Dawn Breaks Upon Those Sleeping Pyramids: The Awakening of Egypt

[God-Eater of the Marshes]

Dawn Breaks Upon Those Sleeping Pyramids: The Awakening of Egypt

Or, The Fate of Egypt as Affected By the Survival of Theodosius

This is the third edition of Rise, Aegyptus!

A late seventh-century statue of Theodosius III, whose reign lasted no longer than two days. The heirless emperor is considered by many as the last Roman Emperor with any legitimacy to his title.

Preface to the Timeline​

Welcome to the third, and hopefully final, re-write of Rise, Aegyptus! I hope this re-write to be both substantial in the improvements I make, and its capacity to retain its readership. Those who read my previous two iterations of this timeline may be wondering why I've decided to re-write this, especially considering Aigyptos Has Risen! started its life less than a year ago, and I can understand this sentiment. I put forth a detailed explanation of my decision to re-write here, but for those who don't want to wade through the intricacies of my tirade, I'll summarise my reasoning in brief. First of all, I realised that many of the components upon which my timeline depended upon were factually inaccurate. The most major of the which was the personality of Benjamin I, who, at the time of the POD, would not have been the man I portrayed him as. Also, I feel that the rebellion and subsequent independence of Egypt was far too simplistic in nature — American Revolution-type rebellions based upon ideals of equality and liberty were, for the most part, not present in the seventh century. Those are the two main reasons, but if you want to explore the other statements I made via the link I posted above, feel free.

The changes you can expect in this version of the timeline are far more substance over style. Indeed, you may notice that the superficial elements of Aigyptos Has Risen! remain present. But if you scanned the image and its caption, or the title of the timeline, you may have also noticed that the Point of Divergence has changed. The POD in question has been changed to 602; Theodosius, son of Maurice, escapes to the court of Khosrau II. I realise that this POD is similar (but not identical) to the POD of another excellent timeline, The Mauricians: A Medieval Roman novel, and I would like to preemptively address those who might be a little miffed by this by stating that I have received endorsement from the author, I did not think up this POD with his TL in mind (the similarities only became apparent to me after I read what was his latest update at the time), and also that immediately following this POD, the timeline will diverge significantly from anything resembling Pururauka's TL. By the third or forth update, a world utterly unlike that of The Mauricians will manifest. Now that the POD is addressed, other changes that will be implemented is the rewriting or removal of most of the characters seen in the previous two versions of this timeline. Many of my interpretations of the characters have changed, and in addition, 602 is a much earlier date than 622, so it is obvious that some characters will not be in the right time or place to be major parts of this TL. But perhaps the most important change I have made is the slightly different font I am using.

Introduction​

- 27th of November, 602 A.D. The streets of Constantinople.

It is a strange concept that it is in the most crowded areas, amidst the greatest volumes of noise, that one can find solace and peace of mind. Those that have lived in large cities; those that have treaded the markets of Ctesiphon or the dockyards of Alexandria, can attest to this curious phenomenon. Certainly, as Julius wandered the streets of Constantinople, he was perfectly aware of the ensuing chaos that surrounded him on all sides, yet he was ignoring it completely. Whether by choice or by the involuntary wanderings of his mind, he did not blink as the citizens of the Great City rushed past him to crowd the streets, he did not pause as they screamed and hollered the name of the new Emperor, he did not flinch as a chariot drawn by four alabaster stallions thundered past his left and his step did not falter as a screaming crowd of prasinoi[1] that was tailing the chariot threw ribbon into the air, causing the path that Julius was walking on to be covered in brightly, but crudely, dyed fabric. To one looking on at Julius, it might seem that he was yet another dusty old war veteran who had taken a few too many strikes to the head. But Julius was in perfect sanity and though it may seem that he was undisturbed by the chaos, the reality was very different. The truth was, Julius was all too disturbed by the current events.

He had in fact, been paying close attention, listening intently to the commotion. By now, Julius reasoned, the new Emperor might be at the Hippodrome. He would have probably entered the racetrack in extravagant style, his burly limbs controlling the chariot with ease, his red hair and scarred face illuminated by the sunlight. As Julius walked, the sound of voices cheering and hands clapping dissipated into an impatient silence marred only by the noises of the Hippodrome's horse. The race is about to begin... reasoned Julius. The new Emperor would have departed from his four horses and the chariot they pulled, and would instead be addressing the assembled crowd from the special gilded seat reserved for the Emperor. It was unlikely that the Hippodrome's audience would hear him, but that didn't matter. They'll settle for anything that isn't Maurice. It doesn't matter what he says or where he comes from. If Julius' face had remained impassive throughout the duration of his stroll, it now winced slightly. He didn't like thinking of Maurice, the fallen Emperor. The man who had been betrayed by his army, abandoned by his son's father-in-law and denounced by his church. It was true what they said of Maurice: that his stringent austerity had crippled the empire, that his control over the army had been totalitarian and unforgiving, that his eye was too focused on redrawing provincial borders than redrawing tax policies. But the common populace, whose fathers had dined with splendour due to the unfettered liberality of Maurice's predecessor, failed to realise that Maurice had inherited a broken treasury and a dysfunctional administration. Julius was wiser. He had seen, first hand, the necessity of Maurice's austerity. Severe it may have been, and perhaps barring the Danubian army from returning home during the winter was too dictatorial, but overall there was little Maurice could do. And he was certainly better than the alternative, the red-headed drunkard who had just been crowned.

He has left the hardships of a soldier behind him, but he has not adopted the virtues and responsibilities of an Emperor... was what Julius had thought on the new Emperor's first night as supreme ruler of all the Roman Empire. While he was popular now, his true face had been revealed to Julius on the first night of Maurice's usurpation. There, the red-headed Emperor had engaged in all manners of debauchery, foolishness and vanity. He had become drunk on wine from the church cellars; engaged in outrageous and lewd acts with the wives of his soldiers in the halls of the Hebdomon palace and engorged himself upon the foods brought forth without hesitation or regard to those whose stomachs were empty. Julius had also witnessed the new Emperor's cowardice when he refused to negotiate with Maurice face-to-face, even after several days of hesitant dawdling, and had instead chosen to parley with the friendlier Germanus and Maurice's inexperienced young son. Hushed whispers told of Maurice's reaction when he was told of how the leader of the mutiny, now leader of the empire, had refused to negotiate with him. Allegedly, the former Emperor had dispaired: "If he is a coward, he will surely be a murderer!"

Julius had reflected a great deal upon this prophetic revelation. It seemed to hold more and more weight as the days without Maurice went by. And Julius had been through many days of change, warfare and usurpation. He was an old veteran of great skill and wisdom, known as simply as "Grey" amongst the other soldiers due to his ice-blue eyes, grey hair and bleached skin that seemed to blend in with his hair under certain conditions of light. And the more Julius reflected on Maurice's statement, more his own decision to directly disobey Emperor Phocas seemed justified. Julius only had a few years of his life left after all, but Theodosius, the son of Maurice, still had a great many years ahead of him. Even if old Maurice toppled over in a fit of sciatic pain, Theodosius would stand firm, with shoulders abreast and limbs taught. Thus, when Phocas had announced his intentions to destroy the Imperial Family of Maurice, Julius had watched complacently as that very family sailed peacefully across the Bosporus in a small barque. He had ordered the party of soldiers under his command to stand firm, urging them that the glittering jewels and shining silk that had been illuminated in the evening sun were the possessions of looters, that the great Maurice would never be so humble as to allow his family to escape on a fisherman's vessel. Tasked with securing the outskirts of Constantinople in the eventuality of escape, Julius did the opposite: Reporting false information so that Phocas did not know of the Mauricians’ escape. It was obvious that sooner or later the existence and nature of Maurice and his family's escape would become known but as it stood, Maurice had been granted a few days or so of extra time.

Now Julius stopped and stood still. His walk had taken him to the dockyards of Constantinople, which were oddly quiet. No doubt the dockworkers and sailors were in the city celebrating. Standing at the water's edge, the warm sea breeze gracing his worn face, Julius could see pinpoints of light on the Bosporus' opposite shore. He allowed himself a knowing grin. Maurice and his family was now in Asia. With a sprinkle of luck and a helping of perseverance, Julius' efforts would not be in vain. He envisioned the day when Theodosius would one day wear the crown of his father, ensuring the continuation of the Maurician line and with it, the perpetuation of the Roman Empire.

Unbeknownst to Julius, his wishes were destined to become actuality. Albeit, the extent of which would prove to be limited. As fate would have it, Theodosius would wear the crown of his father. But having a boy wear a crown doesn't guarantee anything. It doesn't ensure the Maurician dynasty, and it certainly does not safeguard the Roman Empire. Little did Julius know, but the winds of change were gathering, and Theodosius' crown was but a small drop of rain in the approaching storm.

 

[God-Eater of the Marshes]

Prologue: Don't Shoot the Messanger!

A coin bearing the image of Phocas, the second-to-last man commonly classified by contemporary historians as an "Eastern Roman Emperor".[1]​

- 6th of December, 602A.D. The Church of St. Autonomus the Martyr, near the Bay of Nicomedia.

The footsteps of Maurice, the supposed Emperor of the Romans, echoed through the ominous silence as he made his way down the marble flooring of the church. They resonated with authority in this ancient church, but held an element of uncertainty; an element of uneasiness. Indeed, as Maurice plodded towards the door, his mind was abuzz with worry. It had been days since Constantine Lardys and his oldest son, Theodosius, had been dispatched to the east to seek out Khosrau II. It was now, in their absence, that Maurice began to regret his decision. He knew it would not be long until the soldiers of Phocas found him and his family here in Nicomedia. And when that eventuality reared its ugly head, it would spell the sudden demise of the nascent Maurician dynasty. But what if the Maurician dynasty continued? As it stood, Maurice and his wife would certainly die. Old, weary and wracked with pain and disease, Maurice was in no position to flee farther away. Constantina, the Empress, would not leave her husband. The children were too young to fend for themselves, and evacuating them would only force them to grow up, if they even made it that far, with Phocas' dagger constantly dangling over their shoulders.

The situation had unraveled so as to put Theodosius in the uncomfortable position of being the only capable carrier of the Maurician Imperial heritage. At seventeen years old, Theodosius was a man, but one that was inexperienced and naïve. Is this what Maurice had wanted? For his oldest son to be forced into a life of constant danger and of unshakable responsibility? To press upon Theodosius the weight of Maurice's own failures and deficiencies that had led to his own dethronement?

As Maurice reached the door of the church, he reflected upon these thoughts. It seemed less and less fair for Theodosius to have to bear Maurice's failures and the dangers they brought on his own shoulders. Would Theodosius truly live his own life or merely live as an extension of Maurice? As he exited the church, he paused briefly, allowing his old bones a rest from the pain he normally felt. The Anatolian sun shone softly and the gently salted breeze rippled his silvered hair. Ahead, birds rustled their wings and small insects crawled within the flocks of yellowed grass that crisscrossed the crumbly soil. Although it was technically winter, the shores of Bithynia never felt the cold rains of Francia or the snows of Persarmenia. But still, a definite chill seemed to radiate down from above. Or perhaps, the chill was only felt to Maurice. The sort of chilling sensation felt before bad news is delivered. But regardless of the source, the chill brought a fleeting thought to Maurice's mind: Would it even be fair to allow Theodosius to live a life of danger and misery; to live a life where Phocas could be around every corner and death could strike at any moment?

"Your Majesty!" called a voice from the west, breaking Maurice's train of thought. Maurice turned slowly to the source of the voice, a soldier hurrying towards him.

"Yes?" replied Maurice, his voice tinged with foreboding as the chill intensified for a split-second.

"We must leave this place soon. Phocas has ordered his men to find you and carry out the execution of your entire family! We're far too close to Constantinople to even consider the notion of safety..."

Maurice did not reply. He stood in the breeze, looking out towards the landmass on the other side of the Bosporus. Death was coming, he could hear the clink of his chains. But with that thought, a wave of relief rushed over Maurice. Here was an opportunity to put it all to an end.

"No. I cannot leave. My bones are tired and weary, and I walk with pain" replied Maurice, "If Phocas wishes to deliver my death, so be it. Let God determine my fate, I leave it to him."

"Your Majesty!?" exclaimed the soldier incredulously, "Staying here will mean... Your Death..."

"Let me reiterate: If God wills it, so be it" said Maurice, deftly throwing off the concerns of the soldier. The soldier in question stood with his mouth slightly open, as if he was about to say something. He remained in that pose for a few seconds, then he shook his head and regained his composure.

"If your majesty wishes, it shall be so" conceded the soldier, bowing his head, "But your majesty, at least allow your children to escape. We can disguise the village children as your own. Their sacrifice will ensure the survival of your heirs!"

"No" adjudicated Maurice, "The children of the village shall not be martyrs to my failings. My children will stay with me. And another thing..."

"What?"

Maurice choked back instinctive tears as he issued the death sentence of his own son, "D-dispatch a messenger to Theodosius..." he swallowed a sob and turned away from the soldier, "T-tell him that h-he must return... That the s-situation is... Safe here." [2]

At least now, Maurice can die without the heavy baggage of guilt. In the deranged mindset of a man about to die, he was oddly at peace with the idea that his dynasty should die with him, and not live on to bear the burdens of Maurice's failures.

If only that was to become the case.

***​

The November and Early December of 602A.D. :

Indeed, as Julius had hoped, Maurice and his family had safely made it to Anatolia. On the night of the 22nd of November, Maurice took his wife and eight children and fled the palace in disguise, and they subsequently boarded a small fishing barque. Whether through the intervention of Julius or through more divine means, their escape went unnoticed. Constantine Lardys, the Praetorian Prefect of the East, accompanied them. While completing the voyage across the Bosporus, a violent storm carried Maurice's barque was swept off course, but through the winds and the salt-tinged sea spray, Maurice persevered and managed to land his vessel at the Bay of Nicomedia. Here, Maurice is reported to have been hit by an incapacitating attack of gout and a wave of sciatic pain.

In the days following Maurice's timely escape, what little remained of the old administration collapsed. Germanus, the father-in-law of Theodosius, made a rather rash bid for the throne. Unfortunately for him, his ambitious manoeuvre relied almost entirely upon the fickle attitudes of the demes. The demes, which were the sporting factions of the Hippodrome, held an alarming amount of political power in Constantinople, but their position was amplified by the temporal chaos amongst the traditional decision-makers of the Eastern Roman Empire. While Germanus could bank on the support of the "Blues", one of the more important factions of the demes, the opinion that the more numerous "Greens" held of him was not conducive to Germanus' ascendency. The Greens nominated Phocas as their candidate for Emperor instead.

After Germanus was rejected, Phocas made efficient progress. He made the throne of Constantinople his official aim, authoring an imperious announcement demanding that the Patriarch, the Imperial Senate and the Roman people receive and accept his coronation. Merely a few hours later, he was crowned at the Church of St. John the Baptist. The following day, Phocas ceremoniously entered Constantinople on a gilded chariot that was drawn by four white stallions. His triumphant entry was received by the masses with an attitude of awe, and many an exaltation was announced. Phocas then presided over a race at the Hippodrome, after which he invested the rest of the day in making donations to the army and initiating the crowning ceremony of his wife, Leontia. During one of these many formalities, it is reported that a dispute broke out between the two most powerful demes, the Blues and the Greens. As this dispute morphed into a brawl, it is believed that more than a few Blues had prophetically shouted: "Beware! Beware! Maurice still lives! The true Emperor and his family has yet to extinguished!"

Whether it reflected the true belief of the Blues or merely a rash display of insolence intended to aggravate the Greens and their choice of Emperor, the statement could not be refuted. On the orders of Phocas, a party of soldiers was dispatched across the Bosporus. Although Maurice and his wife were anchored at the Bay of Nicomedia due to Maurice's ailments, Theodosius and Constantine Lardys had already fled east. In a fit of delirium associated with the inevitability of death, Maurice issued a letter ordering their return. But Theodosius and Constantine Lardys were not to be stopped. Their mission was simple: To seek out the aid of Khosrau II [3], who had been enthroned as a result of intervention on Maurice's behalf few decades earlier.

***​

- 10th of December, 602A.D. The forests of Bithynia.

Stephen the Messenger galloped through the foliage. Graceful were the movements of his steed, as it hurled itself over the fallen logs and potholes that permeated the rural road, but harsh were the encouragements that Stephen's heels delivered. His mission was important, in his bag he carried a scroll authored and signed by Maurice himself. Although faced with an usurper, Maurice's word still carried the same weight that his crown did: The weight of royalty and power. The same weight seemed to press down upon Stephen's back as he carried out his urgent mission, a constant reminder of who had issued Stephen's baggage and to whom it was intended. It was, perhaps, due to this mental weight that he neglected to take note of his surroundings. Had Stephen been slightly more vigilant, he would have seen the trap ahead. But he did not. [4]

It happened very suddenly and without warning. Out of nowhere, his horse cried out in agony, unleashing a despairing whinny that reverberated about Stephen's head like a church bell. While this was happening, Stephen found himself catapulted into space. No longer atop his horse, he unceremoniously tumbled through the air before crashing to earth in a jumbled heap. His steed followed suit, collapsing next to Stephen in a puff of dust.

For a few hazy moments, Stephen did not move. He merely swam about in his own pain and confusion. But then, he felt a cold article of metal brush his face and he heard a voice. "Get up then!"

Stephen grunted and turned his head towards the voice. His vision was blurry, but he could make out several humanoids. "Whaa..." was all he could manage.

"Get up, rider, surrender your goods!" order the voice again. Stephen shook his head gingerly and tried to focus on the source of the voice. Eventually, he was able to make out a tall, tanned man clad in a set of armour that seemed like it had been assembled by closing one's eyes and randomly pointing at things in the dark. The man held a long, but rather battered, spear in his right hand. Stephen attempted to communicate again: "W-who are you?"

"Who are we? Well! We're bandits! Brigands! Thieves! Call us what you like!" the man exclaimed laughingly, but then his tone darkened, "Now get up swine!"

So Stephen did. He picked himself up with great difficulty and took in the scenario. In front of him, five or six men stood alongside the one who had spoken. They were all wearing rather mismatched armour and carried weapons that were either makeshift, antiquated or somehow defective. Behind him, a rope that had previously been lying dormant was taught, and his horse was lying on the side of the road, its legs gashed and bleeding from galloping into the tightened rope. "What do y-you want?" Stephen murmured, his lips still numb and swollen.

"Your stuff, isn't that clear?" said the man who had been speaking, apparently the leader, "Open your bag!"

"N-no..." managed Stephen, "D-do you realise who this letter his intended for?"

"Who?" replied the leader mockingly, "The bloody Emperor of the Romans? The Patriarch of Alexandria? The King of Persia?"

"Well..." said Stephen, "The soon-to-be Emperor, Theodosius..."

"Oh yeah right!" barked the leader incredulously, "Yeah and I suppose I'm the fucking Pope, aren't I?"

"No... It really is..."

The bandits stood in silence for a brief moment as the possibility that Stephen wasn't lying washed over them. That moment passed though, when the bandit leader poked Stephen with his spear. "Yeah! Even if it is, do you expect that we'll let you pass?" the leader asked rhetorically, "That kind of letter would fetch a good deal of gold, and even so, you've probably got the coins of Constantinople all over you, right?"

"Look, I'm just a messenger, I'm not rich. I just have to get this message to Theodosius!" exclaimed Stephen desperately, but the bandit leader poked him again,

"You! Silence!" he bellowed. Then he turned to his lackeys, "Search the poor bastard and take the horse. Its a nice steed, that one. Now! Go!"

As the other bandits patted Stephen down and stripped him of his bag, the leader looked at him directly in the eyes, "Wouldn't want any Emperors coming after us, would we now?" he spat mockingly.

***​

Ah, so here we have the POD set up. That is, en route to Persia, Theodosius and Constantine Lardys are not recalled and are therefore not executed upon arrival at the Bay of Nicomedia, where Maurice was in exile. You may be wondering how this will lead to an independent Egypt, but fear not. It shall come soon enough. Albiet more gradually than both Rise, Aegyptus! and Aigyptos Has Risen!

Nonetheless, I look forward to dictating the affairs of Egypt, I hope that you, the reader, shares my anticipation. At least a little.

In terms of updates, I am still waiting on some books intended to aid my understanding of both Byzantine Egypt and of the Eastern Mediterranean of the seventh century in general, so the next update might not be until a few weeks. But we'll see. Hopefully I can get it out before then.

Any questions/feedback/comments? Please! Lay them on me now while the framework of the TL is relatively pliable.

Footnotes:
[1]: By this I mean that while there certainly were ITTL Roman Emperors after Phocas and Theodosius, the aforementioned two are the last to be classified by ITTL contemporary historians as such, similar to how IOTL differentiate between "Byzantine" and "Roman" emperors, even though they were one and the same.
[2]: There are a few differing accounts pertaining to who issued the letter ordering Theodosius to return and why. The most prevalent theory across the books I've read is that it was Maurice himself that ordered the return, and he did so knowing that Theodosius' return would lead to his death. But another theory is that it was actually Phocas who issued the letter, forging it in Maurice's name.
[3]: Earlier, Khosrau II's brother, Hormizd IV, had inherited the throne of the Sassanian Empire, and with it, a war with the Romans. Hormizd IV is reported to have carried out brutal policies of execution and detainment against anyone and everyone who seemed to threaten his position, and this included potential usurpers such as Khosrau II. Khosrau II fled to Constantinople, promising a peace settlement to the war that was very favourable to the Romans if the Romans would in turn help Khosrau II claim the Sassanian throne. The Romans agreed to this pact, and now Khosrau II rules Persia.
[4]: This is the Point of Divergence: The letter ordering Theodosius to return is not delivered.

 

[Pururauka]

You know what I think about this my friend.
You can count me in.

 

[Malta]

I look forward to what has not been but, will now come!

Though still, Theodosius is essentially a puppet of Khosrau. If Khosrau will extend the same courtesies that Maurice extended to him is not guaranteed.

 

[Sian]

going to follow this one as well

 

[God-Eater of the Marshes]

You know what I think about this my friend.
You can count me in.

Splendid! I hope you enjoy this TL.

I look forward to what has not been but, will now come!

Though still, Theodosius is essentially a puppet of Khosrau. If Khosrau will extend the same courtesies that Maurice extended to him is not guaranteed.

I hope I can fulfil your hope in what will come!

Indeed, Theodosius will be puppeted by Khosrau II to a large extent. But the fact that there is a legitimate and corporeal Theodosius at the helm of the Persian cassus belli will significantly alter the course of the war. And it certainly adds a whole new dimension of political intrigue to the TL. IOTL, Khosrau II had a pseudo-Theodosius as a poster-boy for his war, but the fact that this pseudo-Theodosius never appeared except in Persian propaganda certainly says a few things about his perceived legitimacy.

As for the courtesies Khosrau II might/might not extend, we'll see. Its interesting to note that IOTL, Khosrau II went pretty "power-crazy" as the war reached its apex in the 610-ish period of time, even though his initial war aims seem to have been rather humble comparatively.

Anyway, I'll elaborate more on this later. But thanks for your comments! Its highly valued.

going to follow this one as well

Thanks! Your readership is something I hope to maintain.

 

[Tongera]

I only read bits of Aegyptus Has Risen. I enjoyed it greatly.

I also enjoyed this update greatly and can't wait for the second one.

One question, didn't the Persians try and put a imposter as Theodosius on the Eastern Roman Empire throne during their final war due to rumours that he was still alive?

 

[Basileus Giorgios]

Egypt in the Byzantine World, an essay collection by Roger Bagnall, is probably your best bet here, and I believe Sarris' Economy and Society in the Age of Justinian has some useful chapters too. I also have the first two chapters of MacCoull's Dioscorus of Aphrodito: His Work and His World in Word format, if you'd be interested?

 

[God-Eater of the Marshes]

I only read bits of Aegyptus Has Risen. I enjoyed it greatly.

I also enjoyed this update greatly and can't wait for the second one.

Thank you very much! I hope you stay on board, I'm aiming to have the next update out soon.

One question, didn't the Persians try and put a imposter as Theodosius on the Eastern Roman Empire throne during their final war due to rumours that he was still alive?

The Persians did indeed try to use an impostor as Theodosius. However, from the very beginning this fake Theodosius was not seen as very legitimate due to the fact that he never actually appeared in person anywhere, no-one apart from Narses backed him up as being legitimate, Constantine Lardys was suspiciously dead while pseudo-Theodosius was alive, and pseudo-Theodosius did literally no leading himself. And even then, his small shreds of legitimacy died pretty quickly with the death of Narses.

I feel that having a real Theodosius who carries real weight behind the cassus belli of Khosrau II and Narses will significantly alter both the Sassanian and Roman attitudes to Khosrau II's war. It becomes, at least in Roman eyes, much less of a war of conquest and more of a (semi-)civil war which is carried out in the name of a (semi-)legitimate cause. Plus, Theodosius will have his own goals and motives and being that he would be seen as quite essential to the Persian war effort, he'll likely have at least a puppet's say in what happens.

Egypt in the Byzantine World, an essay collection by Roger Bagnall, is probably your best bet here, and I believe Sarris' Economy and Society in the Age of Justinian has some useful chapters too. I also have the first two chapters of MacCoull's Dioscorus of Aphrodito: His Work and His World in Word format, if you'd be interested?

Funny you should mention Egypt in the Byzantine World, as I got it in the post only yesterday! I have yet to read it in its entirety but it seems like a pretty handy book. I also bought Egypt After the Pharaohs: 332 BC - 642 AD by Alan K. Bowman and The Early Coptic Papacy: The Egyptian Church and Its Leadership in Late Antiquity by Stephen J. Davis.

In terms of general Byzantine knowledge, I've obtained Edward Gibbon's full collection, Byzantium: The Early Centuries and A Short History of Byzantium by John Julius Norwich, History of the Byzantine State by George Ostrogorsky and A Social History of Byzantium by John Haldon.

I'll check up on the Economy and Society in the Age of Justinian. It would certainly be a marvellous source. And yes, I would be very interested in Dioscorus of Aphrodito. It seems extremely useful.

Thanks for the help and advice, 'tis appreciated!

 

[Basileus Giorgios]

In terms of general Byzantine knowledge, I've obtained Edward Gibbon's full collection, Byzantium: The Early Centuries and A Short History of Byzantium by John Julius Norwich, History of the Byzantine State by George Ostrogorsky and A Social History of Byzantium by John Haldon.

I'll check up on the Economy and Society in the Age of Justinian. It would certainly be a useful source. And yes, I would be very interested in Dioscorus of Aphrodito. It seems extremely useful.

Thanks for the help and advice, 'tis appreciated!

I'd be wary of Gibbon, Norwich and Ostrogorsky. All of them, I believe, perpetrate the old notion of unending persecution of the poor innocent Copts (and Syriacs, Arians, Arabs, etc) by an evil Byzantine Empire. Haldon is probably a good bet, though. I'd also recommend Mark Whittow's "The Making of Orthodox Byzantium"- although he perhaps goes too far the other way in emphasising Christian unity around AD600. All of this is to build up to a polemic attacking the policies of Basil II, though it takes Whittow a very long time to get there.

As for Dioscorus, drop me your email in a PM and I'll forward on the documents.

 

[God-Eater of the Marshes]

Chapter I: The Unfortunate Survival of Theodosius
Part I

A sixth-century mosaic depicting the commander of Mesopotamia, Narses.​

- 13th of December, 602A.D. Somewhere close to the Church of St. Autonomus the Martyr that overlooks the Bay of Nicomedia.

Grey rain blanketed the surroundings, dissolving the trees and sky into a discoloured blur. The procession was solemn as it splashed through the river of mud the path had been reduced to. All of them had their heads bowed, whether to protect their faces from the rain or to humble themselves in prayer. Even the five children, bobbing up and down like aborted cargo with each step, were bent in stature. A jagged wind was billowing through the trees, forcing the rain to pour down at a sharp angle that always seemed to find the warm spot between the base of the neck and where the back began. The mud clawed at Maurice's boots, and he felt himself stumbling against the hungry earth. His mind was too tired to make any comparisons, but a few times his heels had tried to spur some invisible steed through the slush each time a chain jangled. Together with his twitching fingers, his heels seemed to remember the clink of armour and the metallic rustle of spears. The Emperor was reminded of the winter soils of Persarmenia, where he had campaigned against the Persians as the magister militum of the East. Briefly, the anxious fear of a soldier fluttered through his chest like a palpitation. The muscles of his thighs felt as if they were carrying the weight of his old armour as he fought away the dragging mud with each step. Cold rain dribbled down his face and he instinctively raised a hand to wipe away the sweat that ran in rivulets under his sun-baked helmet. He clutched his chains with white knuckles, teeth gritted and lips bared. The old eyes of Maurice bore rings of lightning as he caught fleeting glimpses of the ghostly apparitions of Death in the trees ahead. The spectral spear-tips that floated above every bush in the periphery, those paranoid delusions that had haunted the young Maurice on his first campaigns had returned. But unlike his marches in Anatolia and Armenia, Maurice had no grim determination, no young blood and no hungry for victory. The courage of his youth could not save him. And neither would Maurice embrace the rush of adrenaline if he felt it. Instead, Maurice watched the path ahead with the demeanour of a wounded lion, and shambled forwards. "Thou art just, oh Lord, and just are thy judgements”, he murmured. Fate was near.

When Lilius[1] finally gave the order to stop, Maurice was thoroughly exhausted. He slumped himself on the wet ground as Phocas' soldiers busied themselves with their preparations. His wife, Constantina, and their five sons, Tiberius, Petrus, Paulus, Justin and Justinian, rushed over to Maurice as they were allowed to break the single-file formation of the march. Constantina threw herself at the old Emperor, who merely edged slightly in her direction to receive her embrace. "Oh Maurce... Oh Maurice, God save us!" she sobbed into his shoulder. The words were muffled, but the obvious distress of Constantina frightened their sons. Tiberius, the oldest son present, was visibly distraught, as he was the only one capable of truly comprehending what was about to happen. "Children, come here," said Maurice, trying to sound fatherly but coming across as vague and mechanical, "Come and give your father a hug. Pray with me." For a brief moment, the family of Maurice huddled together as the bitter rain slashed at their shivering bodies, trying to break their unity. Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison.

"Are you ready?" asked a voice. Maurice unburied his face from his family's embrace to see Lilius standing over them. He wore a strange smile that appeared to be almost kindly. Or at least, that's how Maurice interpreted it. "Right then" said Lilius after receiving no reply, "Flavius Mauricius Tiberius, I hereby sentence you and your family to death. By the orders of Flavius Phocas Augustus, Emperor of the Roman Empire, you have been found guilty of sedition, treason, murder, crimes against the Roman people, unfaithfulness to the ideals of the Empire, theft of the treasury, unjust conduct towards your faithful soldiers, lack of Christian faith, maltreatment of prisoners, gluttony, unlawful Paganism and repeated malfeasance in office."

Maurice stared blankly at Lilius as he recited the increasingly ridiculous crimes. Meanwhile, his wife and children trembled in fear and hopelessness. "Do you have anything to say?" asked Lilius,

"No! No!" screeched Constantina, collapsing in a heap in front of Lilius, "Why are you doing this! We are innocent! The children are innocent!"

"Get this hag out of sight!" bellowed Lilius in a sudden flash of anger. As the children watched, a handful of soldiers carried a wailing Constantina away. Maurice's face remained impassive but he gently grabbed at the hand of Lilius, looking into his eyes, "Thou art just, oh Lord, and just are thy judgements" he uttered. Lilius nodded silently.

"Very well then" he replied, as if Maurice's incantations bore meaning to him, "Start with the oldest".

Tiberius was dragged to a stone block by two soldiers. He was bawling and flailing, but he was helpless. Maurice stood complacently as a soldier's sword glinted through the veil of rain, and when the crimson blood of Tiberius was thrown against the oppressing greyness in a brilliant juxtaposition, Maurice didn't flinch. Only his mouth moved, "Thou art just, oh Lord, and just are thy judgements".

One by one, the princes of Maurice were cleaved at the neck. The soldiers of Phocas milled about like farmers on harvest day, passing the bloodied sword amongst each other. In the distance, Constantia continued to howl. But through each execution, Maurice simply watched. "Thou art just, oh Lord, and just are thy judgements"

After the last son had been slain, the soldiers concerned themselves with piling up the bodies. The pause in the killing allowed a brief respite, and Maurice bowed his head, praying to whatever deity watched him. Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison. His prayers were disturbed when he felt two hands grabbing and lifting him up. The mud pulled at his boots for one last time before he was freed from the burdens of the earth and carried to the block to be thrown to his knees. Lilius squatted beside the Emperor and craned his head to one side, looking into his eyes. "The Great Maurice..." he crowed, "Who dies in the rain like an unfortunate mutineer. What an irony"

"Thou art just, oh Lord, and just are thy judgements" spat Maurice acrimoniously, as if his prayer was somehow offensive. Lilius stood up and raised an eyebrow, “The Lord is just. Prepare for his judgement,” he retorted, “Men, continue…”

Maurice closed his eyes as his head was pushed onto the block. The blood of his sons warmed one side of his face as the biting rain scolded the other. He could almost feel the sword being lifted above his neck. The executioner made a loud intake of breath. Unconcerned, Maurice opened his eyes again and stared forwards unblinkingly.

"Thou art just, oh Lord, and just are thy judgements".

The sword swung down, and Phocas’ judgement was delivered.

In the last microseconds before his severed head ceased all function, Maurice became acutely aware of an incorporeal grey mass swooping in on him from his left. The last thing he heard was a familiar clinking of chains.

Thus ended Maurice’s reign. All remaining traces of the once-great Emperor would be washed away by the grey rain, absorbed into the discoloured oblivion.

Or failing that, consumed by the ravenous muds.

***​

- 16th of December, 602A.D. In the city of Edessa, Roman Mesopotamia.

At this current point in time, there were two Roman generals whose names carried any sort of weight. On the streets of Constantinople, citizens murmured the name of Phocas, the red-headed Emperor. Housewives gossiped about his looks and soldiers loudly commended him in front of their peers. Although Phocas was not officially a general, only carrying a subaltern position before his enthronement, he was often considered as one. However, in Persia, the situation was different. Few outside the court circles knew the name of Phocas, as after all, he had only sprung to light very recently. But there was another Roman general of whom they spoke.

"Narses!"

The general span around suddenly to face the voice. Tall, burly and rather tanned, Narses was an imposing figure. And imposing not only in stature, but in legacy: It is said that the name of Narses was the one name that the Persians feared. Mothers would threaten little Persian children with the wrath of Narses if they didn't go to bed, merchants blamed Narses for shortages, and even Shahrbaraz[2] had spent many an afternoon pondering over that name. Like his deceased namesake, the Narses that had served under Justinian, the Narses of Mesopotamia was a man not to be trifled with. Here was a man who bowed to the purple only after making a conscious decision of yes or no; here was a man not motivated by the instinctual abasements that drove lesser men, but by a much more powerful sense of self-determination.

"Yes?" Narses replied, "What is it that you want, Komes[3] Botaneiates?"

Botaneiates entered the room, more confident after Narses' unspoken acceptance. He closed the door behind him, "My lord, startling news from the West".

"From Constantinople? Why, what's happening there? Has Phocas finally been extinguished?"

"Erm... No..." said Botaneiates, "Quite the opposite... Phocas has had Maurice and his family executed".

"That absolute fucker!" spat Narses. He slammed the wall with his palm, creating a loud smacking sound. For a few moments, Narses just leant against the wall and stared at the floor.

"Dear Lord, what is to become of us now?" he suddenly exclaimed, swivelling back around from the wall. He paced back and forth anxiously, his hand held upright like a maestro's baton, "I tell you Botaneiates, Phocas'll come after me! I'm the only significant military figure left after that asshole killed off Peter[4] and Maurice! And my loyalty to the old Emperor isn't exactly unknown!"

"Perhaps sir, but also, if we make it known to Phocas we're not his enemy, he might be forgiving!"

"Forgiving!?!" bellowed Narses, "Fuck 'Forgiving'! Fuck bowing down to that jackass! He murdered all of Maurice's offspring and purged his entire family! He's effectively put the military into a choke-hold, how 'forgiving' do you think he'll be to what is literally the only obstacle in between him and whatever deluded fantasies he dreams up?" Again, Narses began to pace about, but after a few seconds he turned his back on Botaneiates and lowered his gaze to what he had been looking at before the Komes had interrupted him. Spread out across a table, was a large map of the Roman Empire and her neighbours. Little wooden blocks coloured in bright hues and sticks fashioned into tiny flags were dotted across the map. Narses studied the map for a moment, "Look here Botaneiates, Phocas' armies are centered in Thrace and the Balkans. Likely to stave off the Avars and solidify his own rule. There are few soldiers in between Dara[5] and Chalcedon who aren't already under my banner."

"Yes my lord?" said Botaneiates with an air of hesitation, "What are you getting at?"

"We have quite a while before Phocas can challenge me on my side of the Bosporus!" exclaimed Narses triumphantly,

"You're... Rebelling?"

"No! No! Well... At least not yet. You see, I'll stay here. In Edessa. With my troops. We'll ignore any orders delivered to us by Phocas and wait for him to come here. If he means to bring me down, we shall fight and destroy him here in Mesopatamia... Here on my terms!"

"Ah well..." muttered Botaneiates, "What then?"

"What then? We put a son of Maurice on the throne!"

"I thought they were all dead?"

Narses paused and raised a finger to Botaneiates, "Not all of them. They say that Theodosius, the first-born of Maurice's line, still lives..."

Botaneiates nodded and then laid a hand upon Narses' shoulder, "And you're serious about this?"

Narses looked at him, his expression suddenly turning to a grave sincerity, "Do you honestly think I woke up this morning, with a desire to grovel to a self-inflated comitatensis[6]?"

***​

- 17th of December, 602A.D. A small town somewhere in Cilicia.

"Yeah, yeah! And ya hear that?" barked the inn-keeper cheerily, "Ya heard about that Maurice fella? That old Emperor?"

Suddenly Theodosius' heart sank. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his cup. Around him, a low buzz filled the dimly-lit inn. Peasants still red and sweaty from the fields were enjoying their drinks into the coolness of the evening. To his left, a young merchant on his way to Constantinople was fiddling his thumbs and attempting to decipher the cryptic runes inscribed on the papyrus in front of him. To his right, a red-faced bureaucrat on vacation from Attalia was conversing with the equally red-faced inn-keeper.

"Yeah... I said, didja hear 'bout that old rat Maurice?" reiterated the inn-keeper, waving his arms around like a seagull. Dear Lord, please no. Please don't make him say it. Not here. Not now. thought Theodosius frantically, Holy shit, where is Constantine! Get me out of here!

Indeed, anyone in Theodosius' situation would agree that an inn in a rural Cilician town was not a good place to hear the news of his father's death. But Theodosius didn't want to leave without Constantine Lardys, who had left to speak with a veteran merchant about the fastest route to Ctesiphon. It was evident that no-one would think twice if a young man wearing nicer-than-normal clothes suddenly left without explanation, but Theodosius' mind was locked in the mentality common to teenage boys: that any wrong move would end in perpetual embarrassment and ridicule. He felt as if everyone in the inn had suddenly turned to stare at him.

"Soooooo, what they're sayin' is that this new Phocas chap -"

"Quite a nice fellow it seems" cut in the red-faced bureaucrat, "At least he's not some kind of penny-pinching Jew like Maurice was".

"True that, my friend. But they're sayin' that Phocas ordered and personally carried out the execution of Maurice! They say not just that, but the entire fuckin' family is dead as well!"

Suddenly Theodosius' world seemed to slow down to a halt. His hand began to tremble and his face started to quiver. He sniffed up a loose drop of mucus from his nose.

"Ah what? Nah, Phocas wouldn't have killed them himself! Some military bugger would have done it!"

Theodosius felt his whole body on the verge of an immense convulsion that would shatter the Pantheon. No... No! He can't be dead! They're lying! They're lying! Constantine said father would make it through!

He got up abruptly, pulling his cloak around himself frantically. Turning to the inn-keeper, Theodosius let loose an unexpectedly high-pitched shriek, "YOU'RE LYING!".

Out the doors he flew, trailed by the perplexed eyes of the inn's patrons. He ran through the town until he reached a wooded hill, where he sat down and unleashed all the tears a heart-broken teenage boy can muster. For four hours he was there, entering and exiting various stages of anger, sadness, anxiety, hate, acceptance and fear as he processed the death of his entire family.

When he returned to town, he was thoroughly exhausted, streaked with tears, and his legs were soaked in mud.

A few days later, when Constantine Lardys stopped the boy and spent nearly a full hour explaining, apologising and lamenting the death of Theodosius' family, Constantine would wonder why Theodosius seemed relatively unaffected.

***​

Hey guys. Back with an update. This is entirely narrative, mainly to introduce some important characters.

Footnotes:
[1]: Lilius was the man who Phocas ordered to find and kill Maurice. IOTL, Lilius does so, bringing back the heads of Maurice and his sons.
[2]: Shahrbaraz, whose real name was Farrokhan, was the commander-in-chief, or Eran Spahbod, of all the Persian armies. His title, which means "Boar of the Empire", refers to Shahrbaraz's aggressive and incendiary personality as well as his prowess on the battlefield. He is perhaps the most able general of the region who is still currently serving.
[3]: Komes translates roughly to "Count", but a Komes had a much more military role. They were typically middle-rank commanders who commanded around 200 to 500 men.
[4]: Peter was the brother of Maurice and the previous commander of the Balkan armies. He was later executed.
[5]: Dara was the most important fortress on the Roman-Persian border. It held a place comparable to the IOTL Verdun of WWI, having both immense strategic and propaganda value.
[6]: A comitatensis was a regular Roman footsoldier. They represented the bulk of the professional Roman armies. Phocas was originally nothing more than a comitatensis.

 

[Grouchio]

So Theodosius is our Final Fantasy protagonist. The whiny emo kind. Gee, this will be fun...

 

[abc123]

Intresting as allways. Subscribed.

 

[Malta]

Shahrbaraz indeed. I wonder if he will get the throne this time around.

Can't wait for what comes next!

 

[Tongera]

I have already subscribed. This TL is so good I will unsubscribe then subscribe again, just for you.

One little thing: Do the peasants in Anatolia and Mesopotamia normally swear like a fucking Englishman?

 

[God-Eater of the Marshes]

So Theodosius is our Final Fantasy protagonist. The whiny emo kind. Gee, this will be fun...

Heh. In defence of our protagonist, he's stuck in the middle of nowhere and has just heard about the death of his whole family. I think there's a little room for emo-ness here...

Intresting as allways. Subscribed.

Thank you. Stay tuned for more!

Shahrbaraz indeed. I wonder if he will get the throne this time around.

Ahh... We shall see. Shahrbaraz will certainly be a rather unpredictable character. And he'll definitely be a somewhat important figure in this TL.

Can't wait for what comes next!

And I hope you enjoy what comes next. Thanks!

I have already subscribed. This TL is so good I will unsubscribe then subscribe again, just for you.

Haha, thanks a lot man! Though unnecessary, the gesture is highly appreciated.

One little thing: Do the peasants in Anatolia and Mesopotamia normally swear like a fucking Englishman?

Well I can certainly say that in the depths of drunkenness and/or gross amounts of anger and annoyance, any peasant would swear like an Englishman.

Though would anyone ever reach the threshold of swearing like a drunk and angry Englishman? I don't think the vocabulary of the Byzantine Greek language is broad enough for such an incredible feat.

 

[abc123]

Though would anyone ever reach the threshold of swearing like a drunk and angry Englishman? I don't think the vocabulary of the Byzantine Greek language is broad enough for such an incredible feat.

Heh.
Drunken Englishman swear pretty much less than my countryman in normal and sober conversation...

 

[St. Just]

Nice- glad to see this rebooted.

 

[God-Eater of the Marshes]

Heh.
Drunken Englishman swear pretty much less than my countryman in normal and sober conversation...

Oh boy, I may have to reevaluate the language factor of my TL!

Nice- glad to see this rebooted.

Thank you! It's nice to see some of my old readers returning. I hope I can manage to keep you all interested.

 

[God-Eater of the Marshes]

Going to have a lot of free time these next holidays (which start in a week). Might be able to restart working on this TL.

Would anyone be interested in the above, if it were to happen? Or is it all a little too late.