Tidings of Triumph on the Hebrus River
The news of the battle on the Hebrus River spread like wildfire. Rumors flew that they had inflicted a crushing defeat on the Bulgars.
"They gave those Bulgar bastards a lesson they'll never forget!"
"Those border-raiding savages will finally learn their place."
The common folk, long tormented by Bulgar raids, rejoiced as if it were their own victory.
The mercenaries listening in showed keen interest too. Men who lived by the sword were naturally drawn to the triumph at the Hebrus.
"At this rate, it might as well be a total Roman victory."
"We could make a fortune helping garrison troops secure the peace..."
Conquering territory created gaps in security that demanded soldiers. Rome boasted a formidable army, but it couldn't station men at every outpost across vast Bulgaria. So, in occupied zones, they hired mercenaries to maintain order.
It was money in their pockets, so their enthusiasm was no surprise.
Yet while some eyed those postings, others fixated on Rogerius, who had played a pivotal role in the fight.
"They say the commander of Taghma ton Varangia pulled off something huge."
"Joining up with him could mean real paydays."
Mercenaries unattached to a noble house had few options: bodyguard duty, policing, or aiding regular forces in battle. Even for sellswords, that was the lot. It kept them busy enough, but the wages were meager.
That's why mercenaries in the East Roman sphere dreamed of enlisting in the empire's proper tagmata.
"But you'd need nine lives to survive that."
"If you wanted to live safe as a merc, why not just be a farmer?"
They led lives far from safety. Faced with equal peril, they chased the highest pay and best treatment.
"Then why not aim for the Basilikei Hetairoi?"
A rookie's question drew a scolding from the veterans.
"Idiot. The Basilikei Hetairoi only takes Greeks."
The Basilikei Hetairoi was the East Roman elite. Perks were lavish, luring foreigners desperate to join. But Romans coveted it too, filling spots tight. Over time, they shut out outsiders entirely—by Basil II's reign, they were even purging foreign troops to other units.
"So why chase a Varangian-led taghma?"
The rookie pressed, and the others chimed in.
"It's the emperor's guard.待遇 has to be top-tier."
"They take foreigners. Pechenegs and Alans from this battle just signed on."
"And it's brand new. Plenty of openings."
Taghma ton Varangia had blazed in like a comet. Ride that wave, and even foreigners could live like nobles in Rome.
"Hahaha! Did you see? My eyes did not deceive!"
The emperor, who rarely showed emotion, pointed at the parchment and boasted before the nobles.
"Speak! Was I wrong? Was my choice to strike Bulgaria and avenge that day's humiliation a mistake?"
He threw his arms wide in glee. Normally, nobles would rush to rein him in—but not today.
It was an unequivocal victory. In the clash with the Bulgars, Nikephoros Ouranos hadn't just crushed their elite; he'd captured them all as prisoners.
True, he hadn't snared their commander, a nitpick at best. But no one dared.
Why? The man behind it was untouchable.
Nikephoros Ouranos—Manuel Erotikos Komnenos's counterpart as the emperor's left hand, if Manuel was the right. He basked in imperial favor, the "noble butcher" who beheaded countless rebels.
To the aristocracy, he was terror incarnate. Small mercy: no heirs. His death would free them.
His name alone made their teeth chatter, but old age promised swift relief. They prayed for time's haste.
"Haha. I'm truly pleased. You nobles must be too."
He baited them deliberately, fishing for a bite. Every court move was politics. He wielded his joy as lure, waiting for prey.
But they stonewalled. Seasoned players ignored the prod.
On to phase two.
"With their elites captured, conquest is all that's left. I'll draw troops from every theme to secure the occupied lands."
Nobles' eyes widened in shock. A young one couldn't hold back.
"That's excessive, Your Majesty."
No great white whale—just a loach. Disappointing, but hooked; time to use it.
"Who are you to interrupt me?"
"Forgive me, Your Majesty. Alexios of the Maleinos house."
"Very well, Alexios. Explain why my demand is excessive."
Alexios pondered, then laid out his case.
"The war with Bulgaria has only begun. Pulling theme garrison troops now risks security vacuums."
"Security vacuums? Isn't that your duty?"
Appointing theme duces was the emperor's prerogative. Duces bore responsibility for order in imperial lands.
"Garrisons are needed to maintain it."
"Then leave the minimum and draw the rest. Problem solved, no?"
Alexios floundered. Other nobles inwardly sighed at the trap sprung so easily.
One stepped up for support fire.
"Devgo ros of the Gavris house begs Your Majesty not to draw our troops."
"If security's the issue, that young fool already gave me a fine idea, didn't he?"
"Security matters, but conscripting troops oversteps noble prerogatives."
Noble prerogatives. Overreach.
The emperor's face turned to ice. The shift from joy was jarring; instinct screamed danger.
"Overreach? Noble prerogatives, you say?"
The pressure crushed Devgo ros, but spilled milk—he pressed on.
"Yes. Troops are needed for security... that's a noble right...?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty."
The emperor erupted.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice nobles turning my theme armies into private forces?"
"A... a misunderstanding."
"Then arming them to strike at my throat! Am I wrong?"
His roar silenced Devgo ros, like Alexios. Total dominance—but no big fish yet. He needed to force one out.
"Hear me, theme duces! Not just theme troops—all your house levies too. Prove your loyalty to me."
The court froze. Most duces hailed from military houses; they knew armies were their power base. Obey, and foundations crumbled.
Lives hung in balance. One man stepped forward.
"Your Majesty need not doubt our loyalty."
A calm voice, translucent skin, jet-black hair—handsome by any measure.
"Lord Ioannikios Keroularios."
He bowed. The Keroularios house: top bureaucratic lineage. Not a dux, but prestigious enough for court. His son, young as he was, vied for Ecumenical Patriarch.
Already esteemed, the halo of his heir elevated them to Rome's premier house.
The emperor's true quarry.
"Our loyalty is unwavering. Command what you will; we shall heed and obey."
"Heed" meant "consider." The emperor smiled at his poise, repeating his demand.
"I require theme troops and house levies conscripted."
"Your Majesty's command is just, but minor issues may delay matters."
"Minor issues?"
"Yes. Filling garrison gaps requires time to hire mercenaries."
"How long?"
"Hard to say precisely, Sire. With troops and supplies shifting across themes..."
Delay until war's end, in other words. The emperor caught it, wielding wrath anew.
But the wily politician moved first.
"Uncertain timelines being what they are, why not use our houses' gold and silver to hire mercenaries upfront? Secure the occupations while we sort themes."