Flames of Vengeance (4)
“Hahaha! Look at all this loot!”
“You there! Hand that over!”
Mercenaries rampaged through the market district, swords in hand, plundering without mercy. Lost to madness, they butchered unarmed civilians in cold blood.
“P-please... spare me!”
“No... please, not this!”
“At least spare the child... sob sob.”
Conscripted soldiers, swept up in the frenzy, mimicked their brutality. Flames roared across Constantinople, pierced by endless screams.
Nestoric watched it all. He was repaying the destruction of his homeland in kind.
“Just as Skopje burned, so too shall Constantinople.”
His voice was calm, yet laced with seething rage. He remembered the Bulgaroctonus, who had gouged out the eyes of every Bulgarian soldier and sent them back as a warning. This revenge was merely the tip of the iceberg. True retribution demanded the seizure of the palace.
“I'll capture the nobles, gouge out their eyes, cut out their tongues, and sever their limbs. Then I'll bind Constantine VIII to a horse's tail and drag him around the Colosseum.”
A bloody vengeance. He clenched his fist, a grim smile twisting his lips.
His adjutant approached, saluting before reporting.
“Sir, as ordered, we've torched the market and residential districts.”
Nestoric had deliberately commanded fires in civilian-heavy areas to sow chaos.
“The people are like sheep. Panic breeds greater panic.”
Terrified civilians fled the spreading flames and ceaseless screams, surging toward the city gates. This naturally sowed confusion among the guards, forcing them to intervene and suppress the disorder.
“Greater chaos creates openings.”
As Nestoric predicted, the guards atop the walls dispersed, leaving gaps in the defenses.
“We exploit those gaps.”
Gripping his sword, Nestoric signaled. Bulgarian soldiers, poised in wait, charged forward.
Chaos engulfed the palace interior. With rampant arson and looting, the nobles had fled inside for safety.
“We never should have trusted those Bulgarian barbarians...”
“Damn it! At this rate, even the palace will fall!”
The nobles floundered in fear. Alexios, aligned with the noble faction, stepped forward to calm them.
“Everyone, stay calm.”
Capturing their attention, Alexios relayed Ioannikios's command.
“To turn this tide, we must unite our strength. I demand you surrender command of your private troops.”
A pot-bellied noble pushed forward at Alexios's shout.
“Absurd! With Bulgarian savages swarming outside, who'll protect me if you take my men?”
Others chimed in agreement.
“He's right! Seizing our private guards? That's overreach!”
“You've already conscripted hordes of our men, and now you want more? Have you no shame?”
“Failed once, and now you want what's left? How can we trust Magistros anymore?”
Their rebellion was understandable. From the nobles' perspective, Ioannikios had failed repeatedly. Assassinating Basil II had been their only success; everything else crumbled.
Securing Zoi and Theodora? Failed.
Sending Himerios to pursue Rogerius? Failed.
Courting the Ecumenical Patriarch? Failed.
Allied with southern nobles? Failed.
Attacking the Optimatoi? Failed.
Deploying elites against Rogerius? Failed.
Alliance with the Holy Roman Empire and Bulgaria for counterattack? Failed.
Worse, each failure meant forcibly seizing nobles' wealth and troops, stretching their patience to the breaking point. Even Alexios, tasked with relaying the order, couldn't argue logically.
He resorted to authority instead.
“Are you defying Magistros's command?”
“Threatening us with authority now?”
“Ha! We've had enough. If you can take them by force, be my guest!”
“That mighty Magistros hides in safety while we suffer!”
The mood turned ugly. Alexios belatedly sensed his mistake.
But the milk was spilled. He called on his guards to subdue them.
“Defying Magistros? Guards!”
The guards appeared, and the nobles recoiled slightly. But they quickly noted the meager numbers.
“Even elite guards can't win outnumbered.”
At the pot-bellied noble's words, the nobles signaled their own men. The private guards united, encircling the palace guards.
The atmosphere grew tense; the guards faltered.
“This is treason!”
“Treason? Ha! The traitor is that incompetent Ioannikios!”
The pot-bellied noble's cry unleashed the private guards. The palace guards defended desperately for survival.
It happened in an instant. As nobles clashed within the vast palace, all eyes turned there.
A massive opening born of chaos. No one noticed the blind man slipping toward Constantine VIII's chambers.
Halvar had secured the Golden Horn as ordered, allowing Himerios's fleet to land our forces safely.
“No real counterattack despite our landing means the situation inside is dire,” Angelos observed.
I nodded. “We move fast.”
Our primary goal: rescue Constantine VIII. Reclaiming Constantinople was secondary, so we headed straight for the palace-adjacent walls.
Halvar awaited with his Viking unit.
“Mission accomplished perfectly, Halvar.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Now, just open the gate.”
The gate perched on steep slopes, promising delays in a siege. Avoiding combat was ideal.
“I'll negotiate with the enemy.”
Angelos and Halvar recoiled in surprise. Halvar blocked me outright, pleading.
“Talking to the enemy at the walls is dangerous, Your Majesty. They could loose arrows.”
“I know.”
Winning them over outweighed the risk of an arrow. Such calculations demanded my presence.
“Your Majesty!”
“Calm yourself. I know well the value of my life. But it's not worth more than my soldiers'.”
Amid Constantinople's turmoil, persuasion at the gate offered high odds of success. My real motive was simpler: boosting morale. Embarrassing, perhaps, but essential for trust.
Angelos seemed to grasp this, nodding to Halvar.
“We can't defy His Majesty's will—he values soldiers' lives above all.”
“If His Majesty insists, I'll accompany you as escort.”
No need to refuse that. I nodded, accepting, and stepped forward.
Halvar bore the imperial banner. As we reached the gate, soldiers appeared above.
“Who goes there? Come closer and we shoot!”
Halvar bellowed in rebuke.
“It's the Emperor! Show no more disrespect, or I won't forgive it!”
A gate captain emerged amid the soldiers.
“Our Emperor is Constantine VIII alone.”
I stepped forward. “I am Rogerius, wed to Emperor Zoi, daughter of Constantine VIII. She upholds her detained father's will. Thus, I do the same as Autokrator.”
The captain faltered. Sensing an opening, I pressed relentlessly.
“I lead troops as Rome's savior to rescue the Emperor and people from Bulgarian plunderers. Open the gate.”
“Magistros calls you a rebel. Why should we trust you?”
At Ioannikios's name, I laughed loudly, mocking him.
“Pitiful, following one who detained the Emperor for power.”
“Magistros ruled in the ailing Emperor's stead.”
“Fine, grant that. What's the result?”
The captain fell silent.
“Not content with inviting Bulgarians to the capital, he let them slaughter and rob our people.”
The mood ripened. I clenched my fist for the clincher.
“I am different. The only one who can save the Emperor and quell East Rome's chaos.”
As my words ended, the gate creaked open. Inside, the captain and his men hailed me at full voice.
“Long live the Emperor!”