The Mauricians: A Medieval Roman novel
- Thread starter Pururauka
- Start date
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Is Phocas still sitting in his palace getting drunk or is he going to actually offer some effective resistance against the Persians.....
We'll have to see if they live up to their word...
Merci beaucoup.
The key word there is "effective."
The Emperor has had some bad luck on the Ostfront. His first army there was shredded by the Persians and Narses, whose death deprived the Romans of the best commander around. Then there was Germanus and Leontius, who had their rears kicked, losing more men in the process. And then we have Domentziolus the Younger, who's only managed to harass the advancing enemy.
Phocas' latest move was sending Bonosus with a brand new army into Anatolia. IOTL this man managed to hold the front and make it all the way to Egypt to fight Nicetas, Heraclius' cousin. We still have to see how he fares ITTL.
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Chapter 6-II- Theodosius
Before we dive into today's update, I would like to give credit where credit is due. Much of the local information here presented, and the conceiving idea for a character here introduced, are the work of BG himself. Please clap a couple of times for the man before you continue reading.
[2] Damian, Coptic Pope of Alexandria (IOTL 569-605.)
[3] Standard bearer. The then equivalent of the Aquilifer.
[4] May 11th, 605. Theodosius would reckon his “regnal years” from the time when he was crowned by Maurice on March 26th, 590.
[5] One of the Egyptian provinces.
[6] Capital of Arcadia.
[7] Dioskoros of Aphrodito (c.520-585) Egyptian poet and lawyer. His grandson Dioskoros “the Younger,” and son, are fictional, although we can safely assume them to have existed, perhaps with different names.
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Chapter 6 -II-
“Thanks you Kyrie! Thank you!” moaned the fellow a second time, while he groveled before Theodosius, and walked backwards, on his way out of the room. “Go on your way good man. Be at peace, that God has now returned Us to you” the Emperor answered.
The business of the day was settling small land disputes, and dealing with abuses by the local Egyptian authorities. So far, this was much easier to deal with, than the meeting he had been in the week before at Naukratis, with Eulogius [1] and Damian [2], the Chalcedonian and Monophysite Patriarchs of Egypt. Then, the air had been charged with tension, as both men had laid their claims before the Emperor, accusing each other of heresy, numerous crimes, and all sorts of immorality. In order to avoid any public embarrassing scenes, Theodosius had restricted the attendance to himself, the two clerics, and Heraclius whom, following the surrender of Alexandria, had been named as his new Kouropalates.
“You’re a filthy heretic, misleading the people and promoting Satan’s cause!”
“It has been written, ‘For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished.’ By changing the Law you are distorting the truth! You are the ornithoboras [3] of the armies of Hell!”
“Gentlemen please! You are in the presence of the Emperor of the Romans! Behave accordingly!"
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, as he remembered one of the exchanges from the conference. The only remotely similar environment he had encountered before, had been when dealing with the Arian Lombards; but then again, their king Agiluf had been a more amenable Orthodox Catholic, and as their dependence on Roman power increased, the religious differences had mattered less and less. Here however, the state of affairs was quite different. Phocas’ comes scholai, Alexander, had become famous through the diocese before he ever set foot in it. Those who could flee the Levant had poured into Alexandria, and then into the countryside, bearing horrific enough news. The adherents of the single nature had feared for their lives; the few Jews residing in Egypt were even more terrified; and the wealthy Chalcedonian merchants of Alexandria had dreaded with terror, the possibility of their suppliers being dispatched, and their incomes decimated. It should have come as no surprise then, that upon the arrival of Theodosius’ forces, a half-hearted decision was made to oppose him by the local authorities; but it was a decision which was quickly overturned, once the Emperor himself rushed to the capital upon news of the combat. The population of Alexandria, both Monophysites and Melkites, revolted against the Prefect and Patriarch and demanded that their ruler be let in. Such had been the situation in the Egyptian metropolis, when Theodosius made his formal entry, on the feast of Saint Jason of Tarsus, on the second month of his sixteenth regnal year [4].
Nevertheless, that momentary unity seemed to evaporate by his second day in the city. The upper echelons of the Chalcedonian clergy had quickly appealed to him, to remain in Egypt for a while, and “cleanse” the land of the rampant apostasy. Non-committally, Theodosius assured them of his loyalty to the Church Councils and his willingness to settle the religious dispute in the future. The very next day, the opposing faction made its move; a direct representative of their Pope Damian, came to Alexandria, whence Damian was banned, and appealed to him to meet with the exiled leader, stressing the suffering of his Church, and how the Chalcedonians made everyday life miserable. In a similar fashion, Theodosius listened patiently, and sent him away empty handed.
Yet, in order to strengthen his forces, and to leave the newly won country in safe hands, he would have to expand his base and following; appeal to the people of Egypt, and win their goodwill, as he had in Italy and Africa. The easiest route to achieve this would be through the heads of the respective Churches, he had reasoned. Not overthinking the situation, and since he felt unwilling to be bogged down by a provincial religious dispute now that he had apparently regained the military initiative, Theodosius summoned both Patriarchs to Naukratis in order to solve the “dispute.”
“Kyrie, next up is a peasant from Herakleoupolis; he claims the local pagarch unlawfully took some of his lambs as compensation for unpaid tribute. He has unsuccessfully pleaded with the duke of Arcadia [5], and now surrenders himself to your justice” announced the eunuch by the door.
“Let him in” Theodosius said lifting a hand slightly, and shifting on the throne he was sitting on.
In came a middle aged man dressed with a long blue chlamys, a white tunic, and golden boots. Like all others, he seemed to be wearing his finest clothing, trying to portray himself as more important than he really was. He knelt before the Emperor in silence.
“Go ahead.”
Standing up, the peasant started: “Kyrie, Isapostole, I beg you to please intercede in my behalf! I have always been an honest and God fearing man. My taxes are turned in regularly and on time to Oxyrynchos [6]. I spare whatever I can, and donate it to the Church of Saint Theoclia in Herakleoupolis. And I have most loyally mourned the brutal crime committed in Constantinople against our Lord Maurice.”
“And what is it that you seek from Us?”
“Kyrie, in contravention to established law, the pagarch seized twenty two of my best sheep! I am only a humble farmer, and my animals are the only source of wealth and sustenance for myself and my family. The taxes for this year had already been paid…”
Kyrie; you must understand that God has smiled upon your undertakings so far because of your adherence to the holy creed of the Chalcedonian fathers! Should you desist in your faith, divine intervention might be withheld!
Autokrator; you should know that the Chalcedonians separate the natures and the essences in a gross misinterpretation of scripture which could damn Your soul to eternal torment on the Day of Judgment!
The conference had gone nowhere. Apparently, all Theodosius had managed to do was to pour salt over an old wound. The two men had only been kept from killing each other with their vitriolic attacks by the constant interventions of Heraclius. Once he recognized that the Church leaders might not be as amenable as he had initially wished, Theodosius decided to turn directly to the people. Messengers went out in all directions, and four days later, delegations began arriving down the Nile, on their way to Alexandria. This was the third day he had been holding these hearings.
“We will compensate you in gold for the value of your animals, and deal personally with pagarch…” he said dully, picking the conversation back up.
“Severus, Kyrie” informed him the pleading peasant.
“Severus, right…” Theodosius finished, as he turned to the scribe standing to his left, who diligently wrote the name down on the papyrus scroll he was holding. “Now, here’s a nomisma, for your troubles. Go on your way man.”
One of the attendants standing by the walls stuck his hand in the pouch he was carrying, and approached the peasant. The man seemed more surprised than anything, when the courtesan took out a gold piece with Maurice’s bust on it and handed it to him.
“Thank you Kyrie! Thank you!” he shouted as he threw himself on the floor, crawling towards Theodosius.
The guards that were surrounding the room looked expectantly at their commander John, the Comes Excubitorum, who in turn looked to the Emperor for orders. He only nodded briefly.
John approached the man and lifted him up slowly. “Come on, get going. We’ve got others waiting.”
“Yes, yes, surely! Thank you Kyrie! God bless you!” he continued saying out loud as he was led out of the room.
Theodosius only smiled as the man left. With him gone, he let out a heavy sigh. He glanced at the individual to his right, his name was Kyrillos, or so he thought; a civil servant recommended by Patriarch Eulogius, who had been writing down details of the cases presented.
“That’s quite a bunch for today Kyrie” he commented, with a seemingly forced smile.
“Yes, quite a few…” Theodosius replied, tamely. “How many more are left?” he asked the eunuch.
“Just one more for today Kyrie. A certain Dioskoros, from the village of Aphrodito. He contends that his family lands have been unlawfully seized by the local pagarch, and that unjust taxes have been extorted from his father.”
What the hell is it with these pagarchs? he thought. “All right, let’s get this over with. Let him in.”
The eunuch complied, and in came a man about Theodosius’ own age. His neatly trimmed black beard suited him perfectly, against his dark complexion; it almost seemed another piece of the elegant garments that he wore. His tunic and boots were a light golden brown, with embroidered straps; his chlamys was a bright green, over which he wore a snow white cape; and all was secured in place by an elaborate golden brooch. He actually seemed somewhat more important than the peasants that had been visiting so far.
He bowed down once, stiffly, and stood in silence, waiting for Theodosius to speak.
“Go on” the Emperor said dryly, and unimpressed, too caught up in his thoughts to notice the man’s irreverence.
“My family, the descendants of Psimanobet, has been tragically harassed by the government of Constantinople through their pawns, the local pagarchs, for fifty years. My own grandfather, Dioskoros [7], traveled to The City of Constantine, in hopes of relieving our plight and that of Aphrodito itself. Although his undertaking was successful, our situation only deteriorated with his passing. My father Apollos has now been forced to sell part of our assets in order to meet the ever growing extortions from the pagarch Proterius.”
A little more aware of the man’s tone, Theodosius narrowed his eyes as he leant slightly forward in his seat. “And who do you hold responsible for the plight of your town exactly?”
“Tiberius Constantine and Maurice.”
The expectant crowd gave out a loud gasp. Theodosius felt a cold shudder run down his spine; he had never been put in such a situation. At first, he was perplexed. Then, the irritation set in.
“Why would you hold Our family hostage to the absurd whims of a mere provincial official? Do you not know that the Emperor has on him the weight of the entire world?” he shouted. Standing on the sides, by the left wall and amongst his men, John watched carefully, slowly moving his right hand over his sword.
“If a ruler cannot guarantee the safety of his subjects, then it is perhaps God’s will that they be released from his rule. They might fare better on their own. One can draw his own conclusions from the events of the last years” Dioskoros answered calmly.
Theodosius felt the anger burn inside of him, as he clenched his teeth. His family had been the real victims during these years; his father, had served the Empire selflessly for twenty years, and was stabbed in the back by a stupid barbarian. His mother a princess, locked away like vulgar prisoner. His siblings dead, or caged up. And the oblivious people did nothing.
“Do you think it is imperial policy to milk the wealth of the people? Do you think that the Emperor sits in Constantinople scheming daily on how to hoard everybody else’s gold?” he asked, now yelling, and sitting on the very edge of his seat.
“Not all of them. The Great Justinian watched over us. Justin did not bother us. Tiberius did not listen to us. But it was Maurice who did not keep the vultures away from us” the Egyptian responded with a shrug.
“We’ve had enough! We see no reason…” Theodosius started, pounding the arm of the throne with his right fist. But before he had finished, Dioskoros interrupted him abruptly, shouting, “Look out!” and pointing to the Emperor’s right.
The secretary Kyrillos had discarded his tablet, which fell loudly on the floor, and was now wielding a knife, holding it just above Theodosius’ neck, with a clear intent of plunging it downward. With a quick reaction, the Emperor rolled off the throne, landing with his back on the floor below. There, with terror overpowering him, Theodosius froze.
Kyrillos charged at him with a roar, getting closer every second. Theodosius thought briefly, and involuntarily, of Irene and his son Maurice; of his own father and his smiling mother at the pier before he left for the West all those years ago. Kyrie eleison. But the speed of the events unfolding did not wait for his mind to catch up. Before he could realize it, John had tackled Kyrillos, sword in hand. Landing on the floor, somewhat disconcerted, the would be assassin tried to look for his now lost dagger; but then, before he could get far, the Comes plunged his blade deep in the man’s side. The rest of the guard ran up and surrounded Theodosius, who was now getting up.
The commotion in the room was by this time clear everywhere; the doors swung open, even more soldiers poured in, and begun arresting everyone present. “Who sent you?” shouted John, as he turned over the now moribund secretary.
“The Pat…the Patri…de…death…to the he…heretic …lover…” Kyrillos mumbled with his last breath, a slender stream of blood pouring out of the corner of his mouth.
What the fuck? Theodosius thought, as he brushed off the dust from his clothes with his hands. Eulogius? That son of a bitch…He knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt that these clerics were utterly dangerous, and he would have to deal with them before moving on. Nonetheless, by now there was also something else in his mind. Instinctively, he looked to the back of the room, searching with his eyes. When he found him, he walked up to him.
“Release this man at once” he ordered the soldiers, who were tying Dioskoros’ hands behind his back. Looking deep into the Egyptian’s brown eyes and poking him hard in the chest with his index finger, he told him: “I’ve got business to discuss with you.”
The business of the day was settling small land disputes, and dealing with abuses by the local Egyptian authorities. So far, this was much easier to deal with, than the meeting he had been in the week before at Naukratis, with Eulogius [1] and Damian [2], the Chalcedonian and Monophysite Patriarchs of Egypt. Then, the air had been charged with tension, as both men had laid their claims before the Emperor, accusing each other of heresy, numerous crimes, and all sorts of immorality. In order to avoid any public embarrassing scenes, Theodosius had restricted the attendance to himself, the two clerics, and Heraclius whom, following the surrender of Alexandria, had been named as his new Kouropalates.
“You’re a filthy heretic, misleading the people and promoting Satan’s cause!”
“It has been written, ‘For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished.’ By changing the Law you are distorting the truth! You are the ornithoboras [3] of the armies of Hell!”
“Gentlemen please! You are in the presence of the Emperor of the Romans! Behave accordingly!"
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, as he remembered one of the exchanges from the conference. The only remotely similar environment he had encountered before, had been when dealing with the Arian Lombards; but then again, their king Agiluf had been a more amenable Orthodox Catholic, and as their dependence on Roman power increased, the religious differences had mattered less and less. Here however, the state of affairs was quite different. Phocas’ comes scholai, Alexander, had become famous through the diocese before he ever set foot in it. Those who could flee the Levant had poured into Alexandria, and then into the countryside, bearing horrific enough news. The adherents of the single nature had feared for their lives; the few Jews residing in Egypt were even more terrified; and the wealthy Chalcedonian merchants of Alexandria had dreaded with terror, the possibility of their suppliers being dispatched, and their incomes decimated. It should have come as no surprise then, that upon the arrival of Theodosius’ forces, a half-hearted decision was made to oppose him by the local authorities; but it was a decision which was quickly overturned, once the Emperor himself rushed to the capital upon news of the combat. The population of Alexandria, both Monophysites and Melkites, revolted against the Prefect and Patriarch and demanded that their ruler be let in. Such had been the situation in the Egyptian metropolis, when Theodosius made his formal entry, on the feast of Saint Jason of Tarsus, on the second month of his sixteenth regnal year [4].
Nevertheless, that momentary unity seemed to evaporate by his second day in the city. The upper echelons of the Chalcedonian clergy had quickly appealed to him, to remain in Egypt for a while, and “cleanse” the land of the rampant apostasy. Non-committally, Theodosius assured them of his loyalty to the Church Councils and his willingness to settle the religious dispute in the future. The very next day, the opposing faction made its move; a direct representative of their Pope Damian, came to Alexandria, whence Damian was banned, and appealed to him to meet with the exiled leader, stressing the suffering of his Church, and how the Chalcedonians made everyday life miserable. In a similar fashion, Theodosius listened patiently, and sent him away empty handed.
Yet, in order to strengthen his forces, and to leave the newly won country in safe hands, he would have to expand his base and following; appeal to the people of Egypt, and win their goodwill, as he had in Italy and Africa. The easiest route to achieve this would be through the heads of the respective Churches, he had reasoned. Not overthinking the situation, and since he felt unwilling to be bogged down by a provincial religious dispute now that he had apparently regained the military initiative, Theodosius summoned both Patriarchs to Naukratis in order to solve the “dispute.”
“Kyrie, next up is a peasant from Herakleoupolis; he claims the local pagarch unlawfully took some of his lambs as compensation for unpaid tribute. He has unsuccessfully pleaded with the duke of Arcadia [5], and now surrenders himself to your justice” announced the eunuch by the door.
“Let him in” Theodosius said lifting a hand slightly, and shifting on the throne he was sitting on.
In came a middle aged man dressed with a long blue chlamys, a white tunic, and golden boots. Like all others, he seemed to be wearing his finest clothing, trying to portray himself as more important than he really was. He knelt before the Emperor in silence.
“Go ahead.”
Standing up, the peasant started: “Kyrie, Isapostole, I beg you to please intercede in my behalf! I have always been an honest and God fearing man. My taxes are turned in regularly and on time to Oxyrynchos [6]. I spare whatever I can, and donate it to the Church of Saint Theoclia in Herakleoupolis. And I have most loyally mourned the brutal crime committed in Constantinople against our Lord Maurice.”
“And what is it that you seek from Us?”
“Kyrie, in contravention to established law, the pagarch seized twenty two of my best sheep! I am only a humble farmer, and my animals are the only source of wealth and sustenance for myself and my family. The taxes for this year had already been paid…”
Kyrie; you must understand that God has smiled upon your undertakings so far because of your adherence to the holy creed of the Chalcedonian fathers! Should you desist in your faith, divine intervention might be withheld!
Autokrator; you should know that the Chalcedonians separate the natures and the essences in a gross misinterpretation of scripture which could damn Your soul to eternal torment on the Day of Judgment!
The conference had gone nowhere. Apparently, all Theodosius had managed to do was to pour salt over an old wound. The two men had only been kept from killing each other with their vitriolic attacks by the constant interventions of Heraclius. Once he recognized that the Church leaders might not be as amenable as he had initially wished, Theodosius decided to turn directly to the people. Messengers went out in all directions, and four days later, delegations began arriving down the Nile, on their way to Alexandria. This was the third day he had been holding these hearings.
“We will compensate you in gold for the value of your animals, and deal personally with pagarch…” he said dully, picking the conversation back up.
“Severus, Kyrie” informed him the pleading peasant.
“Severus, right…” Theodosius finished, as he turned to the scribe standing to his left, who diligently wrote the name down on the papyrus scroll he was holding. “Now, here’s a nomisma, for your troubles. Go on your way man.”
One of the attendants standing by the walls stuck his hand in the pouch he was carrying, and approached the peasant. The man seemed more surprised than anything, when the courtesan took out a gold piece with Maurice’s bust on it and handed it to him.
“Thank you Kyrie! Thank you!” he shouted as he threw himself on the floor, crawling towards Theodosius.
The guards that were surrounding the room looked expectantly at their commander John, the Comes Excubitorum, who in turn looked to the Emperor for orders. He only nodded briefly.
John approached the man and lifted him up slowly. “Come on, get going. We’ve got others waiting.”
“Yes, yes, surely! Thank you Kyrie! God bless you!” he continued saying out loud as he was led out of the room.
Theodosius only smiled as the man left. With him gone, he let out a heavy sigh. He glanced at the individual to his right, his name was Kyrillos, or so he thought; a civil servant recommended by Patriarch Eulogius, who had been writing down details of the cases presented.
“That’s quite a bunch for today Kyrie” he commented, with a seemingly forced smile.
“Yes, quite a few…” Theodosius replied, tamely. “How many more are left?” he asked the eunuch.
“Just one more for today Kyrie. A certain Dioskoros, from the village of Aphrodito. He contends that his family lands have been unlawfully seized by the local pagarch, and that unjust taxes have been extorted from his father.”
What the hell is it with these pagarchs? he thought. “All right, let’s get this over with. Let him in.”
The eunuch complied, and in came a man about Theodosius’ own age. His neatly trimmed black beard suited him perfectly, against his dark complexion; it almost seemed another piece of the elegant garments that he wore. His tunic and boots were a light golden brown, with embroidered straps; his chlamys was a bright green, over which he wore a snow white cape; and all was secured in place by an elaborate golden brooch. He actually seemed somewhat more important than the peasants that had been visiting so far.
He bowed down once, stiffly, and stood in silence, waiting for Theodosius to speak.
“Go on” the Emperor said dryly, and unimpressed, too caught up in his thoughts to notice the man’s irreverence.
“My family, the descendants of Psimanobet, has been tragically harassed by the government of Constantinople through their pawns, the local pagarchs, for fifty years. My own grandfather, Dioskoros [7], traveled to The City of Constantine, in hopes of relieving our plight and that of Aphrodito itself. Although his undertaking was successful, our situation only deteriorated with his passing. My father Apollos has now been forced to sell part of our assets in order to meet the ever growing extortions from the pagarch Proterius.”
A little more aware of the man’s tone, Theodosius narrowed his eyes as he leant slightly forward in his seat. “And who do you hold responsible for the plight of your town exactly?”
“Tiberius Constantine and Maurice.”
The expectant crowd gave out a loud gasp. Theodosius felt a cold shudder run down his spine; he had never been put in such a situation. At first, he was perplexed. Then, the irritation set in.
“Why would you hold Our family hostage to the absurd whims of a mere provincial official? Do you not know that the Emperor has on him the weight of the entire world?” he shouted. Standing on the sides, by the left wall and amongst his men, John watched carefully, slowly moving his right hand over his sword.
“If a ruler cannot guarantee the safety of his subjects, then it is perhaps God’s will that they be released from his rule. They might fare better on their own. One can draw his own conclusions from the events of the last years” Dioskoros answered calmly.
Theodosius felt the anger burn inside of him, as he clenched his teeth. His family had been the real victims during these years; his father, had served the Empire selflessly for twenty years, and was stabbed in the back by a stupid barbarian. His mother a princess, locked away like vulgar prisoner. His siblings dead, or caged up. And the oblivious people did nothing.
“Do you think it is imperial policy to milk the wealth of the people? Do you think that the Emperor sits in Constantinople scheming daily on how to hoard everybody else’s gold?” he asked, now yelling, and sitting on the very edge of his seat.
“Not all of them. The Great Justinian watched over us. Justin did not bother us. Tiberius did not listen to us. But it was Maurice who did not keep the vultures away from us” the Egyptian responded with a shrug.
“We’ve had enough! We see no reason…” Theodosius started, pounding the arm of the throne with his right fist. But before he had finished, Dioskoros interrupted him abruptly, shouting, “Look out!” and pointing to the Emperor’s right.
The secretary Kyrillos had discarded his tablet, which fell loudly on the floor, and was now wielding a knife, holding it just above Theodosius’ neck, with a clear intent of plunging it downward. With a quick reaction, the Emperor rolled off the throne, landing with his back on the floor below. There, with terror overpowering him, Theodosius froze.
Kyrillos charged at him with a roar, getting closer every second. Theodosius thought briefly, and involuntarily, of Irene and his son Maurice; of his own father and his smiling mother at the pier before he left for the West all those years ago. Kyrie eleison. But the speed of the events unfolding did not wait for his mind to catch up. Before he could realize it, John had tackled Kyrillos, sword in hand. Landing on the floor, somewhat disconcerted, the would be assassin tried to look for his now lost dagger; but then, before he could get far, the Comes plunged his blade deep in the man’s side. The rest of the guard ran up and surrounded Theodosius, who was now getting up.
The commotion in the room was by this time clear everywhere; the doors swung open, even more soldiers poured in, and begun arresting everyone present. “Who sent you?” shouted John, as he turned over the now moribund secretary.
“The Pat…the Patri…de…death…to the he…heretic …lover…” Kyrillos mumbled with his last breath, a slender stream of blood pouring out of the corner of his mouth.
What the fuck? Theodosius thought, as he brushed off the dust from his clothes with his hands. Eulogius? That son of a bitch…He knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt that these clerics were utterly dangerous, and he would have to deal with them before moving on. Nonetheless, by now there was also something else in his mind. Instinctively, he looked to the back of the room, searching with his eyes. When he found him, he walked up to him.
“Release this man at once” he ordered the soldiers, who were tying Dioskoros’ hands behind his back. Looking deep into the Egyptian’s brown eyes and poking him hard in the chest with his index finger, he told him: “I’ve got business to discuss with you.”
______________________________
[1] Eulogius, Chalcedonian Patriarch of Alexandria (IOTL 580-608.)
[2] Damian, Coptic Pope of Alexandria (IOTL 569-605.)
[3] Standard bearer. The then equivalent of the Aquilifer.
[4] May 11th, 605. Theodosius would reckon his “regnal years” from the time when he was crowned by Maurice on March 26th, 590.
[5] One of the Egyptian provinces.
[6] Capital of Arcadia.
[7] Dioskoros of Aphrodito (c.520-585) Egyptian poet and lawyer. His grandson Dioskoros “the Younger,” and son, are fictional, although we can safely assume them to have existed, perhaps with different names.
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Fantastic update! When is the next update in Constantinople? I want to see the crazy shenanigans that a crazy, paranoid emperor would entail 
So, thanks for including Dioskoros the Younger, and nice update! I like how Theodosius lost his temper now at the insolence of the provincial- good to see that the young Emperor is fallible and human! I do think Dioskoros must have been extremely brave, though: I wonder what got into him? Perhaps you could explain this bravery in a later update? I look forward to seeing more about him!
For all others- I'm doing my dissertation on Dioskoros of Aphrodito, the grandfather of this character, so I'm getting quite involved in the period. Dioskoros' family were middle level landowners from an unusually prosperous village, and a large part of his archived papers survived, to be discovered early in the 20th century. He remains the only writer of antiquity whose handwriting we know, which I think is pretty neat!
One small critique- I don't think you should be using the term "Copt" as synonymous with "Monophysite" just yet. The famous Dioskoros was certainly a Copt, but there's no evidence of where he stood on the Chalcedonian/Monophysite issue.
For all others- I'm doing my dissertation on Dioskoros of Aphrodito, the grandfather of this character, so I'm getting quite involved in the period. Dioskoros' family were middle level landowners from an unusually prosperous village, and a large part of his archived papers survived, to be discovered early in the 20th century. He remains the only writer of antiquity whose handwriting we know, which I think is pretty neat!
One small critique- I don't think you should be using the term "Copt" as synonymous with "Monophysite" just yet. The famous Dioskoros was certainly a Copt, but there's no evidence of where he stood on the Chalcedonian/Monophysite issue.
Indeed.
We should be paying Phocas a visit in the update after the next one.Fantastic update! When is the next update in Constantinople? I want to see the crazy shenanigans that a crazy, paranoid emperor would entail
Oh yes, we will see more of Dioskoros as things progress.
With regards to the rest: duly noted, and corrected.
Thanks to all of you for reading!!!
Chapter 6-III- Sigibuld
Chapter 6 -III-
He looked up, behind him, and saw the silhouettes of some of the more “unfortunate” guards on the high walls of the royal residence; the ones who actually had to patrol their areas during their beat. They seemed to be inattentive to his drowsiness and to whatever else the other men below were doing. Poor bastards; bored too, he thought. Having stretched his legs, and pulling the furs over his head, he leaned on the wall once again, and he mumbled to himself: “Well, we might as well rest a bit; we have a long night ahead.” It did not take much, before he was sleep, and dreaming.
He dreamt of his home; he had had a small plot of land with a “rustic” house, one could have called it, nonetheless it had been something far, far better than what his father would have had, before the Lombards came to Italy. But in his head, he also replayed other scenes from his life. He had been born near Mediolanum, and from a very young age his father had him, and his brother Godepert, introduced to arms. By the time he was around thirteen, he was already enrolled in his local band, and by age fifteen, he had seen his first battle against the Romans. Having grown quite used to the wars against them, he was somewhat shocked with the turn of events once Agiluf took the throne. Not only had the new King forsaken the Arian faith of his fathers, but he had also concluded a peace treaty with the Roman Exarch, Callinicus. Afterward, the Emperor Theodosius himself arrived, and became a friend with the Lombard King. The dismissal of the “rebellious” duchies to the south had not been very popular in Pavia; Sigibuld had personally witnessed some of the disgruntled Lombards talk about Agiluf’s betrayal; Godepert being one of them, and perhaps that was why he had been sent abroad to the east by their monarch, to help in Theodosius’ war, and his brother had never come back. Maybe he was dead; he simply did not know. As for himself, Sigibuld had been soon relocated to the west of Pavia, where as part of the resettlement program he had started, Agiluf had granted lands to several of his men.
On coming to his new village, a young soldier of twenty six and with his own plot of land, he was a sought after bachelor. Having the “luxury” to choose, he went after a young, small redheaded girl; Helchen was her name, about ten years younger than him. He paid the dowry, by using up most of the money he had had unspent, during his years in the army. Tilling the fields and rearing chickens was barely a soldierly task, but to him, it had a certain appeal. He grew to enjoy it, and a few months later, his firstborn was on the way. However, his tranquil days were destined to be cut short: living within the boundaries of the Pavian duchy, he was subject to be in the service of the King himself, and he was called to battle, once a most fearsome and inhuman enemy had crossed the Alps; the Franks. Agiluf marched with his men and met the invaders by the town of Novara, west of Mediolanum, on the way to the Alps, but it had been of no use. The fierce Frankish warriors stalled for time, Theuderic had sent ambassadors. Sigibuld would not learn the details of the meeting until much later, but apparently the Franks had asked for free passage, into the Roman lands. As Agiluf was on the verge of accepting the proposal, the Lombard infantry, which had been waiting in full formation under the warm summer sun, had the Frankish cavalry fall unexpectedly on them, while at the same time, a large portion of the troops just deserted altogether under the dukes Gisulf and Gaidoald. He had been fortunate not to enter into combat that day; he fled on seeing the forces of the turncoat dukes depart, and Agiluf himself escape with a few of his men, once realizing the futility of resistance.
Most of the survivors had regrouped in Mediolanum itself; and he had formed part of the defense when the city was invested by the Franks a few days later. More than anything, he wanted to return home, to make sure he could remove Helchen to a better, safer place. But, he was retained in the city. Twice the defenders themselves had to put down revolts from the unhappy populace while watching for movements from the Frankish camp. For three weeks, the Lombard defenders held the city; until some treacherous Romans opened the gates to the enemy. Sigibuld had once again been lucky to be stationed close to the southern gate, and as the Franks poured in from the north, he had been given just enough time to flee. This time, he broke loose from the group he was in, attempting to return to his family. Four days later, he made it back.
But the Franks had already been there. Their raiding parties had spread wide and far, while the main force was occupied with Mediolanum. His land had been plundered of whatever could be carried, his animals gone, his house nothing but a smoldering ruin. All minor inconveniences; but Helchen was also gone. Hopelessly, he searched for anyone to give him news of any kind, with the hope that she might still be alive somewhere. But, the nearby village had also been wiped out, with only the small church left standing. He had not seen his wife again; nor had he returned to his land.
Wondering for days, he stumbled on a Roman patrol, whose leader ordered him to join them; seeing that there were already a few Lombards in the group, he did so and was taken to Ravenna. There, he learned from other refugees of the fall of Turin, of the ongoing siege of Pavia, and how Agiluf had sent Queen Theodelinda, and their young son Adaloald, to the very city he was in now, to seek refuge amongst the Romans. By then, he had not a care in the world; if the Lombards won or lost, or the Romans, or the Franks. His brother was dead, and apparently so were his wife and unborn son. But his apathy would not affect royal policy. He was drafted along with all of the other men that the King could muster and, joined by the Romans, met the Franks outside of Pavia.
The battle was now but a dull shade in his mind: how he had fought, almost instinctively, deaf to the cries of the men around him, impassively stabbing, hacking, and slashing his way through the enemy; they all seemed to be pale events from a past life. Faint were the memories of the men of both sides being shot down by the rain of arrows that issued forth from the Roman archers, and vague were the reminiscences of the exact moment when the Franks broke and fled; perhaps, it had been the instant in which the Roman cavalry and their magister charged on them, carrying the head of Theuderic aloft.
Anyhow, with the news of the enemy defeat, also came dark tidings. The death of Agiluf during the clash had left two year old Adaloald as legitimate King of the Lombards, and as the Franks pulled back under the command of Theuderic’s mayor of the Palace, Bertholad, the royal family returned to Pavia, under the protection and friendship of Theodosius. Indifferent as to what his destination could be now, Sigibuld had accepted serenely being tasked with guarding the royal palace, the palace on which steps he now sleeping. Good food and alcohol, regular pay, and screwing around with the servant girls, all helped drown his mind, and ignore his memories.
Feeling the tug on his neck once more he awoke. His head had slid forward again, and waking, he noticed his fire had almost died out, but did not bother with it anymore. After another careless look around, he closed his eyes yet again. Dozing off, he heard the piercing scream in the distance; it had been that of an adult man. Roused and sitting up straight, he looked about for a second time, a little more carefully. Fucking robbers, he thought. But quickly, the situation turned more complicated.
A volley of arrows issued forth from the darkness of the closest street. Three of the men on the upper levels were killed; the man in the gateway further down to the left was also slain, while Sigibuld and the man to the gate to the right were only injured. The projectile had impacted near his right shoulder; knocking him flat on the steps. Without a doubt, he was fully awake now. “Shit!” he cried out, the pain driving through his chest as soon as he moved his right arm. Pulling himself back, he arrived at the edge of a heavy wooden door; gasping for air, he grabbed, and then pulled the arrow out of his body, letting out a series of other curses as he did so. What the hell is going on? The Romans? Betraying us? He knocked loudly on the gate, “Open up! Open the fuck up!”
The load battle roar of several men was audible everywhere. Pandemonium had broken out all over the palace with men running about, torches being lit up, and the scream of the service maids piercing his ears. With the few guards around that had shared his surroundings all but dead, he decided to play dead as well, holding his breath and fixing his eyes on the star-studded sky, as a group of the aggressors ran past the bodies, and himself. A chilling nearby shriek notified him that his surviving companion had been finished off; perhaps the man did not think as quickly as he had. Since his gaze was focused elsewhere, he was unable to identify any of the men, and when he finally lowered his look, they were an undistinguishable mass in the darkness. The assailants seemed to be directing their focus to the other end of the regal bastion, past the corner to his left, where the main entrance lay. For a moment Sigibuld was alone, surrounded by corpses, the darkness of the night, and the glowing charcoals left from his earlier fire. He knocked again, without saying a word, and attempting to hide himself in the shade of the doorway. The stinging sensation of the arrow wound continued to bother him, but he knew he could not cry out, or he might give himself away.
In the midst of the brief silence that enveloped him, he heard a voice from the other side of the door: “Who’s there?”
“Let me in!” he implored, almost whispering.
Slowly, and quietly, the gate opened just a bit, but the black shadow from inside the residence hid the person’s face. “Sigibuld! Good God you’re hurt!” finally said a woman’s voice; one familiar to him. The door swung open, and Rodelinda, one of the maids he had gotten to know intimately since posted to the palace, stepped into the night shyly, helping him inside.
“What is happening?” she asked, tremulous.
“I don’t know. Someone is attacking us. We got to get the King and the Queen out” he rasped.
Some Lombards might not have liked the young King, a mere child. And the same individuals might have liked his staunchly Catholic mother even less. But the Romans lacked a reason to loathe either one of them. So, what was going on? In any case, it was not Sigibuld’s place to decide whom to like; he had been given a job, he would perform it. What else do I have left? he reasoned, as Rodelinda helped him up, and they barricaded the thick door with a large wooden beam.
“The Queen must be upstairs” indicated the domestic, pointing in the direction of the unseen stone steps leading away from the hall. The sound of the attackers attempting to knock down the main gate penetrated his ears, like the ominous trampling of an approaching demon.
“Get up there, and make sure that they can get out. There’s a way out… right?” he asked the girl, grabbing her by the shoulders.
“Yes, yes. We might be able to use some of the service entrances on the back…”
“Good! Now, get going!”
While Rodelinda disappeared into the darkness, he turned in the direction of the racket. The corridor was obscure, but he clearly saw the glow at the end of the passageway, which led into the main hall, where the attackers must be attempting to break in.
There’s never a dull moment…
“All right men! Say your prayers, and make peace with each other, since tomorrow we’ll be before the Almighty!” cried out a loud voice as he neared his destination. Coming up on the gallery, and stepping into the light, he realized that there was to be no large battle here. A handful of perhaps twenty men, swords and axes in hand, stood by the giant gate, whose beams had already been cracked and would be busted open at any moment, by the assailants’ battering ram. Sigibuld stood aghast in the threshold; this was it.
“You there! What are you doing here?” yelled an older man, whose beard reached all the way to his waist, and pointed at him with his sword. “I told everyone to secure the way for the King to escape! Get your ass to the kitchen and make sure the path is clear, that Gisulf’s dogs will be here any moment!”
The rough commands of the leader of the small band awoke him to reality. “Yes sir!” he yelled back, as he left, running to the back of the hall. He knew very well where the kitchen, and its passages, were. What he did not know was if, after everything he had been through, he would make it out of Pavia alive this time. So that’s who! Gisulf, Gisulf, why? The Duke of Friuli had been, disloyally, neutral during the war with the Franks; but then, once the conflict was over, had pledged allegiance not only to King Adaloald, but to the Emperor Theodosius as well. And now he was launching a coup. So much for oaths…
War; it never ends…
I have toyed with the idea, and I got a half digested mess on Paint. If a gifted mapmaker can cooperate, I’ll love you forever!!!
Otherwise I can try to put up what I’ve got…
Glad to have you as a reader my friend; stay tuned, things might get interesting since the war turned hot again!
That’s an insightful assessment.
They are going through a lot, and they haven’t really lived up to the fearsome reputation they OTL. And a lot of the nobles OTL did not like Agiluf; ITTL they’re even more pissed by now being ruled by a three year old and a Catholic Queen, both lapdogs of Theodosius. Something had to give.
I'd be able to give you a hand if you want. Here's a map I'm planning to use on my own TL, to give you an idea of style/quality. Drop me a PM if you're interested.
Chapter 6-IV- Phocas
Chapter 6 -IV-
While he poured himself more wine on the newly emptied golden goblet, Phocas heard the approaching steps resonating on the marble floor of the adjoined vacant hall, with a martial rhythm all of their own. As they reached the door, the brief silence which followed, was only interrupted by a heavy knock on the thick wooden door. The Comes Scholai had arrived.
“Come in!” Phocas ordered, watching the bubbles forming on the rising liquid in the cup.
The door gave off a low, deep creak as it opened slowly, and in came Alexander, attired in a superb military uniform, with brand new pteruges hanging from the waist of the brightly polished silver cuirass. The Comes was every inch a Roman strategos: hailing originally from Thessalonica, he was tall, taller than Phocas himself; broad shouldered; clean shaven, with a head full of thick dark brown hair; and piercing blue eyes, which could command a powerful, intimidating, stare. Although he had recently returned from his mission to the East with rather unsuccessful results, he remained in the Emperor’s good standing. Phocas felt that this man, who had witnessed Maurice’s last moments unfeelingly, was definitively someone to keep close; he had a certain mystical aura about him.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered, lifting the wine pitcher slightly.
“Thank you Emperor, but I must decline due to penance” answered Alexander, emotionlessly, standing at attention.
Suit yourself, Phocas thought to himself, walking towards one of the six reclining couches arranged around the center of the room. As he sat down with his back against the window, he made a gesture with his free hand and said: “please sit down Alexander.”
“You wanted to see me again, Kyrie?”
“Yes, yes… Look we need to think things over one more time. I just don’t know what is going wrong here…”
The Levantine conversion effort had proven to be an utter disaster when it came to its primary goals. As soon as Alexander moved from one city to the next, the Jews would recant their baptisms, with the most daring ones openly defying the Roman authorities. The worst of these incidents had taken place at Antioch, where it culminated with the brutal murder of Patriarch Anastasius [1] by a savage mob of unbelievers. Alexander, by then in Palestine, had immediately turned on his tracks and rushed to the Syrian capital, where he crushed the revolt with unrelenting cruelty. Several of the insurgents were captured, and beheaded or hung publically, but a great deal of them fled and were able to reach the Persian armies occupating Mesopotamia.
Nevertheless, even more “deniers” made it into Palestine, where the job had been left undone, and then, once the Comes resumed the southward march, many, if not all, of the unconverted Jews poured into Egypt, which had recently been seized by Theodosius. On the heels of the news of the Egyptian capitulation, came the rumors of the sieges of Beroea and Antioch itself, by the advancing Persian hordes. Where was God in all of this? Had he not been pleased with Phocas’ actions? With the punitive measures against heathenism? The Emperor took another sip of his drink; the bitter aftertaste of the wine rasped against the back of his throat.
“Kyrie, if you must know my honest opinion, I believe the offensive of Bonosus should stabilize the front. Remember that the Persians have retreated from Cappadocia, and abandoned the siege of Theodosiopolis.”
Bonosus. It was true that the Persian host that descended from the Armenian highlands had retreated before the advance of the army of the Comes Orientis. However, no definite word had reached Constantinople of the ensuing developments there; Phocas did not know if there had been a battle, or if the Persians had simply pulled back. But what if he’s been wiped out? Good God! Whatever the case, south of Anatolia, once Chosroes’ dogs seized Antioch, things would be as good as lost; and with Theodosius in control of Egypt, Palestine would be untenable. It would have to be given up to one or the other.
“Furthermore, if truth be told; the Persians might come to blows against Theodosius either in the Egyptian border, or if the boy decides to move north, somewhere in southern Syria. And, let’s not forget about strategos Domentziolus” Alexander added, leaning forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his legs, and clasping his hands.
The Emperor drank a bigger gulp from the chalice. What now, what now? The thought bounced around in his head, while he lowered his gaze onto the floor mosaic. Phocas truly was a pitiful sight to behold, at this moment. Not wearing the imperial crown and the purple robes, but instead a simple dark blue tunic, the former soldier seemed anything but the Emperor of the Romans; rather one might have been observing a common, broken, man sustained only by the constant intake of intoxicating beverages. Shit at the camp, was easier. He sighed heavily, while replying, “Alexander, I don’t know if this war can be won anymore. I’ve thought about it a thousand times… but God seems to resent me for some reason…I stepped in to help us all, to save us from greed, and instead we are now faced with annihilation…” Why?
Alexander watched him, silently, for a short moment. Then he frowned, and his mouth twisted faintly, in a sardonic smirk, which went unseen by the Phocas. “Kyrie, if there is something that we both know for a fact, is that Christian resolve on behalf of a righteous cause can result only in victory. Abraham overcame the Egyptians, David defeated Goliath, and the Great Constantine crushed the pagan Maxentius” he started, as he stood up.
The puzzled, red haired man looked up at the Comes, “What do you mean exactly?”
Alexander began to stroll slowly, towards the window, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. You are Lord of the Roman Empire, the Isapostolos, and God’s vice-regent on Earth! Summon the citizens of Europe to fight the hordes of the infidels! Call on the Chalcedonians to fight the child who is siding with the Monophysite heretics at this very moment! Eliminate traitors, conspirators, and the remaining Jews once and for all! Can you not see that it was our lack of commitment, of devotion, which doomed our efforts to failure in the East?”
Perhaps that is the problem. I’ve been too forgiving…too merciful…too heterodox…God loves, but He punishes those who wander from his path…
“Take for instance Priscus; he’s been tasked with protecting Thrace and The City. But the last raid of the Sklavenoi reached the suburbs of Mesembria itself! How can he guarantee Your safety? That of the people? And, let us not forget the episode at the Hippodrome! You took him under your wing, he married Princess Domentziola [2], but then he produces these miserable results? Why does he not deliver? Why does he not succeed?” the soldier’s voice had by now reached a spiteful, venomous pitch.
Phocas began to feel ashamed at having allowed his subordinate to see him like this; in a state of weakness, so vulnerable. But the man was right. Mercy had not granted him the throne, mercy had not secured his rule, and mercy would not win the war. Priscus could actually be a dangerous man if he chose to. Even though he took no part in the revolt of Theodorus and Gennadios, it was always better to keep his son in law under close watch. In addition, it was also better to prepare the men to face Theodosius, without wavering loyalties; the Egyptian garrisons had taught him that much. Recovering some of his vigor, he got up and approached the table where the wine jug was on, while Alexander remained standing by the large window, staring off into the distant dome of the Great Church.
“You are right Comes. Perhaps, there is a way to repel the invaders and deal with the seditious traitors after all” he commented, as he poured himself yet another glass. “I will send for word of Bonosus’ progress, and we must work on raising another force to be ready to march into Syria, once the success in Cappadocia has been confirmed.”
“Excellent Kyrie!” Alexander replied in a more jovial tone, turning towards the Emperor.
“Go to Hellas; whatever soldiers remain there, are to report to Thessalonica within the month. I want a new army of ten thousand men. Empty the cities and draft peasants from the fields if you have to. Same for Macedonia and Dalmatia” Phocas continued, drinking from the chalice, but still facing the table.
Alexander stood at attention and answered vigorously: “Yes Kyrie! I shall set out at once!” Having voiced his consent, he started for the door.
“And Alexander…”
The Comes stopped suddenly, and slowly revolved, somewhat baffled, perhaps fearful that Phocas might have noticed his earlier look of disdain. The Emperor finished gulping down whatever alcohol remained in the cup, and turned around, leaning against the tabletop.
“Keep an eye on Priscus, and ensure that the loyalties of the Danubian men are in the right place.”
Alexander grinned; “Of course Kyrie. I’ve got the perfect man for the job.”
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[2] Daughter of Phocas and Leontia, and Priscus’ wife.
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