Unification War (4)
“I never imagined convincing them would be this tough.”
A sigh slipped out unbidden. And who could blame me? The moment the meeting ended, Ioannis and Angelos had swooped in like they’d been lying in wait. Angelos demanding why I had to take on such a perilous task, and Ioannis listing every danger from one to ten, insisting he’d go to Optimatoi instead. Arms crossed, they pressed me relentlessly, refusing to budge. Unlike their usual selves, they’d opposed me with unusual ferocity. There were good reasons for Angelos and Ioannis to push back so hard.
“I didn’t expect them to tell me to take it easy now that I’m emperor.”
Just the idea of the emperor heading to the front lines was asking for trouble. That alone had their frustration boiling over. But when I announced not only that I’d go to the front—but the most dangerous one—they glared at me with eyes blazing in fury. It was only natural.
“It’s understandable why the two of you are worried. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to send me either.”
Zoi’s gentle words. I settled beside her on the bed where she lay in voluptuous repose and stretched out.
“Even you’re taking their side, Zoi?”
She nodded without a hint of hesitation.
“Of course. You need to embrace your responsibilities as emperor. Though the biggest reason is that I love Glykerios too much to let you go.”
“Responsibilities as emperor…”
An emperor on the battlefield. To the soldiers, it was an immense morale boost. Their spirits would soar—no question. History was full of kings who led their men personally for that very reason. But some of those kings lost their lives, shaking entire nations in the aftermath. There were cases where a monarch’s death in battle toppled a great power. Take the Battle of Alcácer Quibir in the 16th century: Portugal’s King Sebastian and Morocco’s Sultan Abdul Malik both perished there. Portugal’s dynasty staggered, leading to an unprecedented Iberian Union with Spain. A union in name only—Portugal was effectively annexed. It showed just how perilous it was for a king to fight in person.
“I know the weight I carry. That’s exactly why I must go to battle.”
Why I was emperor. It wasn’t to cling to power on the backs of soldiers’ lives. So if they risked death, I had a duty to share that risk. That was my idea of an emperor’s duty.
“Fathers and sons take up sword and shield to fight. If I hide behind them, who’d trust us enough to pick up arms against the enemy?”
“But…”
“More than anything, I can go without worry because you’re here.”
My co-empress, Zoi. With her steadfastly holding the domestic front, the empire wouldn’t crumble even if something happened to me. And if the worst came to pass, I had safeguards in place. Chief among them: Theodora. With another of the purple-blooded line like Zoi, the throne might wobble but wouldn’t fall. That was just one measure—I’d prepared many more. So I wasn’t truly anxious. My only concern was Zoi’s sorrow. That alone gnawed at me.
Reading my heart, perhaps, Zoi sat up in bed.
“Let’s pray together that nothing like that happens.”
She clasped my hand. Then, in a calm voice, she began reciting the Theotokion.
“O most pure Virgin, Theotokos and Mother of our God, we praise you forever. More honorable than the Cherubim and beyond compare more glorious than the Seraphim, who without defilement bore God the Word, true Theotokos, we magnify you.”
Unlike Catholic Mass with the Lord’s Prayer, the Orthodox Church favored the Theotokion in praise of the Virgin Mary. Her prayer carried her worry and warmth. The moment it ended, I pressed my lips to her forehead. She beamed at my kiss, and with it, the silken sheet slipped from her body.
“Time to fulfill the emperor’s most important duty.”
Her stunning form glowed in the moonlight. Yielding to her seductive invitation, I drew her carefully into the sheets.
I mounted my horse and surveyed the field. Vast plains crisscrossed by countless rivers. In the Anatolian highlands, one of the few great lakes fed a web of waterways. Fertile soil. High wheat yields could feed an army handsomely—which meant sustaining large forces. In pre-modern times, population capacity equaled military might; that was undeniable. China’s vast armies owed much to its rice surplus. Rome had held its empire before losing Egypt. But Islam’s rise in the Levant cost them Egypt, fracturing the empire east and west. Even divided, the East endured millennia thanks to Anatolia—especially Optimatoi’s wheat fields. In real history, when Constantinople fell, the Empire of Nicaea rebuilt from this very land.
“Reclaim this, and the dream of imperial unification is ours.”
The north, east, and south were already in our grasp. The south was allied with Lord Asakios, but given the era’s alliances, it was effectively ours. Two-thirds of Anatolia secured. All that remained: the western fringes held by minor duces and the nobles’ stronghold of Thrace. Europe beyond Bulgaria still lingered, but seize Optimatoi and Thrace, and the rest were petty warlords—mop-up would be swift. As I’d said, take Optimatoi, and the rest falls quickly.
Chaur approached as these thoughts swirled. Fresh from scouting, he began his report.
“Your Majesty. Optimatoi seems focused on repairs after the nobles’ siege.”
The nobles’ assault. The dux of Optimatoi had resisted fiercely, holding the walls. But the attack must have been brutal. Even with us at their gates, no proper response meant our predictions held.
“What’s the state of their walls?”
“Plenty of damage, but still solid.”
“Too early to demand surrender, then.”
Intact walls meant they’d likely refuse even if asked. Not that we wouldn’t try—probing their status was the real goal.
“Select a few swift riders to offer terms. Have them scout the outer walls too.”
“As you command.”
Chaur withdrew to dispatch the envoys. It’d be hours before a reply—if any.
“No sense sitting idle.”
I raised my hand; the troops stood. Time to build camp and recon the area.
“Everyone, move out. Find a spot for the encampment.”
The soldiers obeyed, but as mostly mercenaries, discipline was lax—progress was a slog. Leaving it unchecked would erode morale, so I kept the tokch’on-tae patrolling to enforce order. Typically executioners for retreating troops, using them as military police let me maintain discipline without extra manpower.
We reached a nearby village. The headman, pale with fear, offered pre-gathered supplies.
“G-Great Basileus, we humbly present our village’s tribute. P-Please accept it.”
Roman emperors could requisition all village goods in wartime, delegating to generals for focus. Nikephoros had levied locally during the Bulgarian War by this right. Refusal meant punishment and pillage. Thus, villages often proffered supplies at sight of the imperial banner.
“Fine subjects of the great Roman Empire. But you need these provisions more than we do—I’ll accept your loyalty alone.”
The headman’s eyes shone with gratitude, echoed by the villagers. Not out of benevolence. In war’s late stages, I’d have seized them. But we hadn’t even begun fighting—supplies overflowed. Excess burdened movement; overabundance is waste. What we needed now was goodwill. Locals knew the terrain best; winning them gave priceless intel for the campaign.
“We’ll garrison near the village. Know any good spots? Access to water would be ideal.”
A thirsty army guzzles water. Securing fresh supply was paramount for any camp.
“I know just the place, Your Majesty.”
The headman led us to a hillside with a spring—clearly the source.
“Even our village draws from here.”
“This is…”
An ancient Roman structure, a vast aqueduct stretching into the distance.