The Path to Power (3)
“You slipped away quite nicely, didn’t you?”
Far from the rampaging Theodora. It was hard to believe, but we’d managed to escape her notice and flee here. Disappearing right in front of her eyes without getting caught was astonishing. Even seeing it with my own eyes, I could scarcely credit it.
Sensing my inner thoughts, perhaps, Zoi answered my unspoken question at once.
“It’s one of the essential skills for surviving at court.”
Learned, she said. How could anyone learn to hide their presence and vanish in a single breath, like some kind of magic?
“Lord Rogerius.”
Zoi’s voice pulled me from my distractions. I gathered my wits and turned to her.
“Your Excellency, what are your commands?”
“I heard about it from Father and Lord Ouranos that day.”
“...Are you summoning me to speak of that matter?”
“Yes.”
I nodded at Zoi’s words. If I were adopted into Lord Nikephoros’s family, the chances of marrying Zoi were extremely high. In fact, it was all but a foregone conclusion. There was good reason for such certainty.
If Lord Nikephoros had merely intended to offer adoption, there’d have been no need to do so before the emperor. No imperial approval was required for that. Yet he’d made the proposal right in front of Constantine VIII. That meant their interests were aligned. And then Zoi had been suddenly summoned into the mess I’d made of things. Calling her before me in that state could only have been the emperor’s test.
Of course, all this was mere conjecture. But the moment Zoi acknowledged it, it ceased to be a hypothesis.
“Are you thinking of entering the Ouranos family as an adopted son?”
“I only heard the offer yesterday... I haven’t decided for certain yet.”
To outsiders, it would seem an offer requiring no deliberation. The foremost family in the East Roman Empire—no, the empire’s greatest house, one that enjoyed the emperor’s special favor. Becoming its heir? There was no reason to refuse.
The impoverished Hauteville line among Norman counts, the weakest of the lot. They’d gain great power in the future, true, but for now, they were just another minor count’s family. Born into it, I’d inherited not a single scrap of land. To claim any, I’d had to carve out a foothold at the edge of Italy alongside my brothers. And even that land wasn’t mine—it belonged to my elder brothers. Only if they died without heirs might I rule it, but the odds were vanishingly low.
For these reasons, deep down, I intended to accept Lord Nikephoros’s offer. Still, as the elders say, even a stone bridge must be tapped before crossing. I needed time to weigh the gains against the drawbacks.
“Surprising. Most would accept such a proposal on the spot.”
“I would too. But...”
“You’re assessing the pros and cons, right?”
Zoi’s sharp insight. With my thoughts laid bare, there was no hiding it.
“Precisely, Your Excellency.”
“Fascinating.”
As she spoke, Zoi drew closer. A breeze carried her scent to my nose—lavender and wild berries, exquisitely blended, utterly captivating.
“Are all Varangians like that?”
“Like what, Your Excellency?”
“Weighing benefits and drawbacks before deciding.”
“I’d call it a personal trait.”
“Then shall we discuss here what counts as a benefit and what a drawback?”
“H-here...? It might not be appropriate...”
“This is an order.”
A mischievous command, and from Zoi, who resembled that ancient beauty. I couldn’t refuse. Reluctantly, I laid bare my thoughts.
“If I enter the Ouranos family as an adopted son, those in the empire who’ve tried to pressure me politically will have to rethink their actions.”
“Exactly. Because it’s the Ouranos family, of all houses.”
One of the few noble houses that could crush others through sheer force. Not just their overwhelming military might, but the towering legacy they’d built—a fortress even bureaucratic nobles dared not assault. I couldn’t claim it wholly for myself, but I could certainly borrow its shelter.
“There must be other advantages too, no?”
Zoi’s question. Nothing came immediately to mind, so I turned it back on her.
“Nothing springs to mind at present. Might I borrow your keen insight?”
She nodded as if it were only natural.
“I hear you brought quite the haul of spoils from Ohrid. Is that right?”
“Yes. Most were already sent to the families of our fallen Varangian warriors...”
“Shipping all that wealth across the sea is as good as fattening thieves and pirates. You know that full well, Lord Rogerius.”
“I can’t fool Your Excellency. Yes, I’ll send some, but most I plan to sell in Rome and invest through reliable merchants.”
“Investment... A fine approach, but there’s a better one.”
“A better one?”
Zoi delivered her words as if she’d been waiting for this.
“Invest in the Ouranos family’s assets. The spoils are communal property, so you’d need everyone’s consent to form a collective and use them as capital, of course.”
Zoi, the imperial treasurer. Naturally, she was revealing the economic benefits I’d gain from adoption into the Ouranos house.
East Roman noble families held estates—communal family lands, essentially. They built farms for profit or mills to press and sell olive oil. Not every house owned such estates, but as a great noble family, the Ouranos held vast tracts, far beyond the ordinary.
“Far safer than investing in merchants.”
Handing capital to merchants meant ceding control, an inherent risk. Investing in Ouranos lands would preempt fraud or embezzlement. Zoi emphasized this, recommending the family investment for the spoils.
“Coming from the Protovestiarios herself, it seems wise to heed you.”
Zoi beamed silently at my words. Then, her eyes shifting with resolve, she spoke again.
“There’s an even greater benefit than those I mentioned.”
“Already the advantages outweigh the drawbacks—there’s more?”
True, adoption brought downsides: noble scrutiny, being thrust into the heart of politics unbidden. But those were manageable with the upsides. Politics was inevitable after my feats in the Bulgarian war. And with the economic gains Zoi described, it was all to my benefit. So what could top that? Puzzled, I waited.
As if answering my bewilderment, Zoi pointed proudly to herself.
“Above all, don’t you think I’m the greatest advantage?”
Her uncharacteristically playful demeanor drew an involuntary chuckle from me.
“You just laughed, didn’t you?”
“N-no, not at all. Ahem. My apologies, Your Excellency.”
“I saw it. I’ll remember this.”
Her teasing tone brought a smile to my lips. Suddenly, Zoi extended her hand.
“A hot heart, cool reason... and a human side. I like that about you.”
Her gesture seemed an invitation to take it. Cautiously, I clasped her hand.
The East Roman capital, Constantinople. A city of splendor that would dazzle even modern eyes, worthy of being called the world’s heart.
The Ouranos family mansion stood amid it all. Marble and precious metals adorned its opulence; I could only blink in awe.
“Come in.”
Nikephoros, in a simple tunic topped by a dalmatica overcoat. At his welcome, I offered formal greetings.
“Spare the excess ceremony. From now on, you’re my adopted son.”
Lord Nikephoros smiled. Rogerius Ouranos. As he said, I was now a member of the Ouranos family, to live here henceforth.
“Thank you for accepting me, Your Excellency.”
“Excellency? As your adoptive father, I’d prefer ‘Father.’”
His request was awkward, but I had no choice.
“Understood, Father.”
“Heh. I always wanted a son like this.”
He led me to the garden, where the family’s retainers awaited.
“Listen well. Rogerius here is now my adopted son and will lead our house. Obey his commands as you would mine.”
The retainers bowed, pledging loyalty. The pace left me reeling, but I had to adapt; feigning calm, I raised a hand in thanks.
With brief formalities done, we moved to Nikephoros’s private study.
“Sit wherever you like.”
I took a nearby sofa at his invitation.
“The Protovestiarios told me. You met her yesterday and spoke of various matters.”
Various matters—political marriage, obviously. I’d learned of Zoi’s favor yesterday, and mine for her. But favor didn’t negate the strategic nature. My adoption by Lord Ouranos, marriage to Constantine VIII’s daughter Zoi—all extensions of political alliance.
“I’d discuss that now, but the Bulgarian war isn’t fully concluded. We’ll speak of marriage after it ends.”
Samuil I’s death had all but sealed East Rome’s victory. Yet full control of Bulgaria eluded our armies; the war dragged on.
“Time remains until war’s end. Use it to build your strength, or the nobles will devour you.”
Fatherly advice from my new adoptive father. Cautiously, I shared my thoughts.
“I know it’s precious time. That’s why I’ve prepared in advance—may I have your permission?”
“Let’s hear it.”
The plan I’d formed with Zoi. He listened with evident interest.
“May I have your permission?”
“It benefits the house. Why would I refuse?”
With the family head’s approval, it was time to set the plan in motion.