Wow what an exit. Blowing yourself up seems to be a recurring event in the General Crisis, hope things settle down after this is over.
An Age of Miracles III: The Romans Endure
- Thread starter Basileus444
- Start date
While this argument has been very amusing, this is just sad. You’re not a senior member of a government or head of state doing unforgivable things in the name of statecraft, stop wallowing in navel-gazing.
No one is ever going to judge us for anything brutal because we’re never going to have to do anything brutal.
Rhomania's General Crisis, Part 21.2: A Choice-Irene
I'll be going into more detail in upcoming updates, but Gyranos is going to be a very contentious figure in Roman history, with the verdict still pending.
Stop looking at me like that.
The White Palace, Constantinople, October 22, 1664:
Irene felt Zenobia lunge forward beneath her, well-trained from earlier and happier racing days. She prayed, although she knew not what she actually prayed. She heard Andronikos shouting, a few other voices raised in surprise or alarm, and then the crash of an explosion. A couple of muskets snapped at her as Zenobia charged through the gate, at least one ball spanging loudly against the cobblestones, but from the shouts it sounded like after that all attention was diverted toward the courtyard.
“Are you alright?” she asked as she urged Zenobia on, trying not to think about what had just happened.
“Ye…yes,” Herakleios replied shakily.
“Good,” she replied, blinking furiously to try and clear the mist starting to cover her eyes. It was not his majesty’s health that concerned her, at least not directly. But that Andronikos had not just died in vain. That mattered. That was all that mattered.
Near the Selymbria Gate, Herakleian Walls, October 22, 1664:
Theodoros Lurdas looked over the map spread across the table, which displayed the Herakleian Walls and the current known dispositions of defenders and besiegers. He was 3rd Tourmarch, which sounded more impressive before one noticed it was a Teicheiotai rank, rather than of a regular line or guard unit. He had some combat experience, from fighting at the battle of Thessaloniki against the Latins, a fairly common quality of the many graybeards in the ranks.
The Empress Sophia had encamped opposite his sector of the wall, in the southwest corner of Constantinople, possibly because of its proximity to the Marmara. Thankfully, based on gun emplacements, it looked like the main effort would be further to the north. While Theodoros thought his men would fight well, at least from behind battlements, most of them and their equipment, like him, were leftovers from the Great Latin War.
He heard a buzz of conversation, a commotion, from outside his house which was serving as a command post given its proximity to the Selymbria Gate. The tax reduction had seemed like a good deal in peacetime. Lamps, necessary now in the early darkness of the night, flickered in the breeze as the door crashed open and a guard rushed in. “Sir, you won’t believe who’s here.”
Before he could tell the guard to actually provide the useful information, two individuals walked in, followed by some more soldiers. One, a tall woman with gray-streaked brunette hair, looked vaguely familiar. He thought she might be one of his wife’s lady friends who met over kaffos and monems and talked long and boringly over…he had no idea. Her eyes were red and puffy.
Then he looked at the other. His face was pale, his hair plastered with sweat, and his outer garment was a plain riding cloak, but Theodoros recognized the visage from the coinage, although the nose seemed a bit bigger in real life. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he bowed.
“Rise, Tourmarch,” Herakleios III said. “We have need of your services.”
Theodoros did so. “What do you require of me?”
“In order to end the destruction of Roman life and property, we have decided that the City should yield to the forces under the command of our wife, the Empress of the Romans. You are to open the Selymbria Gate to those forces and notify them of our intentions. And you are also to notify the other sections of the wall to do likewise.”
“Ah, your majesty, I’d be happy to obey but I have strict orders that all serious directives regarding city defenses are to be signed by either the Eparch or Strategos Plytos.”
“I am the Emperor! I outrank both the Eparch and Strategos. Now do as you are told! Why is this so hard?!”
“But this is most irregular. You, of course, may issue what orders you wish, but they should come through the proper chains of command. I must have the proper forms, with signatures and seals.”
“Do I, or do I not, have the authority to give you orders?”
“Yes, you do.”
“Then do them.”
Theodoros wiped his sweaty brow. “But this is…just…I need the forms…”
The woman companion of the Emperor snarled, yanking a kyzikos from one of the soldiers, stepping forward to cock it and point it right at his forehead. “Listen, you form-obsessed flea-brain! The Emperor has given you an order, and now I’m giving you an order to follow his orders.” Her hand shook slightly. “How’s this for a signature?”
Theodoros swallowed nervously. “If you shoot me, my men will cut you down where you stand.”
Her nostrils flared. “Do I look like I care?! I haven’t come this far to be stopped by someone like you!”
An interior door entered and Theodoros’s wife stuck her head into the room. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing, Primavera,” Theodoros said shakily. “Just a bit of an argument.”
She looked over at the woman. “Irene? What’s wrong?” A pause. “It’s Andronikos, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Irene moaned.
Primavera’s face hardened and she looked at Theodoros. “Do what she wants.”
“But-”
“Theodoros Lurdas. If you ever want to see me in the Varangian outfit again, you will do whatever this woman tells you to do. Is that clear?”
Another moment of silence. Then Theodoros cleared his throat, gesturing at one of his aides. “Michael, prepare to take the Emperor’s dictation.”
The White Palace, Constantinople, October 22, 1664:
“How did this happen?” Nereas asked.
“Does it matter? What’s done is done,” Plytos replied. The two of them were in a small conference room in the Palace, next to a planning room Plytos had set up to help coordinate the defense of the city, currently peopled by several Athanatoi. They’d just received word that the Emperor had appeared at the Selymbria Gate and ordered it opened. At last account, the southern third of the Herakleian Wall was under the control of forces answering to Sophia.
“I bet Gyranos had something to do with this,” Nereas snarled.
Plytos kept his face blank. He wouldn’t take that bet since he knew the involvement, and fate, of Gyranos. It had been a brilliant feat of distraction. In the confusion of the bomb blast, which killed anyone present who actually knew what was going on or who had just run out of the gate, pursuit had been delayed. Fatally.
Plus, after the last few months he wasn’t going to give Nereas the satisfaction. “My understanding is that he’s currently feeling unwell, but he has given substantial service to the war effort. Many of our supplies and intelligence reports are due to his efforts.” Intelligence reports had included the number of Albanian and Epirote light cavalry Pirokolos had recruited, and which Nereas had failed to include in his calculations on the Nestos. Possibly because they had come from Gyranos.
“Perhaps, but we can deal with him later. But if we counterattack now, while the enemy lodgment is still relatively small-”
“Fighting in the city will only further devastate it. And with significant numbers of the Teicheiotai capitulating, an urban battle will pose serious dangers to loyalist forces. The last thing we need is another Baghdad.”
Nereas’s mouth twisted but then he nodded. “True. Then we must withdraw. Get as many troops out as we can and regroup. With Chaldea and Bulgaria as bases, with Georgian and Russian troops we can rally and return to crush these traitors.”
Plytos nodded. “That seems like a better plan.” He gestured at the door that led to the planning room. “Shall we go prepare the appropriate orders?”
Nereas nodded and exited, followed closely by Plytos. Plytos looked at his officers and then pointed at Nereas. “Arrest this man.”
Nereas’s eyes widened and he tried to grab his sword, but it wasn’t there. He was Strategos of the Varangians and only Athanatoi, of the guard tagmata, could carry weapons on the grounds of the White Palace. That was a decree of the Shatterer of Armies himself; not even Andreas III, when Kaisar, had broken that edict. Two dekarchoi grabbed Nereas’s arms. “What are you doing?” he sputtered at Plytos.
“What needs to be done. It is over, Thomas. We’ve lost. Further fighting will only delay things and kill more Romans. The best course for us is a bottle of good raki and then a bullet. You should’ve taken it.” He looked at the men holding Nereas. “Take him to a cell and lock him up.”
“If this really is over, if the Roman people aren’t willing to do what is necessary, then they deserve to perish!” Nereas raged.
There was a crunch and then a cry as Plytos’s fist smashed into Nereas’s nose. As the Varangian Strategos staggered back, kept up only by the soldiers holding his arms, Plytos screamed. “YOU ARE A TRAITOR! This was supposed to be for the good of the Empire! If we have failed, then a true patriot would pray that we are wrong! Instead…” He snarled and grasped the hilt of his sword as Nereas looked up at him, blood pouring down his face and onto his jacket. “I should kill you right now. But others have better earned that pleasure.” He looked at the soldiers. “Get this filth out of my sight and lock him up.”
Plytos then looked over at the officers who’d been watching this unfold. “Tourmarch,” he said. “By the authority invested in me as Strategos of the Athanatoi, the guard tagmata and all other units are to surrender their stations, including the White Palace, to forces under the command of Empress Sophia when summoned, on condition that there will be no looting. Draw up the appropriate orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
That was a brilliant and subtle bit of characterization, showing that Mace Windu's Force philosophy is ambivalent between the typical Jedi (blue, green) or Sith (red), which is given further detail in both the Revenge of the Sith novelization and one of the Clone War novels where he is the central character, which further does much to explain why he was able to defeat Darth Sidious in combat unlike other Jedi...
Stop looking at me like that.
Thanks for covering that.
"It began with a suicide bomb (Athena) and it will end with a suicide bomb (Gyranos)". Things will settle down once the Crisis peters out.
* * *
Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 21.2: A Choice-Irene:
Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 21.2: A Choice-Irene:
The White Palace, Constantinople, October 22, 1664:
Irene felt Zenobia lunge forward beneath her, well-trained from earlier and happier racing days. She prayed, although she knew not what she actually prayed. She heard Andronikos shouting, a few other voices raised in surprise or alarm, and then the crash of an explosion. A couple of muskets snapped at her as Zenobia charged through the gate, at least one ball spanging loudly against the cobblestones, but from the shouts it sounded like after that all attention was diverted toward the courtyard.
“Are you alright?” she asked as she urged Zenobia on, trying not to think about what had just happened.
“Ye…yes,” Herakleios replied shakily.
“Good,” she replied, blinking furiously to try and clear the mist starting to cover her eyes. It was not his majesty’s health that concerned her, at least not directly. But that Andronikos had not just died in vain. That mattered. That was all that mattered.
* * *
Near the Selymbria Gate, Herakleian Walls, October 22, 1664:
Theodoros Lurdas looked over the map spread across the table, which displayed the Herakleian Walls and the current known dispositions of defenders and besiegers. He was 3rd Tourmarch, which sounded more impressive before one noticed it was a Teicheiotai rank, rather than of a regular line or guard unit. He had some combat experience, from fighting at the battle of Thessaloniki against the Latins, a fairly common quality of the many graybeards in the ranks.
The Empress Sophia had encamped opposite his sector of the wall, in the southwest corner of Constantinople, possibly because of its proximity to the Marmara. Thankfully, based on gun emplacements, it looked like the main effort would be further to the north. While Theodoros thought his men would fight well, at least from behind battlements, most of them and their equipment, like him, were leftovers from the Great Latin War.
He heard a buzz of conversation, a commotion, from outside his house which was serving as a command post given its proximity to the Selymbria Gate. The tax reduction had seemed like a good deal in peacetime. Lamps, necessary now in the early darkness of the night, flickered in the breeze as the door crashed open and a guard rushed in. “Sir, you won’t believe who’s here.”
Before he could tell the guard to actually provide the useful information, two individuals walked in, followed by some more soldiers. One, a tall woman with gray-streaked brunette hair, looked vaguely familiar. He thought she might be one of his wife’s lady friends who met over kaffos and monems and talked long and boringly over…he had no idea. Her eyes were red and puffy.
Then he looked at the other. His face was pale, his hair plastered with sweat, and his outer garment was a plain riding cloak, but Theodoros recognized the visage from the coinage, although the nose seemed a bit bigger in real life. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he bowed.
“Rise, Tourmarch,” Herakleios III said. “We have need of your services.”
Theodoros did so. “What do you require of me?”
“In order to end the destruction of Roman life and property, we have decided that the City should yield to the forces under the command of our wife, the Empress of the Romans. You are to open the Selymbria Gate to those forces and notify them of our intentions. And you are also to notify the other sections of the wall to do likewise.”
“Ah, your majesty, I’d be happy to obey but I have strict orders that all serious directives regarding city defenses are to be signed by either the Eparch or Strategos Plytos.”
“I am the Emperor! I outrank both the Eparch and Strategos. Now do as you are told! Why is this so hard?!”
“But this is most irregular. You, of course, may issue what orders you wish, but they should come through the proper chains of command. I must have the proper forms, with signatures and seals.”
“Do I, or do I not, have the authority to give you orders?”
“Yes, you do.”
“Then do them.”
Theodoros wiped his sweaty brow. “But this is…just…I need the forms…”
The woman companion of the Emperor snarled, yanking a kyzikos from one of the soldiers, stepping forward to cock it and point it right at his forehead. “Listen, you form-obsessed flea-brain! The Emperor has given you an order, and now I’m giving you an order to follow his orders.” Her hand shook slightly. “How’s this for a signature?”
Theodoros swallowed nervously. “If you shoot me, my men will cut you down where you stand.”
Her nostrils flared. “Do I look like I care?! I haven’t come this far to be stopped by someone like you!”
An interior door entered and Theodoros’s wife stuck her head into the room. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing, Primavera,” Theodoros said shakily. “Just a bit of an argument.”
She looked over at the woman. “Irene? What’s wrong?” A pause. “It’s Andronikos, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Irene moaned.
Primavera’s face hardened and she looked at Theodoros. “Do what she wants.”
“But-”
“Theodoros Lurdas. If you ever want to see me in the Varangian outfit again, you will do whatever this woman tells you to do. Is that clear?”
Another moment of silence. Then Theodoros cleared his throat, gesturing at one of his aides. “Michael, prepare to take the Emperor’s dictation.”
* * *
The White Palace, Constantinople, October 22, 1664:
“How did this happen?” Nereas asked.
“Does it matter? What’s done is done,” Plytos replied. The two of them were in a small conference room in the Palace, next to a planning room Plytos had set up to help coordinate the defense of the city, currently peopled by several Athanatoi. They’d just received word that the Emperor had appeared at the Selymbria Gate and ordered it opened. At last account, the southern third of the Herakleian Wall was under the control of forces answering to Sophia.
“I bet Gyranos had something to do with this,” Nereas snarled.
Plytos kept his face blank. He wouldn’t take that bet since he knew the involvement, and fate, of Gyranos. It had been a brilliant feat of distraction. In the confusion of the bomb blast, which killed anyone present who actually knew what was going on or who had just run out of the gate, pursuit had been delayed. Fatally.
Plus, after the last few months he wasn’t going to give Nereas the satisfaction. “My understanding is that he’s currently feeling unwell, but he has given substantial service to the war effort. Many of our supplies and intelligence reports are due to his efforts.” Intelligence reports had included the number of Albanian and Epirote light cavalry Pirokolos had recruited, and which Nereas had failed to include in his calculations on the Nestos. Possibly because they had come from Gyranos.
“Perhaps, but we can deal with him later. But if we counterattack now, while the enemy lodgment is still relatively small-”
“Fighting in the city will only further devastate it. And with significant numbers of the Teicheiotai capitulating, an urban battle will pose serious dangers to loyalist forces. The last thing we need is another Baghdad.”
Nereas’s mouth twisted but then he nodded. “True. Then we must withdraw. Get as many troops out as we can and regroup. With Chaldea and Bulgaria as bases, with Georgian and Russian troops we can rally and return to crush these traitors.”
Plytos nodded. “That seems like a better plan.” He gestured at the door that led to the planning room. “Shall we go prepare the appropriate orders?”
Nereas nodded and exited, followed closely by Plytos. Plytos looked at his officers and then pointed at Nereas. “Arrest this man.”
Nereas’s eyes widened and he tried to grab his sword, but it wasn’t there. He was Strategos of the Varangians and only Athanatoi, of the guard tagmata, could carry weapons on the grounds of the White Palace. That was a decree of the Shatterer of Armies himself; not even Andreas III, when Kaisar, had broken that edict. Two dekarchoi grabbed Nereas’s arms. “What are you doing?” he sputtered at Plytos.
“What needs to be done. It is over, Thomas. We’ve lost. Further fighting will only delay things and kill more Romans. The best course for us is a bottle of good raki and then a bullet. You should’ve taken it.” He looked at the men holding Nereas. “Take him to a cell and lock him up.”
“If this really is over, if the Roman people aren’t willing to do what is necessary, then they deserve to perish!” Nereas raged.
There was a crunch and then a cry as Plytos’s fist smashed into Nereas’s nose. As the Varangian Strategos staggered back, kept up only by the soldiers holding his arms, Plytos screamed. “YOU ARE A TRAITOR! This was supposed to be for the good of the Empire! If we have failed, then a true patriot would pray that we are wrong! Instead…” He snarled and grasped the hilt of his sword as Nereas looked up at him, blood pouring down his face and onto his jacket. “I should kill you right now. But others have better earned that pleasure.” He looked at the soldiers. “Get this filth out of my sight and lock him up.”
Plytos then looked over at the officers who’d been watching this unfold. “Tourmarch,” he said. “By the authority invested in me as Strategos of the Athanatoi, the guard tagmata and all other units are to surrender their stations, including the White Palace, to forces under the command of Empress Sophia when summoned, on condition that there will be no looting. Draw up the appropriate orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
Donald Reaver
Donor
He asked for the city not to be plundered, nothing for himself. I will give him that.
Of course it's not over, I think the Army of Suffering still exists to some degree and it will be a steep recovery, but the major fighting should be done.
It has been a brilliant arc and the writing is phenomenal. Can't wait to see what happens now and how lasting peace is created.
It has been a brilliant arc and the writing is phenomenal. Can't wait to see what happens now and how lasting peace is created.
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I'll be honest, didn't expect a reference to some spice in this update B444 haha, good update! Have really loved this story arc!
A great conclusion to the war. They managed to avoid major hostile foreign powers taking a bite, minus the Ottomans. But given the chance for a quick reconciliation it should be easy enough to mobilize troops to the east to secure the new border. It seems like Sophia likely already has a back room agreement on that front. I don't see the Army of Suffering presenting a major challenge at this point. They've been mauled in their travels and a united empire can either crush them or starve them out simply enough.
Compromise with the army of suffering would be better though not necessarily likely.
I honestly don't see Sophia going hard on the common people involved, but so long as the leaders can be brought down I could see her addressing a lot of their concerns without much bloodshed. But even if it does turn violent, it shouldn't be hard to clean up. It lasted as long as it did because no one could spare the time or the men to do anything about it.
It's not like depopulating central Anatolia is going to be beneficial to the empire in any way. It's much more in their interests the give the people what they want, take down the dynatoi a peg, and support development in the region.
Plytos knew when it was time to fold them. I have doubts Sophia will be merciful even with this act, but it had to be done for the good of the Empire.
Even with Sophia in control of Constantinople, the Army of Suffering still lurks within Anatolia. Konon's vision of a new Empire dies with him, but I think Sophia will co-opt many of Konon's efforts to improve the conditions of the rural peasantry, both from a political standpoint (weakening the dynatoi and cutting down the corruption) and from a genuine desire for reform.
All I can hope is that a new Rhomania rises from this crisis, one that has genuinely reformed and is capable of dealing with the issues that will come with the Industrial Revolution.
Even with Sophia in control of Constantinople, the Army of Suffering still lurks within Anatolia. Konon's vision of a new Empire dies with him, but I think Sophia will co-opt many of Konon's efforts to improve the conditions of the rural peasantry, both from a political standpoint (weakening the dynatoi and cutting down the corruption) and from a genuine desire for reform.
All I can hope is that a new Rhomania rises from this crisis, one that has genuinely reformed and is capable of dealing with the issues that will come with the Industrial Revolution.
Cryostorm
Donor
By what he said, I am pretty sure he doesn't plan to be around by the time Sophia gets to the city center. Now Nereas, he is not going to be given that luxury as he decided he wanted to burn everything down to the ground to win, so he is likely to be the example.