Chronological Influences IV: The Legacy of Time

[TC Pilot]

Omen: Oh, just wait 'til I post her stat page.

Also, given the apparent lack of interest in the story, I believe this will be my last narrative update, the rest being written in a history book format to more expeditiously reach the end of the AAR.

I'm determined to leave this story completed, even if Omen's the only reader.

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August 3, 1140

Valerius stared out across the ruins spread before him, squinting against the harsh afternoon light beating down from a cloudless, deep blue sky. From his vantage point leaning against one of the crumbling stone pillars of the third tier of the Coliseum, Valerius could see a few people, beggars and vagrants that had slipped past the guards to take shelter within the ancient ruin most likely, moving about, and out into the fallow fields that lay between the ruins and the city walls. Sweat beaded on the king's brow, and a thirst scratched at his throat. Valerius silently raised a wineskin to his lips and drank eagerly.

Valerius had dashed off into the city's ruins to escape from the bustle surrounding his imminent birthday and the end of his regency. There, amidst the remains of the ancients, the king had silently walked and contemplated. For a time, he did nothing but stare up into the sky, letting the overwhelming silence sweep over him until he felt the vast emptiness above was pulling him in. Then, hoping to catch some relief from the heat with a passing breeze, he started to climb.

His solitude did not last for long. A tremor of annoyance flashed across his face as the sound of footsteps grew close. Pushing off the pillar he was leaning against, he turned toward the sound to confront whoever had been following him ever since he had entered the Coliseum, hand reaching for the dirk tucked into his belt.

"Looking for something amongst the ruins?" Elienor Galen said, emerging slowly from out of the nearby shade.

Valerius all but yanked his hand away from the weapon, his mouth opening, but only a stammer managed to roll off his tongue. "N-n-no grandmother. I'm sorry, I was just..."

"Stop fidgeting," Elienor snapped chidingly, drawing closer. The king stared at her. Her hair was now solid white, her face craggy and worn with deep wrinkles. Elienor's shoulders were now stooped, and she walked now only with the help of a cane. Still, a part of Valerius' mind wondered how she had managed to reach the top tier of the ruin...

"And stop groveling too," she added. "You will be king in your own right in a few days, for good or ill. The last thing we need is a king who apologizes like an untrained servant."

"I came here to think," Valerius admitted. "It's too noisy in the city or the palace, someone would always interrupt me."

"You would not be the first Stukov to do so. But what, may I ask, were you thinking about that requires such deep concentration?" Elienor pressed, stepping toward the edge of the tier and resting her hands against the stone wall so she could stare out over the ruined structure.

Valerius did not respond at once, standing with his head held sheepishly low while he nervously searched for a place to keep his hands still. "I'm in love," he said finally. "With a girl."

"I'm glad you saw fit to add in that last detail," Elienor said with her back still to the king.

"A married girl."

Elienor let out a soft sigh. "Better a adulterer than a sodomite. But marriage is hardly a permanent state of affairs. It can always be changed."

"I know," he said unflinchingly. "I was thinking of how to do it."

"Do what?"

"Kill her husband."

Elienor glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Wine has made you bold, Valerius."

"Not quite. I've found that wine has very little influence over me these days," he replied, a predatory smile creeping across his lips. Elienor's stare lingered on him, her eyes flitting about as she appraised him.

She turned back to look down at the Coliseum. "I always thought you might be just another fool," she said. "But I see now that I was wrong. Good, this family cannot afford another fool."

"You would have been a very poor teacher if I hard turned out a failure," he rejoined.

Elienor let out a short, sharp laugh. "Tell me, what is this married woman's name?"

"Her name is Beatriz," he said, relishing the sound of it. "Beatriz Jimenez, daughter of the King of Navarre. She's married to the..."

"I know who Beatriz Jimenez is married to," Elienor interrupted sharply, only for her tone to immediately soften again. "So, why is she so special to you? I trust it is just more than a pretty face and a good figure."

Valerius chuckled. "She's smart. She saw through my mask right away. And it was she who planted the idea of killing her husband. I like a capable woman, and even more I like a woman who knows it."

"Brave of you to marry a woman who strives to see her husband dead," Elienor warned.

"I am aware of the risks," Valerius retorted.

Elienor turned fully to face her grandson, giving him a hard look. "Then why go through with it?"

"Because I love her," he answered without a pause.

His grandmother seemed almost to sag in relief, a faint smile appearing. "That is the best answer you could have given. Let me give you some advice, Valerius, from an old woman whose time is running out. I have served your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. Each one of them thought they could shape the world in their image. Alexi was the only one to come close. They all wanted to leave a legacy that would last forever. Understandable, but, ultimately, foolish."

Elienor swept her hand through the air, gesturing toward the whole of the Coliseum. "Look around you. See the legacy of the Romans? Their great empire is nothing but dust and crumbling stone now. Their legacy doesn't speak to us any longer. All we hear from these ruins now is our own words, reflected back as we wish to hear them. And eventually our words will be forgotten as well. So don't try and spend your life building a legacy, because in the end none of it will matter. Just live your life."

Valerius looked at her as if puzzled. "And how does a King just live his life?"

"As he chooses," she replied. "Be King so you will be called great and wise, so mankind will flourish under your rule, so you will become rich from the spoils, so your enemies will be punished. Rule so, on the day you are gone from this world, your children or your grandchildren can sit on the throne secure."

"Don't be king for the sake of dead men," she insisted, her voice cracking, her shoulders slumping slightly forward from the effort of speaking. Valerius continued to watch her, transfixed by the sight of emotion pouring from his grandmother's expression. He did not speak for a long time.

"No," Valerius said tersely and with a dismissively air.

"What?"

"I said no," he repeated, turning back to regard her, jaw set squarely, and his eyes smoldering, malevolent in their intensity. "I will not sit idly by, waiting for death to take me. I will not go meekly into that utter oblivion like my father. I will live forever, yes, forever! Or I will make such a mark on this world that I will never be forgotten!" he shouted, face twisted by an anger that had burned within him since childhood. Elienor gaped in shock, trying to offer up a desperate protest, but Valerius abruptly rose to his feet and stormed off.

When the new King of Rome had gone and Elienor was sure she was alone, the look of desolation on her face vanished, her lips curling upwards triumphantly, eyes narrowing. "Oh, this one will go far. I daresay the world will tremble before him. A pity I won't be around to see it all happen."

Elienor paused, glancing upwards and casting her eyes about as if looking for something. "That is, unless you decide otherwise? Have I earned that right, my lord? No, perhaps not just yet. There is still time for that."

 

[Qorten]

Happened across a lone adbot to kill here and stayed a bit to read your latest update. I haven't followed since just after Alexi's death so a lot must have changed but I see there's at least one little link to the past still alive.

Just so you know, Omen's definitely not your only reader.

 

[Omen]

Well, I am definitely still following. I'll miss the lack of narrative updates, but would much rather have updates than not.

Also, HOLY %^$#! Those are some mouthwatering stats!

It seems that Elienor and the new king are peas in a pod. I'd like to see if Beatriz will use the wrath, or temper it.

 

[TC Pilot]

Qorten: A few links still remain of that time, though their number dwindles fast...

Omen: Now you understand why Valerius acts the way he does.

Rome seems to have a thing for very powerful, red-haired, female spymasters.

~~~~~~​

As I look back now across the years, I see clearly all the many debts that I owe to the people who have shared in my life. A life is well-lived if those debts may be repaid. To my father and mother, I owe life, and I repaid it by living to the full extent of my ability. To my grandmother, I owe wisdom, and I repaid it by surviving so long. To my generals, I owe victory, and I repaid them with glory eternal. To my great-grandfather, founder of this dynasty, I owe my potential, and I repaid him by passing on a future of possibility. To my wife, I owe my past happiness and my future legacy, and I repaid it with loyalty. To my fellow man, I owe the truth, and I repay it now by putting my words to parchment.

I am Valerius Stukov, first of that name, Emperor of Rome and of lands too numerous to trifle with mentioning here. To this undertaking, I sacrifice my energies so that some fragment of my past life might survive the march of time, and preserve for future generations the knowledge of some portion of the history of my times. Of the trivial details of my childhood, I shall not linger for much time. I was born, I lived to see my father destroy himself and my mother retreat into the gloom of despair, and together my brother and I, under the care of our grandmother, survived a time of great, yet hidden, peril. The kingdom our dynasty had erected over three generations teetered on the brink of ruin. Nobles mighty and small, prelates of the faith, even the preening merchants of the great cities, were all puffed up in arrogance at the humbling of my family in the face of heathen armies and treason at home. Unto this landscape I became a man, young though I still was, in the year 1140.

Despite my youth, and all the troubles around me which I perceived, I did not act immediately, new as I was to the great responsibilities I faced. As I became acquainted with my imperial duties, I also endeavored to complete my training in the military arts, in anticipation for the campaigns I dreamed of leading in later years. By the winter of that first year as sovereign in my own right, I considered myself sufficiently ready, having learned all I could from my generals and trainers. But I did not turn first outward, but rather inward toward my heart. A woman of great beauty, charm, and intellect cried out for salvation by my hand. Beatriz Jimenez was her name, and long I admired her, though she was wed to another man, truly undeserving of such a woman. So it was that I ordered his assassination, ending the life of Hrodgaud of Amalfi by means of drowning in the latrines of his family's home. That he was the son of the traitor who betrayed my father in the midst of battle was added satisfaction. I tell you, my reader, these things with such candor because they are the truth, and this chronicle will be full of such truths, necessary as they were. With her husband dead, I moved rapidly to take the widow Beatriz as my wife after a brief period of feigned mourning in September of 1141. By February of the next year, she was with child, and I could safely turn my attentions outward, knowing that my wife was free of her torment.

These attentions were directed East, toward the realm of the Seljuk Sultanate, the nemesis my father had drained his life battling against. As I envisioned it, the legions of Rome would sweep across Anatolia, completing the work begun by my grandfather and father. My grandmother, still wielding immense influence as the spymaster of the realm, urged caution. The nobles were still quarrelsome, the Turkish army strong, with no son of my own to call my heir. But my grandmother was also old and growing older. For almost a half century, at the center of her vast web of spies and assassins, she had done more to guide the empire than anyone. But her powers were useless against a king she refused to employ her weapons against. Thus her power and influence diminished, and so too did her health, as sickness dogged her steps. I harbored no ill will for her, in fact I greatly admired her, and tried to treat her with the highest respect due so august a person as she, but age had left her too cautious to jeopardize the present condition by striking at the chance to improve our family's power.

Confident as any youth may be in the extent of my abilities, I looked upon the legions with many grave concerns. The legions of my father and grandfather existed only in the chronicles written and songs sung by the chroniclers and men at their drink. The concessions foisted upon my father in the hour of his defeat and surrendered unto the local duces included a loosening of the strict military provisions drawn up by King Alexi. Now, local lords would be responsible for the number and composition of their legionary forces, in order to better adapt the armed forces to the circumstances of each local environment. But beneath this sensible adaptability lay the truth: raising and maintaining a legion of the quality envisioned by my forefathers cost precious gold, a burden that could ruin many a lord. With this new freedom came a great decrease in the power of the legions. Veterans, armed and armored in the finest way, were replaced by tillers of the land, armed with nothing but spears and shields they had never held before. A few, especially my cousins in distant Egypt and the Italian merchant cities, remained true to the letter of the law, crafting powerful armies and navies respectively, but in great part the legion was but a shadow of its glory.

Only in Rome was the glorious legacy preserved. Enriched by the taxes that continued to flow into the treasury, my grandmother had preserved a substantial corps, comprised of energetic and skilled veteran soldiers, brilliantly equipped to fulfill any need. This came with its own advantages; no longer could lords, as individuals or in cabal, challenge the military might of Rome but at the utmost peril. And to ensure that my legionary cohorts would remain true, I endeavored to fill the ranks of its officers with men whom I could depend on, knowing them through my childhood for their loyalty and talent in the art of war. First among them was my own kin, Johan, whose studies into the mysteries of faith and born fruit as a powerful determination to drive back the heathen Saracens and Turks and reclaim lost Christian land. Next was Kamran Najeeb, son of my father's most faithful centurion, and endeared to his men by virtue of his near-blindness, as well as his pious brother Nuraddin, alike my brother in the passion of his faith. Then there was Elio Steno, a long-serving veteran of the most solid moral character. And last there was Enrico Rossi, whose patient wisdom had provided me the basis of my own martial education. Others would join the ranks of my most trusted officers, and others would depart, but these were the first.

My preparations for war were interrupted twice, in very different manner, teaching me early the valuable lesson that war shows little mercy for the concerns of those who participate in it. On August 2, 1142, my grandmother, the great Elienor Galen, passed from the world at the age of 71. Her end was a loss of untold magnitude for all of the empire, and for me in no small part. I was sadly not present for her passage into the next world, but I was told by my brother that she left in peace, a smile upon her lips, and leaving with an enigma with her last words: 'I should like to be the one who returns.' But the grief I felt for her death was tempered by the joyous news from another wing of the Regia, that my beloved wife had given birth to her first child, my daughter whom I named Ricciarda. I think she would have liked to know that, to know that she was a great-grandmother, and that she had lived to see five generations of this family in her time. A part of me believed she did know, surely there was a spy in my wife's chambers.

The second interruption of my preparations was one I could hardly have predicted; in September in 1143, the dux of Thessalonica found the continued raids upon his fiefdom by the Bulgarians of the Emperor-in-exile Demetrios Zeno unbearable, and raised an army to attack. War was now upon me, a war not of my choosing, but I resolved to end once and for all the menace of the Greek pretenders and in so doing add the crown of Bulgaria to my empire. With the Egyptian and Palestine legions distracted with war against Tyre and the Frankish duchy of Tripoli, the major burden of the fighting would fall upon the Greek portion of my realm, which would mean the depletion of just the force I intended to use for my crusade in Anatolia. I took under my command fourteen thousand soldiers at Constantinople while by lords of Greece gathered their forces at Thessalonica, and marched speedily toward Demetrios' capital of Strumica, just north of that city that had started this war. Thankfully, Demetrios was as surprised by this fight as I was, and did not have his army near at hand, and so was forced to endure the presence of my armies upon the lands of his domain while he gathered to himself an army.

Disheartened by this, the defenders of Sturmica, Demetrios' seat of power, fell quickly to my armies. The legion's advance upon Serdica was halted by the pretender's army on February 14. Though he was outnumbered ten thousand to fifteen thousand, he emerged victorious, due to the advantages of terrain afforded to his defenses, as well as the preponderance of heavily-armed infantry under his banner, which greatly outnumbered our own. His lines could not be broken, and instead we were broken upon his stout walls. The retreat toward the coast afforded him the opportunity to reclaim that land earlier lost to him. As I look back upon it with the benefit of age, I see what great lessons these setbacks afforded my youthful self. I would learn the value of patience, of minimizing the risk of falling victim to the vagaries of chance by ensuring all that could be done was done. But in my youthful arrogance, I first took only offense at this unfortunate setback. I vowed to rid forever my empire the threat of this Greek empire in a barbarian land.

The rest of 1144 followed a course ill-suited for the drama of grand history. I determined to avoid another embarrassment in a test of martial skill, contenting myself with the reliable but ponderous reduction of fortresses and avoiding any grand and decisive combat that might risk the integrity of my army as a whole. During this time, I was afforded the luxury of turning my attention to other matters. One such issue took on a less mundane aspect, namely the position of the Church within my land. Since I was young, or at least younger than I was, I had greatly admired the men of the cloth for their dedication to a life that I could never endure, and by my fondness for my pious brother Johan. In this way, I had become acquainted favorably with His Holiness the Pope, living serenely at Piombino in the benign neglect shown upon that venerable institution since its expulsion from Rome under my great-grandfather. Persuaded by his words, I consented to the easing of many restrictions upon the Church and confirmed many privileges long sought by the Church, both in the hopes of incurring its favor and frustrating the ambitions of the merchants and nobles who had done so much to hurt my throne. Churches and monasteries could exert their own laws upon Church lands and their prelates exempt from temporal prosecution, taxes were eased or removed entirely, and many activities frowned upon by the Church were made illegal and open to severe punishment. In time, I would come to regret this supremacy of the Church, but not then. Indeed, Providence seemed to smile upon my actions, as victory was near at hand in Bulgaria, and the Greeks of Constantinople, moved through some impetus, as a whole agreed to a conversion to the Holy Catholic Church, abandoning the schismatic ways of their forefathers.

One last matter gave pause to my mind on the eve of my victory; from Egypt, I was given word of another blow to my family delivered by Death. Demetrios Stukov died that summer of 1144. His was a powerful presence in my empire. As overlord of Egypt on the Nile, he commanded a vast and rich province, and his skill as a warrior and a leader of soldiers was great. He was a known quantity, a man whose actions I could predict. But most of all, he was the last child of Alexi Stukov to leave the world. Like my grandmother's death, it seemed the passage of an era. I could only think and wonder what knowledge, what insights Demetrios took with him to his grave of my grand-grandfather and founder of our dynasty. I believe it was then that the seed was planted in me that would germinate into this present volume.

I could linger upon the dead only so long. On October 7, the last of Emperor Demetrios' citadels in Bulgaria surrendered to me, and his army was a shambles. Cornered by a superior force, he had no choice but to accept whatever demands I might make, and I took to the fullest advantage my position of strength. From him, I stripped the title of King of Bulgaria, and seized all lands and bonds of vassalage owed him by the people of the land. With respect for his tenacious defense, and in the interest of his sons who were my vassals in Greece, I spared his life, allowing him to retire to what estates he possessed far to the east in Armenia. In whole, it was an acquisition a sovereign monarch could be content with. By I was not content. My attention and resources undistracted, I turned to Anatolia, to finish the work started by my father.

 

[Omen]

An admirable man, for all that he is a flawed one. However, it is interesting to me to see the seeds of future failure. It could be easy enough to allow his temper to overcome his good sense and lead him to ruin. Have to see if his wife will feed or alleviate his flaws.

I like the framing of the book as well.

 

[unmerged(44472)]

Very good stuff. I would like to see this finished as well

 

[unmerged(24320)]

TC Pilot: Oh, just wait 'til I post her stat page.

that is an awesome stat page !

TC Pilot: ...My attention and resources undistracted, I turned to Anatolia, to finish the work started by my father.

and i am really looking forward to reading that update !

this is a wonderful work you have crafted here: i have read each update at least twice ! !