Pavia, Lombardy, late 779
The general call to muster had gone out, carried on the swift-ridden wings of a dozen couriers, who carried the news to the lords of the Kingdom of Lombardy. Any private doubts they might have nursed about the wisdom of aligning themselves behind the new young King vanished when they heard the reports the couriers carried, The Franks were mustering as well, and they would be marching south over the Alps when the new year came.
As if God himself had answered the call, Karloman received a letter with an additional pretext for war. Pope Honorius II had smuggled the small piece of news from Rome, had it bound aboard a ship from Ostia, which had then sailed to Toulon, and from there been carried by courier to Melun. Without explicitly saying so, the tone of the letter was clear. He was offering an exchange to Karloman, you take care of your Lombard problem, and I’ll support your war, in return, you come down and deal with my Lollard problem.
It was a request Karloman was only too happy to indulge.
“It means we’ll have Papal support for the venture,” he told Sigalis happily, his mood much lighter now that he had a war to run and a campaign to plan, “That’ll be additional justification that will go beyond the scope of breaking Gisela’s betrothal. No chances any other powers intervene to save the Lombards now.”
“That is wonderful dear,” Sigalis had said mildly, a sigh escaping her smiling lips. She sounded as though she had barely heard him, though she hummed happily to an imaginary tune as she did so. Indeed, she seemed to be as happy as he had ever seen her these past months.
While a man more perceptive to his domestic affairs than Karloman might have wondered at this change in her manner, he barely noticed it, mind already absorbed in the problems of supply, logistics, troop movements and the upcoming relocation of the court to Toulon, where they would wait for the vassals and their armies to assemble before marching across the Alps into Italia come the spring… So it was he missed the chance for a conversation that might have changed things for both of them…
It was some days later that Gisela arrived, tearful and blubbering for her mother. But it was Karloman who greeted her at the gates, wordlessly distributing a few coins as thanks to the men who had escorted her and dismissing them.
He took her arm gently and led her inside,
“Are you well? Were you mistreated?” he asked urgently as servants brought a cup of mulled wine and a rag.
“I am well,” she snuffled, “But not happy brother. He never saw me! Refused to even see me, let alone touch me!” she turned to Karloman, eyes wide and pleading. “Why would he do such a thing?”
She thought she had imagined, but it almost seemed as if there was a sudden triumphant glee in her brother’s eyes as she said this. Just as quickly it died, and her brother shook his head and patted her shoulder comfortingly.
“He doesn’t know you,” he shrugged, “and his quarrel was with me, not with you. Clearly the new King of the Lombards has not seen fit to use the sense God gave him. Your marriage would’ve been an opportunity to resolve the quarrel between our peoples, but it’s an opportunity he has squandered of his own free will.
Shockingly, to Gisela, he reached out and gave her a brief hug. “You are not to blame, sweet sister, for the fault is his and his alone. Mother and I have been talking, and we might well have found another match for you, closer to home.”
“To whom?”
“Ado, the Duke of Francoinia's son and heir.” He replied.
That had been the right thing to say, as her face brightened into a smile. She had met Ado before. A sweet boy, if a little boastful and proud. But it would certainly be better than unfriendly Lombardy and nasty little King Adelchis, who hadn’t even bothered to meet her while they were betrothed.
So it was a much happier Karloman who left his sister in the care of her maidservants, excitedly chattering and planning her wedding, hopefully for real this time. A small twinge of guilt flittered through his mind as he left her, regretful that the months in Lombardy where she had been lonely and isolated and afraid had been necessary to provide a pretext for his war. The insult to his family honour, and to all of Frankia by her rejection was an insult that nobody would blame him for revenging, and with Papal support, even less so.
As for her report, it was rather curious. He hadn’t even seen her? Even if Adelchis had no intent to marry her, courtesy alone would dictate at least a few meetings, for niceties sake if nothing else. But no, not even the pretense of interest.
There had been rumours about the young lad. His… unnatural affections. Perhaps it was time to start making use of them. If he wasn’t willing to even look at a woman so much as touch her, well then, what else could it be?
He had no proof, but proof had never been a component in mud-slinging. If his mother’s reports were accurate, he was far from the only one who had heard them. And he had thought he had smelled the stink of degeneracy on the boy and his young Italian companion when they had met in the south…
Perhaps those rumours could be made use of…
Pavia, Lombardy
The banners fluttered in the breeze before those formidable walls that ensconced the capital of the Lombards. King Adelchis had summoned his father’s old vassals, nay,
his vassals to the capital for the war that all knew was to come.
Many of these men were a generation older than the King who summoned them. Men who remembered the conflicts of Desiderius and Pepin the Short. Thus the old men’s wars became the wars of the young men who were their sons, as Frank and Lombard once again sought to do battle.
For King Adelchis, the Duke of Milan and the lords of Ravenna would be his strongest supporters, in addition to the ever-loyal Frederico, obviously. These lords were renowned for their hatred of the Franks, and had loyally followed Desderius in his conflicts.
The King had made his plans, the Franks would march over the Alpine passes, though which way they would go was an open question. Scouts indicated Karloman was gathering his forces in Toulon, but whether he would march east over the Swiss passes or whether he’d travel the more direct route was an open question.
“Or he could divide his forces”, The Duke of Milan pointed out,
Glancing at Maurad, Adelchis asked, “Your thoughts Maurad?”
“It is unlikely that he’ll split his forces,” The Blind Lion replied, “Karloman is of the school of commander and thinks a force split in half is a force that can only be used to half it’s effectiveness.”
“So he’ll be out in force,”
“Whatever route he marches, he’ll march most or all of his army with him,” Maurad confirmed. “Though I rather suspect he’ll choose Castellanago, march east, and then south over the Alps.
“It’s not the most direct route,” Frederico frowned.
“But it is the easiest,” Maurad replied, “with the lightest defences and the easiest crossing. I’d advise you to send men to reinforce the garrison there, and dig a ditch to fortify the palisade around the fort for when the new year comes. Likewise, I’d place a significant force in the Po Valley”
As October went into November of the year 779, Karloman’s host swelled north of the Alps, while the new defences went up around the fort on the south end of the Swiss Alps and the Po garrisons were reinforced. For that command, King Adelchis delegated Frederico to the task of commanding the Po forces.
The rest, under both Adelchis and Maurad, remained camped around Pavia, prepared to march north or west as the need arose to defend the country. Wherever Karloman chose to march, they would be ready…
Constantinople, November 789.
If the Basileus Leon IV had been able to hear the sound of the knives sharpening within his very halls, he gave no sign of it before they struck. The guards in his own palace betrayed him, slew the loyalists, his court eunuch, the sinister Eutropius, was decapitated. Those courtiers who remained loyal were massacred in their sleep, while the Emperor’s young son, barely over his infancy, was roused from his bed and taken to the throne room. The soldiers then moved swiftly, taking the Hagia Sofia and barricading themselves, and the Patriarch, within. They hanged the Iconoclast sympathiser from the rafters of his own cathedral, while the proper, true Christian Patriarch was summoned back to Constantinople. The Emperor, for his part, had his eyes gouged out and his innards disembowelled, and tied across the street to the nearby theatre in a string.
The architect of this swift and shocking murder spree had her prize the following morning, as Irene of Athens rose within the cathedral to be crowned Empress Regent on behalf of her son, Theophylaktos. All knew the child-emperor sat upon a hollow throne, from behind which the blood-stained Empress whispered and spun her webs.
If the shock of Irene’s sudden usurpation had perturbed her Iconoclast enemies though, they barely showed it, for within days of the news trickling out from the capital, several Iconoclast leaning
strategoi were rallying their forces, waiting, and watching.
The fate of Romanoi hung in the balance once again.
OOC: Muhahaha! So Karloman and Adelchis have made their opening moves, but the Serpent rises in the east! How will Irene's coup play out? She has her crown, but will she hold it? How will Karloman's whisper campaign about Adelchis's... preference for Frederico affect the loyalty of his lords? Will Karloman march south, or east and south? So many questions!
And for bonus points, here's how Irene's looking at the moment...
To make it more interesting once she ended up regent I basically let her become Empress, though she became regent by herself. I thought that would be more fun!
Am I bombarding all this Byzantine nonsense for a reason? Yep!
Happy reading
