Note- Last Tuesday’s update was dismal. I have decided to rewrite it and break it up into two parts so it is less of a cataclysmic failure.
Late Autumn, 1295
Smyrna, Byzantine Empire
A blanket of warmth spread over Alexios, tugging open his eyes. He was lying in a different room, larger and more open. There was a Tourki looming over him, and a set of-
He kicked out, his feet striking bone and yelled for help. Alexios rolled out of the bed, dropping to the floor and skittering sideways towards the door. The Tourki has recovered and was running after him, screaming incoherently. Alexios staggered to his feet and snatched at the door handle, but it swung away from him-
“What on earth are you two doing?!”
Maximos was standing on the other side of the door, his face bright red and a scroll clutched in his hand.
“I was gone for three minutes! Three minutes! And you try to kill each other while I’m gone!”
He stormed in and set the scroll on the windowsill. He regained his normal placidity while his back was to Alexios, and when he turned around his voice was even.
“Alexios, this is Bey Alperen Sezen. Bey Sezen, this is basileus Alexios.”
The Tourki bowed, but his eyes never looked away from Alexios’ hands, and they were laced with wariness. "My bey numbers 6,000, 3,000 men of fighting age. We fled the Mongols, and I now ask to become a foederati.”
Alexios nodded. “Are you and your tribe willing to be baptized?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, thank you. Maximos’ll get started on the treaty. Now,” he turned to Planoudes, “When did the men proclaim me?”
Maximos paled. “How did you know?”
Alexios nodded to Sezen. “You introduced me to him as emperor. And I doubt Andronikos would make me kaisar. Oh, and Bey,” he turned back to him briefly, “Meet is at the Kaikos in three days, got it?” Sezen nodded and jogged out. Alexios watched him go, not yet trusting the man. Once Sezen was out of sight, he turned back to Maximos.
“Six days.”
“Crap. Get Sartana and Alexios in here, as soon as you can.”
Maximos darted out of the room without a backwards glance. He was around the corner in half the tine it took the Tourki. Alexios shut the door and plucked the scroll off the ledge, unfurled it and started reading. It wasn’t good. There were 18,000 men serving the empire, of which 6,000 were garrisoning various towns, and another 6,000 were in Europe, under George Mouzalon. He himself led 5,000, and there were another 1,000 men under Ioannes Tarkaneiotes in Bithynia that had yet to strike for anyone. Sezen’s men would give him an advantage, if they were loyal. On the sea, his brother Nikephoros is protosebastos and megas doux, so if he would join him, that would certainly better his position. In fact-
“Tarkaneiotes is dead.”
Alexios whirled around. It was Sartana Garco, his Italian spymaster, dressed in his standard black coat. With his wan face and dark dress, he seemed Death himself. And he had been, for many an enemy of Alexios or his father.
“Andronikos caught him three days back, just outside of Herakleia. Poison drink.”
“Ah.” Alexios nodded, eyeing the man’s belt. He trusted Garco, but he was one of the few non-Goths in the army with gunpowder weapons, “And in what state are his men?”
Sartana shrugged. “Mostly either dead or enslaved.”
“Is there anyway we could free some of the captured men?”
“No. The ex-basileus may be as intellegent as Basiliskos, but he was smart enough to get them out of the empire, fast.”
He tended and reached for his holster, whipping around as he did so to face the door, ricocheting a dagger off of Rallis-Raoul’s chest armor.
“Damn. I missed.”
The half-Norman glared at him. “What, were trying to blind both eyes with one throw?”
“No. Testicles. Would’ve disabled you but left you alive for questioning.”
Maximos skittered into the room.
“I-“
“Gentlemen,” Alexios waved, “Calm down.” He motioned for them both to sit down. Maximos stood.
“Alexios, what state are the men in?”
“High morale. Well fed. Not too many losses in the last battle, but we’d’ve lost less if the lines had kept straight when you blacked out. Otherwise, excellent.”
Alexios started pacing, doing mental calculations. They watched him in uncomfortable silence, due to the close proximity with each other. After a few moments, he stopped.
“Alright, what’s the quickest way to overthrow Andronikos?”
Sartana grunted. “Stab him.”
“No. That would make it worse.” Maximos said, “Konstantinos would succeed him. The people hate Andronikos. They love Konstantinos. If we do that, we all die.”
“We defeat him by military force.” Rallis-Raoul said, “We hair him over the strait, and destroy his army. We have 8,000 men, he can raise 10,000 at best, and Mouzalon is a poor general at best.”
“Yes, but to quote Sartana, he’s about as intelligent as Basiliskos,” Sartana gave a look of sarcastic shock, “I hear everything you say, but he’s not dumb enough to cross the Bosphorus.”
“Any other ideas?” Alexios asked. No response. “Crap. I’ll go talk to Nikephoros. Dismissed.”
They all crowded out of the room.
