it then, that your House will fulfill its role faithfully in the coming days, and do its part in bringing its native land back into the Empire?”
“All of us, Kyrie, will do what we must.”
Good enough. “We will be departing to vanquish the enemies of Rome and Christ in the next weeks, before Christmas. It will please Us greatly, if these affairs were settled, before We take our leave.”
“Absolutely, Autokrate. I will communicate with Georgius immediately, and we shall begin to work immediately to avenge the death of Patriarch Eulogius.”
You still refuse to accept you work for me. He gave her an annoyed look. “You are dismissed then, loyal subject.”
“Kyrie,” she said softly, bowing her head slightly, before turning to leave, slowly.
Phocas let out a sigh of relief. His last army was finally on the way; he had previously worked with Alexander to ensure the allegiance of The City during his absence; and had now gotten the richest family in the Empire to throw their support behind him, and possibly recover Egypt without losing a single man, opening the possibility of recapturing Syria, contrary to his initial thoughts. The initial hesitancy he had had when looking for guidance in his personal Bible and coming upon that verse, had already disappeared. He had made up his mind to lead his armies personally, and was now certain that success will follow, just as God had promised. Quietly, he reassuringly mumbled the verses once more, their words having been seared into his mind:
“Behold, I send an Angel before you to keep you in the way and to bring you to the place which I have prepared. Beware of Him and obey His voice; do not provoke Him, for He will not pardon your transgressions; for My name is in Him. But if you indeed obey His voice and do all that I speak, then I will be an enemy to your enemies and an adversary to your adversaries. For My Angel will go before you and bring you into the Amorites, and the Hittites, and the Perizzites, and the Canaanites, and the Hivites, and the Jebusites; and I will wipe them out.”
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[2] “They were a provincial landowning family, but operating on a totally different level to the Psimanobet house. The Apions were by far the largest landowners of Egypt, and on an imperial level they could well have been the single richest dynasty in the Empire. They provided numerous consuls and always sat in the Senate of Constantinople, because unlike the Psimanobets, the Apion family was usually based in the capital, visiting Egypt generally for a few months at a time annually.” – BG.
An excellent update: this is just how I'd imagined things to go between Phokas and Praejecta!
Presumably the news of Bonosus' "defeat" is false information that's been sent to Phokas by his commander on the spot? Once again, I'm loving the fleshed out and human portrayal of Phokas as the man of the people who's in totally over his head.
Presumably the news of Bonosus' "defeat" is false information that's been sent to Phokas by his commander on the spot? Once again, I'm loving the fleshed out and human portrayal of Phokas as the man of the people who's in totally over his head.
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