305. An Offer You Can't Refuse (3).
"Pour! Drink! Mwahahaha! By God! By Christus! And by the great ancestors! We have won! We have won for you and for us! What are you all doing! Pour, drink, eat, and fall over, I say! Mwahaha! Music! Play a rousing tune! I mean swing! Bwaaahk!"
[Gulp! Gulp!]
Bari.
A location corresponding to the heel of the Italian peninsula, shaped like a large boot. The forward base of the Muslims, who, linked with Chandax (Crete) and Balharm in Sicily, had fiercely pressured the Catholic powers of the northern Mediterranean, blocking off Italy and Greece.
Like a legendary name that would not fall no matter how many times it was struck, this fortress had gradually become a name synonymous with frustration and despair for the lords of Italy and the Emperor of Italy.
That place had finally fallen into the hands of the Emperor of Italy, Imperator Augustus Ludovicus.
"Come now! Gather round, all of you! You battle-hardened heroes! Heroes who would not shame my ancestor Carolus! Heroes of Rome! Heroes of Italy! Heroes of Catholicism! Hahaha!"
Just like his younger brother, Emperor Lothar II of Lotharingia beyond the Alps, the handsome sons of Lothar I were basically similar in their love of drink, revelry, and women.
But if there were differences, it was that Ludovicus was born earlier than Lothar, and that Ludovicus had no sons? And to add a bit more, while Lothar was so fervent about succession that he would start a fight with his wicked younger brothers for the sake of his cute nephew Hugh, Ludovicus was, how should I put it?
He was closer to being a YOLO type.
You only live once, right?
In any case, the free-spirited Emperor of Italy, with only a single daughter at his knee, was enjoying a reasonably happy life with a lovely wife who had eyes only for him. The complicated succession issue had been resolved when his cute younger brother's even cuter nephew, Hugh, was stripped of his illegitimate status. So, for Ludovicus, who was unhesitatingly beating down the Saracens and the disobedient lords of southern Italy, there was one discontent.
It was the Saracen pirates who, like a thorn stuck in his throat, squatted down south and inflicted enormous damage not only on Italy but on the Emperor's prestige and property.
The behavior of these turbaned wretches was so utterly heinous that it made one suspect: do these heathens truly believe in the same god as Ludovicus himself? Such was the doubt. Indeed, the wicked acts of these infidels, appearing even in Rome, the very heart of Catholicism, had continued for what was already six, seven years since Ludovicus first drew his sword in earnest.
Finally, having shattered Bari and captured its lord, Sawdan, Ludovicus summoned—or rather, dragged in—all the nearby lords who did not listen or cooperate and opened a grand feast.
"Truly, this is the care of God and Christus! O great Imperator! Holy Augustus! Truly the Ruler of all Romans! Please, I beg you, raise your cup with me!"
"Mwahaha! As Imperator of the holy Romans, I merely did my duty, let us not praise it too highly! Now, here, raise a cup of victory's sweet wine with me!"
"Imperator Augustus! Ludovicus Magnus!"
In truth, Ludovicus knew as he quaffed his wine. When the insolent Greeks had seized Crete, the occupation of Bari was already half complete, and when Sicily itself finally fell into the hands of the Greeks and their Emperor, the other half of the occupation was also complete.
So, Ludovicus deliberately inflated the scale of the banquet. Enough that it could be seen and heard even in the city of Constantine the Great, that city packed with those haughty, insufferable Greeks from the East.
At first, he had joined forces with the eastern Emperor Michael in a spirit of cooperation, but a clash had arisen over the phrase 'Ruler of all Romans,' which had just been uttered from the mouth of that nameless southern lordling. The proud Emperors of the Western Rome and the Eastern Rome could not yield a single step on that title, and the expected catastrophe soon followed.
Given the nature of Bari's coastal fortress, breaching its high walls without strong naval support was difficult, and as expected, the Saracen lord of Bari, Sawdan, surrendered only after the Eastern Roman Empire had seized Chandax and Sicily and completely severed the Saracen pirates' supply lines.
In effect, nearly everything had been achieved by the Eastern Roman Empire, but acknowledging that frankly would have first twisted Ludovicus' pride.
Men have a tendency to stake their lives on things that seem merely trivial, so how much more so when the title 'Ruler of all Romans,' which his great ancestor Carolus had lawfully—well, actually unlawfully—obtained from the Pope of Rome, was the subject of dispute?
Thus, the Emperor of Italy decided, since things had come to this, to savor the mood of victory as much as possible, and at the same time, to invite the disobedient lords of southern Italy to consolidate his internal power.
Now that even Bari had fallen, the only major forces remaining on the Italian peninsula were Ludovicus himself and the Eastern Roman Empire. Ludovicus may have instinctively understood that a time would someday come when he would have to settle who the true master of Rome was with those Greeks.
'Before that....'
Before that, there was one person to deal with first.
"Adelchis! My old friend! Come to my side, quickly!"
Adelchis of Benevento. Ludovicus' old friend—and enemy.
As the Emperor's voice boomed out, a chill ran briefly through the banquet hall, which had been filled with the sound of music. Everyone present was well aware of the delicate relationship between the Emperor and the Dux of Benevento.
Among the various Catholic lords of the south, Adelchis of Benevento, being the most powerful, looked upon the Emperor—who mostly stayed in northern Italy, right beneath the Alps—with displeasure, and the Ruler of all Romans was not to Adelchis' liking.
To detail the history of their conflict, one would actually have to invoke the fathers of both Ludovicus and Adelchis, so deep-seated was the ill feeling between southern and northern Italy. However, whether or not the Eastern Romans had assisted, since Ludovicus had toppled Bari anyway, the long dispute was likely to conclude with the ascendancy of northern Italy.
"I sincerely congratulate the Imperator on his glorious victory."
Adelchis, having approached the Emperor's side, bowed his head in a respectful posture and slightly raised his cup in a gesture of esteem. To outward appearances, it was the perfectly loyal posture of a subject, worthy of being immortalized in a painting.
"Hahaha! Adelchis, how could I expect such stiff formalities from the ruler of Benevento? Please, speak comfortably! I accept your praise with deep gratitude in my heart!"
'Adelchis, what must I do with you so I can cleanly lay my hands on southern Italy, centered on Benevento?'
Unwilling to descend from the fiercely blowing winds of victory, Ludovicus wore a face full of smiles along with his scheming, and the more he did so, the more respectfully Adelchis bowed his head.
After going to bed comfortably, feeling the victory swelling in his chest and surrounded by the battle-hardened heroes who had assaulted Bari with him, Ludovicus awoke the next day.
He woke from a happy sleep in his bedchamber, spattered everywhere with blood, under the cold, piercing stare of Adelchis, whose pale eyes looked down upon him.
*****
"Madmen."
The thought escaped my lips unbidden, but no one could say a word against me.
It wasn't simply because I am the Fylkir of the North Sea, acknowledged by all as the strongest man in this world, but because everyone present empathized with that single mutter.
Just what must be done for an emperor to be captured? Focusing on the messenger's tale with such curiosity, the more I listened, the more the veins in my forehead throbbed.
To the point where I could not bear the weight of my head dropping down without propping my forehead with my left hand.
Comically, while everyone in the hall had one hand on their forehead or their chin resting in their palm, the messenger, who had been speaking diligently, also finished his report shaking his head.
"—And so, the Emperor of Italy is now captured by the Dux of Benevento, and the northern Italian army and the southern Italian army have entered a standoff. A messenger has departed to convey this fact to our proud Basileus Michael in Constantinople, and the Mayor of Reggio has sent me here, to the Fylkir, to inquire about our imperial army's next course of action!"
'Why ask me that...?'
What would I know, who knows nothing of Italy but pasta and pizza? And the Mayor of Reggio was a funny one, too—he should be asking the Strategos of Sicily, Edmund, or the Grand Admiral and commander-in-chief of the imperial forces, Niketas, about the army's next move. Why on earth ask me such things?
Momentarily dumbfounded, I turned my head to look at Admiral Niketas and Edmund, but these people were looking back at me with an expression that was, if anything, curious.
Eastern Roman Empire, are you sure this is alright? What on earth would you do if, on the off chance, I were to cry 'Rubicon' or 'Wihwa Island'?
"I am not in a position to meddle in the affairs of the Eastern Roman army, but it would seem best to refrain from rash movements. What are your thoughts, Strategos Edmund, Admiral Niketas?"
"The Fylkir's words are correct."
"Strictly speaking, the capture of the Frankish Imperator has no relation to us in Rome, so observing the situation is probably best. The Emperor in Constantinople will say the same."
The two capable men of the Eastern Roman Empire agreed with my question in unison. Edmund, who had some personal connection to the Italian Emperor, wore a slightly somber expression, but Admiral Niketas looked somewhat pleased.
Frankly, seeing a general from the Eastern Roman Empire, a contender for the strongest military in the world, looking so happy about what amounted to a civil war was amusing, and the words 'mind your own business' rose right to the tip of my tongue, but with a will like that of a superhuman, I barely managed to swallow them.
"What has happened in Italy and to its Emperor is truly regrettable and unfortunate, but as outsiders, we cannot solve their problems. So let us do what we must. Admiral, please watch closely to see if the North African fleet moves on the agreed date, and Strategos Edmund, it would be best if you hurried back to Reggio to prepare for any potential chaos in Italy."
"I shall do as the Fylkir says. Since we must also secure the ports in southwestern Sicily, I will once again coordinate the movement schedules of their monarch and each fleet."
"I will assign the legions brought from Reggio their feast here and let them cross over slowly. Only my guards and I will cross first, so I can ascertain the situation in Italy in more detail."
Somehow it had turned into me steering the entire allied force, but Niketas and Edmund, without any complaint, fleshed out my instructions with additional details and set their own courses of action.
This is why having competent generals under your command makes everything, whether war or post-battle processing, so much easier. If you just throw out a big bait, they nourish it, distribute it, and even grow it on their own, you know?
The basic stance of our allied force in response to that massive scandal erupting in Italy was precisely 'Not my problem.'
Hearing it like that, it almost sounds like Latin or Greek. Albanum, Albanos, something like that.
It was surprising that the Emperor of Italy was captured by a Catholic lord, not a Muslim, but was it my problem?
No matter that Sicily was an island, the Eastern Romans, who had suddenly ripped off such a vast territory, the Varangian friends entering into renewed mercenary contracts, and the Fylkir of the North Sea, who was starting to long for home—all were frantically busy.
Because once this battle ended, I had to distinguish between those who would return to the North Sea with Oleg and those who would settle here, and I also needed to discuss matters concerning Michael.
What caught my steps as I was about to head back to Constantinople was yet another piece of news from Italy, which had descended into a chaos of confusion.
"Fylkir! The Dux of Benevento, called Adelchis, and the lords of the southern Italian army have requested Fylkir's mediation!"
Just as I was beginning to distance myself from the Eastern Roman army friends, who had become far too familiar, Stórolf personally delivered this unexpected news, and I could only frown.
It seemed I would have to make a stop in the pasta-less pasta-land before reaching Constantinople.
☆☆☆☆☆Reference Material☆☆☆☆☆
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Search term: duchy of spoleto wiki
The picture above is Italy around A.D. 1000, so it's a bit different from 867, but... it was attached to help readers understand just how chaotic a place Italy was...!
Naturally, being so divided, they fought bloody battles, and in the midst of that, you can see Venice slyly advancing into the Adriatic Sea lol