Reclamation (2)
The Bulgarian troops formed the core of the plundering force. Once their leader, Nestoric, was subdued, the soldiers' morale began to crumble naturally.
"N-Nestoric the general's been captured..."
"Our revenge... failed..."
"D-Damn it. Damn it all!"
The Bulgarian soldiers wore expressions of utter despair. And who could blame them? The palace was just beyond their sight—vengeance they'd dreamed of for so long had been within reach. Success had been so close, only to slip away. In their frustration and hollow defeat, they made no effort to hide their resentment.
Our troops seized the moment. They swiftly cut down the demoralized Bulgarians.
"Leave no rebels alive!"
"Kill them all! By order of His Majesty!"
"Slaughter these treacherous Bulgarians!"
The Bulgarians fell like wheat before a scythe, defenseless against the onslaught. Even as death loomed, they cried out their grievances.
"Ah... revenge was right there..."
"Even in death, I curse the East Romans."
But their curses rang hollow. Every last Bulgarian soldier before the palace lay dead.
"We've eliminated all the Bulgarian soldiers who were holding out in front of the palace, Your Majesty."
Halvar's report. I nodded in acknowledgment.
"What of the captured Nestoric? What are your plans for him?"
"Bind him securely so he can't take his own life. Once we've reclaimed the palace and punished the nobles, we'll execute him alongside them."
Nestoric's life wasn't mine alone. It belonged to all of us. He had to die before everyone's eyes. Only then could I truly win the hearts of the East Roman people.
With that, the situation was more or less under control. All that remained was seizing the palace.
The palace was encircled by thick walls—a formidable defense that had kept the Bulgarians at bay. The same obstacle now stood before us.
"Perhaps we should call for the nobles to surrender?" Angelos suggested.
His advice was sound, but it overlooked one crucial point.
"Having publicly declared their punishment, surrender is all but impossible for them now."
Angelos nodded at my words. The nobles knew full well the oath I'd sworn at my coronation to eradicate their kind. From their perspective, they had no choice but to bar my entry at any cost.
"They must know resistance is futile in the end."
"True. But we cannot forget that Constantine VIII, His Majesty, is inside."
A cornered rat will bite even a cat. Desperate, the nobles might threaten the emperor's life to survive.
"We must resolve this before that happens..."
Angelos's words carried a note of worry. The palace defenses were no joke; breaching them would take time.
Then, a sudden sound echoed from somewhere. All eyes turned toward it.
"What's that...?"
Two faint figures emerged on the palace outskirts—a young man and an elderly one, approaching.
"Over here! This way!"
The young man's shout was familiar. I led my forces—Halvar and Angelos at my side—toward them.
As they drew near enough to make out, their identities became clear.
"Your Majesty!"
An old man, leaning heavily on a youth with an eyepatch over his left eye, struggled forward. It was none other than Constantine VIII.
The emperor broke into a radiant smile at my call and greeted me with a sigh of relief.
"It's been too long, my boy. Rogerius."
"Your Majesty! What happened? And who is this young man...?"
Constantine VIII glanced at the youth as I spoke. The young man bowed his head and introduced himself.
"Great Autokrator, I am Michael, son of a blacksmith and adopted son of the imperial steward."
Michael. In the original history, after Constantine VIII's death, he would marry Zoe and ascend the throne. Zoe had three husbands: first Romanos, then Michael IV, and finally this Michael V before me now.
For such a figure to appear here with Constantine VIII made the situation hard to grasp.
"I imagine this is difficult to understand, Your Majesty. I was once part of the noble faction, but as you can see..."
Michael pointed to his blood-soaked eyepatch. It was clear he'd endured one of Rome's harshest punishments: the gouging of an eye.
Constantine VIII had been held captive by Keroularios. It was unlikely the emperor himself had ordered such a penalty. That left Ioannikios as the culprit—an extreme sentence that suggested he'd nearly intended to kill him.
"I've never truly followed Ioannikios. When that tyrant Magistros let the Bulgarian army into the capital, I tried to win over the Holy Roman Empire's commanders to eliminate him."
Michael had sought to use the Holy Roman forces against the dictator. But as everyone knew, the deaths of Anno II and the Archbishop of Bremen had scuttled those plans.
"I went to the Holy Roman camp to meet the Archbishop of Bremen, but their emperor's forces captured me instead, mistaking me for an assassin. They handed me over to Ioannikios."
"So that's how it happened."
Ioannikios would surely have tried to sway the Holy Romans to crush the Bulgarians. But with Michael branded an assassin, the blame fell on the nobles. The empire's troops withdrew, the Bulgarians rampaged, and Ioannikios had every reason to want him dead.
"How did you survive?"
"When the Bulgarians began their pillaging, a gap opened, and I escaped. I made straight for the palace where Your Majesty was held."
A desperate struggle for survival. With the nobles inside the palace, his only hope was the emperor.
He'd reached the palace, rescued Constantine VIII, and brought him to me. Saving the emperor guaranteed his own life.
It was a boon for me too. Storming the palace to rescue Constantine VIII would have been time-consuming, but Michael had spared us that pressure.
"You've done well. I won't forget your service. But you're bleeding badly—go to the rear with His Majesty and rest."
"My thanks for Your Majesty's grace."
Michael expressed his gratitude. I signaled an adjutant, who directed him to the medical tent.
Once Michael was gone, I approached Constantine VIII.
"Are you all right, Your Majesty?"
"My body's fine. But climbing down the walls took its toll—I'm exhausted."
He smiled faintly. The last time I'd seen him, he was in his middle years, but the nobles' torment had aged him into an old man.
To me, he was like a father-in-law. It pained me to see him like this.
"And you—you look every inch the emperor now."
"...Thank you, Your Majesty."
"Zoe and Theodora are well, I trust."
"They are. We'll escort you to Lazica at once."
Constantine VIII shook his head.
"Don't you still have business here?"
"..."
"As do I."
The emperor smiled faintly. I nodded and beckoned an adjutant.
"Prepare a litter for His Majesty."
The order went out, and a litter appeared promptly. The emperor settled into it and nodded at me.
"Angelos, Halvar."
"Your command, Your Majesty."
"We stand ready."
"Guard Constantine VIII well. We march to the palace with His Majesty."
Surprise crossed their faces. The battlefield was no place for a frail emperor—stray arrows could claim him at any moment.
"This is too dangerous, Your Majesty."
Halvar protested. I shook my head and glanced at the emperor.
"It is His Majesty's will."
They looked to Constantine VIII, whose resolute expression left no room for argument. They had no choice but to nod.
"We obey His Majesty's command."
With their duty assigned, I mounted my ornate warhorse, flanked by the Varangian Guard, and rode slowly toward the palace.
My arrival drew the nobles to the battlements. They stared with grim determination and bellowed.
"Traitor Rogerius! You who assassinated Basil II—why are you here?!"
I said nothing, merely pointing to the imperial standard.
Eyes shifted to the purple banner emblazoned with an eagle. Then, horror dawned as they spotted the figure between the flags.
"The lawful Emperor of Rome, Constantine VIII, commands: Ioannikios, assassin of Basil II, present yourself at once and face your rightful punishment."
His words cleaved the dry sky like thunder, laced with an authority beyond description.
"His Majesty the Emperor..."
"How is he there?!"
The nobles realized too late that Constantine VIII had escaped. Sensing their cause was lost, they could only gape in dismay.
As if entranced, one man climbed the wall before the palace. Ioannikios, head of the noble faction, drew his sword and roared.
"False emperor! False army! False beings! No matter your lies, the truth remains unchanged!"
He turned to the nobles and shouted.
"We hold until one man remains!"
His defiant cry echoed. But not a single noble responded. Instead, they exuded a murderous air.
Sensing it, Ioannikios swung his sword in threat.
"G-Go out there and fight! Fight, I say!"
The nobles didn't budge. Ioannikios slumped in defeat, dropping his blade.
Once the pinnacle of East Roman power, his end was pathetically ignoble.