Purple Bloodline (1)
The purple bloodline. I had committed an unforgivable rudeness against the imperial family, leaving me no choice but to apologize until my forehead wore through.
"I am sorry for my rudeness, Porphyrogenita."
Porphyrogenita. It was the term used for the children of the reigning emperor and empress of the Eastern Roman Empire. Born in the Porphyra, the purple birth chamber reserved for empresses, the suffix "genneta"—meaning "born"—was attached. Though not an official title, since Rome had no separate word for "princess," it was commonly applied to female heirs with a claim to the throne.
"It's fine. You're a foreigner, so you wouldn't know."
The woman waved it off repeatedly, insisting it was no big deal.
The purple bloodline. Her identity was none other than Zoi Porphyrogenita.
Basil II had never even married, leaving him without heirs. Thus, no purple bloodline should have existed—but there was a reason for it. Her father was the co-emperor, Constantine VIII.
Basil II and Constantine VIII, sons of Romanos II. The brothers had ascended abruptly to the throne after their father's sudden death. In other words, Constantine was an emperor too. But in practice, his elder brother, Basil II, handled all the ruling.
The co-emperor Constantine VIII, sidelined from governance. Rumors abounded: one that he suffered from a chronic illness, another that Basil II had deliberately kept him at arm's length from politics. Whatever the truth, Constantine spent most of his time at his villa in Nicaea and took no part in ruling.
In any case, the second daughter of that co-emperor stood before me now: Zoi.
"Thank you for understanding, Your Grace."
To repeat: Rome had no specific term for "princess." They were addressed by their offices, and for Porphyrogenitae with succession rights, that meant dux—so "Your Grace" was appropriate. Indeed, the imperial family often held the post of protovestiarios, a financial role akin to a Western duke.
"More importantly, I heard from His Majesty. You're the new stratopedarch, right?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"A Varangian becoming the quartermaster of His Majesty's favored regiment—how intriguing."
The princess's eyes sparkled with interest. My heart raced unbidden at the sight. It wasn't just her beauty... she looked exactly like my first love, the one I'd even attended a betrothal ceremony for.
Eleni. She couldn't possibly be here, but purely in appearance, the resemblance was uncanny.
"What's your name?"
"Robert Guiscard. But His Majesty gave me a new one."
"What is it?"
"Rogerius. Rogerius Guiscard."
"I like it. Rogerius."
Zoi smiled brightly and extended her hand to me.
"Anyway, let's get along. I'm the imperial treasurer, so we'll be seeing a lot of each other."
For an imperial, she was remarkably informal. Probably took after her uncle, Basil II. Handshakes weren't a custom in this era. Julius Caesar of ancient Rome had supposedly taught it, but it hadn't carried over to the East. Rather, the Germans who saw it adopted it, and now northern Germans did it occasionally.
Zoi had made the gesture out of consideration for me, a German. I took her hand gratefully.
"The pleasure's mine, Your Grace."
With introductions complete, Zoi explained why she'd come.
"You've been worrying about the vinegar shortage, right?"
"H-how did you know?"
"His Majesty mentioned it. Said you'd be buried under paperwork and suffering by now."
Basil II. That man knew I'd struggle and assigned it anyway? The words nearly slipped out.
In that brief moment, Zoi caught my expression.
"Pfft. You just cursed my uncle in your head, didn't you?"
"N-no, absolutely not. I'd never commit such blasphemy..."
"It's fine. It's just us and the acolyte here."
She reassured me not to worry.
"Uncle hates empty formalities. He doesn't even bathe much, that's his one flaw... but when we're alone, I call him 'uncle' instead of 'Majesty.' So you can trust me."
As an imperial, she could get away with it. I couldn't, so I smiled and let it slide.
"Anyway, Uncle gave you a mountain of work and told me to assist the acolyte."
"Thank you for the help."
Zoi smiled sweetly in response. Her pure smile set my heart fluttering again.
"Shall we get started?"
We discussed logistics together. As imperial treasurer, she knew supply matters better than anyone.
"We have plenty of olive oil, wheat, and iron ore stockpiled, so even if production lags, we can hold out for a while."
The emperor sharpening his blade for vengeance against the Bulgarians. He'd hoarded supplies obsessively, amassing far more oil, wheat, and ore than Angelos's intel suggested. Prepared to last up to ten years. After two rebellions and Bulgarian invasions that left the empire in ruins, it was astonishing how Basil II had managed it.
"The problem is the vinegar, as you said."
"Yes, Your Grace. Vinegar comes from grapes, but last year and this year's harvests were poor."
Anatolia was the main grape region. The Balkans produced some too, but using high-quality grapes for vinegar would be a massive loss. Wine was a key imperial export, unavoidable for securing revenue.
"No helping it, then. We'll have to requisition aged wine from the palace stores for military use."
Using palace wine for rations? I tried to dissuade her in surprise.
"Are you sure? Turning imperial wine into supplies..."
"Don't worry. Uncle hardly drinks, so most of it's gone sour into vinegar already."
Basil II lived frugally. Unlike Romans who drank wine like water, he barely touched it.
"Storing it in the warehouse costs money anyway, so better to clear it out now."
"A bold decision."
Praised, Zoi beamed.
"When distributing the vinegar, Quartermaster, make sure the troops know it's from the palace. They'll think it's a gift from His Majesty and morale will soar."
A plan reaping two benefits from one vinegar shipment. Empty the palace stores to ease the keeper's burden and cut storage costs. And spread word it came from the palace to boost soldier spirits. Not just beautiful—she thought deeply too.
"A wise choice."
"Wise? It's not fully solved yet. Even palace wine won't cover two years."
"Dilute it with water for rations, and we can stretch it to three."
The goal wasn't eating vinegar straight but enabling limewater for troops. With careful dilution, three years seemed feasible.
"Good idea. The key is sourcing the remaining two years' worth."
"Exactly. Prepare five years total—even if we use it up, the wine aging now will be ready by then."
Two years left. Imports were easiest, but problematic.
"We should avoid imports. Bringing in two years' vinegar would tip off our war prep."
Internal trades stayed hidden. But importing screamed intent, especially to watchful neighbors like Bulgaria—they'd counter immediately.
"Even masking it as domestic consumption, two years' worth is a huge volume."
Zoi and I pondered silently. Grapes weren't ripe yet; last poor harvest's were still fermenting. Then a report caught my eye: bumper apple crop in the Seleucia military district.
Apple cider vinegar flashed in my mind. Anatolia was famed for beekeeping—Turkish honey was top-tier even in modern times. Sugar was rare, from North African sugarcane. But over time, honey-pickled apples could mimic apple vinegar. Sterilization was weaker than high-acidity plums (native to China, hard to get), but it would do.
"What about using apples?"
"Apples sound good. But how to ferment them?"
Grapes were "fruit of the gods"—high sugar fermented naturally. Others needed added sweetness.
"With honey."
"Honey... won't that cost more?"
"Apples are overflowing from the bumper crop, so we can match low-grade wine vinegar prices."
Surplus meant cheap, low-quality apples aplenty. Soldiers would get sorry fruit, but we couldn't afford premium for thousands. At least honey masked the bitterness even in cheap apples.
"Let's try it and report to His Majesty."
Zoi trusted my proposal fully. Her radiant smile drew one from me in return.