Siege (4)
“Antypatos (ἀνθύπατος), sir. We’ll arrive shortly.”
“So it seems.”
The elderly man straightened his hunched back as he rose, his movements so labored that his aide, Angelos Moselaph, wore a look of deep concern.
“I didn’t think the governor needed to come out in person for this.”
“If I can lighten the emperor’s burden even a little, what wouldn’t I do?”
Manuel Erotikos Komnenos—antypatos, patricios, and vestes, one of the rare few honored with a medal bestowed by the emperor himself. He had served Basil II, a man who had lived a tumultuous life marked by the Skleros civil war, the Phokas rebellion, and the humiliating defeat at the hands of the Bulgarians.
For a veteran like Manuel, who had stood by his lord through it all, the emotions were inevitably complex. That was why he was now personally leading troops to end the chaos in southern Italy and ease the emperor’s worries.
“Of course, we won’t regain control over southern Italy this way,” Manuel added bitterly.
To hold southern Italy required garrisoning troops there, but the Eastern Roman Empire lacked the resources for that now. The emperor knew it too, which was why he had considered appointing a local powerbroker as the catepan of Italy. Even that proved unfeasible, as the city-states had effectively become independent, their proconsuls and strategoi aligning their interests and evolving into entities akin to the dukes of Western Europe—conducting their own diplomacy and military actions.
Angelos nodded silently at Manuel’s words. After two civil wars, the empire had lost all control over southern Italy. The emperor had no choice but to let it slide; revenge against the Bulgarians took precedence.
The defeat at the Battle of Trajan’s Pass. Ambushed by Bulgarian forces in the narrow gorge known as Trajan’s Gate, it had been a crushing blow. For the twenty-year-old emperor who had just quelled Skleros’s rebellion, the shock was profound. That loss had even prompted Bardas Phokas to claim the throne, leaving Samuel the Bulgarian rebel a thorn in Basil II’s side like a knife at his throat.
The passionate young man in his twenties had aged into his late thirties, spending decades building his strength for vengeance. In such circumstances, focusing on southern Italy was nearly impossible.
“Still, I’d like to know why you’ve brought the grand fleet here yourself.”
The elderly general smiled warmly at the young officer’s question, as if gazing at his own grandson.
“Tell me, what do you think makes an army strong?”
“An army that wins every battle, like Alexander’s invincible legions?”
“No.”
“Then the Persian hordes vast enough to overturn mountains and seas?”
“No.”
“Then… the Tatar horsemen thundering across the steppes?”
“No, not that either.”
Angelos pondered deeply but finally gave up.
“I don’t know.”
“An army that wins without fighting—that’s the truly strong one.”
“Does such an army… exist?”
Manuel didn’t answer. Instead, he smiled and pointed ahead.
Angelos looked where Manuel indicated: hundreds of Muslim ships. Spotting the purple sails, they ceased fighting and retreated to their city.
“Ah…”
“See?”
“That’s… the strong army.”
“Yes. We are strong. We’ll show it to the Roman bishop and the heathens.”
Manuel smiled as he gazed toward Reggio Calabria.
“The power of the empire.”
Dong-dong-dong.
No sooner had we seized Reggio Calabria than the Eastern Roman fleet appeared. The moment they landed, all our gains would evaporate.
Thus, Geoffrey immediately convened an emergency council in the lord’s palace.
“Did the lord request aid from the Eastern Romans?”
Geoffrey’s voice was laced with worry. I shook my head at once.
“Unlikely. If so, Gerard of Lorraine wouldn’t have marched south to protect this place.”
Geoffrey and Humphrey nodded. If Eastern Roman support had been planned, the papal forces under Gerard wouldn’t have attacked us raiders here. They would have reinforced Bari, Taranto, or Lecce—places where Byzantine influence still lingered.
“Robert has a point, but this fleet’s sudden appearance is troubling.”
It wasn’t just one or two ships—a grand fleet, flying purple sails, signaling a dux or higher commanding in person. They wouldn’t show up without reason.
“Whatever the case, we can’t avoid combat. Brother.”
A dire situation. Hiding behind the walls, we could repel the Muslims from Messina at the cost of some losses. But the Eastern Romans were different. If they pressed with Greek fire, we’d be done for.
“Still, why not try talking first?”
Humphrey stared at me in disbelief.
“They won’t spare invaders in their territory.”
“It’s their territory, sure, but Reggio Calabria rebelled against them.”
Humphrey turned to Geoffrey in exasperation.
“Brother, rein this one in.”
Geoffrey, who had listened silently, eyed me cautiously.
“Do you think talks could succeed?”
“We won’t know unless we try.”
Geoffrey sighed deeply and beckoned me over.
“I grant you full authority.”
The massive ship loomed in the distance. During my study abroad, I’d seen cruise ships, but this war vessel was smaller yet imposingly majestic.
“Are you… really sure… about this?”
Alberto rowed while stealing glances at me.
“If you’re worried, head back.”
“N-no, sir. You saved my life and helped with my revenge, so…”
“And now you’re responsible for me?”
“N-not at all! Ha… haha. You’re a Viking, yet you speak Greek so well, so I just wanted to stick close to such a great man.”
He must have overheard me speaking Greek during the rear facilities sabotage. Greek—hard to explain my Greek-American ex who I’d nearly married, so I stayed silent. Sneaky kid, eavesdropping like that.
After Reggio’s fall, boy soldiers’ value plummeted. Vikings wouldn’t break promises, but with lowered worth, they’d be reassigned. I hadn’t claimed the boys, so their fate was uncertain. Thus, he’d made himself my oarsman to survive.
“What about your comrades?”
“You saved their lives; now they fend for themselves. I can’t keep babysitting, my lord.”
“That’s what I’d like to say to you.”
“Ha… haha. W-we’re… almost there.”
Alberto desperately changed the subject. Sighing at his cheekiness, I eyed the ship. Noticing us, they lowered a ladder.
I stood from the small boat, grabbed the ladder, and told Alberto,
“Go back now.”
“If I go first, how will you return, my lord? I-I’ll come too.”
He had a point. Reluctantly, I let him follow.
Aboard, a tense atmosphere hung amid ranks of Roman soldiers.
Gulp.
Alberto swallowed nervously. As we advanced, an obvious officer stepped forward.
“Halt, heathens.”
He blocked me with his sword. I debated going low or aggressive.
“Who is the megas doux commanding this ship?”
My Greek startled him—archaic, but intelligible.
“A Varangian speaking our tongue…?”
“I’ll ask again. Who commands this ship?”
“I don’t know how you speak it, but he’s no one for the likes of you to name.”
A top official, then. Worth the gamble. I yanked his arm, tripped him with a judo leg sweep. He flew airborne, crashing down.
It happened in a flash; soldiers gaped.
“I come in the name of Geoffrey of Hauteville, lawful lord of Reggio Calabria. Yet you, a mere officer, treat me with disrespect.”
I was the rude one, technically. But Geoffrey had beheaded the old lord and taken over—fact.
“You bastard…!”
The officer sprang up, drawing his sword.
“Stand down.”
An elderly voice rang out. The officer gnashed his teeth and sheathed his blade.
Balding, hunched, flames of life flickering low. Yet his eyes pierced like daggers, straight to my heart.