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90. 1849-1854 - Waiting for the address
(( I'll write up some kind of summary of the preceding events in this post later. For now, here's a narrative version. ))
Waiting for the address
The senators were gathered in their hall, waiting for the Empress to arrive and give her address.
Senator Michelangelo began the per-address discussion among the Patrikioi, “I don't particularly like the idea of Germany being on good terms with Russia. At least Poland has expanded at their expense. The papers are overflowing with news of Imperial expansion. Truly these are the golden days of the Empire!”
Senator Alexios Damaskinos spoke to his own circle of Foiderátoi Senators, “We shouldn't bother with German-Hungarian war, as, in my opinion, it was inspired by oppressed majority of German people in Austria, and not any kind of imperialism. I insist again on claiming Taiwan, as it may help us in future interventions considering last expansion of Ming dynasty. I suggest to consider invasion of Ceylon to support future interventions in India. We should also look closer to growing importance of Deccan in that region. Also, I again insist on breaking any relations with Poland, as this might lead us to war within our Sphere, and I must say that in my opinion, in case of Livonia-Poland war, we should give what we can to support Livonia, armies or subsidies (if we will be in another war at the same time).”
Senator Nikephoros Doukas also spoke to the Foiderátoi. “Germany's relations with Russia are unsettling. We should be careful in dealing with them. Remember, the First Empire was destroyed by the Germans when they were uncivilized brutes—Alemanii, they called themselves at the time. They can do it again. Perhaps we can enlist the help of the Poles? If they were willing to fight Russia over Lithuanian territory, they can surely help us against any German treachery.
I fully agree with an invasion of Taiwan. We must deprive Russia of any colonies and truly take our place in the sun! Ming is growing quite strong, and is on good terms with the Koreans. They could be a useful ally against Russia in a future war.
I do not recommend an invasion of India. There are so many people there, and their cultures and traditions are so foreign from our own that integrating them into Roman society would have more costs than benefits. We should instead increase our sphere of influence in the region and build up friendly relations and trade agreements with native rulers, especially the Deccans. We can have the benefits of trade goods from India and an ally in the region, as well as an effective foothold in the subcontinent without the costs of maintenance and providing for millions of new Imperial subjects.”
“Also, the Empress would consider a diplomatic mission to China itself, I would recommend myself as ambassador. I am close friends with the Celestial Empire's foreign minister, Lin Zexu, and am fluent in the local languages and traditions.
Senator Στήβεν Γκρέυ had been speaking with the XKM, but overhead part of the conversation and joined in. “Whilst I agree with my fellow senators with the Germany and Hungarian war, I am concerned with the Polish invasion of Russia. What is the likelihood of Poland managing to at least white peace with the Bear?
With the Indians perhaps they would better serve us as loyal puppets than us taking their land directly, at least this way we control their destiny.”
An unknown voice spoke clearly and loudly in the hall, “The Third Rome needs to punish the Second Rome!”
“Heresy,” muttered Doukas.
“Never heard of Third Rome. Is it some kind of capital of our Australian colonies?” asked Damaskinos of the senators near him.
“Russia was often called Third Rome,” claimed Senator Basileios Rellis.
Doukas took this as an opportunity to speculate, “This discussion about a hypothetical "Third" Empire—which ought to never exist, as doing so would mean that our current Empire be destroyed; it is treason to suggest a rebellion against the Empire—has got me thinking…if the Empire is Roman, why is the capital in Constantinople? We can't have a Roman Empire without a capital in Rome.”
He paused for a moment, then frowned, “Also, how did that guy get into the Senate room? He's not a senator! Somebody call in the Varangian Guard! The Empress is under attack!”
That done, he turned back to Rellis, “Senator Rellis, why do you refer to the Russian menace as a "Third Rome," implying that the Slavic peoples can be as cultured and civilized as the Romans on the level that they are the successors of the Empire? By explicitly saying that Russia is the Third Rome, instead of our Empire, I get the feeling you wish to overthrow the Empress and install the Slavic Tsar as the Imperator. Such talk is treasonous, at best.
When no-one else responded after some time, and no Varangians showed, he continued, “But fellow senators, as we wait for Her Imperial Highness to give her address, what should we do about the trespassers who somehow manage to get into the Palace and speak vile heresies?”
Favero finally spoke, “Surely they should be detained and interrogated. They could be spies for Russia. The audacity of them to claim Russia to be some third Rome. There is only the Empire and no others.”
Doukas replied, “Yes, there can only be one Empire, but what Ruthenian spy would be idiotic to the point that he walks into the Senate, of all places, and foolishly proclaim that Ruthenia is the Third Rome, knowing that he would be immediately arrested? There must be something going on here, or the Ruthenians are just playing us. It could be a trap, and they distracted our attention while…”, he looked outside “…oh.”
Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the Senate's chamber.
…
Michelangelo was blown clear across the room and slammed against the wall. He tried to rise to his feet, but lost his balance. Blood slowly oozed from a gash on his head. Managing only to get to his knees, Michelangelo spat out some blood between his teeth. He wiped his face with his senator's robe as he regained his senses. “What in the name of the Empress was that? Do the Russians have artillery outside Constantinople?”
…
Doukas was sprawled on the floor. He was lying in a pool of blood from the senator next to him but was himself largely unharmed. “Seems to have been a bomb,” he groaned, “the Ruthenians can't possibly have gotten artillery this close to Constantinople.” He looked over and saw that the Varangians assigned to guard the Senators were either dead or unconscious. The front door was blasted open, and the windows were broken. Doukas realized that the Empress was in grave danger. “The Empress is under attack! Save her!” He grabbed a sword from a dead Varangian just as a man in Ruthenian clothing appears in the doorway, pistol raised to fire at anyone. “You all get the Empress out of here! I'll take care of the attackers!”
Doukas charged at the Ruthenian, who calmly fires three times while exclaiming “For Mother Russia!”
…
Michelangelo cowered behind a tipped-over bench as shots fired through the room. The knowledge that not only his life but the Empress' as well were at stake spurred him into action. He quickly crawled on his hands and knees, sneaking out a side door while the terrorist was distracted. He slowly rose to his feet once outside the room and nearly toppled over from dizziness. He placed a hand against the wall to maintain his balance and started working his way through the palace. “The Empress…must find the Empress…”
…
Doukas ran the terrorist through with his sword just as he felt three bullets strike him in the chest and left arm. The pain was unbearable, but he knew he must do his duty for the people and Senate of Rome.
The Ruthenian spat blood in Doukas's face and snarled, “It is too late, Greek scum! Soon Mother Russia will be the mother of all.”
Doukas nearly shouted, “Who sent you?! What are your orders? Are there others?”
The Ruthenian laughed evilly “Soon the Germanic barbarians will sack Rome again.” He then died.
The pain overwhelmed Doukas, and he collapsed to the floor. Before he lost consciousness, he heard more explosions – this time from the direction of downtown. Blachernae may have been among the targets, but he didn't know. “God have mercy on our souls!” he whispered.
…
Michelangelo kept wandering through the palace, looking for anyone at all who could warn the Empress. He was in no condition to make the trip to Blachernae, but someone had to. All the hallways looked the same. In fact, maybe he'd already been down this one, judging by the blood drops on the floor. Had he gotten turned around? Michelangelo tried to clear his head, but a dizzy spell overcame him. He'd been losing too much blood.
Explosions sounded off in the distance. Was Constantinople under attack? Michelangelo had no idea. He just wanted to get out of here and get the Empress to safety. Maybe she was already safe and he was wasting his time. Regardless, he had a duty to perform, or at least the duty to get some beneath his station to fulfill the role while he tried not to succumb to his wounds.
The sound of heavy footsteps drew Michelangelo's attention, so he rounded a corner and pushed himself up against the wall to hide. Two burly men speaking in Russian ran down the other hallway. Michelangelo remained silent as they left, but then the footsteps stopped and started drawing closer. That's when he noticed the blood drops all over the floor. They knew he was there.
Michelangelo scurried down the empty hallway, only to run into a dead end as he rounded the corner. There were two ceremonial poleaxes mounted on the wall, so he lifted one from its bracing and steadied himself. He only had one shot. As the Russians rounded the corner, Michelangelo let out an angry yell and charged them. Before they could react, he impaled the first one on the end of his poleaxe, piercing him right through the gut. The dying man spewed out blood from his mouth and pushed himself off the weapon, only for more blood to pour from his wound. He slipped to the floor as life escaped him. The second man drew a pistol and Michelangelo dove to the floor. The bullet shattered a nearby window, which was much better than shattering Michelangelo's head. Before the man could fire another shot, Michelangelo picked back up the poleaxe and swung it at his assailant. The blade sliced through the man's forearm, forcing him to drop the gun. Before the Russian could draw his own blade, Michelangelo stabbed the poleaxe's end into his neck. Blood sprayed everywhere as the man slumped to the floor. The two Russians were dead.
Michelangelo dropped the poleaxe in horror and vomited all over the palace floor. He had never killed a man before in his life. He suddenly had a much deeper appreciation for the soldiers in the Imperial Army. When was this horrid event going to end? Looking out the broken window and seeing smoke spiraling into the air didn't give him the answer he wanted. Slumping to the floor, he took in several deep breaths. The Empress would have to wait, at least until he didn't feel like he was dying inside. Surely even the Empress would grant him that reprieve.
…
Doukas saw images flashing by his eyes. He saw his childhood in Athens, his time at the Imperial University, his wedding, his son before heading off to war in the Holy Land… He thought to himself, “Seriously? A flashback of my life at this time? I don't need to see this again, I already know this.”
His perspective changed, and he was looking down on all of Eurasia. The Empire in all of its majesty stretched from the Atlantic to the Black Sea, but to the north lay Germania and Ruthenia, the patchwork of barbarians which brought down the First Empire. Even now, centuries after the deposition of the last ruler of the First Empire, Rome was still threatened. The Germans had done what Rome couldn't and united into one main polity. They were on friendly terms with the Empire now, but Doukas remembered what the Ruthenian had told him. To the east laid the once-mighty and isolationist Celestial Empire, or Serica as some called it. If an alliance could be secured, the Ruthenians could face a two-front war should conflict break out. Their almost unlimited manpower could mean the difference between victory and defeat.
There was the sound of disparate voices behind him, but he couldn't turn around. Then he realized the voices were in German and Ruthenian.
He opened his eyes. Three foreign men stood in the middle of the Senate room. One of them spoke German, which Doukas was competent at.
“Too bad they're all dead or unconscious, I would have loved to hear them scream.”
A Ruthenian replied, “Why don't you kill them now?”
“It's not fun.” answered the German
A second Ruthenian joined in, “Men, focus! Our forces have incapacitated the government of the Roman scum--”
The first Ruthenian interrupted him, “I hate to remind you, but the Empress holds all of the power.”
The second snapped back angrily, “Shut up! As we speak, a small force of Germans is advancing into Blachernae, and another force of Russians has seized Hagia Sophia. Soon Rome will be brought to its knees.”
The German finally spoke again, “And then they'll blame the Tsar and the Kaiser instead of us! It's perfect.”
“Exactly,” concluded the first Ruthenian.
Doukas couldn't believe what he had heard. A secret conspiracy to drag the Empire to war with the Germans and Ruthenians? He silently reached over to the body of the man he had stabbed earlier and took the still-loaded gun.
The second Ruthenian was speaking, “Is everybody accounted for?”
The German answered, “We're missing one of the senators, an Italian. I heard something in the corridors, and two of our men are missing.”
The first Ruthenian spoke again, “It must be the Artist. If he gets out of the building our plan will be foiled. Go get him!”
The German and the second Ruthenian left the room. Doukas inferred that the "Artist" was Senator Favero, apparently the only other senator to maintain consciousness. Perhaps they could still save the Empress… He accidentally knocked over some rubble.
“Who was that?!” exclaimed the one remaining Ruthenian.
With quick thinking, Doukas brought up the gun, wrapped it in his toga, and fired at the enemy. The shot was muffled, so the others couldn't possibly have heard it. The Ruthenian keeled over dead before he could shout. Doukas got to his feet painfully. He knew he had to get out of here and reach Blachernae. So he limped out through the giant hole in the wall of the room.
…
The sound of another explosion made Michelangelo snap his head up. He was laying down on the floor, although he didn't remember lying down. Hadn't he just been sitting down to catch his breath? How much time had passed? He glanced out the window, trying to judge the time by where the sun was. He couldn't figure out how much time had passed since he didn't remember when the attack had begun in the first place. Damn his aging mind! Maybe he would retire after this incident and take up painting. That sounded a lot less stressful.
Michelangelo tried to get up, but slipped in a puddle of blood from the two corpses lying nearby. He nearly threw up again at the sight of them, their cold lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. He needed to get away from here before someone came to investigate. He went to round the corner when he heard voices arguing. They were drawing nearer, too close for him to escape the dead end in time. He went to pick up the poleaxe again, but slipped on the blood again. He got back up to his feet, only for someone to shout at him in German behind him. Why was there a German in the palace?
“Turn around slowly, you filthy Italian, and show me your hands.”
Michelangelo slowly obeyed the orders and faced the German. He had another man with him. Both were armed, their pistols aimed at him. He warily took a step back, brushing up against the window sill of the broken window. “What do you want with me?” Michelangelo asked. “You won't get away with this attack. The Empress will have your eyes and tongues cut out for this.”
“She'll be dealt with soon enough. Now follow me.”
Michelangelo went to follow, only to slip in the blood for a third time and fall backward. He put his hands behind him and stopped his fall by grabbing the window sill. He winced as one finger grasped some broken glass from the window.
“Watch your step, old man. Make too many sudden movements and you might not make it back to the Senate alive.” The two men laughed together. Michelangelo had a feeling he might not make it back to the Senate even if he obeyed. He needed to escape these thugs. Before he could consider the consequences of his actions, he pushed off the window sill with his hands and rolled backwards out the window. The German shot at him, but the shot missed Michelangelo's head by a few inches. The next thing he knew, Michelangelo was falling out the window. Now that he thought about it, he had probably been on the second or third floor. He closed his eyes and hoped that the impact would either kill him immediately or spare him further pain. “Forgive me, Empress.”
…
Doukas heard a splash next to him. Did somebody just fall into the fountain he had helped fund last year? Then he noticed it was Senator Favero. “You! You're alive! You won't believe what I overheard in the Senate room. Did you find anyone else?”
There were shouts from above. Doukas looked up and saw the German and his Ruthenian accomplice looking down on them from a broken window. ”It's him! The Duke!” the German shouted.
Doukas hoped his arm was still good enough to shoot at them. He aimed and pulled the trigger twice. “God help me.”
…
It was sure cold in Heaven. And wet. A bit too wet for Michelangelo's tastes. In fact, he had trouble breathing. Wait, if he was dead, why did he need to breath?
Michelangelo's eyes snapped open and he pushed his head up out of the fountain water, gasping for air. He'd survived, and relatively unscathed too. He vaguely heard a voice as he dragged himself out of the fountain. Two shots followed and a figure fell down into the fountain next to Michelangelo, splashing water all over him. By the way that the water was quickly turning red, he probably wasn't getting out of that fountain.
As Michelangelo regained his sense, he realized that Senator Doukas was standing nearby. He remembered the senator asking a question as he rose from the fountain. “I haven't seen a soul other than the Russians I ran into and that German who tried to shoot me. Oh good God, I killed them, the Russians. I had no choice.”
Michelangelo shivered involuntarily, still uncomfortable with the idea of taking another man's life. Then he realized that there may be more of them nearby and that the Empress could be in danger. “We need to find the Empress. Her life is in danger.”
…
“Don't worry, fellow Senator,” answered Senator Doukas. “You did what you had to do for the Empress, for the Senate and people of Rome. I heard that these Ruthenians…they're not working for the government in Moscow or Berlin; they're trying to trick us into a war against Ruthenia and Germania, one we possibly can't win at this point without losing much. We must alert the Empress to this plot. If she hears of the attack on the Senate she will definitely push for war with the Germans and Ruthenians. That is, if she survives today, of course.”
“A ruse to lure us into war? Ingenious of them, since we would have bitten that bait with ease with all the hatred of Russia in the Empire. We must make for Blachernae at all haste before it is too late!” Before Michelangelo could say any more, a bullet whizzed past his head and struck the ground. Apparently the second man had not be dealt with like the one in the fountain. Thinking on his feet, he grabbed Senator Doukas and dragged him behind a large bush. “We need to get out of here immediately. Who knows how many of them are roaming the palace.”
“I must have missed,” replied Doukas, and then coughed up blood. “Do you know a safe way to the palace? I overheard that downtown is filled with them. We might need to call in the army to deal with them. Also, I don't really remember how far away is the palace.” He heard voices getting nearer and nearer…
…
Kyriakos Angelos came to amidst the rubble in one of the corridors of the Chrysotriklinos and somewhat unsteadily picked himself up. "I say," he said to himself in an offended tone, after noticing the fallen bodies of senators and Varangians alike, "this really is not chariot racing."
Picking up a sword and a firearm from the fallen guards' bodies, he began to make his way out of the palace.
…
Doukas shot the Ruthenian passing by the bush. The man gave a shout before falling over. “Well, that was easier than I expected, don't you think?”
He took the Ruthenian's ammunition and sword while also putting on the Ruthenian outfit. “Why don't you disguise yourself as well, Favero? That way they probably won't kill us immediately. And are you sure you couldn't find any other senators? I may have seen movement in one of the windows.”
“It may have been more Russians,” replied Michelangelo. “I didn't get much of a chance to see if any other senators were alive when I was forced to flee.” Michelangelo went back to the fountain and pulled out the body. He quickly put on the man's clothes and casually walked away. The outfit was soaked, but he'd already been in the fountain before anyway. “How are we ever going to get to Blachernae in time? Who knows how many of these men there are and where they are? They could be roaming the streets for all we know.”
“They are roaming the streets. They have even occupied Hagia Sophia itself and have taken the Ecumenical Patriarch himself hostage! Which means we're going to have to find some horses. I think the stables are in another part of the building?”
“They may have some horses stabled near the Hippodrome for chariot racing. That's our best chance of finding some. I'd love to know how these men got into Constantinople without anyone noticing. Those responsible should be drawn and quartered for the mess they've caused.”
“There must have been traitors within the Senate and Varangian Guard helping them! Alright, then, let's go to the Hippodrome.”
The two Senators started walking.
…
The Hippodrome was empty when they arrived, with no guards or intruders. It apparently had not been a focus of the attack, probably because there were no races planned. There weren't even any stable boys attending to the horses when they entered the stables.
“Did everyone just run away when they heard explosions? I certainly hope they weren't all in on the attacks,” wondered Michelangelo. He wandered past all the horses, looking for a horse that fit his taste. If he was going to ride through the city to save the Empress, he may as well do it in style. As he approached the end of the row, the stable door opened and a man stuck his head in. His features were clearly Slavic and the fact he yelled at Michelangelo in Russian confirmed that the man was an enemy. Michelangelo dove into an empty stable as the man fired his pistol. The Russian burst into the stables to pursue, but Michelangelo grabbed a shovel and swung it at the man's face. It collided with a dull thud, softened by the manure that had been stuck to it. When the Russian didn't topple over from the first hit, Michelangelo swatted him again in the head and brought him low. “Maybe in Russia they should focus on breeding strong minds instead of strong heads.”
Doukas took the Ruthenian's gun and tossed it to Favero. “Take this, and I hope you're a good shot with it.” He got on the nearest horse. “Alright, let's go save the Empress in style!”
Michelangelo caught the gun and briefly examined it before stuffing it in his robes. He'd never wielded a firearm before, but he'd need it now. “I was always more partial towards the sword when practicing dueling. The gun was always too dangerous for sport.”
As he looked up, Michelangelo spotted a white stallion of the purest breed. That was definitely the type of horse he wanted. He hopped up on the horse and followed Doukas out of the stables and into the city. A few Russians, or maybe even Germans, took shots at them as they rushed through the gates, but the horses easily outdistanced the enemy. They were free to make their way to the Empress, that is if no one was waiting for them on the way.
…
Doukas thought to himself as the two senators left the stables. “Maybe we should have taken swords, just like the cavalry. But oh well, not everyone can be a Mongol, right?”
They charged straight through downtown, and peasants and merchants screamed and jumped out of the way as the two senators charged through the central market. “Make way! The Empress is in danger!”
But then Doukas remembered that the Ecumenical Patriarch is also a hostage. “Wait, we need to free the patriarch first! If they have him hostage, they have the entirety of Christianity hostage as well!”
Michelangelo slowed down his horse for a moment, considering whether or not to backtrack. The Empress or the Ecumenical Patriarch? “If we go back for him, we may be too late to save the Empress. But we can't let him be taken either. Damn those Russians to the fires of hell! Perhaps if we split up we may be able to save them both.”
“I'll go after the Empress, you get the Patriarch.”
…
Michelangelo gave a nod before turning around to race towards the Hagia Sophia. If the two of them were fast enough, they could save the two most powerful people in the Empire. He wished he could have gone to save the Empress, but Doukas seemed much more capable with a firearm than him. It would be better this way. Michelangelo only hoped that whoever was holding the Patriarch hostage could be dealt with. He wasn't exactly the most capable of fighters.
As Michelangelo rounded a street corner, an explosion blew out the windows of a shop across the street. His horse reared up and nearly threw him off. Fortunately he was well-trained with a horse and kept his grip on the reins and saddle. A man in Russian garb ran out of an alley with a grin on his face and some sort of make-shift explosive in his hand. He tossed it into the street where people were screaming in terror and it exploded in a shower of rubble. Two bodies lay on the ground, killed by the explosion. Remembering that he had a pistol, Michelangelo pulled it from his robes and fired a shot. The Russian man collapsed to the ground, a bleeding hole in his chest. The people in the street all turned in his direction. The image of a senator in blood-stained Ruthenian clothes holding a pistol while riding a white stallion must have been an impressive sight. Michelangelo decided to use it to his advantage.
“People of Constantinople, I beseech you. We are beset by foreign spies who wish to sow discord within this most splendid of cities. They put not only your lives, but those of the Empress and Patriarch in danger. As for the latter, he has been taken hostage by these foul men. Alone I cannot save him, but together we may. Join with me to take back the jewel of the Empire and save the Patriarch from those who would do us harm.”
The street was unusually silent for a moment, but soon cheers erupted from the crowd. The people of Constantinople would follow him. They picked up whatever makeshift weapons they could find or make. One woman even offered him a sword, although he had no idea where she had come upon it. The blade felt much more comfortable in his hands than the pistol. He let a grin spread across his face as he rode off to the Hagia Sophia with a band of armed citizens.
…
Doukas heard an explosion behind him, but he didn't look back, as he was getting close to Blachernae and had to watch for any Ruthenians. Just as he reached the front gates, which were blasted wide open as if by a bomb, he heard a cheer behind him. Were the peasants also on the Ruthenians' side?
There was a shout from his right. Looking in that direction, he saw two horsemen charging straight at him, one apparently a Mongol armed with a bow and the other a Hungarian armed with a sword. “Seriously? Are we repeating the Hunnic invasions of the First Empire and the Mongol invasions during the Second Empire?”
He aimed and fired twice, and both riders toppled from their mounts.
Doukas arrived at the main door leading inside. “Here goes nothing.”
He slipped inside.
…
Michelangelo reached the Hagia Sophia later than he had hoped, since he had to slow down for the citizens to keep up. He knew time was of the essence, but he couldn't save the Patriarch alone. When they reached the grand building, Michelangelo came to a halt. Guards stood outside the open doors. They didn't notice him at first, but the sound of the approaching mob drew their attention. Not delaying any longer, Michelangelo charged at them. He closed the gap rapidly on his horse as the men drew their pistols. They both fired and Michelangelo felt a burning in his shoulder. He ignored it and drew his sword. He cut across as the first guard as he passed and swept the sword overheard as he slashed the second on the other side. The two men fell back in pain as the mob approached. Not slowing down a bit, Michelangelo lowered himself in the saddle and galloped straight into the Hagia Sophia. Several men stood within the building and scattered as he dashed through them. His horse trampled at least one of them and he got in a few blows with his sword as he passed by. Before the men could retaliate in kind, the mob burst into the building and swarmed over them. He kept on through the holy site, looking for the Patriarch.
It didn't take long to find the Patriarch. He was being held hostage near the alter by several burly men. He guessed they were all Slavic until one of them started speaking some form of Scottish or Gaelic. Exactly who was involved in this conspiracy? As the men took note of his approach, he jumped off the horse. Speed would not aid him here.
“Release the Patriarch immediately!”
“Or what?” demanded one of the Scots.
The mob made its way into the large room and started to spread out around Michelangelo. The men holding the Patriarch hostage were noticeably nervous. Michelangelo smirked. That smirk was quickly wiped off his face as the Scot grabbed the Patriarch's head and held a blade to his throat. It was time for some negotiations.
Before Michelangelo could utter a word, a shot rang through the air. The Scot collapsed to the ground, releasing the knife. Everyone looked around stunned. Before the enemy could react and harm the Patriarch, Michelangelo let out a battle cry and charged with his sword held high. The mob followed. The enemy stood no chance. They tried to flee, but were run down by the citizens of Constantinople. Michelangelo let them release their anger while he approached the Patriarch. “Are you hurt, your holiness?”
“I am fine, Senator Favero,” replied the Patriarch. “God has seen it fit to spare me this day and punish these heretics. But what of the Empress? Is she safe?”
“Senator Doukas has gone after her. I am certain he will keep her from harm. For now, let us get you to safety before more intruders arrive.”
Michelangelo went to guide the Patriarch out of the building when he lost his step and fell to his knees. He tried to rise but a dizzy spell overtook him.
“Senator, you are hurt!”
Michelangelo finally noticed the wound in his shoulder. The bullet had gone straight through and his outfit was soaked with blood. So that was what that pain was from before. He tried to regain his feet again and collapsed to the ground. The Patriarch and several citizens gathered around him to help. He slowly slipped from consciousness, content that he had at least done his duty and saved the Patriarch in time.
…
Doukas advanced through the halls of the Imperial Palace. Servants and Varangians were strewn all over the floor, and the blood had stained the priceless Anatolian carpets. On the walls were portraits of former Emperors and Empresses, and Doukas felt unworthy to be looking directly at them.
A large man rounded the corner in front of him. Before he could react, Doukas drew a dagger and stabbed him, muffling his screams for help. Moving along, he arrived at what appeared to be the Empress's private quarters. They were empty, but there was a trail of blood leading out from the doors to another part of the palace.
Doukas felt sick to be looking at imperial blood being spilled so callously. But he must look and follow the trail. He slowly stepped through the deserted palace, the blood trail leading him towards one of the old pagan temples which had been refurbished as part of the palace. As he got closer and closer to the temple, he heard an ominous chanting in some language that was not quite Ruthenian. He rounded a corner, and the temple came into full view. He was on a balcony, overseeing the horrifying rites going on below.
There were at least a dozen men gathered below in front of a Ruthenian in pagan robes. As he watched, the Ruthenian priest carried a wooden sculpture of Christ on the cross and dropped it into a bonfire. Behind him, strapped to an altar, were the Empress and her husband, the Prince-Consort, themselves. “Praise be to the Black God, Chernobog, who smiles upon us as we offer Him this offering to feast upon.”
“Seriously?” Doukas thought. “First a conspiracy to drag Ruthenia and the Empire to war, and now a conspiracy of pagan cannibal Ruthenians? I must be going mad.”
The Prince-Consort’s voice came through the chanting, “God will have you burn in hell for eternity, heathen!”
“Oh, but it is you who is mistaken,” said the priest with a laugh. “Your god has abandoned you to our clutches. Chernobog is victorious! Soon, war will break out, and He will feast upon all of the souls taken in the fighting. But first, both of you will be His first meal.”
“Not if I can help it,” exclaimed Doukas.
Everyone looks up and saw him.
The priest spoke again, “Ah, the Duke who is not actually a duke. We meet at last. I am Iosef Ignatieff, servant of Chernobog, and you really expect me to tell you my evil plan at this moment?”
“No. I already know your plan.” He emptied his guns into the procession below, each bullet sending a cultist to Hell for eternity. Finally, he was out of bullets, and the High Priest was still alive. Doukas walked downstairs, took his dagger, and ran the pagan through. “The name's Nikephoros Doukas. Not just 'the Duke,' but the bringer of Victory as well. Senatus Populesque Romanus.”
With that Ignatieff departed to hell with the rest of the cultists. As Doukas set to work freeing the unconscious Empress and her conscious but badly wounded husband from the altar, he wondered if Favero had saved the Patriarch.
The Prince-Consort pointed at Doukas's chest. "You're bleeding."
Doukas looked down. He had forgotten about his wounds from earlier. He collapsed on the altar and blacked out.
…
Back near the senate hall, a freshly awakened Konstantinos Galatias beheaded a Ruthenian with one swipe of his family sword. He muttered several curses in French.
…
In the city of Riga, Alexios Damaskinos went to his apartment. He finally had time to rest after many conversations with Livonian Order's representatives and diplomats. He was admiring views of Riga. “It is indeed beautiful city. I'm curious if my fellow senators are having as tough day as I am.”
…
Doukas, for the first time in his life, felt completely at peace. He knew he had done his duty and saved the Empire from destruction. He hoped Favero had also been successful. He couldn't feel the rest of his body, but his mind was free to roam around. He saw a world where he was born as a knight in one of the Oriental kingdoms, named Sakamoto. In that world, there was no Roman Empire. The true rulers of the world were the Anglo-Saxon barbarians, horrifyingly.
He saw images of what may be. Mankind making larger and larger leaps in technology, exploring the unknown parts of the world, discovering secrets that only God should have known. Wars growing even more deadly and widespread. Mankind taking its deadly violence to the skies, raining fire and brimstone upon millions of innocents…the Empire could not hope to survive in this deadly age with such a mindset. They had to adapt, to prepare…
In the East, two empires emerged to shake the world. The Celestial Empire and the Land of the Rising Sun, tipping the balance of power, would either challenge the Empire or join forces with it, ushering in either an age of war or peace.
He wondered when he was going to wake.
…
During the time of the terrorist strike on the Senate, Septiadis was sitting the farthest away from the explosion. While he got hit by flying debris, he was largely unscathed. He ran for cover as soon as he could. In his many years of travel, he had learned many things from many people. This included many forms swordsmanship. He grabbed a sword from one of the dead Varangians and started hiding in the debris. He killed a few terrorists before overhearing a conversation between two of them, mentioning a conspiracy that would lead to war. He recalled hearing of a multicultural neo-paganist terrorist group a few months back, but he had dismissed it as a silly rumor.
Eventually, he made his way outside, seeing some other senators. He was relieved that the other senators were alive. He saw Senators Doukas and Favero running into the city. He realized that practically no one was helping the unconscious senators beneath the debris and decided to help them instead. By the time he finished helping the remaining senators up, everything was already over. He wondered where the other awake senators were.
…
Doukas awoke in one of the undamaged rooms of the palace which had been conveyed into a makeshift hospital. He found that his wounds had been bandaged and hardly hurt. The improved scientific technology really had paid off.
He asked one of the doctors, "What of the Empress? Is she okay?"
The doctor told him that Her Majesty was being treated in another part of the palace, surrounded by a detachment of heavily armed surviving Varangians. Doukas sighed. At least she was safe.
He got up and left the palace, as he was no longer seriously injured. He found his horse grazing on the lawn outside and rode to the Hagia Sophia. He found the Patriarch safe and surrounded by a crowd of civilians.
“Where is Senator Favero?” he asked the Patriarch
“He's safe and alive, but it'll take some time for him to recover,” was the answer.
With that, Doukas headed off for the Senate building. He was sure that some senators had woken up. He had to tell them what had happened.
…
Michelangelo awoke on a cot in a candlelit room. The sound of chanting could be heard nearby, a prayer to God most likely. He went to get up, but groaned as pain spiked in his shoulder. A nun shuffled into the room and gently pushed him back down on the cot. “You are still injured, Senator. Your wound may be infected and you're already running a fever. You must rest.”
The nun wiped his forehead with a damp cloth, making Michelangelo realize just how warm he was. Sweat poured from his skin and he felt as though he was on fire. She pulled out a vial of what he assumed was medicine and carefully poured it between his lips. It was bitter, but what medicine wasn't. He reluctantly gulped it down. Then he remembered the circumstances that had brought him to this points. “The Empress, has she been harmed? And what of the Patriarch? Is the attack over?”
The nun smiled down at him. “I have been told that they will both be fine. Now rest.”
Michelangelo stretched out on the cot to get comfortable, letting his eyes slowly close. He felt unusually drowsy and soon sleep overcame him. He didn't notice the shine of metal sticking out from between the nun's robe as she left the room, a mischievous look on her face.
…
Doukas heard a scream behind him. It was the Patriarch. Something was happening at the Hagia Sophia. He turned around and rode back into the church, only to find dozens of civilians incapacitated and a nun holding a knife to the Patriarch's throat. Blood trickled down from a gash in his shoulder, which the nun lapped up happily.
Doukas sighed. “Here we go again…”
He raised his gun and pulled the trigger.
CLICK. Nothing.
He noticed movement behind him. He dodged the knife blow from the cultist sneaking up behind him, seeing something glint on the blade as it passed him. Poison.
Doukas tackled the cultist, knocking the blade out of the cultist's hand. With his foot he kicked a nearby sword into his hand and stabbed the cultist.
"Stop! Or your Patriarch will be fed to Chernobog!" screamed the nun.
“If only he still had some ammunition,” thought Doukas.
In another part of the church, there was chanting in that same not quite Ruthenian language. A group of cultists filed into the main atrium, dragging the body of senator Favero towards an altar they had constructed around the Patriarch's chair and a large mound of paintings and idols to Christ.
"Who will you save, Duke?" The nun smiled. "The Artist or the Patriarch?"
With that they tied both the Patriarch and Favero to the altar and set the whole thing on fire. The cultists drew knives and advanced as one menacingly on Doukas. He was surrounded. There was no escape.
…
Michelangelo slowly returned to consciousness. He felt incredibly warm. His fever must have been getting worse. As he opened his eyes, he realized it wasn't the fever. Flames licked around him and were starting to singe his robes. Behind him he could hear the screams of another man. He tried to turn his head, but it flopped to the side uselessly. Had he been drugged? He could make out a group of people across the room wearing strange clothing. Cultists, perhaps? He had no idea what they were doing here or what was going on. The fire was slowly burning closer to him. He needed to get away from the flames.
Michelangelo tried to move, but found himself bound down. He could just barely shift his body with ropes binding him to the altar behind him. He wiggled back and forth to try to loosen the ropes, but to no avail. Something fell out of his pocket and onto the floor. Flopping his head forward, he could make out the shape of a gun by his feet. It must have been the pistol Doukas had given him earlier. He tried to nudge it closer with his foot, but accidentally kicked it into the flames in his drugged stupor. Well that didn't go as planned.
A loud bang sounded near Michelangelo and one cultist attacking Doukas dropped over dead. The flames must have heated up the gunpowder and fired the gun. Well that was the best help he could provide. The flames licked at his skin now and the altar was now burning behind him. He hissed in pain as his skin was scorched by the hot flames. Just when he thought it unbearable, the rope snapped after being burned through by the fire and he fell forward onto the floor. Michelangelo flopped out of the flames and rolled away from the altar. He was no longer in danger of burning, but he was still too drugged to get to his feet and help. All he could do was watch the Patriarch stumble away from the altar and run out a side door in terror. Well at least he was safe if somewhat of a coward.
…
Doukas heard a bang from the altar, and one of the cultists in front of him screamed and dropped on the floor, dead. As all of the cultists turned to see Favero and the Patriarch break free of their bindings, with the Patriarch running out of the room and Favero collapsing on the floor in a drugged stupor, Doukas lashed out with his sword, cutting down at least five of the cultists before he was restrained by the rest.
Surprisingly, they didn't kill them immediately. A man in the robes of the High Priest of Chernobog entered the room, and the cultists bowed to him.
"Ah, the Artist who is not an artist and the Duke who is not a duke,"said Iosef Ignatieff, "It is nice to see you again."
“Iosef Ignatieff!” exclaimed Doukas.“I killed you myself back at Blachernae!”
Ignatieff smiled.“Chernobog works in mysterious ways. I am his chosen one, his champion!”
He strolled over to the bonfire, where priceless relics dating back from the days of the Great Schism and the Iconoclast Controversy were burning and melting.
“You hate this, don’t you?”Ignatieff smiled.“Once word gets out about this, everyone will hate Mother Russia and Germania. Then, only then, will Chernobog be pleased by the sacrifices made to Him in the ensuing war!”
“Yada, yada, yada,” Doukas said, “Yeah, I heard this before. Why don’t we skip the boasting and trash talking and get to the part where you explain your evil plan? Oh wait, you already did so!”
“I am getting sick of your talk, boy,” Ignatieff said. To his cultists, he ordered,“Kill them!”
The pagans resumed advancing on Doukas. Looking around, he saw Favero stirring ever so slightly, but nobody paid attention to him, thinking he was dead already of his burns.
Ignatieff raised his arms skyward let out a large, diabolical laugh that could only have been given to him by Satan or whatever god he served.“WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Nobody can stop us now! Praise the Black God! The Cult of the Black Hand is victorious!”
At that moment, the doors of the church burst open, and with a fanfare of trumpets, gunfire—from military rifles used by the Imperial Army, not the pistols the Ruthenians carried—rang out throughout the room. Cultists screamed as they were cut down by the relentless volley and sent to eternal torment.
“Get down!”shouted an Imperial soldier.
A second salvo rang out, and the bullets struck the nun and what cultists were stupid enough to remain standing and not run away.
There was the sound of hoof beats, and Doukas turned to see the Athenian Lancers, the renowned light cavalry brigade, charge into the room, blaring their bugles and drawing their sabers, cutting down cultists with every strike.
Ignatieff’s smile turned to shock. He glared at Doukas.“This isn’t over yet, House Doukas. The Cult is patient, and it will return to exact vengeance! Chernobog isn’t finished with any of you just yet!”
With that he disappeared into the shadows as quickly as he had arrived, the surviving cultists following him as quickly as they could.
It was over. It was finally over, Doukas thought. He felt relieved that the nightmare was finally over. Hopefully there would be no more attacks.
One of the cavalry officers dismounted and approached him. Doukas’s eyes widened as he recognized his own son, Alexios, whom he had not seen in years. He was in a colonel’s uniform and wore a couple medals—was that the Nike Medal, Order of the Empire, and the Veronica Cross? What had he done in the Holy Land in the name of the Empire?
“Is that you?” Doukas asked.
“Yes, father, it is me, Alexios,” replied the lancer officer, “After the bombing of the Senate this morning, General Savopoulos received a rushed order from Blachernae for partial mobilization of all troops around the capital before communications were cut off. With the Varangian Guard out of the picture, the Athenian Lancers were the only brigade in the area fully prepared for battle at the time—we were here for training—so they sent us into the city to root out any suspects. You should have seen the battle downtown!”
Doukas hugged his son and cried. He couldn’t take any more of this.“Thank you so much, son. You saved us all.”
“No, father, you did. You saved the Empress herself, for crying out loud! Her Majesty is safe from the clutches of the cannibals and heathens thanks to you. God knows what would have happened if you had decided to accept that job offer at the University of Constantinople instead of the appointment to the Senate.”
Some soldiers brought in water and put out the bonfire, saving most of the relics, while others helped Favero to his feet and put him on a horse.
“We’re heading to the Senate now, you might want to come with us, as it’s safer traveling with us, Father. The Cult has you two—and your families, by extension—as targets. They’re going to seek vengeance at all costs, for whatever reason. Only God knows why the Doukoi and Favero families are so important.”
Waiting for the address
The senators were gathered in their hall, waiting for the Empress to arrive and give her address.
Senator Michelangelo began the per-address discussion among the Patrikioi, “I don't particularly like the idea of Germany being on good terms with Russia. At least Poland has expanded at their expense. The papers are overflowing with news of Imperial expansion. Truly these are the golden days of the Empire!”
Senator Alexios Damaskinos spoke to his own circle of Foiderátoi Senators, “We shouldn't bother with German-Hungarian war, as, in my opinion, it was inspired by oppressed majority of German people in Austria, and not any kind of imperialism. I insist again on claiming Taiwan, as it may help us in future interventions considering last expansion of Ming dynasty. I suggest to consider invasion of Ceylon to support future interventions in India. We should also look closer to growing importance of Deccan in that region. Also, I again insist on breaking any relations with Poland, as this might lead us to war within our Sphere, and I must say that in my opinion, in case of Livonia-Poland war, we should give what we can to support Livonia, armies or subsidies (if we will be in another war at the same time).”
Senator Nikephoros Doukas also spoke to the Foiderátoi. “Germany's relations with Russia are unsettling. We should be careful in dealing with them. Remember, the First Empire was destroyed by the Germans when they were uncivilized brutes—Alemanii, they called themselves at the time. They can do it again. Perhaps we can enlist the help of the Poles? If they were willing to fight Russia over Lithuanian territory, they can surely help us against any German treachery.
I fully agree with an invasion of Taiwan. We must deprive Russia of any colonies and truly take our place in the sun! Ming is growing quite strong, and is on good terms with the Koreans. They could be a useful ally against Russia in a future war.
I do not recommend an invasion of India. There are so many people there, and their cultures and traditions are so foreign from our own that integrating them into Roman society would have more costs than benefits. We should instead increase our sphere of influence in the region and build up friendly relations and trade agreements with native rulers, especially the Deccans. We can have the benefits of trade goods from India and an ally in the region, as well as an effective foothold in the subcontinent without the costs of maintenance and providing for millions of new Imperial subjects.”
“Also, the Empress would consider a diplomatic mission to China itself, I would recommend myself as ambassador. I am close friends with the Celestial Empire's foreign minister, Lin Zexu, and am fluent in the local languages and traditions.
Senator Στήβεν Γκρέυ had been speaking with the XKM, but overhead part of the conversation and joined in. “Whilst I agree with my fellow senators with the Germany and Hungarian war, I am concerned with the Polish invasion of Russia. What is the likelihood of Poland managing to at least white peace with the Bear?
With the Indians perhaps they would better serve us as loyal puppets than us taking their land directly, at least this way we control their destiny.”
An unknown voice spoke clearly and loudly in the hall, “The Third Rome needs to punish the Second Rome!”
“Heresy,” muttered Doukas.
“Never heard of Third Rome. Is it some kind of capital of our Australian colonies?” asked Damaskinos of the senators near him.
“Russia was often called Third Rome,” claimed Senator Basileios Rellis.
Doukas took this as an opportunity to speculate, “This discussion about a hypothetical "Third" Empire—which ought to never exist, as doing so would mean that our current Empire be destroyed; it is treason to suggest a rebellion against the Empire—has got me thinking…if the Empire is Roman, why is the capital in Constantinople? We can't have a Roman Empire without a capital in Rome.”
He paused for a moment, then frowned, “Also, how did that guy get into the Senate room? He's not a senator! Somebody call in the Varangian Guard! The Empress is under attack!”
That done, he turned back to Rellis, “Senator Rellis, why do you refer to the Russian menace as a "Third Rome," implying that the Slavic peoples can be as cultured and civilized as the Romans on the level that they are the successors of the Empire? By explicitly saying that Russia is the Third Rome, instead of our Empire, I get the feeling you wish to overthrow the Empress and install the Slavic Tsar as the Imperator. Such talk is treasonous, at best.
When no-one else responded after some time, and no Varangians showed, he continued, “But fellow senators, as we wait for Her Imperial Highness to give her address, what should we do about the trespassers who somehow manage to get into the Palace and speak vile heresies?”
Favero finally spoke, “Surely they should be detained and interrogated. They could be spies for Russia. The audacity of them to claim Russia to be some third Rome. There is only the Empire and no others.”
Doukas replied, “Yes, there can only be one Empire, but what Ruthenian spy would be idiotic to the point that he walks into the Senate, of all places, and foolishly proclaim that Ruthenia is the Third Rome, knowing that he would be immediately arrested? There must be something going on here, or the Ruthenians are just playing us. It could be a trap, and they distracted our attention while…”, he looked outside “…oh.”
Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the Senate's chamber.
…
Michelangelo was blown clear across the room and slammed against the wall. He tried to rise to his feet, but lost his balance. Blood slowly oozed from a gash on his head. Managing only to get to his knees, Michelangelo spat out some blood between his teeth. He wiped his face with his senator's robe as he regained his senses. “What in the name of the Empress was that? Do the Russians have artillery outside Constantinople?”
…
Doukas was sprawled on the floor. He was lying in a pool of blood from the senator next to him but was himself largely unharmed. “Seems to have been a bomb,” he groaned, “the Ruthenians can't possibly have gotten artillery this close to Constantinople.” He looked over and saw that the Varangians assigned to guard the Senators were either dead or unconscious. The front door was blasted open, and the windows were broken. Doukas realized that the Empress was in grave danger. “The Empress is under attack! Save her!” He grabbed a sword from a dead Varangian just as a man in Ruthenian clothing appears in the doorway, pistol raised to fire at anyone. “You all get the Empress out of here! I'll take care of the attackers!”
Doukas charged at the Ruthenian, who calmly fires three times while exclaiming “For Mother Russia!”
…
Michelangelo cowered behind a tipped-over bench as shots fired through the room. The knowledge that not only his life but the Empress' as well were at stake spurred him into action. He quickly crawled on his hands and knees, sneaking out a side door while the terrorist was distracted. He slowly rose to his feet once outside the room and nearly toppled over from dizziness. He placed a hand against the wall to maintain his balance and started working his way through the palace. “The Empress…must find the Empress…”
…
Doukas ran the terrorist through with his sword just as he felt three bullets strike him in the chest and left arm. The pain was unbearable, but he knew he must do his duty for the people and Senate of Rome.
The Ruthenian spat blood in Doukas's face and snarled, “It is too late, Greek scum! Soon Mother Russia will be the mother of all.”
Doukas nearly shouted, “Who sent you?! What are your orders? Are there others?”
The Ruthenian laughed evilly “Soon the Germanic barbarians will sack Rome again.” He then died.
The pain overwhelmed Doukas, and he collapsed to the floor. Before he lost consciousness, he heard more explosions – this time from the direction of downtown. Blachernae may have been among the targets, but he didn't know. “God have mercy on our souls!” he whispered.
…
Michelangelo kept wandering through the palace, looking for anyone at all who could warn the Empress. He was in no condition to make the trip to Blachernae, but someone had to. All the hallways looked the same. In fact, maybe he'd already been down this one, judging by the blood drops on the floor. Had he gotten turned around? Michelangelo tried to clear his head, but a dizzy spell overcame him. He'd been losing too much blood.
Explosions sounded off in the distance. Was Constantinople under attack? Michelangelo had no idea. He just wanted to get out of here and get the Empress to safety. Maybe she was already safe and he was wasting his time. Regardless, he had a duty to perform, or at least the duty to get some beneath his station to fulfill the role while he tried not to succumb to his wounds.
The sound of heavy footsteps drew Michelangelo's attention, so he rounded a corner and pushed himself up against the wall to hide. Two burly men speaking in Russian ran down the other hallway. Michelangelo remained silent as they left, but then the footsteps stopped and started drawing closer. That's when he noticed the blood drops all over the floor. They knew he was there.
Michelangelo scurried down the empty hallway, only to run into a dead end as he rounded the corner. There were two ceremonial poleaxes mounted on the wall, so he lifted one from its bracing and steadied himself. He only had one shot. As the Russians rounded the corner, Michelangelo let out an angry yell and charged them. Before they could react, he impaled the first one on the end of his poleaxe, piercing him right through the gut. The dying man spewed out blood from his mouth and pushed himself off the weapon, only for more blood to pour from his wound. He slipped to the floor as life escaped him. The second man drew a pistol and Michelangelo dove to the floor. The bullet shattered a nearby window, which was much better than shattering Michelangelo's head. Before the man could fire another shot, Michelangelo picked back up the poleaxe and swung it at his assailant. The blade sliced through the man's forearm, forcing him to drop the gun. Before the Russian could draw his own blade, Michelangelo stabbed the poleaxe's end into his neck. Blood sprayed everywhere as the man slumped to the floor. The two Russians were dead.
Michelangelo dropped the poleaxe in horror and vomited all over the palace floor. He had never killed a man before in his life. He suddenly had a much deeper appreciation for the soldiers in the Imperial Army. When was this horrid event going to end? Looking out the broken window and seeing smoke spiraling into the air didn't give him the answer he wanted. Slumping to the floor, he took in several deep breaths. The Empress would have to wait, at least until he didn't feel like he was dying inside. Surely even the Empress would grant him that reprieve.
…
Doukas saw images flashing by his eyes. He saw his childhood in Athens, his time at the Imperial University, his wedding, his son before heading off to war in the Holy Land… He thought to himself, “Seriously? A flashback of my life at this time? I don't need to see this again, I already know this.”
His perspective changed, and he was looking down on all of Eurasia. The Empire in all of its majesty stretched from the Atlantic to the Black Sea, but to the north lay Germania and Ruthenia, the patchwork of barbarians which brought down the First Empire. Even now, centuries after the deposition of the last ruler of the First Empire, Rome was still threatened. The Germans had done what Rome couldn't and united into one main polity. They were on friendly terms with the Empire now, but Doukas remembered what the Ruthenian had told him. To the east laid the once-mighty and isolationist Celestial Empire, or Serica as some called it. If an alliance could be secured, the Ruthenians could face a two-front war should conflict break out. Their almost unlimited manpower could mean the difference between victory and defeat.
There was the sound of disparate voices behind him, but he couldn't turn around. Then he realized the voices were in German and Ruthenian.
He opened his eyes. Three foreign men stood in the middle of the Senate room. One of them spoke German, which Doukas was competent at.
“Too bad they're all dead or unconscious, I would have loved to hear them scream.”
A Ruthenian replied, “Why don't you kill them now?”
“It's not fun.” answered the German
A second Ruthenian joined in, “Men, focus! Our forces have incapacitated the government of the Roman scum--”
The first Ruthenian interrupted him, “I hate to remind you, but the Empress holds all of the power.”
The second snapped back angrily, “Shut up! As we speak, a small force of Germans is advancing into Blachernae, and another force of Russians has seized Hagia Sophia. Soon Rome will be brought to its knees.”
The German finally spoke again, “And then they'll blame the Tsar and the Kaiser instead of us! It's perfect.”
“Exactly,” concluded the first Ruthenian.
Doukas couldn't believe what he had heard. A secret conspiracy to drag the Empire to war with the Germans and Ruthenians? He silently reached over to the body of the man he had stabbed earlier and took the still-loaded gun.
The second Ruthenian was speaking, “Is everybody accounted for?”
The German answered, “We're missing one of the senators, an Italian. I heard something in the corridors, and two of our men are missing.”
The first Ruthenian spoke again, “It must be the Artist. If he gets out of the building our plan will be foiled. Go get him!”
The German and the second Ruthenian left the room. Doukas inferred that the "Artist" was Senator Favero, apparently the only other senator to maintain consciousness. Perhaps they could still save the Empress… He accidentally knocked over some rubble.
“Who was that?!” exclaimed the one remaining Ruthenian.
With quick thinking, Doukas brought up the gun, wrapped it in his toga, and fired at the enemy. The shot was muffled, so the others couldn't possibly have heard it. The Ruthenian keeled over dead before he could shout. Doukas got to his feet painfully. He knew he had to get out of here and reach Blachernae. So he limped out through the giant hole in the wall of the room.
…
The sound of another explosion made Michelangelo snap his head up. He was laying down on the floor, although he didn't remember lying down. Hadn't he just been sitting down to catch his breath? How much time had passed? He glanced out the window, trying to judge the time by where the sun was. He couldn't figure out how much time had passed since he didn't remember when the attack had begun in the first place. Damn his aging mind! Maybe he would retire after this incident and take up painting. That sounded a lot less stressful.
Michelangelo tried to get up, but slipped in a puddle of blood from the two corpses lying nearby. He nearly threw up again at the sight of them, their cold lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. He needed to get away from here before someone came to investigate. He went to round the corner when he heard voices arguing. They were drawing nearer, too close for him to escape the dead end in time. He went to pick up the poleaxe again, but slipped on the blood again. He got back up to his feet, only for someone to shout at him in German behind him. Why was there a German in the palace?
“Turn around slowly, you filthy Italian, and show me your hands.”
Michelangelo slowly obeyed the orders and faced the German. He had another man with him. Both were armed, their pistols aimed at him. He warily took a step back, brushing up against the window sill of the broken window. “What do you want with me?” Michelangelo asked. “You won't get away with this attack. The Empress will have your eyes and tongues cut out for this.”
“She'll be dealt with soon enough. Now follow me.”
Michelangelo went to follow, only to slip in the blood for a third time and fall backward. He put his hands behind him and stopped his fall by grabbing the window sill. He winced as one finger grasped some broken glass from the window.
“Watch your step, old man. Make too many sudden movements and you might not make it back to the Senate alive.” The two men laughed together. Michelangelo had a feeling he might not make it back to the Senate even if he obeyed. He needed to escape these thugs. Before he could consider the consequences of his actions, he pushed off the window sill with his hands and rolled backwards out the window. The German shot at him, but the shot missed Michelangelo's head by a few inches. The next thing he knew, Michelangelo was falling out the window. Now that he thought about it, he had probably been on the second or third floor. He closed his eyes and hoped that the impact would either kill him immediately or spare him further pain. “Forgive me, Empress.”
…
Doukas heard a splash next to him. Did somebody just fall into the fountain he had helped fund last year? Then he noticed it was Senator Favero. “You! You're alive! You won't believe what I overheard in the Senate room. Did you find anyone else?”
There were shouts from above. Doukas looked up and saw the German and his Ruthenian accomplice looking down on them from a broken window. ”It's him! The Duke!” the German shouted.
Doukas hoped his arm was still good enough to shoot at them. He aimed and pulled the trigger twice. “God help me.”
…
It was sure cold in Heaven. And wet. A bit too wet for Michelangelo's tastes. In fact, he had trouble breathing. Wait, if he was dead, why did he need to breath?
Michelangelo's eyes snapped open and he pushed his head up out of the fountain water, gasping for air. He'd survived, and relatively unscathed too. He vaguely heard a voice as he dragged himself out of the fountain. Two shots followed and a figure fell down into the fountain next to Michelangelo, splashing water all over him. By the way that the water was quickly turning red, he probably wasn't getting out of that fountain.
As Michelangelo regained his sense, he realized that Senator Doukas was standing nearby. He remembered the senator asking a question as he rose from the fountain. “I haven't seen a soul other than the Russians I ran into and that German who tried to shoot me. Oh good God, I killed them, the Russians. I had no choice.”
Michelangelo shivered involuntarily, still uncomfortable with the idea of taking another man's life. Then he realized that there may be more of them nearby and that the Empress could be in danger. “We need to find the Empress. Her life is in danger.”
…
“Don't worry, fellow Senator,” answered Senator Doukas. “You did what you had to do for the Empress, for the Senate and people of Rome. I heard that these Ruthenians…they're not working for the government in Moscow or Berlin; they're trying to trick us into a war against Ruthenia and Germania, one we possibly can't win at this point without losing much. We must alert the Empress to this plot. If she hears of the attack on the Senate she will definitely push for war with the Germans and Ruthenians. That is, if she survives today, of course.”
“A ruse to lure us into war? Ingenious of them, since we would have bitten that bait with ease with all the hatred of Russia in the Empire. We must make for Blachernae at all haste before it is too late!” Before Michelangelo could say any more, a bullet whizzed past his head and struck the ground. Apparently the second man had not be dealt with like the one in the fountain. Thinking on his feet, he grabbed Senator Doukas and dragged him behind a large bush. “We need to get out of here immediately. Who knows how many of them are roaming the palace.”
“I must have missed,” replied Doukas, and then coughed up blood. “Do you know a safe way to the palace? I overheard that downtown is filled with them. We might need to call in the army to deal with them. Also, I don't really remember how far away is the palace.” He heard voices getting nearer and nearer…
…
Kyriakos Angelos came to amidst the rubble in one of the corridors of the Chrysotriklinos and somewhat unsteadily picked himself up. "I say," he said to himself in an offended tone, after noticing the fallen bodies of senators and Varangians alike, "this really is not chariot racing."
Picking up a sword and a firearm from the fallen guards' bodies, he began to make his way out of the palace.
…
Doukas shot the Ruthenian passing by the bush. The man gave a shout before falling over. “Well, that was easier than I expected, don't you think?”
He took the Ruthenian's ammunition and sword while also putting on the Ruthenian outfit. “Why don't you disguise yourself as well, Favero? That way they probably won't kill us immediately. And are you sure you couldn't find any other senators? I may have seen movement in one of the windows.”
“It may have been more Russians,” replied Michelangelo. “I didn't get much of a chance to see if any other senators were alive when I was forced to flee.” Michelangelo went back to the fountain and pulled out the body. He quickly put on the man's clothes and casually walked away. The outfit was soaked, but he'd already been in the fountain before anyway. “How are we ever going to get to Blachernae in time? Who knows how many of these men there are and where they are? They could be roaming the streets for all we know.”
“They are roaming the streets. They have even occupied Hagia Sophia itself and have taken the Ecumenical Patriarch himself hostage! Which means we're going to have to find some horses. I think the stables are in another part of the building?”
“They may have some horses stabled near the Hippodrome for chariot racing. That's our best chance of finding some. I'd love to know how these men got into Constantinople without anyone noticing. Those responsible should be drawn and quartered for the mess they've caused.”
“There must have been traitors within the Senate and Varangian Guard helping them! Alright, then, let's go to the Hippodrome.”
The two Senators started walking.
…
The Hippodrome was empty when they arrived, with no guards or intruders. It apparently had not been a focus of the attack, probably because there were no races planned. There weren't even any stable boys attending to the horses when they entered the stables.
“Did everyone just run away when they heard explosions? I certainly hope they weren't all in on the attacks,” wondered Michelangelo. He wandered past all the horses, looking for a horse that fit his taste. If he was going to ride through the city to save the Empress, he may as well do it in style. As he approached the end of the row, the stable door opened and a man stuck his head in. His features were clearly Slavic and the fact he yelled at Michelangelo in Russian confirmed that the man was an enemy. Michelangelo dove into an empty stable as the man fired his pistol. The Russian burst into the stables to pursue, but Michelangelo grabbed a shovel and swung it at the man's face. It collided with a dull thud, softened by the manure that had been stuck to it. When the Russian didn't topple over from the first hit, Michelangelo swatted him again in the head and brought him low. “Maybe in Russia they should focus on breeding strong minds instead of strong heads.”
Doukas took the Ruthenian's gun and tossed it to Favero. “Take this, and I hope you're a good shot with it.” He got on the nearest horse. “Alright, let's go save the Empress in style!”
Michelangelo caught the gun and briefly examined it before stuffing it in his robes. He'd never wielded a firearm before, but he'd need it now. “I was always more partial towards the sword when practicing dueling. The gun was always too dangerous for sport.”
As he looked up, Michelangelo spotted a white stallion of the purest breed. That was definitely the type of horse he wanted. He hopped up on the horse and followed Doukas out of the stables and into the city. A few Russians, or maybe even Germans, took shots at them as they rushed through the gates, but the horses easily outdistanced the enemy. They were free to make their way to the Empress, that is if no one was waiting for them on the way.
…
Doukas thought to himself as the two senators left the stables. “Maybe we should have taken swords, just like the cavalry. But oh well, not everyone can be a Mongol, right?”
They charged straight through downtown, and peasants and merchants screamed and jumped out of the way as the two senators charged through the central market. “Make way! The Empress is in danger!”
But then Doukas remembered that the Ecumenical Patriarch is also a hostage. “Wait, we need to free the patriarch first! If they have him hostage, they have the entirety of Christianity hostage as well!”
Michelangelo slowed down his horse for a moment, considering whether or not to backtrack. The Empress or the Ecumenical Patriarch? “If we go back for him, we may be too late to save the Empress. But we can't let him be taken either. Damn those Russians to the fires of hell! Perhaps if we split up we may be able to save them both.”
“I'll go after the Empress, you get the Patriarch.”
…
Michelangelo gave a nod before turning around to race towards the Hagia Sophia. If the two of them were fast enough, they could save the two most powerful people in the Empire. He wished he could have gone to save the Empress, but Doukas seemed much more capable with a firearm than him. It would be better this way. Michelangelo only hoped that whoever was holding the Patriarch hostage could be dealt with. He wasn't exactly the most capable of fighters.
As Michelangelo rounded a street corner, an explosion blew out the windows of a shop across the street. His horse reared up and nearly threw him off. Fortunately he was well-trained with a horse and kept his grip on the reins and saddle. A man in Russian garb ran out of an alley with a grin on his face and some sort of make-shift explosive in his hand. He tossed it into the street where people were screaming in terror and it exploded in a shower of rubble. Two bodies lay on the ground, killed by the explosion. Remembering that he had a pistol, Michelangelo pulled it from his robes and fired a shot. The Russian man collapsed to the ground, a bleeding hole in his chest. The people in the street all turned in his direction. The image of a senator in blood-stained Ruthenian clothes holding a pistol while riding a white stallion must have been an impressive sight. Michelangelo decided to use it to his advantage.
“People of Constantinople, I beseech you. We are beset by foreign spies who wish to sow discord within this most splendid of cities. They put not only your lives, but those of the Empress and Patriarch in danger. As for the latter, he has been taken hostage by these foul men. Alone I cannot save him, but together we may. Join with me to take back the jewel of the Empire and save the Patriarch from those who would do us harm.”
The street was unusually silent for a moment, but soon cheers erupted from the crowd. The people of Constantinople would follow him. They picked up whatever makeshift weapons they could find or make. One woman even offered him a sword, although he had no idea where she had come upon it. The blade felt much more comfortable in his hands than the pistol. He let a grin spread across his face as he rode off to the Hagia Sophia with a band of armed citizens.
…
Doukas heard an explosion behind him, but he didn't look back, as he was getting close to Blachernae and had to watch for any Ruthenians. Just as he reached the front gates, which were blasted wide open as if by a bomb, he heard a cheer behind him. Were the peasants also on the Ruthenians' side?
There was a shout from his right. Looking in that direction, he saw two horsemen charging straight at him, one apparently a Mongol armed with a bow and the other a Hungarian armed with a sword. “Seriously? Are we repeating the Hunnic invasions of the First Empire and the Mongol invasions during the Second Empire?”
He aimed and fired twice, and both riders toppled from their mounts.
Doukas arrived at the main door leading inside. “Here goes nothing.”
He slipped inside.
…
Michelangelo reached the Hagia Sophia later than he had hoped, since he had to slow down for the citizens to keep up. He knew time was of the essence, but he couldn't save the Patriarch alone. When they reached the grand building, Michelangelo came to a halt. Guards stood outside the open doors. They didn't notice him at first, but the sound of the approaching mob drew their attention. Not delaying any longer, Michelangelo charged at them. He closed the gap rapidly on his horse as the men drew their pistols. They both fired and Michelangelo felt a burning in his shoulder. He ignored it and drew his sword. He cut across as the first guard as he passed and swept the sword overheard as he slashed the second on the other side. The two men fell back in pain as the mob approached. Not slowing down a bit, Michelangelo lowered himself in the saddle and galloped straight into the Hagia Sophia. Several men stood within the building and scattered as he dashed through them. His horse trampled at least one of them and he got in a few blows with his sword as he passed by. Before the men could retaliate in kind, the mob burst into the building and swarmed over them. He kept on through the holy site, looking for the Patriarch.
It didn't take long to find the Patriarch. He was being held hostage near the alter by several burly men. He guessed they were all Slavic until one of them started speaking some form of Scottish or Gaelic. Exactly who was involved in this conspiracy? As the men took note of his approach, he jumped off the horse. Speed would not aid him here.
“Release the Patriarch immediately!”
“Or what?” demanded one of the Scots.
The mob made its way into the large room and started to spread out around Michelangelo. The men holding the Patriarch hostage were noticeably nervous. Michelangelo smirked. That smirk was quickly wiped off his face as the Scot grabbed the Patriarch's head and held a blade to his throat. It was time for some negotiations.
Before Michelangelo could utter a word, a shot rang through the air. The Scot collapsed to the ground, releasing the knife. Everyone looked around stunned. Before the enemy could react and harm the Patriarch, Michelangelo let out a battle cry and charged with his sword held high. The mob followed. The enemy stood no chance. They tried to flee, but were run down by the citizens of Constantinople. Michelangelo let them release their anger while he approached the Patriarch. “Are you hurt, your holiness?”
“I am fine, Senator Favero,” replied the Patriarch. “God has seen it fit to spare me this day and punish these heretics. But what of the Empress? Is she safe?”
“Senator Doukas has gone after her. I am certain he will keep her from harm. For now, let us get you to safety before more intruders arrive.”
Michelangelo went to guide the Patriarch out of the building when he lost his step and fell to his knees. He tried to rise but a dizzy spell overtook him.
“Senator, you are hurt!”
Michelangelo finally noticed the wound in his shoulder. The bullet had gone straight through and his outfit was soaked with blood. So that was what that pain was from before. He tried to regain his feet again and collapsed to the ground. The Patriarch and several citizens gathered around him to help. He slowly slipped from consciousness, content that he had at least done his duty and saved the Patriarch in time.
…
Doukas advanced through the halls of the Imperial Palace. Servants and Varangians were strewn all over the floor, and the blood had stained the priceless Anatolian carpets. On the walls were portraits of former Emperors and Empresses, and Doukas felt unworthy to be looking directly at them.
A large man rounded the corner in front of him. Before he could react, Doukas drew a dagger and stabbed him, muffling his screams for help. Moving along, he arrived at what appeared to be the Empress's private quarters. They were empty, but there was a trail of blood leading out from the doors to another part of the palace.
Doukas felt sick to be looking at imperial blood being spilled so callously. But he must look and follow the trail. He slowly stepped through the deserted palace, the blood trail leading him towards one of the old pagan temples which had been refurbished as part of the palace. As he got closer and closer to the temple, he heard an ominous chanting in some language that was not quite Ruthenian. He rounded a corner, and the temple came into full view. He was on a balcony, overseeing the horrifying rites going on below.
There were at least a dozen men gathered below in front of a Ruthenian in pagan robes. As he watched, the Ruthenian priest carried a wooden sculpture of Christ on the cross and dropped it into a bonfire. Behind him, strapped to an altar, were the Empress and her husband, the Prince-Consort, themselves. “Praise be to the Black God, Chernobog, who smiles upon us as we offer Him this offering to feast upon.”
“Seriously?” Doukas thought. “First a conspiracy to drag Ruthenia and the Empire to war, and now a conspiracy of pagan cannibal Ruthenians? I must be going mad.”
The Prince-Consort’s voice came through the chanting, “God will have you burn in hell for eternity, heathen!”
“Oh, but it is you who is mistaken,” said the priest with a laugh. “Your god has abandoned you to our clutches. Chernobog is victorious! Soon, war will break out, and He will feast upon all of the souls taken in the fighting. But first, both of you will be His first meal.”
“Not if I can help it,” exclaimed Doukas.
Everyone looks up and saw him.
The priest spoke again, “Ah, the Duke who is not actually a duke. We meet at last. I am Iosef Ignatieff, servant of Chernobog, and you really expect me to tell you my evil plan at this moment?”
“No. I already know your plan.” He emptied his guns into the procession below, each bullet sending a cultist to Hell for eternity. Finally, he was out of bullets, and the High Priest was still alive. Doukas walked downstairs, took his dagger, and ran the pagan through. “The name's Nikephoros Doukas. Not just 'the Duke,' but the bringer of Victory as well. Senatus Populesque Romanus.”
With that Ignatieff departed to hell with the rest of the cultists. As Doukas set to work freeing the unconscious Empress and her conscious but badly wounded husband from the altar, he wondered if Favero had saved the Patriarch.
The Prince-Consort pointed at Doukas's chest. "You're bleeding."
Doukas looked down. He had forgotten about his wounds from earlier. He collapsed on the altar and blacked out.
…
Back near the senate hall, a freshly awakened Konstantinos Galatias beheaded a Ruthenian with one swipe of his family sword. He muttered several curses in French.
…
In the city of Riga, Alexios Damaskinos went to his apartment. He finally had time to rest after many conversations with Livonian Order's representatives and diplomats. He was admiring views of Riga. “It is indeed beautiful city. I'm curious if my fellow senators are having as tough day as I am.”
…
Doukas, for the first time in his life, felt completely at peace. He knew he had done his duty and saved the Empire from destruction. He hoped Favero had also been successful. He couldn't feel the rest of his body, but his mind was free to roam around. He saw a world where he was born as a knight in one of the Oriental kingdoms, named Sakamoto. In that world, there was no Roman Empire. The true rulers of the world were the Anglo-Saxon barbarians, horrifyingly.
He saw images of what may be. Mankind making larger and larger leaps in technology, exploring the unknown parts of the world, discovering secrets that only God should have known. Wars growing even more deadly and widespread. Mankind taking its deadly violence to the skies, raining fire and brimstone upon millions of innocents…the Empire could not hope to survive in this deadly age with such a mindset. They had to adapt, to prepare…
In the East, two empires emerged to shake the world. The Celestial Empire and the Land of the Rising Sun, tipping the balance of power, would either challenge the Empire or join forces with it, ushering in either an age of war or peace.
He wondered when he was going to wake.
…
During the time of the terrorist strike on the Senate, Septiadis was sitting the farthest away from the explosion. While he got hit by flying debris, he was largely unscathed. He ran for cover as soon as he could. In his many years of travel, he had learned many things from many people. This included many forms swordsmanship. He grabbed a sword from one of the dead Varangians and started hiding in the debris. He killed a few terrorists before overhearing a conversation between two of them, mentioning a conspiracy that would lead to war. He recalled hearing of a multicultural neo-paganist terrorist group a few months back, but he had dismissed it as a silly rumor.
Eventually, he made his way outside, seeing some other senators. He was relieved that the other senators were alive. He saw Senators Doukas and Favero running into the city. He realized that practically no one was helping the unconscious senators beneath the debris and decided to help them instead. By the time he finished helping the remaining senators up, everything was already over. He wondered where the other awake senators were.
…
Doukas awoke in one of the undamaged rooms of the palace which had been conveyed into a makeshift hospital. He found that his wounds had been bandaged and hardly hurt. The improved scientific technology really had paid off.
He asked one of the doctors, "What of the Empress? Is she okay?"
The doctor told him that Her Majesty was being treated in another part of the palace, surrounded by a detachment of heavily armed surviving Varangians. Doukas sighed. At least she was safe.
He got up and left the palace, as he was no longer seriously injured. He found his horse grazing on the lawn outside and rode to the Hagia Sophia. He found the Patriarch safe and surrounded by a crowd of civilians.
“Where is Senator Favero?” he asked the Patriarch
“He's safe and alive, but it'll take some time for him to recover,” was the answer.
With that, Doukas headed off for the Senate building. He was sure that some senators had woken up. He had to tell them what had happened.
…
Michelangelo awoke on a cot in a candlelit room. The sound of chanting could be heard nearby, a prayer to God most likely. He went to get up, but groaned as pain spiked in his shoulder. A nun shuffled into the room and gently pushed him back down on the cot. “You are still injured, Senator. Your wound may be infected and you're already running a fever. You must rest.”
The nun wiped his forehead with a damp cloth, making Michelangelo realize just how warm he was. Sweat poured from his skin and he felt as though he was on fire. She pulled out a vial of what he assumed was medicine and carefully poured it between his lips. It was bitter, but what medicine wasn't. He reluctantly gulped it down. Then he remembered the circumstances that had brought him to this points. “The Empress, has she been harmed? And what of the Patriarch? Is the attack over?”
The nun smiled down at him. “I have been told that they will both be fine. Now rest.”
Michelangelo stretched out on the cot to get comfortable, letting his eyes slowly close. He felt unusually drowsy and soon sleep overcame him. He didn't notice the shine of metal sticking out from between the nun's robe as she left the room, a mischievous look on her face.
…
Doukas heard a scream behind him. It was the Patriarch. Something was happening at the Hagia Sophia. He turned around and rode back into the church, only to find dozens of civilians incapacitated and a nun holding a knife to the Patriarch's throat. Blood trickled down from a gash in his shoulder, which the nun lapped up happily.
Doukas sighed. “Here we go again…”
He raised his gun and pulled the trigger.
CLICK. Nothing.
He noticed movement behind him. He dodged the knife blow from the cultist sneaking up behind him, seeing something glint on the blade as it passed him. Poison.
Doukas tackled the cultist, knocking the blade out of the cultist's hand. With his foot he kicked a nearby sword into his hand and stabbed the cultist.
"Stop! Or your Patriarch will be fed to Chernobog!" screamed the nun.
“If only he still had some ammunition,” thought Doukas.
In another part of the church, there was chanting in that same not quite Ruthenian language. A group of cultists filed into the main atrium, dragging the body of senator Favero towards an altar they had constructed around the Patriarch's chair and a large mound of paintings and idols to Christ.
"Who will you save, Duke?" The nun smiled. "The Artist or the Patriarch?"
With that they tied both the Patriarch and Favero to the altar and set the whole thing on fire. The cultists drew knives and advanced as one menacingly on Doukas. He was surrounded. There was no escape.
…
Michelangelo slowly returned to consciousness. He felt incredibly warm. His fever must have been getting worse. As he opened his eyes, he realized it wasn't the fever. Flames licked around him and were starting to singe his robes. Behind him he could hear the screams of another man. He tried to turn his head, but it flopped to the side uselessly. Had he been drugged? He could make out a group of people across the room wearing strange clothing. Cultists, perhaps? He had no idea what they were doing here or what was going on. The fire was slowly burning closer to him. He needed to get away from the flames.
Michelangelo tried to move, but found himself bound down. He could just barely shift his body with ropes binding him to the altar behind him. He wiggled back and forth to try to loosen the ropes, but to no avail. Something fell out of his pocket and onto the floor. Flopping his head forward, he could make out the shape of a gun by his feet. It must have been the pistol Doukas had given him earlier. He tried to nudge it closer with his foot, but accidentally kicked it into the flames in his drugged stupor. Well that didn't go as planned.
A loud bang sounded near Michelangelo and one cultist attacking Doukas dropped over dead. The flames must have heated up the gunpowder and fired the gun. Well that was the best help he could provide. The flames licked at his skin now and the altar was now burning behind him. He hissed in pain as his skin was scorched by the hot flames. Just when he thought it unbearable, the rope snapped after being burned through by the fire and he fell forward onto the floor. Michelangelo flopped out of the flames and rolled away from the altar. He was no longer in danger of burning, but he was still too drugged to get to his feet and help. All he could do was watch the Patriarch stumble away from the altar and run out a side door in terror. Well at least he was safe if somewhat of a coward.
…
Doukas heard a bang from the altar, and one of the cultists in front of him screamed and dropped on the floor, dead. As all of the cultists turned to see Favero and the Patriarch break free of their bindings, with the Patriarch running out of the room and Favero collapsing on the floor in a drugged stupor, Doukas lashed out with his sword, cutting down at least five of the cultists before he was restrained by the rest.
Surprisingly, they didn't kill them immediately. A man in the robes of the High Priest of Chernobog entered the room, and the cultists bowed to him.
"Ah, the Artist who is not an artist and the Duke who is not a duke,"said Iosef Ignatieff, "It is nice to see you again."
“Iosef Ignatieff!” exclaimed Doukas.“I killed you myself back at Blachernae!”
Ignatieff smiled.“Chernobog works in mysterious ways. I am his chosen one, his champion!”
He strolled over to the bonfire, where priceless relics dating back from the days of the Great Schism and the Iconoclast Controversy were burning and melting.
“You hate this, don’t you?”Ignatieff smiled.“Once word gets out about this, everyone will hate Mother Russia and Germania. Then, only then, will Chernobog be pleased by the sacrifices made to Him in the ensuing war!”
“Yada, yada, yada,” Doukas said, “Yeah, I heard this before. Why don’t we skip the boasting and trash talking and get to the part where you explain your evil plan? Oh wait, you already did so!”
“I am getting sick of your talk, boy,” Ignatieff said. To his cultists, he ordered,“Kill them!”
The pagans resumed advancing on Doukas. Looking around, he saw Favero stirring ever so slightly, but nobody paid attention to him, thinking he was dead already of his burns.
Ignatieff raised his arms skyward let out a large, diabolical laugh that could only have been given to him by Satan or whatever god he served.“WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Nobody can stop us now! Praise the Black God! The Cult of the Black Hand is victorious!”
At that moment, the doors of the church burst open, and with a fanfare of trumpets, gunfire—from military rifles used by the Imperial Army, not the pistols the Ruthenians carried—rang out throughout the room. Cultists screamed as they were cut down by the relentless volley and sent to eternal torment.
“Get down!”shouted an Imperial soldier.
A second salvo rang out, and the bullets struck the nun and what cultists were stupid enough to remain standing and not run away.
There was the sound of hoof beats, and Doukas turned to see the Athenian Lancers, the renowned light cavalry brigade, charge into the room, blaring their bugles and drawing their sabers, cutting down cultists with every strike.
Ignatieff’s smile turned to shock. He glared at Doukas.“This isn’t over yet, House Doukas. The Cult is patient, and it will return to exact vengeance! Chernobog isn’t finished with any of you just yet!”
With that he disappeared into the shadows as quickly as he had arrived, the surviving cultists following him as quickly as they could.
It was over. It was finally over, Doukas thought. He felt relieved that the nightmare was finally over. Hopefully there would be no more attacks.
One of the cavalry officers dismounted and approached him. Doukas’s eyes widened as he recognized his own son, Alexios, whom he had not seen in years. He was in a colonel’s uniform and wore a couple medals—was that the Nike Medal, Order of the Empire, and the Veronica Cross? What had he done in the Holy Land in the name of the Empire?
“Is that you?” Doukas asked.
“Yes, father, it is me, Alexios,” replied the lancer officer, “After the bombing of the Senate this morning, General Savopoulos received a rushed order from Blachernae for partial mobilization of all troops around the capital before communications were cut off. With the Varangian Guard out of the picture, the Athenian Lancers were the only brigade in the area fully prepared for battle at the time—we were here for training—so they sent us into the city to root out any suspects. You should have seen the battle downtown!”
Doukas hugged his son and cried. He couldn’t take any more of this.“Thank you so much, son. You saved us all.”
“No, father, you did. You saved the Empress herself, for crying out loud! Her Majesty is safe from the clutches of the cannibals and heathens thanks to you. God knows what would have happened if you had decided to accept that job offer at the University of Constantinople instead of the appointment to the Senate.”
Some soldiers brought in water and put out the bonfire, saving most of the relics, while others helped Favero to his feet and put him on a horse.
“We’re heading to the Senate now, you might want to come with us, as it’s safer traveling with us, Father. The Cult has you two—and your families, by extension—as targets. They’re going to seek vengeance at all costs, for whatever reason. Only God knows why the Doukoi and Favero families are so important.”
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90. 1849-1854 - Opening the session and rewards
(( May 10, 1854
A pale but imperious Veronica prepares to address the Senate in an appropriate hall in Blachernae, as the Imperial complex is damaged and in need of refurbishment. ))
Senators,
Yesterday was a dramatic and terrible day. Thankfully the Senate proved that they are the men I had thought them to be, and the loss of life was less than one would have thought. Senators Doukas' and Favero's efforts in particular stood out. Thanks to them, the terrorists were held at bay until the Scholai Palatinae could arrive.
Senators Doukas and Favero are henceforth elevated to the aristocratic rank, and will be given lands according to their new station. When they are recovered, they will also be placed as governors within Greece and Italy.
To replenish the now-thinned ranks of senators, We ask that the Kyriarchía faction among the Senators train new senatorial candidates in proper etiquette for the Senate.[1]
Finally, if there are no objections, the Scholai Palatinae will add a guard regiment that will be stationed in the Blachernae palace complex.
[1] (( I'm editing in the 'Harassment' political party reform. We'll assume the other parties quickly organize and attempt to draw new Senators into their sphere. ))
----------------
(( Okay, the typical three days for responses happen now. Hopefully that will be sufficient time for me to get pictures edited and uploaded. ))
A pale but imperious Veronica prepares to address the Senate in an appropriate hall in Blachernae, as the Imperial complex is damaged and in need of refurbishment. ))
Senators,
Yesterday was a dramatic and terrible day. Thankfully the Senate proved that they are the men I had thought them to be, and the loss of life was less than one would have thought. Senators Doukas' and Favero's efforts in particular stood out. Thanks to them, the terrorists were held at bay until the Scholai Palatinae could arrive.
Senators Doukas and Favero are henceforth elevated to the aristocratic rank, and will be given lands according to their new station. When they are recovered, they will also be placed as governors within Greece and Italy.
To replenish the now-thinned ranks of senators, We ask that the Kyriarchía faction among the Senators train new senatorial candidates in proper etiquette for the Senate.[1]
Finally, if there are no objections, the Scholai Palatinae will add a guard regiment that will be stationed in the Blachernae palace complex.
[1] (( I'm editing in the 'Harassment' political party reform. We'll assume the other parties quickly organize and attempt to draw new Senators into their sphere. ))
----------------
(( Okay, the typical three days for responses happen now. Hopefully that will be sufficient time for me to get pictures edited and uploaded. ))
((Are the Kyriarchía the ruling party? Also, we should also mod in a couple of events increasing militancy/consciousness.))
This message to Blachernae was delivered by Colonel Alexios Doukas, son of Doux Nikephoros Doukas and Commander of the Athenian Lancers:
Your Highness, I accept your gracious offer. I will serve you loyally as both doux and governor of Thema Graecia.
To my fellow senators:
So I guess all of that is over now. Her Majesty is safe, His Holiness is safe, the Empire is safe...for now. We cannot forget the terrible things that happened on May 9, which for the sake of the records I shall refer to as 5/9. We must move forward together. If there's anything that the perpetrators of 5/9 have taught us, it is that we are easily driven to war. Had some of us not discovered the machinations of the Cult of the Black Hand working behind the Ruthenian terrorists, we would have played right into their hands and sent the legions into Germania and Ruthenia, sacrificing millions of innocents to their Black God, Chernobog they called him. Let us remind them that we are Romans, and we serve the Empire with honor and rationality. Let us remind them that we are the civilized ones. Let us remind them that before we decide on any course of action, we weigh the benefits and costs first, whether within the Senate or the court at Blachernae. For we are the Roman Empire, and unlike the Old Empire we will not fall and submit to Germanic and Slavic barbarians! They will submit to us, as we are the center of Western civilization! Let it be known that we hold our heads high! We shall not give in to the bloody demands of terrorists or cultists! Long live the Empress! May the Empire last ten thousand years!
PS: I strongly urge my fellow senators in the Foederatoi Party to recruit new senators sympathetic to our cause; we are going to need them moving forward. Check their backgrounds and make sure none have criminal backgrounds. I’d recommend setting up civil service exams in each town in order to make the best use of Roman talent.
~Doux Nikephoros Doukas, Governor of Greece, from his villa in Athens, May 10, in the year of our Lord 1854
This message to Blachernae was delivered by Colonel Alexios Doukas, son of Doux Nikephoros Doukas and Commander of the Athenian Lancers:
Your Highness, I accept your gracious offer. I will serve you loyally as both doux and governor of Thema Graecia.
To my fellow senators:
So I guess all of that is over now. Her Majesty is safe, His Holiness is safe, the Empire is safe...for now. We cannot forget the terrible things that happened on May 9, which for the sake of the records I shall refer to as 5/9. We must move forward together. If there's anything that the perpetrators of 5/9 have taught us, it is that we are easily driven to war. Had some of us not discovered the machinations of the Cult of the Black Hand working behind the Ruthenian terrorists, we would have played right into their hands and sent the legions into Germania and Ruthenia, sacrificing millions of innocents to their Black God, Chernobog they called him. Let us remind them that we are Romans, and we serve the Empire with honor and rationality. Let us remind them that we are the civilized ones. Let us remind them that before we decide on any course of action, we weigh the benefits and costs first, whether within the Senate or the court at Blachernae. For we are the Roman Empire, and unlike the Old Empire we will not fall and submit to Germanic and Slavic barbarians! They will submit to us, as we are the center of Western civilization! Let it be known that we hold our heads high! We shall not give in to the bloody demands of terrorists or cultists! Long live the Empress! May the Empire last ten thousand years!
PS: I strongly urge my fellow senators in the Foederatoi Party to recruit new senators sympathetic to our cause; we are going to need them moving forward. Check their backgrounds and make sure none have criminal backgrounds. I’d recommend setting up civil service exams in each town in order to make the best use of Roman talent.
~Doux Nikephoros Doukas, Governor of Greece, from his villa in Athens, May 10, in the year of our Lord 1854
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Mikael rushes back to Constantinople
"By Christ, what has happened here? Those perfidious Russians!"
"By Christ, what has happened here? Those perfidious Russians!"
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Your Majesty, you are most gracious. I humbly accept the gifts you grant me for my undying service to you. I will carry out all the responsibilities of my new rank and position with great honour and wisdom. Italy will prosper under my guidance. ((I'm going to assume that as an Italian from Venice, it would make sense to make him governor there.))
- Duke Michelangelo "the Artist" Favero
- Duke Michelangelo "the Artist" Favero
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Alexios responds to Mikael on behalf of Nikephoros:
Honored Senator, this may sound like the words of a madman, but it is the truth, as I was there to see the end of it. A cult of pagan cannibals, which my father told me was that of the Black Hand, attacked the capital city yesterday, targeting Blachernae, the Senate Palace, and Hagia Sofia, killing numerous senators and taking the Empress and the Ecumenical Patriarch hostage, with the aim of sacrificing both to their heathen god and in doing so provoking the Empire to war with the Germans and Ruthenians so that the casualties would please their god. Due to the intervention of my father and Senator Favero, both the Empress and the Patriarch are safe, and the plot has been foiled. As we speak, the Scholai Palatinae is launching an investigation into how such a cult could have penetrated the Empire all the way to Blachernae. I hope you understand what we have been through.
~Alexios Doukas, Commander in the Athenian Lancers
Honored Senator, this may sound like the words of a madman, but it is the truth, as I was there to see the end of it. A cult of pagan cannibals, which my father told me was that of the Black Hand, attacked the capital city yesterday, targeting Blachernae, the Senate Palace, and Hagia Sofia, killing numerous senators and taking the Empress and the Ecumenical Patriarch hostage, with the aim of sacrificing both to their heathen god and in doing so provoking the Empire to war with the Germans and Ruthenians so that the casualties would please their god. Due to the intervention of my father and Senator Favero, both the Empress and the Patriarch are safe, and the plot has been foiled. As we speak, the Scholai Palatinae is launching an investigation into how such a cult could have penetrated the Empire all the way to Blachernae. I hope you understand what we have been through.
~Alexios Doukas, Commander in the Athenian Lancers
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(( Kyriarchía are indeed the ruling party. Thus them being placed in charge of things. ))
(( Can we get in future updates more informations than just newspapers and world map? For example current wars, political situation in our country, factories etc.? World update mentioning the same thing but in other countries would also be good from time to time. What do you think? I think that as senators we should have more informations on Empire's and World's situation than just newspapers that most of our citizens can read. As for empress address, my character won't respond to it as he is in Riga, but I congratulate you on amazing story you brought to us. ))
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((That's a great idea. I'm all in favor of that. We should probably get some actual in-game map screenshots as well.))
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(( Oh, don't worry, that isn't the whole update. The update cycle is framed as the Empress giving a 'State of the Empire' address to the Senate. The newspapers and maps are information sent to the Senate in advance of the address. Typically then Senators would then 'send messages to Blachernae' (that is, discuss in character), then the address would begin. There's a long prepared part with the screenshots and the like, and responses to the initial messages. The Senate can then discuss some more, with the Empress replying yet again, then closing the session. Then I play and then it begins again.
Of course, I went and got married after posting the first part of the update, so the rest has been delayed and thus the random story thing in the meanwhile. As well, this update will be broken up into section with 'intermissions' in between, due to length. ))
Of course, I went and got married after posting the first part of the update, so the rest has been delayed and thus the random story thing in the meanwhile. As well, this update will be broken up into section with 'intermissions' in between, due to length. ))
((Congratulations on the recent nuptials! May your marital career be long and fruitful!))
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Senator Γκρέυ, walks in after weeks of touring the best brothels the Empire has to offer.
Γκρέυ: It is flithy in here and the city is in ruins, I go away for a few weeks R&R and this happens. The Kyriarchía should be banned as a party for this failure!
Γκρέυ: It is flithy in here and the city is in ruins, I go away for a few weeks R&R and this happens. The Kyriarchía should be banned as a party for this failure!
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Kyriakos Angelos, who was present during the attack, openly laughs at Stephen's comments. "I knew liberalism was a mental disease, but clearly the natives of Irlandia do not even have the saving grace of a proper Hellenic upbringing. Such is the curse of the immigrants and the lower classes, I see."
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Alexios sighs. He whispers something in the ear of the Athenian Lancer soldier next to him, who promptly leaves the room.
You are correct in that the Hibernians do not have the proper Hellenic upbringing. However, they can become proper Romans given enough education (or re-education, for that matter) and time. The other Senator is not inherently corrupted--he was corrupted by the immoral businesess of the capital. Wickedness must be stamped out.
Immigrants give us fresh minds, new ideas, for continued inovation, so that the Empire can adapt in these changing times. And the lower classes...remember to keep them happy, or they will rebel and upset the natural order of things.
But enough of this talk of petty matters. I was sent here to discuss more serious issues, such as 5/9. I'll make this as blunt and straightforward as possible:
There are traitors within the Senate.
Of course, you're all thinking, "Preposterous. Traitors? In my Senate?!" But that is the truth. How else could the cult have penetrated into the Senate and planted the bomb? Remember that the whole incident began when a Ruthenian agent walked into the middle of the Senate and declared that Russia was the Third Rome (clearly not the case). How could they have gotten past the dozens of heavily armed Varangians and Scholai Palatinae forces without raising the alarm? And how could the bomb have been so deadly to senators and Varangians alike? There had to have been somebody working with them.
I bet they're right here right now, listening to us as we speak.
~Alexios Doukas
You are correct in that the Hibernians do not have the proper Hellenic upbringing. However, they can become proper Romans given enough education (or re-education, for that matter) and time. The other Senator is not inherently corrupted--he was corrupted by the immoral businesess of the capital. Wickedness must be stamped out.
Immigrants give us fresh minds, new ideas, for continued inovation, so that the Empire can adapt in these changing times. And the lower classes...remember to keep them happy, or they will rebel and upset the natural order of things.
But enough of this talk of petty matters. I was sent here to discuss more serious issues, such as 5/9. I'll make this as blunt and straightforward as possible:
There are traitors within the Senate.
Of course, you're all thinking, "Preposterous. Traitors? In my Senate?!" But that is the truth. How else could the cult have penetrated into the Senate and planted the bomb? Remember that the whole incident began when a Ruthenian agent walked into the middle of the Senate and declared that Russia was the Third Rome (clearly not the case). How could they have gotten past the dozens of heavily armed Varangians and Scholai Palatinae forces without raising the alarm? And how could the bomb have been so deadly to senators and Varangians alike? There had to have been somebody working with them.
I bet they're right here right now, listening to us as we speak.
~Alexios Doukas
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The idea that the Ruthenian agent from earlier was brought into the Senate thanks to a traitor frightened Septiadis.
"If what you say is true, surely we should have the entire building, nay, the entire city searched! If there is such a traitor, or a group of traitors, running amok among our ranks, we should stop them posthaste!", Septiadis said.
"If what you say is true, surely we should have the entire building, nay, the entire city searched! If there is such a traitor, or a group of traitors, running amok among our ranks, we should stop them posthaste!", Septiadis said.
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For an attack of such magnitude to occur without warning in the heart of the Empire would require some inside assistance. Whether or not that inside assistance is a senator or two is yet to be determined. I think it would be best if all senators remain in Constantinople for a time until any possible traitors can be found. Perhaps we should start with those who were involved in the "Third Rome" incident.
- Duke Michelangelo "the Artist" Favero
- Duke Michelangelo "the Artist" Favero
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That would be most wise. However, my father is in Athens right now, so that may complicate things a little bit. As for the rest of us, I have ordered the Athenian Lancers to guard the Senate room and watch for any suspicious activities.
~Alexios
~Alexios
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Well I think it is safe to assume that your father is not involved in conspiracy after saving the Empress' life. It may be prudent to recall him to Constantinople though, as well as any senators not in the city. Their absence during the attack is suspicious enough.
- Duke Michelangelo "the Artist" Favero
- Duke Michelangelo "the Artist" Favero
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