Bustling Streets of Revival
The streets of Reggio Calabria bustled with life. Traces of past wars had been meticulously repaired, bringing comfort to all who walked them. As peace endured, people gathered from far and wide. Among them were artists eager to showcase their talents in this tranquil haven.
"Shine while you live (ὅσον ζῇς φαίνου). Grieve not at all upon death (μηδὲν ὅλως σὺ λῡποῦ). Life is but a fleeting moment (πρὸς ὀλίγον ἐστὶ τὸ ζῆν). For all life hastens toward its end (πρὸς ὀλίγον ἐστὶ τὸ ζῆν)."
A man sang the epitaph of Seikilos in Greek. Crowds gathered around him, praising his masterful lyre playing. Soon, coins filled the hat at his feet. With enough for quality bread, soup, and a bit of wine piling up, the man smiled and pocketed the earnings.
"Peace truly brings good hearts."
Potizios, a wandering poet from Athens, orphan with no knowledge of his parents. He'd grown accustomed to roaming from place to place since childhood. For such a vagabond, the key was a skill that kept body and soul together. Potizios's songs ensured he could eat and sleep wherever he wandered—until Basil II's death fractured the East Roman Empire.
"Haven't had a proper meal in ages... Today, I'll fill my belly."
Heading to a tavern, Potizios ordered. Out came millet bread, a sausage link, and wine perfect for dipping the bread.
"A generous city means plenty to eat."
He snatched the sausage and devoured it with gusto. Once his stomach settled, the chatter of others—inaudible amid hunger—reached his ears.
"They're rebuilding that theater that got smashed last time."
"Great news. Finally, some real entertainment on rest days."
The theater they mentioned piqued Potizios's interest. Ancient Greek amphitheaters being restored? Wide venues like that could mean big money with the right shows.
"A grand theater... Good performances could rake it in."
Since ancient Greece, spectacles had been lucrative. Back then, it involved training slaves for shows and selling them dear to impressed elites. Now, it was ticket sales pure and simple. From ancient Rome to the East Roman Empire, promoters raked in fortunes this way—often backed by rulers buying public favor.
Bread and circuses: theater handled the circuses. Rulers sponsored artists; promoters scripted heroic tales of their patrons for the masses. Audiences left awed, naturally supporting their leaders.
Potizios knew this well and began plotting a script worthy of patronage.
"Heard the emperor's a Varangian..."
Rumors from his travels stunned him: Emperor Rogerius, no purple blood, but a rugged northerner from the Varangians. Starting as captain of the imperial guard, his battlefield feats caught Basil II's eye.
"They say the old Basileus favored him, leading to marriage with Empress Zoi."
In Constantinople, whispers claimed Rogerius lusted for power, assassinated Basil II, and abducted Zoi. Elsewhere, it was nobles who killed the emperor and framed him. Potizios believed the latter—the couple's evident harmony wouldn't make sense otherwise.
"What matters is their love."
A foreigner and a woman falling in love, grief over a lost uncle. Love and revenge. A script took shape in Potizios's mind.
"Zoi, the world's most beautiful woman. Wicked nobles lust after her beauty, plotting endlessly."
Good versus evil: theater's core. For Zoi to shine, villains needed true depravity.
"They even slay the emperor to claim her. Then Rogerius bursts in like a hero."
The princess-rescuing archetype. Potizios pondered how to elevate it.
"Varangian, so bearded, axe-wielding... No, too barbaric. Savagery won't draw crowds—or patrons."
This was entertainment, not history. Heroes needed mass appeal: beardless, pale-skinned, powerfully muscled by East Roman standards.
Potizios reimagined the Varangian emperor: lean muscles, flowing golden hair, snow-white skin.
"A holy aura would seal it."
White evoked sanctity: white armor, white cloak, white steed—a heavenly angel.
"Clothe nobles in black for evil; Rogerius in white saving imperiled Zoi. Color contrast for visual punch."
A white knight on steed scattering dark hordes. Moral clarity with dramatic flair.
"Not just visuals—dialogue needs awe-inspiring reverence."
Post-schism, norms crumbled. A man clinging to his code stood noble.
"Show him devout, revering God and protecting His church."
Devoutness was non-negotiable; religion intertwined with life. Heroes embodied piety.
"Brave too... Protecting the weak, kind. The weak: children, widows, elders... No loose tongue; never insult others."
Potizios's travels showed him plenty of debauched bullies lacking honor. His perfect foil: the Rogerius of his play, molded thus.
"Perfect. The ideal hero saving the princess."
The script neared completion, oblivious to its future impact. The play raced toward its finale.
Glad tidings poured into Reggio Calabria. Labor shortages weren't just filled—they overflowed. "Vikings turned pirates make damn fine workers," the saying went.
With Calabria sorted, the economy stabilized.
"Now for education, health, and leisure."
Medieval states ignored such for elites; a few trained bureaucrats ran things efficiently enough. But that bred resentment—hence health and spectacles to placate.
Bread and circuses, Roman style.
"But we've broken with the nobles."
As declared at my coronation, those who assassinated Basil II were public enemies. Confrontation inevitable. We'd staff lower bureaucracy from the commons, per talks with Zoi. Education was essential.
"Schools, naturally."
Modern schools impossible; I'd mimic medieval Europe's first university, Bologna.
"Formal courses like a university, plus mandatory loyalty training to me and Zoi."
Modern eyes would call it cult-building. But this was the Middle Ages—securing bureaucrats' allegiance was vital.
"High loyalty curbs rebellion urges."
Not foolproof, but worthwhile. State-funded, we'd not tolerate anti-state thinkers. Reform the talented, train the lacking, isolate the irredeemable. That was the goal.
It'd take time and gold—patience for sweet fruit.
"Can't fill up on the first sip."
Rising, I approached the map.
"Domestic affairs solid..."
Years of focus yielded much: economic base via silk currency reform, war recovery, trade revival, roads, security.
Time to expand with that strength.
"Westward."
My gaze fell on Optimatoi, between noble-held Constantinople and our Trebizond stronghold. Nobles blocking us had to cross it—hence their war there. Both sides weary; we'd rested, gathered strength. Sweeping them aside? Easy.
"Hit Optimatoi and Thrace simultaneously."
East Roman reunification loomed close.