Uranos-Makedon (5)
"Rogerius the Emperor's wisdom seems to come from Lord Geoffrey, and his decisiveness from Lord Humphrey."
"Your Majesty flatters us beyond measure."
"Haha. That rascal of a brother of mine... ah... I mean, er... well, anyway, I'm just glad he made such a fine match in marriage."
The three had grown close in no time. True to her role in the imperial court, where she encountered all sorts of people, Zoi wielded her natural charm to draw the brothers to her side. She had a magnetic pull on others—a force Geoffrey and Humphrey, unaccustomed to such warmth, were helpless against. They grinned like children.
"Was your journey here arduous?"
"Not at all."
"Actually, on the way, those Muslim bastards... mmph..."
Geoffrey drew a firm line, insisting there were no issues. Unlike him, Humphrey started to spill the truth but clamped his mouth shut at his brother's glare. But Robert and Zoi had already overheard. Naturally, they wanted details.
"What happened?"
"Please, tell us more."
Our questions prompted Geoffrey to shoot Humphrey another warning look before nodding reluctantly.
"The Muslims of Messina have recently set their sights on Reggio Calabria again."
Messina. The Muslim stronghold. They'd once tried to seize Reggio Calabria using a ploy of delay and hesitation. It was also where they'd rescued Alberto, my adjutant who effectively served as chief steward. This Messina, tied to me and my brothers, coveted control of Mediterranean trade. They eyed Reggio Calabria, a rival in brokerage, like hawks. From Messina's view, eliminating Reggio Calabria meant monopoly. Reggio Calabria felt the same—the massive profits of brokerage trade weren't something to take lightly.
"Lately, they've even hired pirates to harass us and the other Christian lords."
"Pirates, you say?"
Vikings could be called pirates in a way. It was absurd to hear that, to counter the Norman descendants of Vikings, they were employing pirates. But when I heard the origin of these raiders, I realized the threat was grave.
"Yes. According to captured prisoners, they're pirates from Mahdia."
Pirates from Mahdia. Their power would grow so vast that in the 15th century, they'd be known as the Barbary pirates. A Muslim pirate syndicate that plagued North Africa from the 7th to 19th centuries. Operating mainly in the Mediterranean, they accepted anyone of any origin who embraced Islam. Their golden age came in the 16th century, when a Barbary pirate named Hayreddin Barbarossa—the Redbeard—enslaved countless Christians. Nearly invincible in naval battles, he impressed even Suleiman the Magnificent of the Ottoman Empire, who appointed him Grand Admiral.
They were active now, too, but it was shocking to see them emerge centuries early.
"We can repel them easily enough, but other regions unaccustomed to pirates are being ravaged, crippling the economy across Naples."
Vikings, seasoned in piracy. So Reggio Calabria had suffered little directly. But with plunder rippling outward, the entire trade network shook, hitting them economically.
"The Papal States have even openly requested we eradicate them," Humphrey added.
For the Papal States—recent converts to Christianity—to appeal to the brothers like that, things must be dire.
Pondering this, Zoi turned to Geoffrey. "What if the leaders unite to form an expeditionary force?"
"A sound idea. But there's no focal point to rally a punitive fleet."
Geoffrey's pragmatic reply made sense. Proud South Italian Christian lords wouldn't heed commands from Viking invaders. Without the Pope stepping in personally, it was impossible. But elderly Pope Nicholas II, struggling to escape the Holy Roman Emperor's influence, couldn't act. I'd confirmed this firsthand when negotiating in the Papal States to force back Duke Gerard of Lorraine who attacked us.
In short, stalemate.
That thought sparked one in my mind.
"Crusade..."
A crusade. Perfect for a deadlock like this. In original history, the Crusades arose from tangled complexities. The biggest trigger was Byzantium's plea, as Seljuk Turks expanded, clashing inevitably. Nomadic forces filled gaps left by crumbling traditional Islam. Byzantium weakened by internal strife. Amid shifting powers, Christian pilgrims to the Holy Land were slaughtered, birthing the Crusades. Papal power grabs and armed pilgrimages factored in, too. But the grand banner of reclaiming the Holy Land drew many with pure faith.
"What is a crusade?" Geoffrey asked.
I waved it off casually, as if nothing. He nodded and resumed chatting with Zoi.
As they talked, I sank into my thoughts.
"This could be our opportunity, too."
It would help my brothers, but we needed it more. Reunifying Byzantium with Zoi would breed internal dissent—like chaotic Japan post-Warring States or post-unification Germany. The simplest fix for unrest? Fabricate an external enemy. In the Middle Ages, where nation or ethnicity meant little, religion was the sharpest tool. A crusade could serve us well.
Zoi's voice pulled me back. "Rogerius?"
"Sorry, lost in thought. What is it?"
She pointed to one side. A man stood there, clad not like Vatican clergy I'd seen, but in similar aura—Eastern Orthodox bishop's garb, archbishop-level at that. Comparable to kings or princes in nobility. Emperors couldn't ignore them. I approached to greet him personally.
As I neared, the archbishop bowed and introduced himself.
"I pay homage to the great Autokrator of the Roman Empire. I am Asporos, Archbishop, come to bless Your Majesty's coronation."
"Pleased to meet you, Archbishop Asporos."
After greetings, I signaled servants to prepare a private audience chamber. It was ready swiftly. Seated under my guidance, the archbishop drew something from his robes and handed it over.
Congratulations on your coronation. May you rise as protector of the Christian faith.
"Please convey my thanks to the Ecumenical Patriarch."
Unlike expected, the letter was bland. It congratulated my coronation and hoped I'd become Christianity's guardian. But one thing nagged: it called me only Autokrator, implying co-emperor, a title I'd used pre-marriage to Zoi. Post-coronation, as Rome's 98th emperor with her, official missives should include Basileus too. Omitting the popular Basileus could signal rejection of our acclamation.
Someone might say I overthought a mere title. But as the Patriarch's formal congratulation, it wasn't dismissible.
Reading my mind, Asporos struck first.
Latin lamenting divided Rome, Greek hinting at the king's return—subject omitted, ambiguous if me. Extremists might read it as Eastern Patriarchate denying my emperorship. Unwelcome, but bristling risked alienating the Church. No need for emotional reaction to political barbs. Knowing the time wasn't ripe, I replied calmly.
"Division will vanish, and a Christian king will return (Ἡ διαίρεσις ἀφανισθήσεται, καὶ βασιλεὺς χριστιανὸς ἐπανελεύσεται)."
Archbishop Asporos's eyes widened. My Greek used common speech, not elite dialect.
"Does Your Majesty aspire to be heaven's herald?"
"Divided Rome—no, the fractured Christian world—groans under pagans. Our faith faces grave peril; we must choose for the future."
Asporos rose, bowing silently.