Reconstruction (2)
After taking in all the tribesmen under Arslan, I immediately began the administrative work of tearing them apart and dispersing them.
"That's a good method. Even if a rebellion breaks out, we can minimize the damage this way."
Zoi's remark. I nodded at her words.
I reassigned the Turkic tribal cavalrymen to the Varangian Guard and split them into groups of ten, distributing them across the various units. Vikings, Alans, and Greeks led these nomadic horsemen—a sort of squad system. By breaking them into these small squads and slotting them between the smaller units, the Turks would have no choice but to absorb Eastern Roman culture, whether they wanted to or not.
"How did you come up with a method like this?"
Zoi's question gave me pause. It was a technique I'd learned at the Army Officer Candidate School. It came straight from U.S. tactical manuals on leading local militias: even when using indigenous auxiliaries, split them up and mix them in thoroughly to avoid lax oversight or management. That was because auxiliaries could turn on you depending on the situation. In fact, when the Americans infiltrated Afghanistan, they'd moved with local militias, only for some to betray them, exposing positions and causing heavy casualties. So the rule was to divide and integrate soldiers as much as possible. That way, you could monitor their every move.
Of course, I couldn't say any of that outright. Instead, I cited the Alans as an example.
"I've read about how the Alans integrated into the Eastern Roman Empire. I just adapted that."
In reality, by this era, the Alans had largely lost their identity. Records mentioned their prosperity under Khazar subjugation lasting until the Mongol invasions of the 13th century. But that "prosperity" wasn't the Alans' own—it was as vassals of the Khazars, tucked away in the rugged Caucasus mountains on the frontier, where they'd effectively become Turkicized or Georgianized. The key point was that some of these identity-lost Alans had been subsumed into Eastern Roman culture, becoming Romans in all but name. Part of that process involved the Eastern Romans employing them as mercenaries.
The Eastern Romans had one ironclad principle with foreign mercenaries: never let them cluster in groups. By the late 11th century, it had become a dead letter, but up to then, they'd stuck to it reasonably well. Thanks to that, figures like Bachana and Alton—Alans in appearance only, practically Greeks—could emerge.
It was a bit of a stretch, sure. But it was better than having no historical precedent at all, so I claimed I'd drawn policy from that adaptation.
Zoi's expression suggested my white lie had landed well enough.
"Still, there's one thing we need to watch out for."
"Watch out for... You mean getting them to adapt quickly to Eastern Roman culture, right?"
"Exactly."
We had to immerse them fast in Eastern Roman culture. Only then could we use them as proper troops.
"The Turkic issue aside, what are your plans now?"
"Rebuilding Lazica comes first."
Lazica would be our base; we had to develop it to reclaim Constantinople. And for that, we needed to normalize the land itself.
Just then, Alberto arrived clutching a stack of documents. His expression said he'd finished the task I'd assigned.
"My lord. The population census you ordered is complete."
"You finished quickly."
"The spreadsheet method you taught me has become second nature, so it went fast."
The Excel sheets that had impressed Basil II. I'd used them for guild operations too, so for Alberto—who'd handled internal affairs in my absence—spreadsheets were inevitable.
Anyway, I examined the census sheet Alberto handed me.
"Ten carpenters, fifteen stonemasons, twenty farmers..."
More skilled workers than expected. Especially carpenters and stonemasons, crucial for repairing war-torn lands. A relief.
"Gather them all here."
"As you command, my lord."
Alberto left, and soon the craftsmen assembled before me.
"You summoned us, Your Majesty?"
A man awkwardly attempting courtly manners. Middle-aged by the look, with a striking beard. His bearing marked him as their leader.
"What's your name?"
"Darham, sire."
"Judging by the name, you're a craftsman who immigrated from the Middle East."
"Yes. I lived in Damascus originally, but we've been in the Eastern Roman lands since my grandfather's time."
Curiosity satisfied; time for the main point.
"Darham, I intend to rebuild Lazica. I need your skills for that."
Darham bowed low. "We haven't forgotten the grace you showed in saving us. Command us, and we'll do anything."
Cooperative. I gave him his first task.
"People lack proper shelter right now. I plan to rebuild a village near the church and erect walls. Can you manage it?"
Darham pondered, then answered cautiously. "This region's full of timber and stone. With enough labor, houses go up quick. But..."
"But?"
"Walls are beyond our level of construction."
"Beyond your level—what do you mean? Impossible?"
He nodded and explained. "Walls require massive facilities, labor, and expertise. My colleagues and I only built houses and tools for villages. We've never tackled something as grand as walls."
I'd overlooked how wall-building demanded high skill. Still, probing for any possibility: "Ever repaired walls?"
"Yes. When the Muslims invaded, we fixed breached ones."
"Then you can manage something man-height, if not towering fortifications."
"That... should be possible."
Stone barricades, basically. A makeshift barrier. Building proper high walls was near-impossible time-wise anyway. This level—enough to fend off attacks—would suffice.
"Rebuild the village including the church, then construct the walls. Labor support incoming immediately."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Darham expressed gratitude while stealing a glance at me. More to say, clearly. I gestured permission; he bowed again, thanked me, and spoke.
"Timber and stone abound, but we need other materials too."
"Support on that front as well."
I beckoned; attendants moved, and Alberto soon arrived.
"Sir Alberto here runs the guild and handles administration. Take needs to him."
Alberto looked stunned. No wonder—I'd used "sir," a noble's honorific.
"Your Majesty... does that mean..."
"You heard right, Sir Alberto."
Tears welled in Alberto's eyes, moved. But he clenched his jaw, holding it together before everyone, then turned coolly to Darham.
"Follow me, please."
With that, Darham and the carpenters and stonemasons trailed after him.
Armies were consumer groups. Non-producers existing solely for war's destruction, not creation. Without conflict, beyond training, they had little to do. From antiquity to the early modern era, states pondered how to harness this idle labor.
"One answer: reconstruction work."
It was standard for soldiers. One might think the U.S. Army Officer Candidate School—focused on commissioning officers—skipped such tasks. But it drew heavily from European academies, which stressed noble duties like disaster relief for civilians.
Those experiences taught me better than anyone how armies deployed soldier labor.
"Hey! Timber goes there—not there!"
"Stones here! Yes! Right there! Thank you!"
Soldiers hauled materials under the craftsmen’s direction. Heavy loads needing two or more men? All on the troops. They provided muscle for village rebuilding.
"Normally, they'd gripe."
Military life being what it was. Even in this medieval age, complaints were inevitable.
Yet most soldiers showed no discontent—in fact, they worked harder.
Why no grumbling? Simple: the new village houses would be theirs to live in.
"Gotta make my future home the best."
"Hey! Need more?"
"Don't skimp—use plenty! We'll fetch more materials!"
Motivated by self-interest, the troops hustled. Amid the enthusiasm, one group shone: the Turkic soldiers.
"Living like settled folk."
"No more wandering homeless."
Not all nomads preferred the nomadic life, apparently.
Thus, the village rebuilt swiftly. Before the cold snows fell, all had warm homes.