A New Era (1)
A gaunt man lay upon his sickbed, tended by a beautiful woman at his side.
"Why have you grown so frail, Father?" Her words carried a deep sorrow.
The man stroked his daughter's cheek, as if to say there was no cause for worry. "It's merely an old ailment flaring up a bit, Theodora. Don't fret so."
"That's what worries me most."
"I'm sorry."
"Never mind."
Her tone was brusque, yet laced with concern. Constantine VIII, Theodora's father, smiled at her words. As the two conversed, a knock echoed from beyond the door.
"That must be my son-in-law."
Theodora rose from her seat. No sooner had she stood than the door opened, and Rogerius stepped into view.
"Father-in-law."
"Forgive me for summoning you amid your duties."
"Not at all. When you call, I come."
Rogerius's unwavering respect for Constantine VIII filled the emperor with silent relief. A man who had navigated a lifetime of power struggles, he knew better than anyone how people twisted in the face of ambition. Disgusted by such fickle natures, Constantine had been wary when the outsider Rogerius appeared before him—a warrior famed for his ferocity in battle. Yet upon meeting him, he saw not a monster, but an ordinary man who truly loved his daughter Zoi.
Indeed, when they fled the palace, Rogerius had honored Constantine's decision. He escorted Zoi and Theodora to safety, shielding them from peril. Later, having gathered his strength, the son-in-law returned to the capital at the head of a great host. He razed the Bulgarian forces that had sacked and burned the city, then executed Ioannikios Keroularios—the true instigator, who had assassinated Basil II.
Constantine had witnessed it all with his own eyes. Thus, as a father rather than an emperor, he believed entrusting Zoi to Rogerius was the finest choice of his life.
His proud son-in-law. Yet there was a reason for summoning him now.
"I've called you from your pressing affairs for good cause."
Rogerius assumed a reverent posture, ready to listen. Heartened, Constantine voiced the decision he had long deferred.
"I shall abdicate the throne to you and my daughter, and retire."
Rogerius and Theodora stared in shock. Before they could speak, the emperor pressed on.
"Peace, both of you. I've pondered this since the day you three escaped the palace."
"Your Majesty…"
"A new era demands a new emperor. 'Tis the most glorious way for the old to fade."
Constantine extended his hand to Rogerius, who clasped it firmly.
"Look after my daughter Zoi from here on."
"…I shall, Your Majesty."
Constantine smiled faintly, then rose and bowed to Rogerius. The son-in-law faltered in surprise, but the emperor's next words rooted him in place.
"The glory of the East Roman Empire rests in the hands of Emperor Rogerius. From your fingertips, Rome shall be reborn."
The former emperor's blessing. Rogerius bowed deeply in gratitude.
* * *
Constantine VIII retired officially. He chose to spend his remaining days at the monastery with his eldest daughter, Eudokia—her face scarred by smallpox. It seemed he had always carried guilt for sending her there, and now sought to make amends by joining her.
"I figured you'd go there, since you wrote to her so often," Zoi remarked.
I nodded. "I'll visit now and then."
"Thank you for saying so, my sweet."
Zoi smiled warmly and continued. "Before Father left for the monastery, he asked me something."
"Asked you?"
"Theodora's marriage."
Theodora was now of marriageable age, and it was time to consider a match.
"Have you asked your sister what she thinks?"
"She says she's not ready yet. But…"
Zoi trailed off. In this medieval age, delaying marriage bred concern. Weddings often led to children, and youth favored both mother and babe. From my view, Theodora—still in her early twenties—was hardly overdue. Yet her sister saw it differently.
"I respect Father and your thoughts. But the bride herself matters most."
Zoi pondered my words, then nodded. "Thank you, my sweet. I was too hasty. I'll speak with Theodora more."
"I'm glad you understand."
We discussed reconstruction efforts a while longer. Zoi departed to oversee further measures. Soon after, Angelos arrived, bowing before addressing me.
"You summoned me, Your Majesty."
"Forgive the interruption to your reconstruction duties."
"Not at all, Your Majesty. May I ask the reason?"
I straightened and met his gaze. "How fares our army?"
"Poorly, due to the civil war. Most themes lie in ruins."
Ioannikios's rebellion had shattered the theme system, evaporating central control over Anatolia. In plain terms, governing the peninsula from afar would prove impossible for some time.
"Left unchecked, it'll invite foreign incursions—or spark new revolts within."
Angelos nodded gravely. Even under Basil II, two of three rebellions had erupted in Anatolia. Each suppression eroded imperial influence there.
"Have you devised solutions?"
He considered briefly, then spoke cautiously. "Two paths, Your Majesty."
True to his expertise, the general had prepared options.
"First: relocate the capital to an Anatolian city."
A sound proposal. Conquerors often ruled from seized lands to cement hold—William of Normandy to Londinium after England; Mehmed II to Constantinople after toppling East Rome.
Yet Zoi and I could not. Constantinople's history and symbolism bound us. Though scarred, the city endured with its people. Relinquishing its legacy as Rome's ancient seat—and East Rome's since the Schism—was untenable.
"Second: abolish Anatolia's themes and adopt Western feudalism."
"Western feudalism…"
After the East-West Schism and West Rome's fall, feudalism arose to defend fractured lands. Lords granted fiefs to vassals in exchange for military service and loyalty.
East Rome's themes resembled it superficially: dynatoi elites or local nobles as katepanoi, granted land; duces—military elites—sent to protect them. Unlike pure feudalism, civilians and soldiers coexisted under imperial oversight, deemed centralized by moderns.
Half-true. Frequent civil wars and rotating dynasties weakened the center. Katepanoi often became entrenched lords; duces doubled as such. This war proved it: Ioannikios seized power, but defiant duces formed warlord fiefs.
The themes were hollow shells. Better to embrace reality and install feudal lords in Anatolia.
"The Komnenos family already dominates southern Anatolia. Central bureaucrats won't rule them effectively."
Our allies, no less—and heroes of the war. Their influence demanded respect.
"You propose crowning the Komnenoi as kings of the Anatolian kingdom."
"Precisely, Your Majesty."
Convention held three kingdoms in Anatolia: Nicaea (Nikomedia), Pontus (Trapezus), and Anatolia (Lykaonia). The Komnenoi hailed from Lykaonia—ideal for kingship there.
"An excellent plan. I'll discuss it with Empress Zoi."
"My thanks, Your Majesty."
Angelos bowed and withdrew. Alone, I sank into thought, pondering how to rein in the Komnenos family.